The Brothers Scott

Stupid light

2012-01-24T07:41:00.000-08:00

Funny how death heightens everything. The smallest detail.

Today is the first day I've had some time to be alone. Really alone. I came home from dropping Wilder off at school, and I'm here by myself. Started listening to a song that Karen's husband, Eric, played for me last night. Such a pretty song — it's called "The Call," by Regina Spektor.

I sat listening to it, and was thinking about how Bree will get here tonight. Then, tomorrow, Sarah and Jess. In college, it was always the five of us: Karen, Bree, Sarah, Jess, me. I've had most of the best times of my life with these girls. I love them all so much.

I kind of lost it and had to lie down on the floor. I rolled over onto my back, and looked at this damn chandelier in my living room.

One light out.

I hate this.

For Karen

2012-01-21T09:23:00.001-08:00

Memorial Day Weekend, Boulder, CO: Bree, Kris, Karen, Sarah

When I was in the first grade, there was a new girl who came to our school. Her name was Karen Nalezinek, and the teacher assigned me to help her out that day. Show her where the milk was in the lunchroom. That sort of thing. It was the first of many coincidences that would lead to Karen and I being lifelong friends. Somehow, no matter where we went off to, we always ended up back near each other.

It happened during college, when I moved back to Colorado and we both ended up at CU — roommates almost the whole time. A few years after we graduated, she moved back to Colorado and I lived in Apt. L. She moved in four doors down. Apt. P. She bought a house. Less than two miles away, Jerry and I bought one. This latest house we bought is a few blocks away from where Karen's oldest daughter, Reagan, goes to school. She and her husband Eric were thinking of moving over here. As it is, they are not that far away. Certainly close enough for Karen and I to get our kids together every few weeks. Close enough to try to have dinner together as often as our busy lives allow.

We always joked that we'd end up two old ladies, living together as widows, sharing one car. We joked about it, but I honestly believed it could happen. It just did happen that way with Karen and I.

I thought we would always be there, near each other. Watching our beautiful kids, who get along so amazingly well, grow up together. Crying together over our empty nests. Trying to good naturedly out-brag each other over their accomplishments. Continuing to go out for cocktails for decades. Always talking, always sharing, always feeling like we were soul-sisters. If not in blood, then in soul. When I wanted to talk to my mom and knew I couldn't, Karen was almost always the next person I would think of to call. I don't think I ever told her that.

This morning, at 7:21 a.m., I got the second worst phone call I've ever received, next to when my dad called me 11 years ago. Jamey, Karen's little sister, called me to tell me that my dear, lifelong friend passed away last night.

It is inconceivable to me that she is gone. Just a few weeks ago, we shopped together for our kids Christmas presents. She gave me hell about using the Toys R Us employees as my personal shoppers. She bought games for all her nieces and nephews, and was looking forward to many nights spent with them and her babies, playing those games. I told her I hated playing games with her when we were little because she wanted to win so badly. We laughed. Afterward, we went out for appetizers and a couple of drinks. We sat at the bar and raised our eyebrows at the lady sitting near us who was laughing so loud, so much. She told me about one of her contract employees, a young man who had been murdered over Thanksgiving weekend. We shook our heads at the way life can change in an instant.

An instant.

I will no doubt need to write about Karen much on this blog over the next few weeks. There are so many stories. There was so much history between us, so much future. She has been a constant in my life. And now she is gone. I am shattered at this. My heart breaks, not only for me but for all those who love her.

Karen. Oh honey. I love you so much.

Proud moment

2012-01-17T16:10:00.000-08:00

Many of you know how our school year started. It was, um — shitty — to put it as succinctly as I can. That said, Wilder has been making great strides in learning to pay attention, follow instructions, etc. You know, all that stuff that opens the pathways to us eventually being beaten down adults who turn to one vice or another because the world expects so much from us.

What? It's true, isn't it? OK, it's not that bad ...

Anyway, as I waited outside the school today to pick him up, a woman's voice came over the loudspeakers outside the school. Presumably she works in the office, and presumably she may be brand new, because I'm pretty sure she pushed a wrong button. And, while I appreciated being able to hear the announcements (reason to come), I'm pretty sure the six-block radius around the school might not have. Just saying, the Boulder Valley School District is not scrimping on PA systems. That shit was loud.

So anyway, she starts listing off the names of kids who got "PAWS" today. That stands for something that has to do with good behavior. For me, it would be "Please Answer Without Sarcasm," a skill I never learned. For the little ones, it's something else.

Anyway, as I stood there listening, I dared to hope that I would hear my kiddo's name announced. Lucky for me, he doesn't have a name like Grayson or Jayson or Braden or Aidan or any of those names that seem so popular amongst little boys these days.

And, then, it happened ...

"blah blah blah Wilder, from Ms. Z's class, blah blah blah ..."

I swear the damn widest smile spread over my face. There were times at the beginning of the school year that, had you told me that THAT would have happened, I would have laughed, then cried, then found the nearest route to my refrigerator.

But it did. And I was so, so proud. Damn, kid, you done good.

And then there was ice cream. The end.

And he's a writer (of letters, anyway)

2012-01-05T16:01:00.000-08:00

Over the holiday break, I taught Hunter how to write his name. We worked on it a few weeks ago, during which time he became convinced his name was spelled H-T-O, and I was so happy he was writing any letters that I became content to just let him believe that for awhile.

A few days before break ended, I knew that Wilder needed to get back on the academic horse lest he show up to the first day back to kindergarten drooling and holding his pencil like a caveman club, so I grabbed some paper and markers and set him down to practice.

Hunter sat down, too. He wrote an "H," looked at me and said "what next?"

So we went over it. How to spell his name. How to put one letter next to another, etc.

This afternoon, I picked him up from preschool. On the way out the door, I stopped to look at a piece of paper taped to the door. There, in Hunter's distinctive yet legible scrawl, I saw his name. I looked quizzically at his teacher.

"He came in, sat down and the first thing he did was write his name for Miss Deb (the a.m. teacher)," she told me. "So we taped it up."

#proudmamamoment :-)

Hard at work writing his name.

Music in the ears

2012-01-04T07:03:00.000-08:00

For some time, Hunter has far preferred Jerry's company to mine. As in: "Go AWAY. I want Papa!" Over and over and over again. For months now, really. You can imagine how this must make me feel. Yes, there's hurt. But there's also that incredulous feeling of "you little ungrateful turd ... I carried you INSIDE MY BODY for nine months and let them CUT ME OPEN to get you out ..."

It could go on and on. I don't really say this stuff to him. Just in my own head. I might occasionally mutter "you shit turd" under my breath. It's my newest term of endearment. Mostly, though, I just feel defeated when he does that.

The last few days, there have been glimmers of Hunter love again.

And then this morning ...

