What a great Saturday night!

As the parents in the crowd will understand, we are ecstatic to have finally found a good group of babysitters. We have two go-to girls (both upcoming sophomores, so they'll be around for a couple more years) right here in the neighborhood who are smart AND responsible. Do you know how nice it is to come home to find that your toddler's diaper is on the right way and that it's obviously been changed at some point during your time away? Or what a relief it is to find the playroom has been cleaned and not looking like a tornado tore through? Seemingly not a big deal, sure, but we had so many nightmares in Charlotte that this is quite a treat for us.

Ruby (the boys' favorite) came over Saturday night because Matt and I were headed to the Avett Brothers' concert. They played as the Minnesota Zoo as part of the Zoo's summer concert series. It was a venue for only about 1300 people, and we were frankly concerned about whether there would be anyone else there besides us! We had no idea whether there was a following here in the upper midwest for this little bluegrass-esque band from the south. But there was! It was sold out, and everyone who was there was completely enthuastic. It broke our hearts when it ended -- Matt and I had such a fantastic time. I knew that their music helped me get through the past year -- it connects me to my family, it uplifts me and inspires me, and just makes me happy -- but I didn't realize it had meant so much to Matt, too. I learned this when commenting that we should have brought a poster to hold up or something, to which Matt replied, "but how can you bring a poster big enough to write 'hey, we're from NC too, but we had to move under depressing circumstances and thanks for getting me through the past year '?" Good point.


They're coming back to this neck of the woods in October, when they're playing in Madison, WI. Madison is supposed to be awesome, so we think we're gonna save our pennies and plan to go, and even to bring the boys. Noah loves the band, too, and we'll just do whatever we can to get Luke to make it through. There were actually several kids at this past concert, and they were dancing and having a great time. So, we'll just try to make it happen (that is, unless Grammie and Grandpa want to make a fall visit which would include a little time away for mom & dad...).

We took a video of them doing one of our favorites, "Go To Sleep," but I couldn't get it to upload. So I'm just going to link to a couple of their videos on YouTube. The first one is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. I cry when I listen to it alot, and I cried when they sang it at the concert (the first song of the encore). The next one is actually two of their songs, but it's awesome.

Small miracles

Tonight, after some mild emotionally heartbreaking news (nothing truly noteworthy, I'm just very fragile these days), we opted for a treat and went to Chipotle. A wonderful, gloriously yummy $25 splurge (we opted for the guac tonight AND two sodas, instead of splitting one). I am crazy proud to announce that Noah ate almost an entire chicken taco (with just cheese, but still). This is huge for us, because it means we can partake in this tasty treat with a tad less parental guilt. Usually, we prioritized our own Chipotle cravings over the nutritional intake of our babies, allowing them to feast on tortilla chips and chocolate milk boxes (it's organic milk, okay?) as their entire dinner. But tonight, we made just a tad bit of progress. We're so proud.

A 5 year old's questions

Gus has gotten a little bigger since we first brought him home. About 20 pounds bigger. The vet predicts he'll be 80 pounds full grown. The breeder told us 50 pounds. Damn it.

Every kid needs a slip 'n' slide, right? Thank you Cauwels Family!

Noah has always been a curious kid, but he's becoming more and more intrigued by the world around him. A few days ago, he overheard Matt & I discussing the unfortunate news that our Charlotte house apparently had termites. This prompted question after question: what are termites? what do they look like? where do they live? why don't they live in Minnesota? if it gets warmer in Minnesota, will the termites come here, too? etc., etc.

Today, though, I was totally impressed with the kid's thought processes. We were in the car and he asked, "Mom, what part of my body controls what I do?" I did my best at simplifying the mechanisms of the neurotransmitters in the brain. He thought it was awesome. "So, my brain makes my arm move when I want it to move? And my brain tells by body when I'm hot or cold? That is SO cool!"

A few hours later, he says, "Mom, why do humans live in houses?" I had to think about that one for a second, because it takes time to formulate a response that I think a) he will actually understand; and b) will actually satisfy his curiosity. We discussed humanity's need for shelter, on the biological side of things, and our need for a place to put all of our stuff, on the logistical side. Apparently, the latter really clicked for him. "Yeah! Where would I put all of my toys if I didn't have a house?!?"

So, while my 5 year old is anxiously attempting to discover the ways of the world, my almost-3 year old is steadfastly refusing to use the potty, give up the pacifier, or -- most recently -- walk. And so Noah asked Matt last night at bedtime, "Dad, why do you and mom always do everything Lukey wants, but you always tell me 'no'?" Holy crap, we're really bad parents.

