Proud Mary

Ok so this is why Catherine calls her baby Tina Tuhnuh. Notice the hair. Look closely. It's the same. One of Catherine's Sunday School teachers jokingly told us one day that "that baby doll has Tina Turner hair." So from that point on Catherine called her Tina Tuhnuh. And still does.

The other night during bathtime, as Catherine and Stuart were both hollering in unison and I was just trying to lighten the mood a little I burst into song:
"Left a good job in the city.....working for the man every night and day..."

William said "Mama...what's that song????"

"And I never lost one minute of sleeping...wondering 'bout the way things might have been...."

"MAMA....WHAT is that song?"

"Big wheel keep on turnin'....Proud Mary keep on burnin'.... It's called PROUD MARY, William!"

"Who sings it, Mama?"

"Tina Turner."

He thought about it a minute. Then he said...."Cafrin's baby sings?"

I was telling Andy this story and he pointed out in a very Jerry Seinfeld like way (who I think originally brought it up)....WHY exactly was it such a good job in the city...working for the man EVERY night and day???????

Things that make you go hmmmmm.

Gimme Some Lovin'

We were having a lazy Sunday afternoon today after naps and the kids were doing what they do best these days - loving on Baby Stuart. I thought the look on his face was priceless. William just wanted to hold him and Catherine just wanted to kiss him. And he looks like he's just trying to find an escape route. At least he will never have to worry about being alone. Neither will I, now that I think about it. It's quite comforting in a suffocating, walls closing in on you claustrophobic sort of way!

And no William was not making an appearance on Miami Ink....he got a cool new Spiderman pen that doubles as an ink pad. Those are Spiderman stamps all over his arm. I fell asleep in the chair this afternoon and woke up with the same stamps...but in red....all up and down my legs. According to William though, I'm now cool.

I Give You.....Sybil

Dog Nights of Summer

Forget the dog days....we've had dog nights this week. Literally. Our AC went out on Monday afternoon. We couldn't get it fixed that day so we moved the kids into our room after they went to sleep. The unit that went out was the one that cools the part of the house where the kids all sleep. We had to put everyone to bed in their own beds and then make the move once they were out of it, otherwise they would have thought it was a big slumber party and they were the guests of honor.

We fixed a big pallet in the floor of our rooom for William and Catherine. Stuart's bassinet was still in there anyway so we figured he could scrunch up in it one last time. Moved William, no problem. Moved Stu, no problem. Moved Catherine. Problem. She woke up.

We quickly turned out the lights and acted like we were asleep ourselves. I kept one eye open on her though and saw her sitting up, looking over at William, then lying down. Then sitting up again, then poking William. Andy pulled her up into our bed at that point and put her between us, with Tina Turner in tow (her baby doll....that's a whole other blog entry altogether to explain why she calls her baby Tina Turner).

She sat up. She laid down. She pushed Andy's shoulder. She pulled my hair. She stuck both legs in the air and flopped them down real hard. She rolled over to one side. Then the other. Then she stuck her fingers in my eyes. She pulled her paci out and announced "Paci." She grabbed her baby and announced "Tina Tuhnuh." She asked for juice. She asked for water. She spotted my water on the bedside table and said "wah, Mama. Mama's wah." I tried to give her a sip. She wanted to take the whole thing and lie down with it. I wouldn't let her. She went NUTS. Sybil started to emerge and before she could get going good Andy grabbed her, hand over mouth to keep her from waking up the neighborhood and took off with her. Off she went. Back to her hot room. I turned on an extra fan for her, and felt bad for a minute or two, but decided that there just wasn't enough room for me, Andy, Sybil AND Tina Turner in the same bed.

Just as we got back into bed and I was almost asleep....a clap of thunder and flash of lightening and that crazy, psychotic, neurotic dog came running in, jumped in the bed between us, and had to be tranquilized.

I was wishing someone would tranquilize me.

