I have weird children

My eldest's entry for the Great Potato Contest for St. Pat's. Note the cannibalism:

Why I like my Senator

Sen. Claire McCaskill takes on a few of my reporter compatriots at the recent Missouri Democratic Days events:

Supersmart

In preparation for the move, I had C2 tested for giftedness.

I honestly had no hunch how smart he was until this September, when he suddenly had a switch go on. He started reading voraciously (like me). He started doing hideous math problems for fun (like C1).

Unlike C1, it wasn't obvious right away that he was gifted. C1 was freakish in her ability to conquer skills that most three-year-olds don't have. For example, do any of you know a three-year-old who will sit for hours and do 40-piece puzzles, one after another? Yeah, that's how I worked from home sometimes: I'd edit book anthologies while she was surrounded by puzzles. Three hours, minimum, of quiet.

Not normal.

C2 was very normal. Hyper, active, boy normal.

Then the switch went on.

Don't get me wrong, he's still boy normal. But he's also incredibly good at making disparate connections (something I do, as well). He will just pop out of nowhere with this philosophical stuff, something C1 never did.

So we had him tested for giftedness this weekend. Now I'm wishing I'd done it sooner. They fit him into the class right away. Even though it will only be a few months, he's completely psyched. He's been beaming ever since he found out he got in. He smiled when I dropped him off. He smiled all day, according to C1, who also attends the gifted pull-out program.

"This is the best day ever!" he announced when I picked him up to take him to aftercare.

I honestly have NO idea what we are going to do with him after we move. I suspect a very long conversation with the guidance counselor is in order first thing this summer. The gifted programs in Texas work differently than here, and as best I can tell, he has a long shot of getting in, despite IQ and test results. He needs a challenge, but he also needs to hang with other boys his age, socially.

Parenting is not easy. Honestly, I wish I had a guidebook for this stuff.

And I'm looking at C3 and wondering what freakish skill set she's hiding from me right now.

Wow, so where's she been?

It's been more than two months since I posted anything.

In that two months, chaos (good chaos, but still) has entered our lives.

My husband accepted a new job. One that's several states away. We've been communicating by phone and by Skype. Needless to say, that's not the same.

I've been parenting three kids essentially alone. Getting a house ready for sale. Trying to finish my master's degree this semester.

Oh, and my boss threw a monkey wrench at me, shuffled me to a different department, and for the past two weeks, I've been learning a new job. It's a good move (not that I think he meant it to be one, but it was).

I've had updates occasionally on Facebook, but for the most part, I've been keeping things to myself.

I've had to call in the help of family and friends. I'm not completely comfortable with that. I'm a pretty self-reliant person, to the point that I overdo. This time, I'm trying to call out the troops sooner.

So, I'll be posting infrequently. The house goes on the market tomorrow. I'm hoping for a relatively quick sale. If it sells by summer in this market, I'll be happy.

I'd like for our family to all be in one house again. Here's hoping this all works out the way we want it.

Okay, mea culpa

I've been busy.

I wrapped up my marketing plan for class; I wrote my thesis. Several hundred pages of writing, proofing and revising later, I just didn't feel like blogging.

Then I was sick.

I'm better now, and happy to have had a writing break.

Holidays are upon us. The Mommy-Tracked kids have:

1) Placed first chair at district orchestra competition
2) Lost several teeth
3) Gotten bitten by the "reading bug" (if you have old Encyclopedia Browns you want to get rid of, let me know. I have a six-year-old who would love them.)
4) Decided that they love all Princess stuff. And the "spicy" JoJos (also known as the seasonal Peppermint ones. Oh, ye who live in the land of Trader Joe's, if you want to get a cheap gift for the Mommy-Tracked kids, there ya go. Boxes of JoJoes.)

Other things are perking and brewing. I'm getting ready to pitch a book. I'm rethinking my freelance business and planning to retool it a bit. I have one semester of class remaining until my master's. Praise be.

If I don't get back on the blog before the holidays: Merry Christmas to all of you (and Merry whatever you celebrate, too). See you on the flip side in the new year.

Update: The car lives

Yay! A fix, a bill, and well, I have to live without AC for however long I drive this baby, but at least we don't have to find a way to fund another car payment.

No wheels

The trusty car I've had for 12 years is currently sitting at the dealership.

Nothing huge: A belt snapped. Said belt runs the power steering. YOU try driving a manual transmission without power steering. Not easy.

It is fixable; the dealer is backed up, though. It could be another day, though. This job is fussy and a PITA to fix. I cringe to think of the labor on this bill. The parts are nothing, cost wise.

However, it is tempting to consider a new car. I hate sinking $$ into an older car. I've been burned more than once. If the CR-V hadn't died last year, my car would have been replaced. Now, it has to hang in at least another two or three years. Maybe more, if this economy doesn't get better.

Sigh. I love my car. I hate spending money. I really hate not having wheels to get around. Carpooling gets old when your husband doesn't get out of work before 6 p.m. on a good night.

The end is near

At least, it is for grad school.

My thesis is due next month. My marketing plan is written (mostly).

I registered for my final class today. I'll do the capstone during the winter 2009 semester (and try and get a publisher interested in my thesis). Then I'm done. Finished.

I have NO idea what I'll do next. I had toyed with the idea of starting a master's in education program, then decided that was insane.

The original plan was to hit the job market. In this economy, I'm not sure I'll get much interest. I'm going to try, but I'm not as hopeful as I was a year ago.

Know anyone who needs an overeducated editor who is an expert on Web 2.0 trends and social networking research? If so, send 'em my way, please.

RIP, Murray the Furry

You were a good dog.

You were fuzzy and you shed quite a bit, but you were also patient with the kids.

As a rescue dog, we wondered what we would get when we adopted you. We couldn't have picked a better dog if we tried. You were just the right speed for us: You didn't require much beyond occasional long walks, loving attention, dog treats and pets.

You hated to be brushed.

You loved rolling in the grass, leaves and snow. You especially loved doing it after I gave you a bath.

It is strange to not see your grinning face looking at me in the morning now. You could drive me insane, because I probably would have loved you more had you loved me less. But you were a good dog, even for cat people at heart.

We miss you already.

Love,

Your MommyTracked Family.

Gobama

My kids are thrilled beyond belief that Obama won.

I'm thrilled that they were able to see history being made. C1, sort of, grasps what happened. She was listening to John Lewis being interviewed after the election was called; his voice cracking as he tried to speak said more to us than anything he commented about in words.

C2 was impossible to wake, though I tried. The next morning, as I woke him for school, I told him. He woke up with a smile on his face.

My kids have friends of all colors and creeds. We've taught them that character is more important that the color of anyone's skin. I'm glad that I've been proved right.

I know there is quite a bit of work ahead for President Obama and his team. I don't have rose-colored glasses: I know we are in for some difficult times. But I honestly believe that for this moment, we picked the best person for the job.

M-I-Z,

Z-O-U!!

Family Mommy-tracked was up at Mizzou this weekend for Homecoming. Dad marched in the alumni band. Kids gathered gobs of candy at the parade, then hiked all over campus, climbed on the columns, donned Santa hats for me so I could get a picture for the Christmas cards, tossed a plastic football on the Quad while I basked in sunshine, and in general had a great time.

Things have changed: We bypassed the long line at the Berg for the Noodles & Co. next door. Quieter, food the kids would eat, and we got free footballs. There was whining about the wait for a game that started at 5 p.m., but once in the stadium, C1, C2, and C3 were all about the football.

We sat with the alumni band, next to Marching Mizzou. The eldest was watching not only the game, but also the clarinet section. I could tell she was thinking six years ahead. (Can you imagine?)

The last time we tried this, C3 was in a Snugli. C2 was 2.5. It was not pretty. This time around, it went better. C2 had to be told to not shout at the top of his lungs "You can do better!!' at the Mizzou defenders after a bad play. :0

C1 was explaining football to C2. C3 was all about cheering and checking out the cheerleaders (she was in her own cute cheerleader outfit). All three knew all the words to all the cheers. It was amazing how well they did.

It helped that it was a nice night, not too cool. It helped that the Tigers decimated Colorado, 58-0.

But I have to say, I think we made some great memories all around.

Col. McCormick is spinning in his grave

The Trib, bastion of Republicanism, just endorsed Obama.

Get the skates, hell froze over.

I heart Tina Fey and Dana Owens, part III

I heart Tina Fey, part II

Long month, bright spot

First, it was the cancer diagnosis.

Then, it was some idiots at my workplace who decided it would be brilliant to take their Bid Day Bash off campus to a rural area two counties away. They d@mn near killed a freshman from alcohol poisoning in the process.

Last, my son was diagnosed with eczema. We suspected he had it; a rash that never disappeared confirmed it yesterday.

However, I love our pediatrician.

As she's looking at the poor boy's itchy armpits, she asks about flu mist. I dither, like I always do, then remember, my mom's going to be immunocompromised for months, duh. Yes, I say, we need the mist. My mom starts chemo next month.

Our ped immediate stops what she is doing, and asks, "How's she doing?" Oh, she's fine, I say. She follows up, looking right in my eyes, "How are *you* doing?"

That's the sign of a good doctor. My well-being immediately reflects on the kids, because my stress trickles down to them.