I slept in kinda late for me. Wilder was up watching a show. Hunter had not yet emerged from his room. I peeked inside his door and he was just sitting up, stretching and yawning. I cracked the door open to say good morning.

He looked up.

"I want Pa________ ... I mean, I want you."

I don't think even he could believe the words had just come out of his mouth. And he's been following me around chattering at me ever since.

It's gonna be a GOOD day.

... This is your Christmas on drugs

2011-12-03T07:11:00.001-08:00

Anyone who knows me well or who's been reading here for a few years knows that A) my mom died 10 days before Christmas many years ago; and B) I get VERY blue this time of year. And bonus — C) Many, many years ago, my mom and I sat in a hospital in Lincoln, Neb., and watched as my grandmother slowly succumbed to sepsis, dying two days after Christmas.

In case you've never seen anyone go septic, let me tell you: It has got to rank up there as one of the worst ways to watch someone die. IT IS AWFUL. I've seen it twice and hope to never, EVER see it again.

So, yeah. Just not my favorite time of year. I usually fall into a very deep funk that I end up clawing my way out of sometime between right after Thanksgiving and early January.

And I am really happy to say that this year is different.

For starters, we started decorating a couple of days after Thanksgiving, and over the course of that weekend, we put up all our decorations (not many, mind you — a self-professed Scrooge does not acquire much in the way of holiday festivity), went and bought our tree, and put up a record number of lights outside the house. We even took the boys to a Christmas movie and, afterward, drove them over to a nearby park and ran in the cold and crispy darkness under all the lit trees, laughing and enjoying watching the boys scream with utter joy.

And I did not shed a single tear. And I think I can safely say — and Jerry would confirm — that I didn't even get a little grumpy.

It's a damn Christmas miracle.

No. Really.

So why the change? Well, there are probably a few reasons, chief among them the fact that for the better part of a year, I have been taking anti-depressants. It's probably not something I should be announcing on this here blog, but I'll be damned if I feel the slightest bit of shame or embarrassment about it. Here's the deal: I was sad. I needed help. I finally — FINALLY — went out and got some.

Depression is something I have suffered from my entire life, or at least my entire adult life. It's a bitch to wake up one day and know that life is gonna suck for an indeterminate amount of time. And to know that, for approximately six to eight weeks at the end of every year, you're gonna want to crawl under a blanket and not come out.

At best, that's what it felt like.

And last year was pretty bad. So, at the end of December, I just decided enough was enough and I was going to take control of my life. I've done that in more ways than one this year, and it has had some interesting effects and led me down some interesting paths, but it started, I believe, that day when I finally acknowledged that I needed help. And if that help was gonna come in the form of a little white pill and a few of my hard-earned dollars going to the evil pharma-industry, then so be it.

If you suffer from depression, let me encourage you to take the same steps I did. I mean, it's not like I walk around all day singing about lollipops and envisioning happy puppies jumping under rainbows. Good god, it hasn't changed me THAT significantly — I'm still prone to making sarcastic remarks without the slightest provocation, I still get grumpy, I'm your girl if you want to sit in a public place and make fun of people, I still roll my eyes at some of my wonderful husband's Pollyanna-esque worldviews — but it has changed my world significantly.

And chief among the visible evidence of that change is that I have enjoyed this last week very much. I've enjoyed watching the boys delight at every little colored light, every jingle bell. Smiled as they played with the Christmas village that belonged to my mom. Felt a rush of excitement as Jerry climbed a 30-foot ladder approximately 30 times to string lights up near our roof.

I am a little sad, to be honest, to be leaving my fellow members of the Scrooge Club behind. They are the minority this time of year, and it was a pretty fun group of people to be aligned with (the depressed are often wickedly funny, you know ...).

But I can't say I miss the black fog.

So there's my Christmas gift — good drugs that work. I need nothing else.

And I think Rogene Scott would be pretty damn happy about this development.

Brain explosion

2011-11-19T14:04:00.001-08:00

This'll be quick, because I didn't get enough sleep last night, and I need to nap before going out for dinner with a friend tonight, but ...

Wilder's brain is exploding lately.

A little backstory: Yesterday, after we came home from school, I opened up Wilder's backpack to find his homework for over Thanksgiving week. They wanted us to work with our kids on writing stories. Essentially, they are to draw pictures from their days and then write a couple of sentences about it. I thought, "Hmmm, not sure he's ready for this. Should be interesting."

This morning, my niece Allie came over to watch the boys. When we got back, they were in our backyard. I went out to say hi and there was Wilder, writing a sentence on the sidewalk: "The big monster had wrath" — or, "The bing mostr had ratth." (The homework notes stressed that spelling is NOT important — what is important is that they are learning to express themselves and feel confidence in their abilities to tell a story ... as a writer myself, I love this.)

At any rate, I was very excited that he'd taken that initiative on his own w/o any input from Jer or I. He continued to think up words and spell them the way he thought they were spelled. He even wrote "Thanksgiving."

I know this is normal for kids ... it's just really so cool to experience your own kid doing it.

Just now we got home after a trip to the Butterfly Pavilion and after lunch the boys ran outside to play for a bit. Jerry went to check on them and then came and got me: "Kris, come see this picture Wilder is drawing."

For the first time, he drew a picture of a person complete with a head, a torso, two legs, two arms and feet. This is a first. And for a boy who just last week told me he couldn't draw a picture of a bee, this is pretty cool. His art teacher gave him very high marks on his report card, and I think he's getting a lot of confidence both from her and from school in general.

I should also mention that Hunter is writing all kinds of letters now and even spelling his own name. He never spells it correctly, but the point is he trying and his handwriting is amazingly legible for a 3-year-old.

I'm gonna go take some picture of all this and post later. I'm just being a proud mom. Indulge me :-)

The wily reframing of meaning

2011-11-18T10:46:00.000-08:00

"Servant! ... SERVANT!!" This is Wilder, yelling like Ghengis Khan.

Silence.

"SSEERRVVAANNTT!"

Me: "Whose you're servant?"

Wilder: "You."

Me: "Um, no. Not on any level."

Wilder: "OK. Hunter, you're my servant!"

Hunter: "Nope. No I'm not."

Wilder, adopting a matter-of-factness quality in his voice: "Um, Hunter ... servant means you're a really good master."

Hunter: "Oh. OK. I'll be the servant."

Wilder, continuing his dictatorial tone: "SERVANT! COME HERE!"

A herky for W (figuratively ... I can't actually do herkies!)

2011-11-18T10:37:00.000-08:00

A full week of two thumbs up. Wilder is hitting his kindergarten stride, and I couldn't be more proud. More bumps in the road will come, but for now, we're on smooth ground and we're feeling good about it.

Dear older Wilder: Never forget what a great kid you are. You consistently rise to the challenge. You listen and you make changes. You know you can be a leader and you're working toward that.

I love you, kiddo.

That's all.