The Games We Play

We've been playing games around here lately because William has been on a game kick. He loves playing games. I've even made up a behavior chart for him where he can collect stickers for good behavior and redeem them for treats. He loves it. He makes everything a game. From the moment he hears Andy opening the door at night, he takes off to go hide somewhere so his Daddy can come find him. Then as we're eating dinner, William is giving a bite by bite commentary on who is winning the clean plate race (usually it's me....which is why I'll NEVER lose this last 10+ pounds). Then after dinner he picks out a game to play after his bath and before bed. Last night it was the Spiderman game. But it turned ugly. Real ugly.

Andy and William were sprawled out in the floor of William's room playing this little Spiderman game. Let me explain how it works: There are all these little super hero game pieces that go under little cups. It's a matching and memory game. You pick up two cups and hope you get the two pieces that go together, but if you don't, you put the cups back down and try to remember where they were in case you get a matching piece the next time. I thought to myself....how sweet...some father/son bonding time. Until I started hearing trash talk. Maybe I should say, one sided trash talk.

I heard a little chant going on...."Who's gonna win....DADDY. Who's gonna win....DADDY." Then I heard William's little voice saying "Don't say that!" Then more of the chant. Then..."HEY...That's not fair! You're cheating!!!" Andy was calling my baby a cheater! Then I heard..."I'm not playing with you anymore. You cheat!" And Andy came barreling out of William's room!

Later I guess they made up, because when I went in William's room to kiss him goodnight, Andy was lying next to him to say prayers, etc. William looked up at me and said "I cried tonight when I played the Spiderman game. But I'm ok now." I just glared at the perpetrator. He tried to explain that William wasn't playing fair. I still glared. He tried to say he was trying to teach him how to play right. I glared. I said simply, looking back and forth between the two of them, "35. 4. 35. 4." I shook my head and walked out.

I've since checked the age specs on that game. It says 3 and over. Guess it should say 34 and under. And I guess I'll be refereeing tonight. Sheesh.

Running Scared

Ok so we're in the process of having a lot of work done to our house, which was in desperate need of a face lift (maybe I'm next). Anyway....the outside of the house and yard are pretty much Andy's territory. And he does a great job. But sometimes he fails to keep me up to date on his projects. Like a few weeks ago.

Before I get into that though, I have to preface this story with a little background first. Even though we really do live in Mayberry, I've seen enough Dateline episodes to know that bad things happen. Even in places like Mayberry. So you can never be too careful. So a few months ago one day while the kids were taking their naps, I looked out the front window and saw a strange car and heard someone at the door. I fell to the floor, crawled across the room, reached up and grabbed the cordless phone, hoping the phone lines had not already been cut, and called my friend, neighbor and bodyguard, Karen, who lives behind me.

"Karen," (I whispered), "there's a strange car out front and someone's at my door."

"Well...um....why don't you look outside and see who it is," she calmly told me.

Still whispering I said "I can't see. I'm on the floor. Can you come over?" Being the good friend she is, she ran right over. Of course she came in through my unlocked back door (no one locks doors in Mayberry) and crawled over to where I was hiding behind the chair in the den.

"I saw who it was," she said. "It's a sweet little white haired lady leaving something at your door."

I parted the blinds and peeked outside. It was Miss JoAnn. William's Sunday School teacher. Visiting the children during Sunday School visitation week. Slightly embarrassed, I explained to Karen that I didn't recognize the car and you can never be too careful. Uh-huh, she said. Ok then, buh-bye. And she left me there to recuperate in my panic room. So I survived that episode. But fast forward a few weeks to my recent scare.

Again, nap time. I walked through the front of the house to make sure everything was locked up. I'd just put Catherine down for her nap. William was in the bathroom and Stuart was in his crib. I saw another strange car. And two men getting out and walking up to the porch. I heard them at the door. We don't have a peephole so there's no way to tell who's there without opening the door. If it's Ted Bundy you can't exactly say "Sorry no one's home" and slam the door in his face.

Not wanting to overreact (something I seldom do), I yanked William off the potty and out of the bathroom, made him sit in the middle of the bed in Stuart's room, and called Andy at work to ask him if he was expecting workers that day. "Are they the painters?" he asked me.

"I don't know, I didn't open the door."

"Well are they the brick guys?"

??????????

"I just said, I don't know....I didn't open the door!!"