After saying that while the diagnosis was a shock, I'm okay now, she says that if we need anything, she'll make sure it happens. She's going to make sure we get in for the second shot of flu mist ASAP. She'll have a chat with the eldest at her checkup in a few months, just to reassure her that because Grandma has cancer does NOT mean she'll get it. Our worrywart needs to hear this from someone other than me.

I love our ped. She's one of the best docs we've ever had. So, Dr. K, if you stumble on this, I just want you to know that we appreciate everything you do for us.

Cancer strikes us again.

Wondering where I've been? Well, grad school, thesis writing, freelancing and soccer season have kept me busy.

Three weeks ago, I added something heavier to the mix of stuff to do.

My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 58.

She's always been fairly obsessive about getting her mammograms. She had a good friend die after a long fight against breast cancer in the '80s. So when something didn't look right, she went to get checked three weeks ago.

One mammogram, one ultrasound, one biopsy later, she was diagnosed with early stage one cancer on her left side.

The good news: It is stage one. It wasn't in her lymph nodes when she had a mastectomy last week. It's a highly treatable form that was caught early; there's a 95% survival rate.

The bad news: She's going to have chemo. We're waiting on the path report and the oncologists' plan for what mix will work best and how long she'll have to take it.

So, to my girlfriends and other Mommy-Tracked mom readers out there: Go get your baselines done. Now. Today. Before the new year. And be vigilant. My mom's type does not present as a lump. Usually there is no sign. Unless you get it checked out, you could be a lot further along the stages than you'd like.

Add a pink ribbon to your social networking sites for us, and prayers, love and support are welcome. But we aren't going to let this get us down. It's not all bad news; a lot of it is quite good. It will not be much fun for the next few months, but it will be over with and dealt with soon enough.

Been busy, sorry.

Things have come up.

I'll post more later if I can.

Amen, sister!

"Because we want our children — and all children in this nation — to know that the only limit to the height of your achievements is the reach of your dreams and your willingness to work for them."


~Michelle Obama, Democratic National Convention, Monday, Aug. 25, 2008

Sniff. Sniff. Not ready. At all.

We just dropped our baby off at preschool this morning. She took her Dora "packpack" and her Tinkerbell lunchbox in hand, tugged my husband across the parking lot, and happily marched off to Mrs. McE's room.

Just like her brother, she practically shoved us out the door. High fives, hugs, kisses, then see ya.

Four years ago to the day, I was bemoaning the aches and pains of pregnancy; I was wishing she'd pop out and spare me misery. How on earth did she grow so fast? It's been a blur.

Her brother ran into his first grade room, hugged his teacher, and then went to hang up his backpack. I might as well not have showed up. I was a pack horse to carry school supplies, that's it.

Our eldest, all long and lanky and beautiful, raced up the steps to the level where the junior high is. She's a 7th grader. So not ready for this. It seems like just yesterday I was fighting with school administrators to have her skip a year. I wouldn't wish that back, because she's smart and witty and needs to be challenged academically. But she's so mature. So old.


They are still my babies, but they are so not my babies any more.

Nine down, three to go

Straight As.

I rock!

(Oh, and said paper that needed to be revised for a conference submission? Still haven't done it. Will do it tomorrow. Freelance work got in the way.)

I have three courses to go over the next two semesters. Two seated, one dissertation (I get three hours for writing it.) I'm really trying to crank up the energy to get through this, but I'm wiped. Summer session took a lot more out of me than I expected. Somehow, in the next 10 days, I have to get mentally back in the game.

I *heart* Google Scholar

I'm in the process of revising a paper to submit to the Midwest Communication Conference. I needed to find some very specific, on-point research. Research on a trend that is fairly new and hasn't been studied much yet, because it is so new.

I looked through the university database system and found a little, but not enough.

On a whim, I put the search terms in Google Scholar.

Ding. Everything I needed and more. Newly published research that hadn't hit the databases yet. I could search on terms within texts, have it highlighted right on the page, skim, determine if it would work or not, and then move on.

What would have taken me days in the old (or weeks in the old, old microfiche, Dewey Decimal System) way took me a matter of hours. Now I can block out time to revise the paper this weekend and be done with it.

Excellent.

What the hey?

When I was a reporter, we all dreaded heat waves. It was like everyone went insane when the temps topped 95. Woe to the poor schmucks working GA shifts during a heat wave. You might as well live at the cop shop, because the crime rate would spike with freaky stuff.

My cousin who used to be an ER nurse reported the same thing.

It is miserable hot right now where we live. In the past few days, it's been 90+ with humidity to steam you as you walk outside.

As a result, it seems like there's more crime stories than normal; all seem odd:

Tied-up victim

Tiger attack

Shooting

And then, to prove that even politics goes nuts:

Blunt and ice cream

"Say, Mom and Dad

Did you notice that it is a lot quieter without C1 around? Without her here telling us everything about everything?"

So sayeth our son this evening. Soda really hurts when you snort it through your nose, btw.

His older sister (C1) is away at camp. C2, our son, is right, it is quieter. Pleasantly so, because he and she fight like cats and dogs over every fact known to mankind.

For the next four days, the boy is top dog (or cat). He's loving every second of it.

I'm enjoying the silence in the car and at the dinner table. It's nice not playing factual or logical fallacy referee.

Homework panic!

Amazingly, me. Not the kids.

It was midsummer break in my grad program. We had the week of the Fourth off. I looked at my online course assignments, then blissfully went to Hot Springs and crashed at the in-laws' place.

We came back. I dove into work. I finished one project.

The other, I would have sworn, was due on Saturday at midnight. But Friday night, after doing laundry and dinner and chasing kids off to bed, something niggled in my brain. I booted up the computer. Looked at one class. Nope, I was good in that one. Looked at the other class.

Dang. Due at midnight Friday. As in, 2 hours and 40 minutes away.

I somehow managed to pull together a short story in record time, and post it with about 20 minutes to spare.

I hereby promise to cut my kids one night of slack when they forget a homework assignment this fall. Humbled, thy name is Mommy-Tracked.

Glug.

Homework has got me down. Thank goodness I'll only have three classes left after this, and none will be online. I'm tired of writing.

Very tired for this former Red Fed

I'm back from Girls State.

I only did four newspapers in two days. Whew.

I pulled off a newspaper with several 17- and 18-year-olds from across Missouri as we covered the creation of democracy, building it from the wards on up to the state level, with the final announcement of our Senators who will go to Girls Nation next month.

No clue how some of those women (some much older than I am) manage to pull off that schedule for seven days. I'm wiped.

It was inspirational. It was fun. It was exhausting.

I might even go back next year and do it again.

Bugs.

We've been invaded by ants for weeks because of all the rain. So we've got ant traps everywhere. We'd spray, but it isn't dry enough long enough to be able to spray.

A new menace cropped up this week. Lice. Blech. One of the kids was infested at the Y camp. We caught it early (bless you Terri, my hairstylist who spotted them).

So, insecticide and combing. And laundry. And more laundry.

I hate bugs.

Tired. So. Very. Tired.

I don't even understand why.

We did our annual staff retreat yesterday, and while it was sitting in a conference room, it was a conference room that looked out on a lake. I watched Great Blue Herons fish while I was half-listening. We went for a walk during a break.

It's not like I had a hard day. Yes, I worked out for a bit after work. I took the kids to swim lessons and read grad school stuff while I was there. None of it was what might be termed "exhausting."

I guess once I arrived home and finished making dinner, then did a few loads of laundry, flipped and vacuumed our mattress, okay, yes, that was physical labor. Again, not really out of the norm.

Yet when I woke up this morning, I was wiped out. So were all of my co-workers. We can't figure it out. It wasn't really hard, what any of us did yesterday. Yet we are all walking zombies today.

I have to slog through one more interview and one more meeting, then grocery shop, get the kids, go home, make dinner, get through piano lessons, finish laundry and maybe finish a proofing project. That's all more exhausting that yesterday was, as a whole.

Just strange.

Surfacing, then sinking

Sorry, we went on a longish vacation after grades came in, and hubby and I made it a point not to do ANYTHING. No computer. No news. Just slugging around, swimming, golfing, running (okay, well, me running), and relaxing.

It was wonderful.

Sadly, I'm back at work. Classes start tomorrow. We're carpooling, so that means that I'm stuck downtown longer than usual. On the upside, this forces me to actually make time to work out at the Y. On the downside, no one in this family eats dinner until after 7.

The next few weeks are busy. Beyond work and coursework, I have a freelance story to finish, a consulting gig to do, and I'm helping out at Missouri Girls State. I'm an alum, Crowder City 1993. I finally live close enough -- and have kids old enough to leave behind for a few days -- to help out.

So I'll post. Just not as frequently as usual (not that it was that frequent).

Enjoy the summer, folks!

4.0, baby!

Grades are in.

Seven classes down.

4.0 average.

Five to go.

My brain is mush. It really needs to get back into shape by next Friday night, when my short-term course starts.

Thankfully, we'll be on a short vacation at the in-law's place soon. I need the easy access to running trails, coffee, and wine.

If all goes well, by this time next year, y'all will have to call me Master Mommy-Tracked. ;)

Wow. Just . . um, wow.

Let me preface this by saying that if I find out that any of my children do this in college, I'll throttle them for the profs.

I'm sitting here, on my lunch hour, frantically working on finishing my final project for marketing grad class presentation tonight.

Phone rings.

Undergraduate--who is not my student, btw: Um, hi.

Me: Hello, UC, can I help you?