Banner day

2011-10-13T15:23:00.001-07:00

I try not to come on here too often and brag about my kids. But today was an exceptionally good day, especially for Wilder, so I'm gonna give him some public kudos.

First off, we had our very first double-thumbs-up day at school. I do realize that pretty much every day should be that kind of day at school, but he's been struggling with the transition ... so much so that there have been multiple principal's office visits and a string of emails back and forth between his teacher, the principal and Jerry and I trying to figure out the best course of action.

Anyway, without going into too much detail about how this has transpired, let's just say it started off mildly amusing, then I got frantic and very stressed, then I realized all I could do was all I could do, and as long as I was doing that, it would all turn out OK eventually.

We're not there yet, but we made a great stride today. He had a fantastic day, so much so that his teacher seemed in mild shock about it. It's our first double-thumbs-up day, and it's a pretty big deal for all of us — especially after about eight weeks of fingers crossed and silent intonations of "oh please don't let him have done something awful today ..."

So yeah, that was great. But that wasn't the coolest thing Wilder did today ...

So, where we grocery shop, there is a relatively new bagger named Danny. Danny has Down's Syndrome and, I found out today, he also has quite a stutter. I really feel for this kid. On the other hand, Danny is hilarious. He picks up each and every food item you buy and studies it intently. Then he either puts it in the bag with no fanfare, scowls furiously and tut-tuts whatever it is you're forcing him to touch and then puts it in the bag, or — this is the best part — he tosses it aside and refuses to bag it. He never talks ... he just silently judges you.

It is a freakin' comedy routine. Unintentional, I know, but nonetheless it cracks me up. I try to get in his line just to see it.

So today, he started off the same way. He picked up my bread choice, studied it, wrinkled his nose a bit and put it in a bag.

Then Wilder decided he wanted to help Danny, so he started handing him our groceries. At first, the kid was flustered. It was messing up not only his rhythm, but it was screwing with his ability to judge my purchases. I tried to gently tell Wilder that Danny had his own way of doing things and he should let him do it himself. But Wilder would not be deterred, and Danny became rather charmed by this kid who was trying to help him. By the end of it all, Wilder was handing him almost everything he put in the bag, and Danny was trying to tell me his life story (it was honestly very hard to understand him with the stutter, so I regret I cannot report any of it here).

When we left, I told Wilder it was nice of him to help bag the groceries.

"That guy seemed like he might be having a hard time," Wilder said. "So I wanted to help him."

It made me proud. Wilder has never really seen people's differences as something to either make a remark about or be frightened of, and I love that about him. In fact, when Danny was telling me his life story, I couldn't really understand a word he said, and I was feeling pretty awkward and frankly was also looking forward to getting out of there.

But not Wilder — he was just shoving onions and breakfast cereals in his face.

Love that kid.

PS. Of course, it's not really true that Wilder never notices differences. As we were preparing to catch our plane the other day, he saw an airport employee wheel a woman onto another flight's boarding ramp. "She needs a ride because she'd old," he says. "And that makes her slow." Then he looked around and remarked: "Uh oh, there are a ton of old ladies getting on our flight. This is gonna take forever!" I looked sheepishly at the woman sitting across from us. "It's OK," she said with a smile. "I'm just glad he didn't look at me before he said that."

When Lady Gaga and Photo Booth collide

2011-09-29T15:56:00.000-07:00

The Summerlands Grandma

2011-09-22T20:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. She would have been 68. In December she will have been gone 11 years. In totality, grief gets easier with time. In fleeting moments, or at times when her wisdom or love is much needed, not so much. I can still miss her as much as I did as I sat in that hospital room with her that last time and watched her take her last breath. Grief ... it's like an old healed wound that's much too prone to reopening. An old cliché, but one that hits it on the head.

So yeah, her birthday. And then there's also this situation going on right now — something that I can't decide if I should write about or not. A situation that could benefit from her living, breathing presence. Her wit, her wisdom, her ability to tell me to calm the hell down and stop freaking out so much. She told me many, many times in my life that I was being too hard on myself, and I suspect she would tell me that now.

Anyway, none of that is either here nor there. The point is that because of these circumstances, I am missing her. Very, very much. And because of her recent birthday, I have been talking to the boys more about her. And then there is this not-so-little fascination that the boys and I have with the song "American Pie" right now. They tell me the line, "This'll be the day that I die" — it saddens them. And the softer, slower melodies at the beginning and end of the song sadden them, too. But their love of the rest is enough to account for repeated plays. I think they also love that I sing my freakin' heart out every time that song is on. They try to sing along.

But yes, the talk of long-gone grandmothers, the theme of death in what is currently their favorite song. Well, it all leads to big things on the minds of small people. Yesterday, as we sang and rode home in the car, Hunter asked me three times: "Mama? Did my grandma die? Does she live in the Summerlands now?"

We call heaven "the Summerlands." It's more evocative, I guess, and more grounded in realistic language for the boys — and so that's what we call it. And I suppose I'll call it that when they're older, too. I like it better than "heaven," though truthfully I don't believe in either. But boys ... they need to believe until they are old enough to make up their minds in other ways.

And believe they do. Tonight, as I watched TV, a freshly bathed Hunter carried one of my old flip cell phones downstairs and handed it to me.

"Here, Mama. Call your mama." (He didn't even say call Grandma ... he said "call your mama.")

"Oh honey, I wish I could."

"You can, Mama. It's a special phone. It can call the Summerlands."

"You are so sweet, Hunter. But I don't think I have that number. I wish I did. I really do, kiddo."

And so, just when I thought I could not miss her more ...

There is no good way to end this post.

Brotherly Love

2011-09-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

I'm listening to Wilder and Hunter play in Wilder's room right now. And I hear this, from Hunter:

"It's OK, Wilder. Really. It's OK. Don't cry. I love you."

Man, they make my heart melt sometimes.

Worry

2011-09-19T13:51:00.000-07:00

Wilder heard the song "American Pie" a couple of weeks ago, and he's been singing and humming the main refrain ever since. You know it:

So bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And good 'ol boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singing 'This'll be the day that I die ....'

Today, on a drive to a nearby place to play, the boys and I decided to listen to the whole song. And, of course, that refrain is repeated many times throughout the song, along with many other lyrics. We're nearing the end of the song, as well as nearing our destination, and Hunter pipes up loudly from the back seat:

"Mama? What's whiskey?"

The whole damn song and that boy asks that question. I mean, he could ask dozens of other things. What's a Chevy? What's a levee? What's a swelter? What's a fallout shelter? (This post is starting to sound very Seussian ...)

Anyway, the fact that he asked about whiskey explains a lot in terms of why Jerry and I worry about him sometimes. He has this knack for zeroing in on the very thing you hope he won't. Like how he grabs my friends' breasts sometimes. He could touch their hair, or ask them what color eyes they have.

But nope. It's the breasts.

Sigh.