"Well what do you want me to do if you can't even tell me who it is?"

"I want you to come home!"

"But I have an important meeting...."

I interrupted him. In a low whisper I stated, "Well I certainly hope your meeting is important because I think I saw these two guys on America's Most Wanted the other night so when you come home and find your entire family missing and a rabbit boiling in a big pot of water on the stove, you're going to feel just a lit-tle guilty. I'm calling Karen. She cares about us!"

Karen said she'd be right over. So I crept into the kitchen to see Karen and her 13 year old son riding up on his scooter. I met her at the back door. I brought back-up she said.
Great....because Ted and his buddy Jeffrey Dahmer will take off running as soon as they see all of us. I'm opening the door, I told her. Take care of my children for me if anything happens, I asked of her.

I slowly opened the front door, only to see Andy walking up the sidewalk about that time. "Hey" he called to me. "Come out here and meet the BRICK GUYS who are going to start working tomorrow."

I make no apologies to anyone. Like I said earlier, you can't be too careful. If I'm going to be on Dateline I certainly don't want it to be on a segment entitled Murder in Mayberry. But at least next time Miss JoAnn comes to visit she'll have some nice pretty brick steps to walk up to scare me!

That Thing That You Do

I have been told over and over to write down the things that my children do and say that I want to remember, because even though you think you'll never forget, the truth is I can't remember from afternoon to evening to even tell Andy when he gets home. So that's why I love blogging. I actually find myself remembering things and writing them down, and I wonder if one day when the kids are older they will be able to read all these things like a digital scrapbook. Of course Catherine will probably be talking about me on a Dr. Phil show entitled "My Mother Called Me Sybil". But I'll deal with that later.

Just for fun, I've put together the Encyclopedia Williamanica.

Fraturday: the day that follows Thursday or precedes Sunday. Either one.

Chicken Doodle Soup: What your mom makes you when you're sick. You can only eat it when sick. If your mom offers it to you and you're not sick, you pitch a big fit because that just 'aint right.

Jail: Where the police will take you if they catch you not buckled into your carseat, turning the overhead light on inside the car, running into the street, crossing the street not holding a grown-up's hand, or not drinking a big glass of milk with your chocolate chip cookies.

Monster Spray: What you can spray under the bed and in the closets to keep the monsters out of your room at night. You can also use it to make your bed head hair lie down in the morning before you go to school.

Baby Cafrin: What you call your sister until she is old enough to pull your hair and drive you crazy. And until a new baby came along.

Baby Tu-ut: What Cafrin calls the new baby.

What do you call your name?: What you ask new friends you meet at the park after you introduce yourself.

Ah, nuts: What you say when you're frustrated, and because you're not allowed to say "darn it."

DBB: that thing you put in the movie player to play movies.

The encyclopedia will be updated periodically. New material can be gathered every day. If I could just slow down long enough to listen, remember and record it!

They're Ba-ack

Our older two spent the weekend at Mimi and Papa's while Number 3, being tethered to me as he is, stayed behind. It wasn't quite a festive occasion (well it depends on who you ask) or a vacation really (again, it's relative) but more of a necessity that we had to send Numbers 1 & 2 away. You see, how do I put this delicately.....well....over the past 4 years, between me and Andy one of us has given birth 3 times, and so on Friday the other one saw to it that there won't be a 4th. If you know what I mean. So as to speed along the recovery and offer a little peace, quiet and rest for the wounded, the grandparents graciously whisked William and Catherine away on Friday.

For 3 days my house was clean and neat. For 3 days when I put something away it stayed there. Andy and I had only ourselves to feed at dinnertime and I didn't fix a single PB&J all weekend. Only one of the 3 monitors hummed in our room through the night. When I was awakened early in the morning to feed the baby, I could go back to sleep when he did. I was able to hold, rock and cuddle the baby....alone. And it was very very quiet around here. But something just wasn't right. It was too quiet and too still. And I was glad it was only for 3 days. And I couldn't wait to hear those little feet running up the steps and those sweet voices yelling "Mama" again. And all was right with the world.