Undergrad: Um, I heard that you have the capability to TiVo stuff.

---Aside: We do. We have three of 'em hooked up to record stuff for our news archive.---

Me: Well, what exactly are you looking for?

Undergrad: Well, um, like I'm working on my final project for a paper, and I need clips of the governor's races commercials. They are supposed to air for the first time, tonight. Can you clip those for me?

Me: Well, we do have TiVo, but we have it set up to clip items that we need for work. We don't have anyone on staff who can set this up for you right now. Currently, all of our student staff is gone. (This is true. The last techie left yesterday. We're slammed with work for commencement/board meeting. I'm not helping this guy out.)

Undergrad: Well, but I have no way to save those commercials to my computer.

Me: Sorry. I can't help you; there's no one here who can do the clips right now.

And I hung up.

This annoys me on three levels--

1) Who has the nerve to call an office out of the blue, on a long shot, and ask for a major favor like this? I don't know this guy from Adam. I might do it for a student I know and trust, but even then, I'm not trusting our glitchy TiVo setup to just anyone.

2) This guy acted like I would help him, if he just explained why he was in a hole. Not. My. Problem.

3) This guy should have, I don't know, PLANNED OUT a way to get the clips if they are so important to his paper.


I get that we are to be supportive and all, but I didn't bail my kindergartener out last night when he had to redo homework. I'm surely not saving some undergrad's skin when I'm frantically trying to do my work + my homework.

Miss Independent

My little one has become the most stubborn, willful, independent child in the past month.

She started pushing me away a month ago, when she told me, "I dwess myself" in the mornings. Then the morning snuggles stopped a few days later in favor of playing with her siblings. Then, she decided cuddling while watching TV was passe.

I love that she's becoming her own person, but darn it, I wasn't ready for this yet. I thought I had at least another year. Her brother was still having me dress him when he started kindergarten and I had to force him to dress himself.

I managed to persuade her to cuddle with me this morning for a few minutes, under the ruse of "help me wake Daddy." Those minutes were precious, because it showed to me how much she is growing up. She no longer easily fits curled into my body. She's half my height now (okay, that's not much, but still). She's a bouncy little kid, usually pretty cheerful, and well, she just doesn't want to need me much right now.

After months (years, really) of being clung to and needed, all three of my kids are pulling away at various degrees. My eldest was flirting with an old friend at a band concert last night (that's scary). My middle guy is proving that he's a perfectly capable person when it comes to doing things around the house (if he choses). My little one is practically shoving me out the door of her room most days (because, really, Miss Independent Fashionista doesn't need help).

It's bittersweet, I tell ya.

For Mother's Day, I want the following things: Art made by my munchkins, that I promise to frame and thirty-minutes of cuddle time with each of them -- with their undivided attention -- so I can enjoy those precious moments before they slip away completely from me.

Prayers for friends

who lost their firstborn last week. He was due to be born in July.

Instead they will be having a funeral on Wednesday.

Sometimes, without knowing the rhyme or reason, life just sucks. How is it possible that teen starlets (I'm looking at you, Ms. Spears x 2) can have kids, and good people who would be great parents don't get the chance?

Political commentary: Baseball and Politics

Done by a friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous.

Attack of the new screen door

It was a blissfully beautiful Saturday morning. I was making great progress getting ready for the son's birthday party with eight of his friends, ages 5-7. Dinosaur cake was good to go. Ice cream purchased.

I stepped out onto the porch to tell the eldest something. She was cleaning up the yard in preparation for the burial of plastic dinos in our sandbox. I turned back inside.

And learned that the newly installed screen door moves a lot faster than the old screen door.

Four hours at urgent care, 12 stitches, and much gratitude to my husband, my daughter and her friend, who herded the little boys for the first hour of the party, I managed to limp back and enjoy the rest of the day.

The party was a success. Our son proclaimed it "The best birthday ever!!!"

I'm still limping. And I'm hoping that door doesn't go all Stephen King-Christine on us. Let's just say I'm a lot more cautious around it now than I was Saturday at 10 a.m.

Too many hats

Right now, I think I'm going slightly nuts with the number of hats I'm wearing. Yesterday:

Mom hat in morning
Work hat after 8:30
Student hat at 1:30
Back to work hat at 2
Mom hat at 3:15
Freelancer hat at 4
Mom hat at 5
Student hat at 6
Mom hat at 7
Student hat at 8
Wife hat at 10
Sherrie hat at 11
Sleep.

Career guilt

It's time for some professional development, some professional bonding, and maybe a bit of networking to get outta SWMO.

In 24 hours, I'll be hanging with a bunch of people who are even more grammarian geeky than I am.

The American Copy Editors Society conference starts Thursday. I'm just glad to be with people who understand the entire concept of apostrophes, capitalization, and can debate the use of the serial (or Harvard) comma.

I have mixed feelings about going. It's the mom conundrum: I want to do something for me, for my career, and by extension, will better my family. But I don't want to miss my kids for three days, miss a soccer game, miss the possibility of my eldest winning a regional science fair award (she finds out on Thursday). I hate to leave hubby in a lurch, trying to get all three kids hither and yon on his own. I did ask my bro to help out (thanks, bro!), but I feel guilty that I did that.

I swear, does the guilt end? Ever? I'm trying to not feel guilty about this, because I know I shouldn't, and because my boss is (quite frankly) making me go to this. But I still feel guilty leaving my family because I won't be there to help make things go smoothly.

Heck, I know they'll survive. They can cook. Two of the four people normally in the house know how to operate the stove and can do laundry. But I know how much harder it is with just one parent there, and I hate leaving hubby to juggle it all on his own, even for a few days.

I hate knowing I won't be there to fix the hurts, the slights, and help with homework. I won't be there to cheer on the eldest at either the game or the science thing.

Head . . . throbbing . . . again

I hate my sinuses.

That is all.

Slingbacks, candy and other things

Kids can be like living with a Vulcan. You can have a reasonable explanation for something, but if it isn't linear logic, you'll lose the battle.

Point No. 1:

We're rushing to get to church on Friday night. I shout that the kids should have shoes and socks on and get in the car. My three-year-old looks at me, wearing her white patent dress shoes and no socks, points at my feet, currently shod in black slingbacks (sans socks or hose, of course), and says: "You not wearing socks."

We were late. I wasn't even going to try to explain fashion to a three-year-old. I let her go sans socks.

Point No. 2:

It doesn't matter how many times you tell the eldest that she should leave the easy candy (as in, the candy on the ground) for her younger siblings. If she sees it Easter morning, it is hers.

Point No. 3:

It doesn't matter that you are putting the finishing touches on Easter dinner. If the three-year-old wants to lug her basket around the house and gorge, there's not much you can do that won't result in a screaming tantrum over sugar.

Point No. 4:

It doesn't matter how many bribes, begging lectures, cheers, and discussions you can have about poop with a three-year-old. It will be the weirdest thing that you never thought of that will finally get through her head and result in her being fully potty trained.

In our case, it was the fact that another kid at daycare got an ink stamp for pooping on the potty. Kid 3 wanted one, too. The teacher didn't cave, but told her to go poop, and she'd get one. Boom. That's it. She walks in the bathroom, does her thing, and then continues to do it for the rest of the weekend.

Never in a million years would I have thought an ink stamp on her hand would be the thing that convinced her to do her duty.

Sheesh.

Oh, and the cosmic kick me sign needs to come off.

Not only did my basement flood, but I got a call from my administrative assistant at 5 yesterday.

At first she asked how my day was (knowing I was battling with Lake Mommy-Tracked in the basement). Then she informed that it was a good thing I wasn't at work yesterday, because two ceiling tiles came crashing down on my desk. There is a leak in a window on the second story, and apparently the low spot in the subfloor is over my desk. Lucky me.

that was sarcasm

I can now see into my building's heating system and despite the best efforts of our janitor, I'm still finding gympsum bits all over my desk and paperwork.

Really, I'm starting to think God is trying to tell me something.

Welcome to Lake Mommy-Tracked

dock your boat right over there, please.

Oy. Rain is good, but not in the amounts we've been getting.

If you've seen the news, you know that torrential rain hit the Ozarks yesterday.

We at Mommy-Tracked were a bit busy trying to keep our basement from becoming a lake. Yes, we live on a hill, but the water table is now so high that the torrential rains not only filled our crawlspace, but also sent water cascading through our basement at a rate of more than 2.5/gal a minute at times. (Yes, I timed it. My Shop-Vac holds 2.5 gallons, and I was swapping it out every minute there for a while.)

Lake Mommy-Tracked is now at a manageable level--as in a huge puddle under the pool table. I've never been more thankful for the icky linoleum that is in that basement than I was yesterday. It is fairly indestructible.

We managed to save pretty much everything. Our only losses were a few baseball posters, the dog's bed, and all of my Missourian clips. Sadly, I'll no longer be able to read over the details of Ray Beck and Woody Cozad through my own news stories. All in all, not a horrid loss, especially considering some of the damage folks are facing today.

That said, if you have an ark, we might need it. More rain is predicted for the weekend.

We're back

I'm just swamped. Work, school, family life. It is chaos. Soccer started. NCAA Div. II rounds of b-ball hosted here. Paper due. Too.Much.To.Do.

And yet, the best thing ever was coming home. Our kids wouldn't let us out of their sights. My husband was hugged by our son. Twice. He never does that.