So I answered his question: "It's something grown-ups drink sometimes."

H: "Can it make you sick?"

Seriously, how does he know this stuff?

"Yes, honey. It can make you sick. Very, very sick."

Oh Hunter honey ... I am going to have to keep a very, very close eye on you. Because you remind me of me. And that scares the living daylights out of me.

Remembering 9/11

2011-09-11T09:47:00.001-07:00

I was sleeping in a friend's house on 9/11, having just attended the wedding of another dear friend, when my friend's mom called to wake us up to tell us the awful news. We were supposed to get on a return plane to Dallas that day. I remember sitting on my friend's bed and later on her couch, in disbelief, tears following tears for most of the day. Jerry and I stayed in Denver for, I believe, five days longer than planned. I went back to the Rocky Mountain News to work for a few of those days … it was all I knew how to do in times like this, with news like this. It helped. But one memory shines through from that time: Upon returning home on a plane a few days after the horror, I felt like everyone on that plane was somehow bonded. We all agreed before takeoff that, should something bad happen, we'd all open up a major can of whoop-ass together. We sat next to a woman in her 80s who was on her way to South America for volunteer work. She also pledged to smack the hell out of anyone who might be on the plane to do us harm, and I liked her immediately. She told us she would spend the night in the airport, on the floor, waiting for her next plane. No way, I thought. We took her home with us, and she spent the night and took us out to breakfast the next morning. We kept in touch for a couple years after that, but have since lost touch. I think everyone on that plane that day gave each other a little piece of returned faith in humanity. Ten years later, I miss that feeling of being in this together, for better or for much, much worse. Wish we could get a bit of that back.

PANIC

2011-09-09T07:34:00.000-07:00

I think I can safely say I now know the true meaning of that word.

Wilder has school on Fridays; Hunter does not. So we all three walked into school this morning and, when we got there, Wilder did what he usually does, which is throw me his backpack and run off to play on the playground. Some of the other kindergarten moms have commented on this, on how totally unafraid he seems and how independent he is. A lot of the other kindergarteners stick close by their moms or get into line and wait. Anyway, this morning, Hunter initially went with Wilder, but when a bunch of kids started showing up, I grabbed H and we went to wait for the school bell to ring. At Wilder's school, they line up with their classmates and their teachers come out to get them, so when the bell rings, all the kids stop whatever they're doing and run to get in line.

So the bell rings. And I start looking for Wilder. The last week or so, he's been slow to get moving once he hears the bell, so this morning I talked to him about how I needed him to speed it up. "Okay," he said, and that was that.

So I'm looking for him. And waiting. And ... nothing. He's not headed toward his line. So I grab Hunter's hand and we start heading for the playground. He's not there.

I walk as fast as having a 3-year-old in tow will let me to make sure I didn't miss him getting into line. Maybe he's already there? Nope. His teacher looks at me and mouths, "Where's Wilder?" I tell her I can't find him. "You lost him?" she asks. OK, now I feel like crap and I'm starting to really freak out. Thanks.

So she tells me to go look more and she's going to take the kids in and come back.

I head back to the playground and — of course — sirens start going off a couple of blocks away. I frantically search all the nooks and crannies on the playground, hollering his name as loud as I can. It was at this point, I think, that I gave into pure panic and fright. I could not get those sirens out of my head. I was torn between running toward them and running toward the school office, and I thought: "I have to call Jerry!" So I grabbed my phone to call him.

And a strange number came up on my screen.

"Hello???"

"Hi, is this Kristi? This is Anna at Birch ..." Pause.

It was all I could do to not scream into the phone: "DO YOU HAVE MY BABY!!!!???"

"Wilder is here. He cut himself above the eye and ... garble garble garble ..."

Of COURSE the phone is breaking up.

I tell her I'm on my way and start heading toward the office.

It's at this point that I realize I've totally freaked Hunter out. "Is Wilder OK? Where is he???" he starts asking me.

I assure him his brother is fine, and then I see Wilder's teacher, heading toward me. "Did you find him?" she asked. Genuine concern on her face now, so I'm forgiving the "You lost him?" comment.

Anyway, she gets me into the school and I cut through the building, fighting tears, to get to the office. There's the boy, looking very small and vulnerable with a slightly bleeding cut above his eyebrow, dirt on his face, sitting there while the principal fixes his glasses. She hands me a tissue. Hunter hugs his brother. All is OK now and yet I can't stop crying.

A friend of mine just called and asked why the person who took him into the office didn't try to find me first. Here's what I think happened: A lot of the older kids, their parents just drop them off at school and head off. And Wilder looks so much older than a kindergartener, and I think someone just assumed he didn't have a parent there. And then the principal, who knows him (there's a story for another time ...), saw him and had someone call me, knowing I would probably be totally losing it.

So now I'm home, and it occurs to me that while we were walking to school this morning, Wilder gave me one of those fuzzy dandelion flowers and told me to blow it and make a wish. Well, I've been in a funk this week ... a pretty major one. Not sure why, but it happens sometimes this time of year. My mom's birthday is coming up and we just moved into a new house and my kiddo started kindergarten and I miss her. I want her to tell me it's OK that Wilder has already been sent to the principal's office (again, another story ...) and I want her to help me pick out paint colors and all that. So when I blow that dandelion fuzz, I wish this: "Let this funk go away and let this be an awesome day."

Sometimes, it takes a little perspective to realize again how amazing and easy you actually have it. My kid is fine. He's safe, and nothing else — nothing else — matters.

So yes, the funk is gone. Thanks universe, for answering my wish in such a awfully instructive way. I am paying attention, I promise.

Oh, and one more thing ... remember that cut above Wilder's eye I told you about? Guess what today is? Picture day! Yep, my little guy's gonna look like a tough little dude in his kindergarten school picture. This makes me kinda happy.

Kindergarten Eve

2011-08-17T16:37:00.001-07:00

Wilder starts kindergarten tomorrow. I wish I had more time to write a blog post, but we are moving this weekend and I am in last-minute mode. Or, as my father would say: The alligators are nipping at my ass.

So I just want to write a bit about how proud I am of him. He has already weathered a lot in his short life. Going on his fourth house, his fourth school, two states, the introduction of a very mercurial baby brother ... it's OK, Hunter, I'm mercurial too, btw.

At any rate, I will reflect on all this change and madness next week. But I am quite sure that tomorrow, as we go through our morning routine and as we drop him off in his classroom at school, that I will have to use every ounce of willpower I've got to keep myself from crying. He is not entirely unaffected by all this change ... he's more nervous and scared than I've ever seen him in approaching a new situation. Which is still not that much — but for him, enough to make me hurt for him. So if I cry ... well, no good.

So I'll hold it together. And then I'll bawl after we leave. And then I'll just pack some more.

Life goes on. Love you so so so so so so so much, Wilder. Good luck tomorrow kiddo.