Out of the blue while I was brushing his teeth, with toothpaste dripping down his chin and bubbles frothing out of his mouth, William looked up and said "Mama, I love you." Makes it all....and I mean all...worthwhile. Doesn't make me want a Number 4....and am in fact very glad there won't be....but sure makes me grateful beyond words for Numbers 1, 2 and 3.

Ten Weeks

Next Item Up for Bid

No I'm not auditioning for the Price is Right. By request...here is a self portrait of the new do. When I got home from getting my hair cut William said "oh Mama....your hair is so pretty!" So nice to have a fan greet you when you come home. Later on I heard him on the phone telling Papa that "Mama doesn't have long hair anymore."

When I sat down yesterday for the cut and told my hairdresser what I wanted she almost wouldn't do it...she said she was afraid I'd regret it. I can't believe I had absolutely no feelings as all that hair fell to the floor as she was cutting. Only thing I could think was how quickly I could dry and fix it now. And an added bonus....now I don't have to worry about going out of the house with spit up in my hair (yes that has happened more than once!).

We're off to cook out with friends (now those are VERY good friends who would invite this crew over for a BBQ) and enjoy the holiday.

Happy Fourth!

Extreme Makeover

I have an appointment to get my hair cut tomorrow. I am right on track because, over the past 4 years, my most dramatic hairstyle changes have occurred anywhere from 8-12 weeks after the birth of each child. Here's how it goes down. I am feeling fat, tired and dowdy. I have bags under my eyes and I still look at least 4 months pregnant. My hair is long and unstylish and I am tired of wearing head bands circa 1986. For some reason I start to think that I will walk into the hair salon as Julia Child and come out Julia Roberts. It never happens, but yet I will try again tomorrow. This post pregnancy coif always causes me more stress than any other hairstyle I might attempt, because a few snips at my head is supposed to give me a total body makeover. I can't give up the dream.

So tonight I will go to bed with visions of an extreme makeover. My hair might look like my dog chewed it off when I return home tomorrow, but at least it will be clean. And I'll get to sit alone in a chair for at least 30 minutes. Can't wait!

The Longest Day

I'm not having the best day. I admit that I am a scheduleaholic. I like predictability...a routine...knowing when everyone will be rising and setting. I am not and never have been a spontaneous, spur of the moment, fly by the seat of my pants kind of gal. The three of us...William, Catherine and I....had a great routine. Up and until 10 weeks ago when we became the four of us. I've spent the past 10 weeks stressing and fretting about getting Stuart into the groove, forgetting that new babies sometimes don't cooperate. Such has been the case today.

Notwithstanding the fact that he is sleeping great at night, he just can't get with the program during the day. Today he has taken about 3 six minute naps. This has given me time to use the bathroom twice and brush three teeth.* William dressed himself and Catherine runs around naked anyway so what's the point. This is all I've accomplished today because I've been toting Stuart around. All day. Otherwise he screams. All day. It's been a long day. And it's not even close to being over.

Speaking of spontaneity, I have to share something funny. At least I think it's funny. Andy and I had a sudden burst of energy and optimism Saturday morning over breakfast when we looked around at our momentarily very sweet, beautiful and quiet little family and thought it would be fun to pack everyone a bag, throw everyone in the car (sorry, VAN) and drive to Atlanta...actually....two hours north of Atlanta....to Dad's cabin to enjoy the holiday. Maybe even watch fireworks over the lake from the boat. It was like one of those dream sequences in movies...we heard music playing....saw the sweet faces of our little angels cozied up together as we celebrated our country's independence and felt warm and tingly all over. Then the music stopped, a pancake went flying across the table and the baby's diaper exploded like Mt. St. Helen's. We then spent the next 10 minutes accusing the other one of having lost their mind.

Who needs to drive 8 hours anyway to see fireworks when we've got more explosives right here at home than we can handle. And it's not limited to July 4. EVERYDAY is a holiday here!

*How do I have time to blog you may ask yourself? Well. He's strapped to me in the Baby Bjorn (God love the people who invented this thing) and it's more comfortable to just sit. But the other two are about to wake up and I don't know what I will do when I have to tackle Sybil to get a diaper on her. That might be tomorrow's entry. That is if today ever ends.