I think they missed us. And that's nice. They drive us nuts, but apparently we are better than grandma and grandpa, and they love us to pieces, even if they don't show it all the time.

We're off!

Headed to the Big Apple and areas thereof for the divine Ms. G's wedding.

See y'all next week.

Pray that the kids don't drive the grandparents loopy.

Overheard

I give you a one-act play: Misinterpretation by a Three-Year-Old


Context: Our youngest still is resisting the potty for No. 2. We had some success, but we've backtracked. To the point that we are now stirring Miralax in her juice to prevent her from holding it for a week or more. We can tell she's holding it because she stuffs her hands down the back of her pants and holds her cheeks together. And walks around like that. It would be funnier if it weren't so frustrating.

Setting: Hubby and I are upstairs working and watching TV. Kids are downstairs eating snack.

Middle child, age 5: Hey, do you have to go to the bathroom?

Younger child, age 3 (presumably with hands down back of pants): No. I fine.

Middle child: Are you sure? You look like you need to poop.

Younger child: NO! I NOT NEED POOP!

(cue parents upstairs valiantly trying not to laugh)

Middle child: It looks like you need to poop. You shouldn't hold it in like that.

Younger child: I fine. I not holding it. See, my hands are cwean!!!

(cue parents, losing battle not to laugh upstairs, and realizing they need to be a lot more specific in their wording with the youngest.)

Yup. It's been fun. Who said being a parent wasn't great? Riiiiiight.

I'm betting no one else in my grad class had to disinfect a tub that had been pooped in last night before proofing a research paper.

She'll figure this out, right? Right?

Into the ether

that seems to be where some of my posts went. I can see them, but you guys can't.

Let me know if you can read anything after Eulogy, 'kay?

I HATE winter

We have ice. Again. There's a tree down in our back yard, a tree looming over our house, and branches everywhere.

We just bloody did this, and now we have to clean up the mess again.

Groan.

What happened in Kirkwood last night

could happen anywhere.

The tragedy isn't as unlikely as you might think, as any city council reporter could tell you.

In my younger reporting days, I'd seen more than a few city council gadflies who seemed around the bend. They'd get up, rant for quite a while, until someone from the council, usually the mayor or city attorney, managed to cut them off. Some cities imposed time limits during public comment just to make sure they had a legal way to shut the mikes off.

Honestly, I'm not surprised this happened. I was stalked by a gadfly who was convinced I was the answer to all of his troubles, if only I'd listen to him and his issues. And not that he didn't have issues or a justifiable complaint, but it wasn't truly news. Or verifyable.

Quite frankly, the fact that he was convinced the power lines in town were a form of mind control impugned his credibility. In that case, the very police I was investigating escorted my pregnant self from City Hall to my car twice a month after meetings. It was only about 50 steps, but this guy would stalk my every step, then try to follow me home. I had cops sitting near me in meetings to protect me. I didn't ask for it, but they didn't trust him, and they worried about me, even though I was doing investigative reporting on their department, which was in the midst of a horrible scandal.

I'm not sure what the answer is, but know this: Every elected official takes a risk by putting themselves out there on the dais to make decisions. Some people take those decisions much, much, much too seriously. When that happens, the potential for a mass shooting in a council chamber is there.

Oh, how I hate the carpool line

I rarely pick the kids up in the carpool line. We pay for aftercare; I work until 5.

But today, we had an appointment, so I had to pick the eldest up in the line.

I get that some parents get there 30 minutes early to be first in line. I tried to do that today, but alas, I was only 15 minutes early, and thus 10th in line. No biggie.

But man alive, I HATE the parents and grandparents who think they are more important or more rushed than the rest of us. The line is supposed to circle around the perimeter of the playground, out the gate, then north on the street.

We had parents pulling in and parking in the middle of the semicircle. We had them parking three deep in the middle of the semicircle, which makes it dangerous to even pull up in the semicircle when they are trying to unwedge their cars and get out before the rest of us.

I saw one woman squeeze her huge Dodge Durango in a spot wayyyy too small for her car. Still not sure how she didn't manage to clip either car in front or behind her. Then she nearly clipped the person who was first in the line and trying to pull out as Ms. Dodge was backing up to rush out of the lot.

Seriously, the whole line moves through in 15 minutes, tops. Usually when I do carpool line, I come 15 minutes after school is out, because the line is gone and I can wing in and wing out. Alas, today, our appointment was at 3:30, and we'd not be able to pull it off if I'd not gotten there right as school let out.

What are you teaching your kids, presumably at a Catholic school to learn values and ethics, when you place yourself, your time, and your safety (not to mention the safety of other people's children) ahead of others at all costs?

Legacy

Walking into the Catholic church where I've spent many a major family event, where I spent Sundays as a kid with my grandparents in the front pew on the right-hand side, in the church where just eight months ago one of my cousins was married, I followed my grandmother's casket.

Standing there in the pew, looking around at my family, I was thinking about the legacy she and my grandfather left behind.

Six children.
Sixteen grandchildren.
Eleven great-grandchildren.

All good people. We have our problems, like any family. We have our difficulties with each other. But we are all strong, confident, trustworthy people. Every one of us you can rely on in a pinch.

I looked at my sister and our other female cousins and saw a group of strong, confident women. Each one of us has a different profession, from homemaker to engineer to nurse to teacher and everything in between. But we are all, each one of us, confident at what we do and who we are.

I looked at my brother and our male cousins and saw a bunch of guys who I would trust with my life. Each one of them, in his own way, is the type of guy you'd want your sister to marry. (There are still a few single ones, folks. :)

But the best legacy my grandparents left was laughter.

We are a family who teases constantly. In any situation. That can take outsiders a bit to get used to. I'm pretty sure that most receiving lines at funerals do not have people telling the bereaved: "I'm so sorry. Truly. Very sorry you have to stand next to him." (Insert person pointing at one of my mom's brothers, the one who is the family cut-up; his friends are very like him.)

Sitting in the funeral home's family room, trying to help my youngest cousin write a eulogy, all 16 of us were laughing like loons at our memories of our grandparents.

The cookies hidden in the Tupperware container in the dryer.

The fact that my grandmother would mix both chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies together, so well disguised that you couldn't tell the difference. You had to take the first one you picked. I was unnaturally good at picking the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies -- they are slightly flatter than the raisin ones.

My grandmother chasing the dogs away from Easter eggs so the younger grandkids could actually find a few.

My grandparents loved to laugh. And they passed that ability along to all of us. Somehow, I think that's among one of the better legacies they could have left to us.

So, in honor of Tillie and Bill, do me a favor: Laugh with someone you love today.

Eulogy

Last night, I lost the woman who most made me who I am today.

My grandmother's been slipping away from us for a while. She lost herself to dementia last summer, and it has been hit or miss whether we would see her lucid or see her in some decade long past when we'd visit.

We had a complicated relationship. She had very traditional views on what a girl or a woman should be. I fought against those at nearly every turn. While she and my mom were in the kitchen, cooking supper, I'd try to sneak out and go hang in the living room and talk politics with my grandpa.

She attempted to instill the "womanly" arts on my fellow female cousins and me. We were given embroidery kits for Christmas, and we were expected to learn how to do it. We were taught to quilt. We were taught to cook and how to maintain a garden during our week-long visits with her each summer.

Looking back, I loved the gardening and the cooking, heck, even the cleaning, but that embroidery still makes my fingers hurt. She'd make me pick out numerous stitches and insist I do it right.

She was very focused on what was right and proper. There was a *right* way to do things. That's part of why I think I'm so obsessive compulsive about things (especially cleaning) today. She taught me the *right* way; to me, that's the only way.

And yet . . .

I fought back against her ideas of how to be a woman at every turn. I didn't want to be relegated to the kitchen. I didn't want to sew. Heaven knows I hated every embroidery stitch.

It took me years to learn that in her world, the gossip with her friends over coffee that I so disdained was her way of consolidating power and keeping control of her world. My grandmother was a bit Machiavellian, honestly.

I love her, and yet . . . I rejected her at every turn, because what she wanted me to be I just couldn't be. I had to get away. I was stifled by living in a place where everyone not only knew everyone else but also knew every family scandal going back five generations, back to freaking Prussia, and carrying those grudges and stereotypes and misperceptions through the generations. I turned my back on that, and opened up to other people from other places, other backgrounds.

When I married someone who wasn't Catholic, you would have thought I'd completely rocked their worlds. Maybe, in a way, I had.

I was the first to go away to college.

I was the first to marry (and no, none of us saw that coming). The fact that I married a Methodist took them some getting used to.

I was the first to keep working outside the home once my kids were born.

She made me that way. As much as she tried to force me into her mold, I'd fight back so hard to do the exact opposite.

Neither of us were right. There are different ways for different people. That's a lesson I've learned, and she was the one who, inadvertently perhaps, taught it.

For a minute, I was in Chi

It was an illusion, but a nice one.

A stiff, warm gale was blowing -- the kind that will knock you over when you turn a building's corner -- as I walked along a main thoroughfare downtown. Two city buses rushed by me, and I watched a window washer ply his trade on the second story while he dripped on first-floor retail/restaurant customers passing on the sidewalk below.

Just for a minute, I felt like I was back in Chicago. The wind. The buses. The window washer. The retail/mixed use configuration of the buildings. It all took me right back. I just felt at peace.