The new Casa de la Familia Scott

2011-07-16T16:41:00.000-07:00

For those of you who are interested, here's a picture of our new house.

It doesn't show the inside, but it will eventually have white walls, gleaming hardwoods, kitchen cabinets painted with a nice modern and sophisticated color, and all my (eventually) mid-century modern furniture. It's not a MCM on the outside (hello columns!), but I will make it freaking kick-ass on the inside, little by little. Believe me, I've already been ALL OVER Etsy planning my purchases.

Check it out! How much does that cat mugshot rock? And those coffee tables ... WANT.

Also, note that the driveway is pretty much a full-size basketball court, so we will be mounting a basketball goal up above there as soon as we're able. And an aside to my brother Jay: "You. Me. H-O-R-S-E ... it's on!"

You can't really tell from the pictures, but the back yard is pretty awesome. It has a nice deck with a sun shade, a great patio for relaxing with a cold drink or having dinner al fresco (the sellers have even sold us their patio furniture), and a built-in grill for charcoal-fired dinners. We're hoping to move the pretty shed off to the side of the yard so we can set up soccer goals and such back there for the boys to go crazy with. Yep, that back yard is gonna kick some major ass six months out of the year.

Wilder's damn good questions, Vol. 3: What is the biggest thing on Earth?

2011-07-14T18:10:00.001-07:00

Tonight's question was just that: "What is the biggest thing on Earth?"

I didn't know the answer to this, so I had to look it up. It's the earth's atmosphere.

"What's atmosphere?"

Luckily I had done my research and answered this with more than "the stuff we can't see that surrounds the earth."

This all turned into a discussion of science: fungi, bacteria, animals, plants, etc. We found out there's a fungus that is actually the largest living thing on earth. It's referred to as Armillaria ostoyae, the honey mushroom, or — my personal favorite — humongous fungus (which is also what I'll name my band should I ever form one).

We also talked about the biggest dinosaurs: Argentinosaurus is thought to be the largest (the seismosaurus and ultrasaurus are common guesses, as well).

It's pretty cool what you learn when you have a kid that asks questions like this all the time. There's a worm called the bootlace worm that washed up on the shores of Scotland in 1864. 180 feet long. Yuck.

Next we'll be breaking out the microscope and ordering bacteria slides, because he's DYING to see stuff like this.

He watches the Science Channel a lot now.

Lord do I love my little geek. So handsome, so smart and so very sweet.

Wilder's damn good questions, vol. 2 (and some answers)

2011-07-12T19:40:00.000-07:00

Or attempts at answers, I should say.

As Wilder was going to bed tonight, he fired off a barrage of questions, presumably to avoid actually having to shut his eyes and attempt sleep.

And so it goes:

"Hey mom, what would happen if there was no grass in the world?"

"Well, no one would ever get high," I responded.

Kidding.

"There would be no cows," Jerry said.

Wilder: "What would happen if there was no ground?"

Jerry: "Everyone would fall to the center of the earth and burn up and die."

Yes, he actually said that.

Me, casting a dirty look at Jerry: "OR, we'd just all have to swim because the Earth would be covered in water." (Thoughts of 'Waterworld' now in my head ... dammit!)

Wilder: "What would happen if there were no mouths?"

Me, before Jerry could tell him we'd all starve to death: "What would we eat with, what would we talk with, smile with, laugh with?"

Sometimes, it's best to answer these questions with a question, I've discovered.

"What if there were no noses?"

"What would be breathe with, smell with?"

"What would happen if there was no hair?"

"We'd be pretty cold."

"What would happen if there was no light?"

"It would be very dark and scary. That's why we have electricity and the sun and even the moon gives us light." (Yes, I know that's actually still the sun's light ... knowitalls.)

"What if there was no sun?"

"Well, we'd die. Everything on the Earth would die."

Crap, now I'm answering him like Jerry! Quick ...

"But the sun's not going anywhere."

"Umm, Mom ... you need to go pee. Go pee."

He's right, of course. I'm dancing around his room like a mad woman, waiting for the questions to end. He always knows, just like his father does, when I have to go pee. And he permits me to take leave so that I can. He's sweet like that. Also, I don't think he wants me peeing on his floor.

So that was the end of the night's questions. I'm pretty sure if my bladder had not saved me I'd still be up there answering more, probably something along the lines of "What if there were no galaxies" or "What would happen if the Universe imploded?" The longer the line of questioning goes on, the more fatalistic it tends to get.

By the by, Jerry just came downstairs and announced, quizzically, "Wilder's very concerned I'm going to fall into a fire and die."

Uhh ... dude? Duh.

Anyway, you'll notice that I'm now being addressed as "Mom." Jerry is still sometimes "Papa," but he's also "Pop" a lot more now, too. And that tooth he lost a couple of weeks ago? The new one has already popped through the surface.

And kindergarten starts in a month.

Sneef SNEEF. Our boy is growing up ... so fast.

Wilder's damn good questions, vol. 1

2011-07-09T10:02:00.000-07:00

I'm going to try to make a series out of these ... these questions that Wilder asks us on a regular basis now. They are almost always, in my opinion, thought-provoking.

A few that I remember from the past few days:

"What would the sun taste like?" (And, of course, "What would the moon taste like?")

"What is bigger than a giant?"

"What is smaller than a piece of dust?"

"What is God? Where is God?"

"What would happen if there were no people in this world?"

"What would happen if all the birds died?"

"What would happen if there were no cars in this world?"

"What do ants eat?"

"What would it be like if there was no food?"

"What is sunshine made out of?"

"Who makes the wind blow?"

"Hunter, why do you sit in the middle of the stairs when people are trying to walk through here???"

That's all I can remember for now. More to come, no doubt — he's a very curious kid.

Heartache

2011-06-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

Funny morning. For some reason I woke up wanting to hear Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." So I put it on, and the music player happened to already be on repeat, so the song just kept playing over and over again. Have you ever paid attention to the words of this song? It's genuinely heartbreaking, and the lyrics have quite a deep meaning for me. So there was that ... the repetition of the song left me feeling more than a little fragile as I headed out to take the boys to school. (Yes, I could have just turned it off, but there's something about a song like that ... I just can't do it.)

When I got to the school, I saw a couple embracing just outside the school door, the woman wiping away tears behind sunglasses, her husband whispering in her ear. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to know what this means — any mom who's ever had to leave her baby at a new place for a first time ... it is so amazingly hard.

The boys have been going to this school since last September and I've never seen that at this particular school before.

So Wilder and I dropped Hunter off at his classroom and headed down to the east side of the building where Wilder's class is. You have to walk by all the other classrooms to get there. Wilder skipped ahead and I saw a father rounding the hallway's bend with a look in his eye. And, sure enough, I rounded that bend myself to see another mom, that man's wife, in tears. Only this time she was a Middle Eastern woman, her head and most of her face covered, and I could only see her eyes. And I could hear her little boy, probably one year old, sobbing behind the closed door, and her, unable to walk away yet, standing outside that door and looking at her boy through the tiny window. And I looked at this mom's eyes and oh my god it broke my heart. I just wanted to go give her a big hug.