I'm published

I know that I said in my last post that this blog would be about the kids, but I do have some mildly exciting news to share. A little story of mine got published on The Poor Chef website. You can read it here. Gotta start somewhere, right?

What is the point of this blog?

I have completely lost focus and motivation to keep this thing up. Why? Because I have no purpose. Seems that generally this is the just the way of having an ongoing conversation with those friends and family we don't get to hang out with like we used to. That's good enough, I suppose. But it bores me. Sigh.

Per the name of the thing, I suppose it should focus on my kids. But the fact is that my mothering has gotten so crappy during the past year that all I ever do is negotiate with my toddlers, but one of them isn't even a toddler anymore. I could say the title represents the parenting principle I aspire to, but that isn't true anymore either. I have come to the undeniable conclusion that I somehow gave birth to two very strong-willed children who are wholly and consistently unwilling to abide by my motherly demands and commands. I chose Matt as the father of my children with the intention that his "I don't give a shit/yeah, whatever/that's cool with me" attitude would prevail in our genetic intermingling. But how could it? By definition, my controlling, obsessive, "my-way-or-else" personality traits were surely going to trump. So, apparently, what we're left with is two kids who look exactly like Matt and act exactly like me. Damn -- on both counts. I mean, we all know I'm the cute one, right?

Well, I hereby declare the focus shall return to the kids and our ongoing negotiations. Tonight, for example, Matt and I ate dinner alone because our children summarily refused to join us. About twenty minutes after we'd finished up, Luke meandered in the kitchen and informed us he was hungry and wanted his dinner on the couch while he watched the Flinstones (the boys are big fans of the old school cartoons). Matt told him 'no.' He said 'yes.' Matt told him to ask his mother if it's ok. He looks at me and says, "Mommy? It ok I eat my dinder on da couch?" I opted to trade that privilege for a slobbery, giggly kiss. Totally worth it. (The dogs will clean up the mess anyway.)

Mary, Mary, quite contrary... how does your garden grow?

We have two of these raised beds. This one has heirloom tomatoes, red leaf lettuce, romaine, arugula, fennel, red cabbage and peppers. The one next to it (not pictured, because there aren't a lot of plants in it yet) has beets, more tomatoes, more peppers, onions, and room for other stuff. I'm thinking okra and more beets.
All of our plants are going to have an uphill battle of survival if this continues. If Gus disappears someday soon, this will be why...
This is the strawberry patch and rhubarb bush. On the other side of the fence, we have cantaloupe and raspberry bushes.
And here, behind the house, we have the herb garden. On either side of the herbs is a zucchini plant and a patty pan squash plant.

And here are just some other random pictures of the house and yard. We have spent the last four weekends (plus many weekday hours from me), working on the outside of the house and yard. We've made LOTS of changes since we've moved in. One of these days, we'll be having the house painted and getting some professional landscaping. But for now, this is good enough for us...

So funny, so true

Selected excerpts from A Special Balls Deep Message to the Class of 2009, by Drew Magary. You can see the whole thing at Deanspin.com:

I bet you grads had one hell of a spring, didn't you? Oh, I bet you spent your whole spring taking a miniscule courseload, lounging on blankets outside on the quad, fucking each other, drinking your gay little Twisted Teas... I bet you even smoked pot on Wednesday morning, just for the hell of it. I bet you just had the time of your fucking lives the past four years, didn't you?

YOU MAKE ME SICK.

Guess what, fuckos? Party's over. You're out of college now, and your parents are now too poor to nurse you through grad school. No more fantasy life for you. No more ice luges. No more intellectual discourse. No more ripe teenage pussy. That's all over now. YOU ARE FUCKED. Your days will now consist of searching for a job in a marketplace where no available job of any sort fucking exists. Your commencement speaker will probably tell you your class "faces enormous challenges," or some bullshit euphemism like that. This is a lie. A challenge is something you can overcome. You, on the other hand, are completely, unavoidably fucked. You're not going to cure cancer. You're not going to stop wars. You're not going to save the planet. If you're lucky, you may stumble upon a $2 coupon for Honey Nut Cheerios one day. That will be about it.