I love big cities. I love being anonymous and melting into the crowd on city streets as I walk by first-floor retail and gaze in windows as I rush home.

I had that feeling again . . .and then, when I crossed the street, and the buses were gone and the window washer behind me, it was gone.

I really need to move. This place, as one of my grad school professors aptly put it, is the biggest small town you'll ever live in. I can't go anywhere and not see someone I know. Some people like it, but I find it stifling.

I need more Chi moments around here.

Super Tuesday, here I come!

This was fun. Confirmed what I already suspected, but fun all the same:

88% Barack Obama
86% Mike Gravel
85% Chris Dodd
85% Dennis Kucinich
85% John Edwards
84% Hillary Clinton
83% Joe Biden
74% Bill Richardson
41% Rudy Giuliani
32% John McCain
23% Ron Paul
23% Mitt Romney
22% Mike Huckabee
21% Tom Tancredo
11% Fred Thompson

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Oh, happy day

The youngest decided to do No. 2 on the potty last night.

We praised her and gave her tons of Skittles.

If she does it again, we're going to Mr. Bulky for a mass jellybean purchase.

The days of not needing diapers and PullUps are at hand, folks. When that happens, I'm throwing a party.

So. Very. Serious. about the party.

I *so* rock

I just found out that I won an award for my Bob B. press packet.

Oh, and my designer and I won something for the Cindy S. stuff, too.

Oh, and our team won a sweepstakes award (most points).

I really, really, really needed that news today. My ego is back where it should be (not too big, but not three sizes too small, either).

Look, redesigned Mommy-Tracked!

I finally took a few hours to update the site. It's a bit more like my real-life personality now.

I've been tired of the green bubbles for a while. I started playing around this summer while I was in grad school, but I never had the time to do what I wanted.

With a little assistance from Mr. Mommy-Tracked in deciphering Blogger's style sheets, I now have it set up the way I want it. Almost. I still can't get the news feed to work.

But I have a few new features besides the new color scheme and layout.

Note on the right that you can now go to my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles. Connect with me!

I've also officially put on the legalese to copyright my work. Note the button at the bottom from Creative Commons. That's the fine print, folks. You can link to me, but if you want to use my stuff in publishing, you have to credit me when you quote my stuff in fair use, or contact me for details on how to publish my work.

Want to use me in an anthology or journal article? Awesome.

Pay me.

I'm a writer. I live by my words. So sorry, you can read for free, but if you want to publish me in print, you have to talk to Mommy-Tracked. Or Mommy-Tracked's cousin--the lawyer--if I catch you busting my copyright.

We're fine

Our worst damage is a large tree branch down in the yard. But we had two that came really close (as in, within a mile).

There's a Home Depot/Expo kind of place across the expressway from our university, and its roof was obliterated. I had to pick my way around sheet metal and lining to get the kids to school.

It was a long night. To quote child three: "Tomadoes freak me out."

No kidding. And I like stuff like that. But that was too close for me.

I like warm January weather

because it means I can Rollerblade in short sleeves.

I dislike warm January weather because it means we have a chance for tornadoes tonight as the cold front blasts through.

Relentless

There is nothing more determined than my youngest at 8:30 a.m. when she's convinced that her mom should get up, vacation or no vacation.

Head . . . throbbing

No, not from the kids playing the Wii that Santa brought.

No, not from incessant Christmas music.

No, not from the huge 40-minute line I stood in yesterday to buy cheap Bath & Body Works stuff.

I have yet another *)(&^*&^ sinus infection.

These things hit me like a freight train. I got one at Thanksgiving, and now another one is in full swing. I'm off to go take a nap with my Vaporizer running full tilt and load up on Sudafed. Even my teeth hurt.

This is one Christmas gift I could have done without.

Hopefully I'll rise from the throbbing in time to raise a glass of bubbly on New Year's Eve.

Dear Santa

In shamelessly stealing from Ms.G and C2, I'm doing this blog post in honor of a fine Maneater tradition. Although I was only a groupie, and not a staff member, I fondly recall the wacky notes that they'd use to fill out the ad columns around Christmas.

In that spirit --

Dear Santa:

I know I've been incredibly whiny this year, but I've tried to be patient and good whenever possible. Give me bonus points for not actually ripping several peoples' heads off during long meetings this year, even when they deserved it.

My list, to wit:

* A lovely new silver MacBookPro to call my own, complete with decent audio editing software (Garage Band is good, not great).

* A new freelance website. My husband says he'll build one, but he never has time.

* Clients. Lots of them. Well-paying clients.

* The Registrar's Office to not mess with my classes so that I can earn my graduate degree in Dec. 08.

* Patience. I know I ask for this every year, but I need more. A lot more.

* V.Sattui reds. Cases of them. Greg Norman Cab Sav will do as well. Preferably 2002.

* A new school board that understands the wonder and great possibilities within my kids' school. They are on the warpath again to shut it down, and I'm tired of this battle. It would be a tragedy for it to be shut down, and I need you to help them see that.

* More time for my husband.

* Better jobs for both of us. Ones that don't drive us crazy, require us to care about school closings other than the ones our kids attend, and ones that pay well.

* My husband could really use some free time. And help him to find a hobby. He needs to remember how to play.

* A Wii. And hopefully, said Wii will help us get off the couch and move more.

* Unlimited clothing and shoe money. Ann Taylor Loft and Target could really, really, really use an economic boost, don'tcha think?

* A handyman. We really need to finish a zillion projects around the house, and neither of us have time or skills to do it. At the very least, could I get someone to paint the ceilings and the living room in my house?

* Healthy kids. Thank you for that gift this year. I'd like it again next year.

Where I Stand

If John Cardinal Henry Newman doesn't sum up my ideas on truth, faith, and belief within a university setting, I don't know what does:

“a place to which a thousand schools make contributions; in which the intellect may safely range and speculate, sure to find its equal in some antagonist activity, and its judge in the tribunal of truth.”

Where I work right now would have some disagreements with Cardinal Newman. So would some of the hierarchy within my church.

I'd noticed a few years ago that place my husband and I were married no longer referred to itself as The Newman Center. Not that the saint they now tout (St. Thomas More) is a slouch. But somehow I missed that Cardinal Newman is not only uncool, but a threat.

In National Catholic Reporter this week, there's a good analysis of how critical thinking and questioning seem to be discouraged in Catholicism lately. That is a loss. Rigidity lead us to the Reformation and the Inquisition. Do we really want to go back to that?

Day in the life: Weekend

7:30 a.m.: Hear youngest screaming "MOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!" Try to ignore.
7:31 a.m.: Give up. Get youngest. Bribe her with "snuggle" in bed in attempt to sleep in.
7:32 a.m.-7:47 a.m.: Have youngest thwap me with stupid bunny blankets. Stick fingers in my eye. Whap me on the chest for fun.
8 a.m. Ask second child to take sister with him and feed her breakfast. Shove husband out of bed, under pretense of concern that he needs to go to the gym.
8:15 a.m.: Youngest comes in to torture me further. Chase out.
8:30 a.m.: See above.
9 a.m.: Shout at younger two kids, who come into room to torment me while I attempt to sleep.
10 a.m.: Wake up. Consider getting up.
10:15 a.m.: Get up. Clean bathroom before taking shower.
10:39 a.m.: Take shower. Enjoy hot water, which I rarely get because our hot water heater does not work well in winter.
11 a.m.: Make coffee. Consider options for lunch. Alert husband that I am awake.
11:15 a.m.: Make peanut butter fudge.
11:30 a.m.: Start lunch.
11:50 a.m.: Call kids down for lunch.
11:53 a.m.: Yell at kids for complaining about all the food on table.
Noon: Clean up lunch. Start cleaning toilets. Discover eldest didn't really scrub one sink well, bring her back to redo.
12:30 p.m.: Throw tablecloth and rugs in the wash.
12:50 p.m.: Toss wash in dryer. Beg husband to take youngest and tuck her in nap, as youngest is whiny and annoying.
1:20 p.m.: Husband finishes work on computer, tucks youngest in nap.
1:24 p.m.: Inform elder children to find somewhere else to play, as Mom must work on research paper.
1:45 p.m.: Get really annoyed that APA style takes for-freaking-ever to do references page.
2 p.m.: Stall for bit on Fark.com.
3:36 p.m.: Decide hands are freezing, reference page almost done, go make hot chocolate.
3:47 p.m.: Praise elder two on the tent/fort they made upstairs in guest room. Ask them to come down for hot chocolate and peppermint Jo Jos from Trader Joes.
3:51 p.m.: Lick fingers from Jo Jo, take hot chocolate upstairs to re-read research paper and revise.
4:30 p.m.: Finish research paper (thank God!) and decide to start dinner.
5 p.m.: Get little one up from nap.
5:12 p.m.: Ask husband to come upstairs and pry youngest off my leg, so I can work on dinner.
5:13 p.m.: Remember stuff in dryer. Get tablecloth out and put on table.
5:14 p.m.-5:45 p.m.: Make dinners (one for tonight, one that can simmer on wood stove, should we lose power in ice storm tomorrow).
5:50 p.m.: 6:15 p.m.: Eat dinner.
6:16 p.m.: Send husband off to bathe younger kids. Tell eldest to take long shower and get a break. Clean dinner dishes.
6:20 p.m.: Discover son wet bed. Son did not tell anyone he wet bed. Strip sheets. Shove new sheets at husband and march off to laundry room to wash &*)(^%*&%^ sheets.
6:30 p.m.: Decide to make bar cookies, because I like them and they won't take long to make.
6:47 p.m.: Toss sheets in dryer.
6:55 p.m.: Slide bar cookies in oven, head off to take long hot bath while husband has kids occupied with SpongeBob.
7:30 p.m.: Shout vaguely at husband as he announces he is leaving for poker game.
7:31 p.m.: Get out of bath, dress, go fetch cookies out of oven.
7:45 p.m.: Feed kids snack, chase to bed.
8 p.m.: Help brush teeth. Tuck in bed.
8:15 p.m.: Tuck youngest in again.
8:30 p.m.: Start freelance project.
8:40 p.m.: Figure out freelance site won't let me in.
8:45 p.m.: Grumpily discover youngest is banging on her door. Ask eldest to go to bed 15 minutes early, tuck youngest in again.
9ish: Send note to freelance client that system not working.
9:17 p.m.: Tuck youngest in AGAIN!
9:20 p.m.: Decide to read Fark.com
9:24 p.m.: Blog pathetic day.