And how strange that I've not witnessed that particular scenario one time in 10 months and then twice in one day ... I feel for those women, and it also reminds me of how incredibly deep our bonds with our mothers are. And now I'm sitting here missing mine so very much. Ten years and my mom's utterly unavoidable absence can still elicit this much heartache.

Anyway, by now I'm sure both of those moms are fine. But I'm a wreck. Damn you Cohen!

Addendum: One little detail I left out — as we saw that second mom, Wilder was walking down the hall in front of me singing "Hallelujah." I love that kid.

Memorial Day 2011

2011-05-30T07:09:00.000-07:00

I think it was 1967 when my dad, Jon P. Scott, went to Vietnam. That means that before I was born in 1972, all the members of my family had already sacrificed, knowingly or unknowingly, quite a bit.

There was Dad, of course, a member of the Air Force who spent his tour in Vietnam driving transport trucks, which were often a target of the enemy because of the important things they carried. He risked life and limb nearly every day doing his job and serving his country.

My mom, Rogene, was pregnant, raising one preschooler to-be on her own. She gave birth while my dad was serving his country and then parented both Tara and Jay alone for the better part of a year. As a mom of two boys similar in age difference to my sister and brother, I know how very, very difficult this would have been for her. It's important to note she was around 24 years old at this point. I front a lot like I'm some tough girl — believe me, I have NOTHING on Rogene Scott.

My sister, Tara, at the very wee age of 2, saw her daddy go off to war. Anyone who's ever seen a little girl with her father knows how hard this must have been for her.

And Jay, my brother, didn't meet our dad until he was 8 months old. I try to imagine Wilder or Hunter not meeting Jerry until then ...

And they all sacrificed these things because my dad felt the importance of serving his country, even at the risk of losing his life. So today, Memorial Day, I just want to recognize the things that they all sacrificed. It's easy 40-something years later to gloss over these facts and think, "Oh, that was all a long time ago ..." But it shaped our family, both then and even now, I think. And, as that lucky third child born in 1972 oblivious to it all, I just want to tell my Pop, sister, brother and my much-missed Mama how much I love them.

Master Sunshine and DJ Moonbeam

2011-04-10T17:04:00.000-07:00

Umm, Jonas Brothers they are not.

So, Wilder and Hunter have been regaling Jerry and I with their "music." It involves what appears to be thrash-metal/punk songs composed by Wilder, with titles such as, "I Almost Saw the Fire" and "ThunderDrums." Hunter throws in his support and backing vocals — mostly a remix hardcore version of the Scooby Doo theme song, followed by beating the nearest toy (in this case Buzz Lightyear) into a pulp with his "guitar."

So, yeah ... not the Jonas Brothers. But based on what just came out of Wilder's mouth, maybe Liam and Noel Gallagher. Hunter was trying to nail down a drum solo, and W hollered "You're RUINING MY BAND!!!!" at him.

ADDENDUM: The title of this post is an inside joke, but a very poor band name, so if anyone has suggestions, by all means ...

The Brothers Scott Bi-annual Photo Shoot

2011-02-02T18:25:00.000-08:00

Every February and August, I try to take pictures of the boys together. I think as they grow older, I'll be so happy I did this. I hope they treasure them someday, too.

So today we took some pictures. It's so hard to get them to sit still, but we usually manage to get a few decent shots (out of dozens). Soon I'm hoping to get some of pictures printed and put up in frames in our house. So let me know which your favorites among this bunch are.

Hope everyone is well!

Hunter: Taking poops, talking fancy

2011-02-02T07:43:00.001-08:00

I feel I can say with some certainty that my near future contains no diapers at all. Hunter has pooped three out of the last four days on the POTTY. If there is not a dance that exists in the world that celebrates solely the act of a toddler finally catching on to the toilet concept, someone should invent one.

In other news, Hunter, who hates for me to wear my hair in a ponytail or bun, told me yesterday: "Mama, take your hair down. The sun doesn't shine on you when you wear it like that."

As Jerry says: "That kid's got a real inventive way with words." I hope I've got a future writer on my hands ...

Monday rambling

2011-01-24T07:54:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am getting ready to take boy No. 2 (W) into the doctor with what I assume is strep throat. Hunter had it last week (along with an ear infection, poor kid), and now it appears it's made its way onto the next kiddo. We've gone a long time without anything major, illness-wise, so I'll just keep this in perspective. It can ALWAYS get worse.

And, in fact, life has been pretty good lately. Wilder is going through one of those periods when he seems to think the sun rises and sets upon me. He tells me he loves me about 10 times a day. He told me last night he wanted to marry me when he grows up (a little odd, I know, but I think this is a normal declaration for boys?). Yesterday, at the shoe store, he found this gigantic heart necklace that he was absolutely despondent that I wouldn't let him "buy" for me (I told him that my birthday is coming up and he and his papa would have to go shopping and he could pick me something out then). "But I love you so much, Mama ... I want you to have this big heart necklace!"

Just so darn sweet.

Not much else is going on. I'm hitting the home sites hard again looking for our future home. Discouraging. I know we'll find something, I just really want what I want this time (given that I hope we don't move again for many, many years) and am having trouble finding it. Actually, I did find the perfect house for us, but unfortunately I don't have a couple extra hundred thousand dollars lying around. Darn.

Oh well. Hard work will prevail. Seems to me it almost always does, and home-searching seems to be my second part-time job these days. So we'll see.

Gotta take the kid to the doctor. Signing off ...

Buddies ...

2011-01-14T07:38:00.000-08:00

Here's a great picture of Hunter and his friend Peyton on the tire swing at the park yesterday.

More hiking in the snow

2011-01-13T17:01:00.001-08:00

A link to some pictures from our latest hike.

Pretend games

2011-01-11T07:15:00.000-08:00

Right now, as I type, the boys are playing one of their favorite games to play together. It involves gathering almost all the pillows and blankets in the house (including couch cushions, bed linens, etc. ... it'll take us quite awhile to return them to their original destinations later), and then making "beds" for themselves on the floor or elsewhere (right now, Hunter is on the floor and Wilder is on the train table).

I have no idea why this game appeals to them so much, or why it is they get along so well (mostly) whenever they play it. I guess it has to do with Wilder being happy to take the lead and play the "nurturer" who puts his little brother to bed, and Hunter being happy to be doted on by his big brother.

And I like it because they are quiet when they play it and, for the most part, they get along. Which, of course, doesn't always happen. They're pretty typical brothers in that they love each other immensely, but just can't seem to keep themselves from screwing with each other's heads most of the time.

