Rock Stars

My children have formed a band called Poison Snakes - all on their own. Anna plays violin, Jake the keyboard and Ryan the heating vent. Today, they treated me to a concert of music only a mother could love. Anna played Minuet 1 by Bach quite well and in tune. Jake played an original song called Poisoned Leopard (perhaps poisoned by a snake?) and Ryan, who refused to face the camera, dragged a stick back and forth over the heating vent as percussion. In all, a quite enjoyable concert. See program below. Anna made it in about 30 seconds, so forgive the sloppy handwriting. Can't wait for the future concert May 2!

Security Breach

I think my mom may have found this blog! When she asked the address, I told her politely that I did not want her to read it, because she just doesn't need to see thing I write here - she tends toward the melodramatic and it can be exhausting. While I hope she would respect my wishes, I don't know if she has. So I am going to take a break from posting for awhile and possibly change the blog address. Mom, if you are reading this, please stop. I need a place to vent without worrying about if you are lurking.

I Can't Believe What They Come Up With

My son Ryan is selectively mute. He talks up a storm at home, is very creative and has a huge vocabulary. He's extremely artistic and comes up with all sorts of massive art projects that decorate our walls and fabricates elaborate games that go on for hours.

However, he will not speak to anyone outside our family. He just looks at them with a gleam in his eye and his little mouth clamped shut. It's become a bit of a game with my friends to see if they can get him to say anything to them. Yesterday, a mom at kung fu tried to rile him up by accusing him of being just one year old. He shook his head, sending his feathery hair flying, but would not speak.

At bedtime, I asked him why he wouldn't talk to any adults except me and on rare occasions his father. Ryan's answer was that everyone is talking in Spanish and he can't understand them. Should this be cause for alarm? I am fairly certain we mostly associate with English speakers. Do I force him to talk, or just let the phase pass...it's kind of embarrassing, but funny at the same time. Where do they get this stuff? I'd love to live inside his head for a day and see what the heck goes on in there.

Squirrels Need Homes, Too

Since it's the Ides of March, I am being extra careful, but have let my guard down a bit since today it was nearly 60 degrees. I banished the children from the house so I could have a few moments of peace. I was having one of those days in which I love my children, but hate being a mother. Those of you who are mothers will know exactly what I mean. Those of you who aren't will think I am a sociopath, but that is certainly not the case.

When I went outside to check on them (and to ride my bike around with them again in practice for a trip I have planned in my mind to go riding at the Plum Island reservation soon), they were huddled near the back of the yard building something. I went close to see, and they had found an old plastic collander, a horde of acorns, fresh moss and many twigs which they fashioned into a squirrel shelter with an adjoining pool for worms. Suddenly, I loved being a mom again! Note the use of the blue pipette to carefully water the moss to keep it fresh. I took several pictures (see above) and then made a bike obstacle course for us all to navigate. Good times.

And here is a picture of Stella, the durable and trusty bike I wrote about last weekend. She is propped next to my equally stylish minivan.

Karaoke

First, I'd like to wish everyone Happy Pi Day...now, to the point.

My friends back in my homeland of Indiana are having an ABBA karaoke party tonight, and I can't go. I found out about the soiree on Facebook, where I get to read about all the people having more fun than I am. If not for the low balance in my checkbook, I would have boarded a plane immediately to hang with Kevin et al for nice round of Dancing Queen.

My plan tonight (Saturday, by the way) includes folding laundry, convincing children to go to bed and reading another chapter or two of Brideshead Revisited. I will also lament the fact that The Husband's business trip has been put out two weeks, thwarting my plans for a peaceful weekend. If I am lucky, I might happen across a marathon of Snapped on the Oxygen network. I want somewhere kooky to go, especially since I am sporting a new haircut - 8 inches gone and funky layers everywhere!

I admit without shame that I love karaoke. My first flirtation with it was singing the great Prince song Kiss with my BFF Amy at the Bombay Bicycle Club in Indy. We did a fine falsetto, and to my horror after we were done I saw that my future stepfather was at the bar....