And that's it. I'm going to bed. I might read Real Simple. I can't bear to watch TV. It's weather porn right now, as every station spazzes about the ice storm that may or may not hit. If it does hit, you probably won't hear from me for days.

Stupid Sooner Saturday

It was a busy Saturday for us:

Breakfast with Santa in the morning. The eldest was rolling her eyes, because she's clued into the Jolly Old Elf. The youngest was terrified, to the point that she shrieked, and NOT with glee when Santa made his appearance. We hid out by a coworker who came in late and was seated far, far, far away from Santa.

We put up Christmas decorations during the day.

At night, we started the M-I-Z chant, but the flipping Sooners started off strong in the second half, and our defense AND offense didn't show. Bummer, baby.

Being ranked No. 1 was good while it lasted.

M-I-Z

No. 1.

I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime. Seriously.

I'm on cloud 9. Forget turkey. The best part of Thanksgiving happened Saturday night.

And to celebrate (with apologies to KU fans Allison and Kathy, and NU fan Brad):

Four football fans go rock climbing one afternoon, a Nebraska fan, an Oklahoma fan, a Kansas fan, and a Mizzou fan. They had been arguing all the way up the mountain about who among them was the most die-hard fan.

Upon reaching the top of the mountain, the Nebraska fan proclaimed to the other three, "THIS IS FOR THE HUSKERS!" and promptly threw himself off the mountain as a form of sacrifice, screaming "GO BIG RED!" as he fell to his death.


Not to be outdone, the Oklahoma fan jumped up and shouted, "THIS IS FOR THE SOONERS!" and threw himself off the mountain.

Refusing to be outdone by the Nebraska and Oklahoma fans, the Mizzou fan rose to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs, "THIS IS FOR THE MU TIGERS!" and without hesitation pushed the KU fan off the mountain.

He'll either be a brilliant lawyer

or a psychopath. Or a brilliant psychopath lawyer.

(is that redundant? --sorry my lawyer relatives and friends, couldn't resist--)

My middle son, age 5, is showing a great capacity for drawing very, very fine lines with ethics. He's also good at pushing and pushing and pushing right up until he finds where the line is.

Point No. 1:

Amazingly, he does nothing wrong. It's always his younger sister. Or some kid at school.


Point No. 2:

When he stole a magnet from school yesterday, he informed my spouse that "The guardian angel on my shoulder must have been looking away for a minute."

Point No. 3:

He informed me early in the school year that he could get into some trouble at school every day, but not a lot of trouble.

How is this possible, you ask?

His teacher does the green-yellow-orange-red system. You get in trouble, you lose your green popsicle stick and get a yellow, and so on.

But to get to yellow, you get three strikes.

So my son, Lord love him, has been getting two strikes, knowing that he can.

I informed his kindergarten teacher of this at parent-teacher conferences a month ago. She was, um, a bit surprised he figured that one out so fast. So she's been keeping a hawk's eye on him to nip him in the bud.

Yet, he managed to steal a magnet from school yesterday. My poor spouse got to lower the boom on him, because I was in grad school last night. When I got home, the boy was chastened (sort of).

We sent him to school with the magnet, a note, and the requirement that he apologize to his teacher and fess up to what he did.

I'm going to pick him up from aftercare in 20 minutes. I'm really hoping that he had a good day, but yet, still learned a lesson.

This parenting thing is HARD, y'all.

AAUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

People at work are driving me nuts.

Others are being supportive.

It really is a toss-up some days on who outnumbers whom.

New Crockpot Recipe

I tried a new one tonight. It went over so-so, but I suspect it is because I live with picky people.

Chicken Burritos

1 14 oz. can of corn
1 14 oz. can of black beans
1 package of taco seasoning
1 package of ranch dressing mix
4 chicken breasts
1 16 oz. jar of salsa.

Mix the undrained corn and beans into crockpot with spices. Add chicken on top. Pour salsa over all. Cook in crockpot on high for 4-5 hours.

Heat up tortillas when you get home. Shred chicken, and add your favorite toppings w/bean and corn mix.

I like it. The chicken went over well with the picky. Most of my crew hates beans (black, pinto or kidney), so that part was a hard sell.

Warning: This is very filling.

Note the (small) changes

I still haven't gotten around to doing the template the way I want it, but I did edit the left bar.

Note the new books we at Mommy-Tracked are reading, as well as the link to the Amazon.com gift list. It is under my name, but it reflects the wants of our entire Mommy-Tracked family for the upcoming holidays (and in the case of the eldest, Turkey-day birthdays).

That latter change is for family only. For those in the friend/outside unknown reader loop, you can browse to see what we are up to, but do not buy us anything. : )

21 Deer

Imagine that old Johnny Carson Carnac sketch:

Answer:
21 deer, one skunk, one possum.

Question:
What are the potential animal ping-pong balls aiming for your new car as you drive up Hwy. 5 in Arkansas at midnight on the way to visit the grandparents for a long weekend?


Yeah, that was fun. I'm never driving that curvy, nasty stretch of road late at night ever again.

On the upside, kids had great time with grandparents, and we didn't actually hit any of the targets. Or have the targets jump into us.

The Wisdom of Anne

Anne-with-an-E, Anne of Green Gables.

Whenever I get downright depressed, demoralized, and discouraged, I pull out my Anne of Green Gables novels. In this latest re-reading, I'm amazed at how true so much of what L.M. Montgomery wrote a century ago is.

When I was 12, I was the red-headed misfit who daydreamed too much. I never read the other novels at that time (and just as well, because I wasn't emotionally ready or mature enough for them). But Anne spoke to me. I was a "kindred spirit."

When I was in high school, I discovered the other novels. One of my college roommates and I read those books again and again. We sobbed when Ruby Gillis died a horrid death. We felt Anne's agony of knowing Gilbert cared too much, and then died a death with her when she learned that she really did love him.

When I lost my first child to miscarriage, I wept when I re-read the chapter where Anne and Gilbert lost their little Joyce.

Now, re-reading again (and sobbing again when Ruby Gillis died, which convinced my eldest that her mom really is nuts), I'm amazed at how well Montgomery knew human nature and how well she portrayed love and marriage. In Anne of Ingleside, the final chapters are focused on an Anne my age, who is feeling neglected, overworked, and unloved.

Everything ends up all right between Anne and Gilbert, but the overall message -- that we mustn't become so self-centered that we forget our loved ones have weighy things on their shoulders, too, and that we should care for ourselves, and not just our houses, our children, and our careers -- just brought tears to my eyes.

That passage spoke to my heart. I feel that way now. And the fact that women a century ago had those same feelings just makes me realize it is natural. We must take a break to feed our souls.

I've been doing that this weekend. Fall break is this week. Two of my grad classes are cancelled. I put things (like housework and writing) on hold, to take time for me, for my children, and for my husband.

Anne (and L.M.M.) is wise. I'm taking a century's worth of wisdom to heart.

Resolution

Remember last winter' when a child was kidnapped from one of the stops on my bus route?

The guy who did it pleaded guilty today. He'll be in jail for life. Good.

In a message he passed on through his lawyer, he says he feels at peace with his decision.

You know what, NO. I want him to have no peace. What he did to those two families, those two boys, was horrific. I want him to be remorseful, guilty, and agonize over what he did for the rest of his confined days.

Story is here

Mr. Goodbear visits

We had a furry visitor last night. He was about three feet tall, caramel-colored fur, and very polite.

Mr. Goodbear only visits kindergarteners who are good for an entire month. "Good" is determined by keeping your popsicle stick green. If you act up after three warnings, you go to yellow. Then orange. Then red.

My little guy, suprisingly, kept his popsicle stick green an entire month. He was the first kindergartener to have Mr. Goodbear visit. So Mr. Goodbear hung out at aftercare with my little guy. He rode home in our van. He ate dinner with us, he watched SpongeBob with us, he ate a snack, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.

My little guy, who can be the rowdiest, goofiest, silliest five-year-old boy you've ever met, was just glowing the entire visit.

Oh, for the love of Riley

Guess what?

Latest Thomas recall . . .

Yup. We have Toad. And I'm pretty sure it was the one they sent to us as a freebie for turning all the other lead-coated stuff earlier this summer.

You have got to be kidding me. This is a farce at this point. We are checking the Consumer Product Safety Commission website almost every other week and then searching through the piles of toys in our house.