Anyway, I just wanted to make this post so that, when they're 17 and 15 and doing whatever it is that boys that age do, I can remember that they played this little game. It's so sweet.

Brrrrrrr

2011-01-10T16:01:00.000-08:00

Thirteen degrees outside (feels like 4 degrees with windchill) and the boys are out there romping in our snowy back yard. I have no doubt this will end with some tears, but for now, at least, they're having a ball. Oh, and Betty's out there, too. That dog loves her some snow.

UPDATE FOR PHOTOS:

Playing in the snow.

Wilder peering in the window at me.

The boys found this guy on our deck railing. I have a sneaking suspicion someone I'm married to put him out there to be found.

That's a lotta love

2011-01-07T16:38:00.000-08:00

Wilder: "I love my Little Puppy very, very, very, very, VERY much. And I love YOU even more than that!"

Wherein I rediscover the beauty of loaned books

2011-01-06T15:21:00.000-08:00

Here is a sight that warms my heart. It's Wilder and Hunter, totally immersed in their library books.

Now I'm embarrassed to admit this. I love words, love a well-crafted story, love illustration, love typography, love design. And I've NEVER taken my kids to the library. Well, there was that one time when Wilder was 1 and I took him to story time and he acted like a crazed psychopath on crack. But I've never taken my kids to the library to just pick out books, pour over them, hang out and smell that amazing smell that comes from having thousands of books in the same building. God I love that smell. When I walked into the library today I literally closed my eyes, smiled and inhaled as deeply as I could.

So now we live pretty much across the street from an amazing library. It's on the same campus as where the boys go to school, and it's been recommended to me by quite a few people. So today I finally decided that enough is enough -- all kids should grow up going to the library and experiencing the wonder that is checking out any book that tickles your brain fancy and taking it home for a week or two. When I was little, I remember my mom taking me and how I LOVED (like, "love" isn't even strong enough a word) to bring home a gigantic stack of books.

We had a great time, saw friends from school and left with 11 books and four movies. It's so great that you can get so many wonderful DVDs from the library now. I know, I know ... I'm late to this particular party, but my enthusiasm is nonetheless in the extreme.

So now I have my card, both the boys have their own library card and we are set up to go at least twice a week (the boys are signed up for library activities on Wednesdays and Thursdays).

Incidentally, one of the reasons they're so happily collapsed in our family room reading books right now is that I dragged them on a very long hike this afternoon. Wilder collapsed on the porch when we got home, proclaiming: "I'm EXHAUSTED!!" My job as a mother is done for the day (pretty much ... there is that part still where I have to feed them).

He loves me, loves me not

2011-01-05T08:19:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, Hunter would hardly have anything to do with me. "Go away," he'd tell me when I tried to talk to him or cuddle with him. "I love Papa." Of course I hated it, but I knew it was a phase. Last week sometime he started telling me he loved me AND Papa (and sometimes he'd throw Wilder in there for good measure). And then this week, he's all about loving Mama again, sometimes even telling Jerry to go away and professing his love of me. Lately he's even been spontaneously professing his love for me out of the blue.

"Hiding" in bed under the covers. Whisper: "I love you Mama."

Coming up to lean against the computer chair as I work. "I love you, Mama."

Walking through the room I'm in. "Hey Mama ... I love you."

This morning, as Wilder is putting his coat on to go to school, Hunter asks: "I don't go to school today?" Jerry says, "Nope. It's your Mama Day." He gets this goofy grin on his face, walks over to me, sidles up between my knees and wraps himself around me.

It's pretty great.

On Monday he started in a new classroom at his school. It's bigger, with more stuff and older kids, new teacher, all that. We built it up as new toys, new friends, lots of fun, etc. And I expected that it would probably go off without a hitch. I think we're pretty lucky in that both our kids handle change well. Wilder, in fact, has been acting like he's the persecuted one because he DIDN'T get to change classrooms. So anyway, after we'd gotten Hunter settled in his new environment and I'd given him a kiss and hug, told him I loved him and would pick him up later ... all that ... Wilder and I are walking out to go to his old, boring classroom and Hunter runs toward us. "Mama!?" A look on his face that I can't place. Is it panic? Oh no ...

But no. He just wanted another kiss and hug. "I love you, Mama." And turns around, runs back into his class and finds a toy to play with.

A new year, with SNOW!

2011-01-01T13:52:00.000-08:00

It finally snowed big here in Colorado. Yesterday we headed out to sled at a nearby park in what, with windchill, had to be temps close to zero. It quickly became clear that Hunter is a cold-weather kid, and Wilder, with the declaration that, "My EYEBALLS are cold" and a few tears, is not. Not yet at least.

Here's a picture of them before we all got so cold we high-tailed it home to lay under blankets and cuddle (well, maybe just Wilder and I ...):

Today is a bit warmer, with a high of 20ish. The boys and I bundled up and took a nice long walk in the snow in the open space behind our house. At one point, a massive bald eagle flew low right over our heads. It was AMAZING.

This afternoon we are taking the sled across the street to what is affectionately referred to in this neighborhood as "Kill Hill," a VERY steep sledding hill. The sky is a deep blue, the air is crisp and the snow is glistening. THIS is why we moved back here, in part.

Happy New Year. May much love, light and good fortune fill your lives in 2011. I'm sincerely just hoping for more sleep. ;-)

A heaping pile of ... yeah, you get the picture

2010-12-15T11:59:00.000-08:00

It's good to know God's still got a sick sense of humor ... and also a good one, in my opinion.

So this morning, a little drama ...

Was sitting at home on the verge of tears, trying to motivate to do something fun with this day when I got a call from Wilder's school. He'd choked on his breakfast and, though breathing normally, was still complaining of something stuck in the his throat. I called Jerry while throwing mine and Hunter's coats on, and Jer told me to get him and get him to the emergency room, because if that "something" got into his airway, we'd have trouble.

I honestly was pretty calm, but as I drove a little maniacally to his school, I had a little conversation with the creator of the universe in which I actually threatened him/her. "So help me," I muttered under my breath, so Hunter couldn't hear, "if anything happens to my boy on the same day you took my mama away, I will ... well, shit, I dunno, but I will figure something out."

I got to school and quickly saw that Wilder was OK. At which point, not being as calm as I guess I thought I was, I burst into a mess of tears. Since I was about a hair's width from them all morning anyway, it didn't take me long to get all weepy and weird. I explained my overblown reaction to his teachers, who then proceeded to make me cry more with hugs and kind words.

Jeez, I'm a mess.

But back to that little threat toward the Great Beyond and the whole sick sense of humor bit? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that whoever's in charge out there had a great little chuckle over my empty threat. And he/she got me back later, as I stepped in a gigantic pile of dog crap in the back yard while playing soccer with the boys.

Message received. Got it.