Another song I can do very well is Tainted Love by Soft Cell. I perfected that one the summer of my 20th year after being dared to do it by Bill the Lawyer (one of only two lawyers I can abide, and whom I always referred to as Bill the Lawyer, which caused him no end of eye-rolling) who was 7 years my senior, which was our ultimate downfall. He made me sing it every time we went out anywhere, so accurate was my rendition. I was very popular in the boring-lawyer-party circuit of the early 1990s.

There really is nothing more goofy and life-affirming than singing pop songs to bad, tinny back-up music. The fading away of karaoke into obscurity is one of the saddest outcomes of the new millenium - I really think it should come back into vogue.

In the meantime, the mountains of laundry await me in my current and mundane life. I keep checking my phone for messages calling me away to somewhere else, but alas, none are there. I will never end my quest to find a karaoke bar somewhere and convince some innocent bystander to come along with me (could be tricky, but I did birth twins, so anything is possible). Any takers? Just let me know....

Miscellaneous Thoughts

I have been up late thinking again, always a bad thing to do. I bought a vat of Advil PM on my way home tonight to aid and abet a good night's sleep, hopefully with the dream I have sometimes involving Adrian Grenier and a motorcyle. Yummy!

1. I imagine what it would be like to carry on an entire conversation with an adult (preferably a well-spoken man with a nice voice) without being interrupted by my kids or worrying about the time.

2. What would I do with a whole day all to myownself? How weird would it be? I believe it would be a small form of Shangri-la.

3. How is it possible to feel lonely when I am never, ever alone?

4. Should I cut my hair myself, since it's all mangy and I have no money? The only scissors we have in our house are the dull, round-edged kid ones, but then maybe I'd just look "interesting".

5. Why is it that I have lost about 15 pounds since Christmas, but the only part of my body that looks smaller is my chest, which was my last flattering feature? How can this be reversed?

6. Why are some women so damn mean to each other? And would my idea of a book called Bitch-Be-Gone be a bestseller?

7. I consider who would be the best candidate for my friend with benefits. No boys I know seem interested....but how does one really know?

8. Why is Jane Austen so goldarn appealing? But is she better than the Bronte sisters or Edith Wharton? It's a tough call.

9. My problems sometimes seem very small when I look at the big picture. Thank goodness I do not suffer from the "tree man" affliction that seems to be the scourge of people in Indonesia.

A glimpse into the mind of an insomniac. Interesting, or scary?

Finally, the Boys!

Jake recently asked me what an engineer is. I explained that engineers understand how materials work together in order to build things, like bridges and buildings and houses. To demonstrate, I had the kids experiment with Kapla blocks (in my opinion the best toy around). After much trial and error, and a few tears over fallen structures, this is what they came up with. The very tall one is meant to be an animal hospital/safari home base - aren't they so creative? If you look closely, you can see animals in the little cubbies, recovering from various injuries and illnesses. The smaller one, built by Ryan, is a home for his knights and super hero figurines. The best part? This kept them busy and not fighting for about 2 days!

Cornhusk Dolls

In our pursuit of understanding American culture and history, we made cornhusk dolls. Pictured below is Anna with her doll in the various stages of construction. She has been playing with the thing all morning, and has asked to cook a Colonial meal for us to have for lunch tomorrow. Love it! My next post will be devoted to my wonderful boys, who have been sorely neglected here lately. I do love them just as much as their sister - they just never stand still long enough to be photographed!

My Tiny Dancer

These are the official photos from Anna's dance competition. The red costume was danced to "Christmas Shoes," hence the sad faces. The festive costume is "Ole, Ole, Ole" by Ricky Martin, hence the smiles! So fun to watch, I am such a proud mommy.

You Really Don't Forget How!