Otherwise, you are entering a world that is running out of money, a world that will slowly choke itself to death unless it somehow stumbles upon a miraculously clean, cheap energy source that has yet to be invented and almost certainly never will be. Ten years from now, your degree will be 1/100th as useful as a fucking life vest. So wipe that nauseating smile off your faces and heed now this glimpse into your very near future…

95% of your future happiness will come from finding a good parking spot. You know that annoying Joni Mitchell song where she bitches and moans, "They paved paradise, put up a parking lot. OOOOOH BOP BOP BOP!" Suck it, you hairy-bushed twat. If it were up to me, there would be a 17-level parking garage on every other block in this fucking country. I swear to fucking God, I spend the majority of my time every weekend stalking outgoing Trader Joe's customers in my Honda, watching them walk to their cars, then having them wave me off because they weren't actually getting out. HEY COCKTEASE, GIVE ME A FUCKING HEADS UP.

I promise you, when you reach my age, not only will you exult at finding a great parking spot, but you'll immediately tell the first person you see about having secured it. "Yeah, I got a GREAT spot! I didn't even have to wait! Usually, that lot is a NIGHTMARE. God, I feel fucking good!"

At some point, you will not be able to sleep in past 8 or 9AM, and this will piss you off. I used to be cool. I used to be able to sleep until noon no problem. I SPAT RIGHT IN MORNING'S FUCKING EYE. No waking up at dawn for me. Waking up early is crazy gay. Am I right?

Except then I got a job, so I had to wake up early every day. Then, my body got used to waking up early every day, so it just woke the fuck right up at the same time on weekends, too. "But Body," I said to my big fat body, "There's nothing to fucking do, and I wanna sleep more." But my body wouldn't have it. Then I got married. Then I had kids. And holy shit, do kids wake up early. Not only does my kid come storming into the room at 6AM, but she screams WAKE UP at the top of her lungs every damn time. Having a kid is just like having a really mean spinning instructor. They give no fucking quarter. They're like tiny little Hitlers.

Now, even if there are no kids around, I wake up at 7AM at the latest. This should be good for me, I suppose. I get to run out and experience the full day, or something. But I don't feel that way. I feel like a complete asshat for getting up that early. I feel lamer than shit. Which is completely irrational. Then again, most anything I think or do now is beyond explanation. So rest up, kids. Because soon you'll be chewing Ambien like they're fucking Bubbalicious.

The day you become old is the day you find yourself looking at a paint swatch book. Holy shit, that shade of blue is only .000001 degrees away from that shade of blue! You practically have to view them at the atomic level to know the fucking difference! How the fuck am I supposed to choose? Fun fact: any paint color you choose will end up looking like a radically different color once applied to your walls. Why? Because the people at Sherwin-Williams are pricks, that's why.

You will begin caring about stupid shit in the front section of the newspaper. I used to read USA Today in college. I would read only two sections: Red and Purple. The green section was for boring assholes, and the front section was about a bunch of stupid political bullshit. I never cared about politics or world affairs when I was younger. College kids who care about politics are fucking douches. But suddenly, annoyingly serious shit like health care actually started to matter to me. And I don't like it one bit. I read an article in The Atlantic a while back. Voluntarily. I can't begin to tell you how annoyed I was at myself for this.

You will get dumber every day from now on. You're done learning. Time to start forgetting shit! The other weekend I was sitting in the parking lot shuttle bus at the Baltimore airport, on my way to get my car after a flight, only to realize I had left my car keys at my parents' house, which was now 300 miles away. I then bit down on my own finger until I had broken the skin. I am retarded, and I am only getting worse. IT'LL HAPPEN TO YOU.

Going out will stop being appealing to you. What? I have to put on pants? And pay $5 for a drink when I have 30 beers in the fridge? And talk to people? FUCK. THAT.

There is no point in raising your kids well, because other people's retard kids will end up ruining them anyway. You can teach your kid good manners. You can feed them nothing but organic dairy products milked from an angel's tit. You can read your kid 500 Sandra Boynton books every night. I promise you, none of it will matter. Because once your kid goes to school, some spoiled sack of shit kid with horrible parents will teach your kid the word "pussyfart," get them hooked on straight Whoppers, and immediately undo every good thing you did. Trust me. Other people can't parent for JACK SHIT.

You will find yourself, at times, tired of drinking. But you will continue drinking anyway. Beats the alternative, which is NOT drinking.

The key to a decent existence is owning a good bed. Most of your future life will be consumed with addressing reams and reams of tedious bullshit. You'll have to work. You'll have to run errands. You'll have to clean shit and pick shit up. Your only salvation is that fucking bed at the end of the day. So make sure it kicks ass in every conceivable way. Get it all: the pillowtop mattress, the egg crate, the featherbed underneath, the nice comforter on top… ALL THAT SHIT. No day is ever that horrible if you have a sultan's rest awaiting you. You'll still wake up at 6AM involuntarily. But at least you'll still be nice and cozy when you do.