I don't care if it would cost more for toys if they were produced in the U.S. Move the manufacturing back here. This is ridiculous.

In honor of my husband

Because without him, there is no way I could stay even semi-sane after all the stress of the past 18 months:

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Too many great-grandmothers

We were at a family wedding this weekend. My family.

With 16 cousins on one side and 14 on the other, we go to a LOT of weddings.

At any rate, I'm herding the younger two out to gather more food from the snack line at the reception. I'm leading them out, my grandmother (my kids' great-grandmother) is being wheeled in.

Now, keep in mind, my grandmother has been slipping in and out of reality for months. You never know what you'll get.

She sees my son, calls him over, and asks, "Are you the little boy I used to watch?"

Oh, Lord, thinks I. I have NO clue what she's talking about, or who she thinks my son is. Could be anyone over a 60-year span of time. So I whisper to my five-year-old guy, "Play along."

So he does, he nods, he smiles. Then he says:

"I thought you were dead!"

Oh God. Save me now.

Keep in mind, one of his great-grandmothers did die recently.

"Other great-grandma," I hiss. "Other great-grandma." And I shuttle them away. Thankfully, no one but me heard him.

Kids: You never know what will come out of their mouths. Be warned.

Nary a bubble skirt to be seen

Thank goodness!

Being sick means I've missed the NY fall fashion shows. But NY magazine has a good wrap up, with photos.

No bubble skirts. Normal, cute slip dresses. Suits I'd wear.

The insanity is over, thank God.

Cough, hack, wheeze

I have been down and out with one of the worst illnesses I've ever had.

Seven days of hacking, wheezing, fevers that come and go, lack of appetite, and utter exhaustion. I finally dragged myself to the doctor yesterday and now have a lovely stash of antibiotics and other drugs.

I've never taken five sick days in a row. Never. Not even with morning sickness at its worst. But this totally kicked my tuckus.

Let's just hope the kids don't get it. If they do, we're toast.

Death in our family

My husband's grandmother passed away last week.

We had just visited her during our vacation, as a part of the trip we stopped at a family reunion, planned partly to celebrate the 65 years she and his grandfather had been married.

She was a wonderful woman. She welcomed me to the family with open arms. Literally. She swallowed me in a bear hug after our college commencement ceremonies. This was the first time I had met most of my husband's extended family, a mere two weeks before our wedding. His grandmother made me feel comfortable within their family.

She called herself the weather witch, and she took responsibility for any and all weather. She apologized for the drizzle on our wedding day, and then reminded me that rain on anyone's wedding day is a sign of good luck.

I loved her like my own grandmother. In fact, she felt like my grandmother. When we lived in New York, we'd drive up to their house for holidays and sleep in the cramped back bedroom, and eat from a groaning table filled with food fixed by my husband's grandfather.

My only fault, as far as she was concerned, is that I hated playing cards. Oh, I often did, but I am a miserable card player (I really do hate playing card games). Right now, I'm treasuring those memories of her attempting to teach me how to play hand and foot.

She loved my kids dearly, and always e-mailed to ask for pictures.

I miss her dearly, and she hasn't even been gone a week. It seems slightly unreal, because I was just talking to her three weeks ago.

I'm not sure who would be designated the new family weather witch, but I'd like to apply for the position, in honor of her.

Start o' school

Actually, we started two weeks ago. This year has been a blur. Immediately after school started, my husband came down with the flu, then I caught it, and my grad classes started that same week. So it actually was a miracle that our children were dressed, homework finished, and at school on time at all.

Eldest starts middle school/jr. high. Sixth, seventh and eighth graders at her school change classes. This is her first taste of the rotating days, juggling multiple assignments from multiple teachers. It's also the science fair year.

Remember my post on recorders?

This is worse.

My only saving grace is that I a) sort of like science and b) her teacher believes it should be a part of their class work each day. Bless her.

Middle son started kindergarten. He was a little nervous this year, but once he settled in, he was okay.

I went back to my office and cried. I dropped him off at kindergarten in the same car we brought him home from the hospital in. He shouldn't have grown up so darn fast. He's still my little guy, one who loves to snuggle and cuddle. I know those days are numbered. I don't want to lose my little guy, but he's getting bigger each day.

Littlest one has become very independent. "I cawn do IT mySELF!" is her favorite line. Unless, of course, we ask her to do No. 2 on the potty. Then we get: "No, I cawn't do it."

Sigh.

I'm thinking next semester I will only take one seated course for grad school. I'm starting to feel overwhelmed, and I'm only two weeks in. It probably isn't as bad as I feel it is, and once I get some homework done, I'll feel better, I know.

Plus, my boss gave us all the afternoon off. Happy Labor Day, y'all. Enjoy the last blast of summer!

Oh, ick

So, I suspected that a mouse might have gotten in our house, and I've found confirmation today: mouse doo-doo and Fruit Loops scattered all through the cabinent with cereal and the utensil drawer, too.

Oh, ick, ick, ick, ick, ick.

I can handle snakes and all sorts of creepy crawly things, but not rodents.

I want it out of my house. I don't even care about painlessly. I just want it GONE.

The kids are appalled that I want to kill, and I quote, "One of God's creatures."

My response: "God's creatures are welcome outside. Where. They. Belong."

I have never wanted our bitter, angry cat back more than I do at this minute. I may ask the parents to bring her back from the farm for a week or so if we can't get rid of the rodent quickly. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick.

We're back

I didn't mean to go on hiatus there, folks. I had two papers to finish and a web project to do the first week of August for class. Then things hit the fan at work. Then we went on vacation.

So I sort of dropped out of sight.

Vacation was good. We met up with hubby's extended family in upstate NY. Corning of Corning Glass fame. It's gorgeous up there.

I know I hit the jackpot with my in-laws. I love them all. We don't get together often (maybe that helps), but we do get along well when we do. It was nice to commiserate with my husband's cousins, get sympathy from his aunts, and see my sister-in-law and brother-in-law in person again, as opposed to communicating via blog entry. :)

The kids had a great time. My eldest played with her older second cousins. My middle son had a blast with the second cousin who is only a year older than he is. Both boys spent a lot of time exploring physics and gravity with a see saw. The youngest charmed everyone, mostly because she was the youngest there, and most of them haven't seen her in person.

We also hit the Baseball Hall of Fame, Gettysburg and King's Island on the way home. The Hall of Fame was packed and not much fun because of it. Barry Bonds kind of ruined it, too. The Wall of Records on the third floor is updated constantly, and he's on quite a few. Depressing.

Gettysburg was humbling. Just thinking of the sheer numbers of men who died on those fields is overwhelmingly sad. It was hot, so we didn't hike many of the stops, but we did manage to paint a visual picture for the older two, enough to keep them occupied and interested. We did have to tell them to, um, stop pretending to be exuberant Union soldiers at the Hornet's Nest on the Little Big Top, because there were relatives of Confederates there, too. I didn't want to offend, or get into an argument about the War of Northern Aggression.

King's Island was fun, albeit hot. It was 101 the day we were there. I forced the little one to go through a SpongeBob maze that involved sprinklers, even though she hates things like that. I was so darn hot. Middle child learned that not watching where Mom is will result in you getting lost. He wandered away from me in the maze, and I couldn't catch him. Luckily, he did the right thing, and found a worker who led my sobbing little guy to me. It was a lesson painfully learned for him.

We'll go back someday. And hopefully the littlest will acquire some daredevil tendencies. She rode three rides, total. All tame, and one only after much convincing. The carousel was much too scary for her, believe it or not. This is the same kid I caught jumping from hotel bed to hotel bed, covering a gap bigger than she is.

I believed in Severus Snape

SPOILER ALERT . . . . . . . IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE DEATHLY HALLOWS, READ NO FURTHER.


























I believed. I was right.

I cried buckets. RIP Dobby, Fred, Lupin, Tonks and Hedwig.

It was a wonderful book. A wonderful series. Now I have to keep my opinions under wraps, so my kids can find out in their own times.

Thanks J.K.R.

Someone else like me

I'm trying to get a news ticker on this blog. I have one on the one for class, and it is nice. But because this blog goes through our server rather than Blogger's, I have issues.

One of the stories that popped up on my ticker (set to "working mom") pretty much sums it up for me on the economic impacts of having kids:

If I continue my accounting of the annual bill for my working summer, I can't omit one number that begins to explain why my work can't possibly cover the costs of the childcare that makes it possible: government statistics say that mothers like me have to stomach a 7% hourly wage penalty per child. I have three kids. That's 21%. Ouch. The survey cites the usual reasons--loss of job experience; employer discrimination against women with children; and the one I'm most interested in for the sake of this argument--a tendency to seek lower-paying, mother-friendly jobs. I have to be in a flex job, working freelance from home instead of full-time in my old office at Fortune magazine. How else am I going to stop at four o'clock to pick up all these kids from all these camps?

I fail to understand why, as a nation, we persist in structuring the year this way.

Stephanie Losee continues to explain the true cost of working. It's not a choice for a lot of families like ours. We need two incomes, plain and simple. The price we pay is a high one, folks.

Read the full article

Gah. Too much (home) work

Okay. My name is Mommy-tracked, and I admit it: Taking six hours of grad school classes within a month's time was not smart.