Today, I rode my bike for the first time in 8 years - since before my dear daughter was conceived. I hauled it out of the attic, filled the limp tires (they crackled a bit, which is worrisome). In its day, my bike was very stylish. It's a maroon Trek mountain bike that was purchased in 1992 from hard-earned savings from babysitting and cleaning bathrooms at a bed and breakfast. The poor girl (whose name is Stella) was covered in cobwebs and dust and in need of some TLC. After spraying W-D 40 on all metal parts and sniffing the satisfying fragrance of the spray and metal rubbing smoothly against metal, I mounted the old bike and took off down the street. Much to my joy, I did not forget how to ride. My hair streamed behind me - I had forgotten how fun it was to speed along on a bike.

I am sure that the comedy in my first try on two wheels in nearly a decade made my neighbors double over with laughter, but I don't care. My children cheered me on from the yard, then followed suit on their bikes, trying to catch me. We rode for over an hour. I taught them how to coast with their legs out over puddles, how to stand up and pedal for more speed. It's the most enjoyable time I've had with the kids in a long time. I am sure that my hamstrings will not be happy tomorrow, but I will remember how the kids thought I was supermom for that hour. Who knows? Maybe I'll take up riding again for recreation. It was just great to know I could still do it.

Time to Update my Bumper

Now that we have a new president, it's time to get rid of those "W" bumper stickers. The Bush years are over, and it's time to move on. Here is the one I recommend:

Biohazard

I admit it. I am not a good housekeeper. It takes every ounce of intestinal fortitude I have to clean things up and keep them orderly. It's a glitch in my brain, I think, because any halfwit is capable of cleaning a house. For me, it is an arduous undertaking and I become very overwhelmed and don't know where to begin. Heart palpitations ensue.

This is a lifelong problem. As a child, I was forever being kept in at recess to clean out my desk. I believe I have some form of ADD (or possibly schizophrenia) that keeps me from being able to keep up with the clutter. I would not consider myself to be a lazy person - but you'd never know it if you saw the state of things. There's no dirt, mind you, as I cannot abide a dirty bathroom or sticky floor. But the clutter may overtake us all, and it does not help that we live in an 1885 Victorian devoid of closet space. Our house was built at a time when people had 2 outfits and one wooden toy, so there was no need for them.

Homeschooling does not help, either. Not only does it require copious books and art supplies, but my children aren't away all day - they are home messing things up! Today I reached the breaking point. I sent the kids outside and furtively cleaned up their art corner, throwing away certain masterpieces with abandon before they re-entered the house and claimed them all as favorites.

I tossed out broken crayons, dried markers, approximately 7500 pieces of paper that were drawn upon, superhero masks, a cardboard castle and some unidentifiable thing that I believe may have been alive at some point before it got caught in a glob of glue. It is disgraceful.

Below is photographic evidence of the kids helping, in their rubber biohazard gloves (yes, I have these on hand for dangerous science experiments). Note the helter-skelter way the books are arranged on the shelf. I wonder what a psychotherapist would say about that? The lone glove on the floor is further evidence that their task was abandoned along with my hope of an ordered home. Is there any chance that the messy gene will skip a generation? Lordy, I hope so...

Dance Competition...or Glorified Toddlers in Tiaras?

My daughter, the inimitable Anna (pictured above with 2 friends of her 6-member dance team), had her first dance competition over the weekend. She looked resplendent in her costumes and make-up, and danced brilliantly - her whole team did. But I did wonder, as I watched the spectacle, if it's not just beauty pageantry disguised as sport. After all, there is no dancing in the Olympics. Is it really sporty, or just for show?

Anna can do backflips, lift her leg higher than I thought gravity would allow, splits are easy and she's lifted up high by her comrades. It looks athletic, but the make-up, hair and glitter make me wonder if there is a point to it all.

I was discussing this with another mom, who understood exactly what I meant. Her son competes in gymnastics, and it all does seem much more legitimate, even though they also pay to compete and travel on Sundays to do it, commiting the heathen act of skipping church for gold medals.

We concluded that dance is giving our girls confidence, team skills, and individual growth. Is it enough? I hope so for now.