I'm drowning here. Okay, I wouldn't be drowning if the Harry Potter book wasn't due to land on my doorstep in a few days, tempting me to read the book rather than write the two five- to six-page papers I have due before August starts.

Um, yeah. I can do it. Really, I can. I just have to avoid HP temptation and not blog much.

Sorry guys.

On the upside:

Second child has learned how to read a bit. He's very excited.

Youngest child has figured out how to use the potty doing No. 1. Anyone who has tips on getting her to do No. 2 is welcome to offer them below. Blackmail of more jellybeans is not working.

Eldest is awesome child who is helping me get through this with some semblance of sanity intact. I owe her. What to get child to show her how much I appreciate her help? Ideas helpful.

Fiddling

I'm messing around with the blog, so please ignore any goofy layout or settings. I'm doing it when I have time. Apologies.

Back to School, Day One

So, I survived day one of grad school.

Actually, it wasn't that hard. I showed up with my notebook, my pen, and sat at the computer. The class is taught by a former co-worker, and they've lumped grad students in with undergrads (joy). There are probably 10 of us.

Our task today: Set up a blog on Blogger.

Seriously.

Two of us already blog, so it took us about five minutes. Several others had never heard of a blog or Blogger or TypePad or Wordpress.

Seriously.

If you are a communications undergrad (and as best I can tell, I'm the only grad student in there), how can you NOT know about this? I was amazed.

So, I now have two blogs, one here, and one for class. I have to do a major project. No idea what that might be, but if you have ideas for a multimedia one that I can do in a month, shout out below.

The rest of the class will involve things that I barely know how to do . . . building a website using Dreamweaver, podcasting, vidcasting, all those cool toys I barely know how to use.

But day one was just easy. Hope it stays that way.

'I get beanbeans?'

So, we're potty training. Again.

This is one of my least favorite tasks in child rearing. It involves brainwashing a small, strong-willed person that the way they've been doing things for years is now unacceptable, and that sitting on a large (to them) suction device is the way to go. Literally.

It bites.

Our first put us through 18 months of battling, screaming, pleading hell. I still have nightmares about potty training that child.

The second was a breeze. I took away his diapers about two weeks into changing two kids' diapers, and never looked back. He bought into the whole concept within a weekend. I marvel at how easy that was.

The last one is somewhere between the two. For weeks, we've heard "I cawn't doooooo it!" plaintively said while perched on the big potty. So we hauled out the training potty seat. I was hoping to avoid this, because, honestly, cleaning out the sucker is gross. And a pain. So much easier to do it directly where you want it, kwim?

So, the potty seat's been a hit. I plop her on it, put on SpongeBob, and wait. Unfortunately, this child has better bladder control than anyone I've ever seen.

Thus, I give you the following play, "Extortion by Two-Year-Old, in One Act":




SCENE: Living room. Toys are scattered everywhere. TV is blaring Winnie the Pooh, Classic Version.
Child sitting on potty seat, watching TV. Mother collapsed on couch, arm over eyes, trying to rest.

CHILD, who stands up, happy: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"

Mom gets up, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. After weeks of no output, decides this is probably worth praising, and shrugs, then . . .

MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"

CHILD, who lusts after jellybeans: "I get bean bean?"

MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"

CHILD: "Orwange."

Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:

CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"

Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. Decides to keep up positive reinforcement.

MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"

CHILD: "I get bean bean?"

MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"

CHILD: "Bwue."

Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:

CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"

Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. Starting to sense she is being played, mom says lines in less enthusiasic voice:

MOM: "Good job! High five!" (Child high-fives Mom.) "Okay, let's go get a jellybean! Great job!"

CHILD: "I get bean bean?"

MOM: "Yup, great job! You get jellybeans for going potty in the potty! What color?"

CHILD: "yewwow."

Mom gives child jellybean from stash kept on high shelf. Both resume positions held previously, child on potty seat, happily chewing jellybean, mom collapsing on couch to get nap. Silence, held for about two minutes, then five seconds later:

CHILD: "I diwd it, I diwd it!"

Mom, looking in potty seat, sees five drops of urine. KNOWS she is being played, mom drags herself over to jellybean stash and says:

MOM: "Um, could we do more in the potty next time? You might get more jellybeans."

Child considers, then shakes head:

CHILD: "I cawn't do it."

And scene.

Yup. That's pretty much how it's been going, though we've convinced her that for five jellybeans, she can give up most of the um, product, she's withholding.

Thomas Trains and China

So, my younger two are Thomas the Tank Engine addicts.

We own several hundred dollars worth of table, track, trains, accessories, DVDs. It is insane. But it is one thing my son, and now my youngest daughter, truly loves and plays with, so I buy the darn things almost every holiday and birthday.

Last week's recall really sucked for us.

One television news tease had my husband looking for more details. A visit to the Consumer Product Safety Commission's website confirmed that we owned several of the lead-paint-coated suckers. We spent a few hours comparing a huge bin of trains and other train-related things to the photos on the website.

They've been mailed off for a refund. I'm just annoyed that no one is bothering to do any oversight of the places that they subcontract with. I mean, I can see el cheapo toys not meeting requirements, but Thomas the Tank Engine sets aren't cheap. Those puppies range from $10-$200 each. At those prices, I expect quality and safety. Not some lame answer about how they didn't know.

Back to School

Not the kids.

Me.

As part of my benefits package, I get free tuition. I've never seen how I would have the time, but two summer classes pricked my interest.

If I do two classes, I might as well do the other 10.

So if I blog less, now you know why.

Blame the homework.

Poison Ick

Okay, remember the post below, when I mentioned that I had a few bug bites on my arm that looked awful?

Guess what? Not bug bites.

Poison ivy, poison oak or poison sumac. Not sure which I got into while weeding, but it was one of 'em. And it has been years since I've had poison ivy, so I didn't realize what it was.

Also, the Calamine (tm) lotion we had in the house was left over from when eldest had the chicken pox. In 1997. Apparently that stuff doesn't last 10 years, because it didn't dry up the "bites."

By Saturday, it was bad. I was in St. Louis with the parents, when my dad id'ed the nasty stuff. By Sunday, it was spreading.

By Monday, I called in sick, because I had blisters on both arms, my stomach, and one leg. All up and down all four body parts. I was going through half-a-tube of the new Calamine (tm) lotion at a time.

My doc looked at me, sighed, and decided that at this point, the only thing to do was suppress my immune system. It was attacking everything, not just the original ivy. So I'm on pills to keep my immune system down for a couple of weeks, to let the nasty stuff work its way through my system.

I look like I've bathed in Calamine (tm) lotion. Aveeno baths are my savior. Thank God for Benadryl (tm).

I'll look just fine and dandy for my cousin's wedding. Maybe a pantsuit will hide the worst of it, assuming I can bear to wear it.

It could be worse. This isn't nearly as bad as when I had the chicken pox at 12. Close, but not quite there.

Ahhh. Spaaaaaa.

Today, I cash in my Mother's Day gift: An afternoon at my favorite spa. I can't wait.

I just hope the massage therapist doesn't cringe at my skin. I'm covered in mosquito bites. There was one in the house all week, and it just feasted on my eldest and me. My right arm looks awful.

Maybe I'll bandage that before I go.

Parenting one is so much easier

This week, the older two are hanging with their grandparents. While they fish, sail, and in general have fun, we only have the youngest.

Ways this has made life easier:

1) The ride back from grandparents' house was silent, as youngest napped most of the way. No squabbling.

2) Youngest knows how to occupy herself, unlike middle child, who treats alone time like solitary confinement.

3) Youngest does not whine incessantly. Yet.

4) No one to pick on. No one to fight with over the couch. No one to fight with toys. Youngest has taken to a "mine, all mine!" attitude with toys. And there is no one around to gainsay her. She's in heaven.

5) Youngest goes to bed at 8 sharp. I have hours of time to do housework, errands, whatever before I collapse.

6) Only one kid means we don't have to wake up as early to start the morning shuffle.

7) Only one place to stop after work for daycare pickup.

8) Possibility that I'll get called out of work due to sick child is now much less.

That's not to say I don't miss the older two. But silence in our house right now is golden.

Plus, it gives me a good chance to fix the popped nails/broken plaster in my son's room without a curious five-year-old around to "help."

Me & Bob B. II

Video, now uploaded at YouTube. Props to B.Shipman, the professor who created the video, and did an awesome job helping us out all weekend with the video end of things.

Me & Bob B.

I survived.

For all the work, it was actually pretty fun. I only got to see Bob up close (and he looks about like what you'd think your 83-year-old grandpa would look like). I didn't get to chat with him. Child 1 got to talk to him and shake his hand; she was mortified. (I was out of the room, answering a question after the magazine photo shoot, she was sitting there, waiting for me, and Bob came up and talked to her.)

Everything went off without a hitch, despite the fact that it was 86 degrees, the gym has no AC. A lot of the photos look like everyone up there in robes has flop sweat. Unavoidable, but still.

I had to use my "Mom Voice" (tm) during the procession. Photographers were leaping into the street and into the line (our students process down the main college street to the gym; Bob and the faculty are at the head of the line). I firmly but loudly asked them to step back off the street. They were crowding the faculty and eventually would crowd Bob, plus they were screwing up the shot for the TV crews, who were behaving.

I'll post video when I can, but for now, Bob gave a great graduation speech, seemed to have a good time, and I'm happy he's now headed back to Cali.

I'm wiped.