Rogene Ann Scott (Kallemeyn): 9/21/43 to 12/15/2000

2010-12-15T07:48:00.000-08:00

I remember thinking at some point, in the first months after she died, that someday she would be gone 10 years. I couldn't imagine that amount of time without her. Today is that day. I still have a hard time figuring out how I made it all this time without her guidance, but it's a testament to the kind of mother and friend she was that I've done OK.

Love you, Mama.

The fog lifts ...

2010-12-13T11:41:00.000-08:00

OK, I admit it. I'm not a big fan of December or Christmas. I mean, I like so many things associated with the holidays, but there are so many more that I don't like, chief among them the proximity of the holiday to my mom's death. Try as I might, I can't get past it. Yes, I know she would want me to (she LOVED Christmas) and yes, I know I should for my kids' sakes. For the most part, I do. But there is a time each year when I am in an incredibly dark place, a place that I can't lift myself out of. I just have to endure it and wait for that day when I wake up and realize the fog has lifted. Every year I wonder if it will; because, honestly, some years, the fog just feels like a thousand pounds on my shoulders. I go through the motions, but it's like I'm swimming in molasses with all the color drained out of my life. This has been one of those years.

Yes, I probably need meds. Got it ...

So anyway, a few days ago, the fog lifted. I don't know if it's chemical, hormonal, or if it was just a function of a couple of very good friends who spent the day with me and helped make my world feel normal again ... the power of friendship cannot be underestimated. And, lucky for me, I have some amazingly good people in my life.

So, at any rate, I'm enjoying the holidays a little bit more now. And because of that, I wanted to share some photos here that have made me smile each time I look at them. And share one anecdote:

Today, when I picked Wilder up from school, he brought me a beautifully decorated card and brown paper bag. I opened it when we got home, and in it was an ornament for the tree that he had made. And yes, I guess I'm a big sap, but it brought tears to my eyes. It takes my little tree, that I keep jokingly and lovingly referring to as the Mexican hooker of the flora world, and makes it into something very, very personal and lovely. When it comes time to take the tree down, I will wrap this ornament in tissue paper and keep it safe for all Christmases to come. And I suspect that it will be one of those things that, in future years, makes me feel a little bit better about this time of year.

So here are the shots from the last week or so. Hope everyone is having more peace and joy than frantic and crazy this holiday season.

Hunter asleep with Jo-Jo, the reindeer his Arizona grandparents sent him.

He is in LOVE with this guy.

The other night, we made a secret reading/drawing/storytelling spot under Wilder's bed. He and Hunter insisted on sleeping in the same room this night. It didn't pan out, but they sure had fun for the couple hours it took us all to realize that no sleep would be happening as long as they were in the same room.

My friend Karen brought her girls (same ages as the boys) over the other day.

Can you tell they like each other?

The aforementioned ornament. On the left is Wilder in his Kwanzaa crown. And on the right he shows off his creation with a "Happy Hanukkah!" sticker on his forehead. I love that he's learning so much about different ways to celebrate this time of year.

LegoMaster

2010-12-03T14:07:00.000-08:00

Wilder with his latest Lego creation. It's a "shooter house," and it can "kill a dinosaur."

Boys ... :-)

Wilder's turn ...

2010-12-03T13:15:00.001-08:00

So a few weeks ago I wrote about Hunter's parent-teacher conference and how it made me so proud of him. Well, guess what? What a lucky mama I am ... because the same thing happened today with Wilder's conference.

I will start by saying that I am always a little more trepidacious when it comes to Wilder's conferences. I want to state adamantly (and especially for Future Wilder if/when he should ever read this) that this is not because he is any less wonderful or smart or good or anything than his brother. It is simply that Wilder and I have a more complicated relationship. We are different than each other (and yet in some very important ways the same), and sometimes I am at a loss as to how best to motivate him or encourage him.

That said, he is brilliant. Just brilliant. In so many ways. He's smart as a whip. His embrace for life is a constant source of amazement to me. I am constantly trying to figure out the multitude of ways in which his mind works. He builds things from nothing and proudly shows them to me, and his pride is never -- not even once -- misplaced. I already think he could grow up to be an amazing engineer, architect or sculptor. Or, really, anything he wants to be.

At any rate, maybe it's because I struggle to understand his particular brand of brilliance that I often wonder if his teachers will, too. But today I was so psyched to see that his teacher gets him. She told me things about the way my boy learns that I did not know, things that I will keep between our family because it's really not important or all that unique ... it just makes me understand him more and adds to my arsenal of mama-tools.

And she told me things I already knew: That he's an incredibly quick learner. That he's extra-empathetic for his age (this is something both my boys share and I cannot tell you how happy and proud it makes me to be raising two compassionate small people). That his exuberance for school is almost unrivaled by his peers.

And, Future Wilder, if you do ever read this, know this: You are one in a million, kiddo. We may butt heads more often than either of us would like, but I never, at the end of the day, fail to be impressed by the way you meet life head on, by your incredible and incredibly absorbent brain, and by your kindness. And, when it comes right down to it, you have made me a better mother and a better person. And I adore you, my little love.

I can't wait to see what future P/T conferences hold ...

A recipe you must try

2010-12-03T10:45:00.001-08:00

Yesterday was Jer's birthday, so I was searching for a cake recipe and came across this one at allrecipes.com. It was highly rated. It called for boiling water, but I made it with hot coffee to enrich the flavor, and then made a simple chocolate glaze that I drizzled over the top.

For the record, if you make it, you MUST serve it with blackberry ice cream ... the flavors mesh so well together. It was fantastic!

Ingredients
2 cups hot coffee
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup butter, softened
2 1/4 cups white sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Directions
1.Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease 3 - 9 inch round cake pans. In medium bowl, pour boiling water over cocoa, and whisk until smooth. Let mixture cool. Sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt; set aside.

2.In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at time, then stir in vanilla. Add the flour mixture alternately with the cocoa mixture. Pour batter into a bundt cake pan.

3.Bake in preheated oven for 45-50 minutes. Allow to cool.

Being Debby Downer today ... (sorry)

2010-11-24T09:37:00.001-08:00

As much as I love the holidays, this time of year is always touched by a bit of sadness for me. My mom died 10 days before Christmas in 2000, and it's generally unavoidable for me not to be thinking of that starting sometime in November. I remember the last conversations I had with her, how Jerry and I had just bought our first house and how excited she was to come see it (she never got to), and then I remember that call from my father, how I'd never heard him like that before ... how it was so clear from his voice that her illness was serious. How I went to my company Christmas party that night (I'd booked a flight out the next morning) and tried my best to put on a merry front, but failed so miserably.

Enough of that. This could quickly turn into a downward spiral.

So yesterday, a bit of this was on my mind, and a realization hit me. She's been gone almost 10 years. I'm almost 40 (well, 39 on my next birthday). That means I've lived almost a quarter of my life without her. I mean, it should have been obvious, given the simple math ... and perhaps the fact that I've gotten married, bought two (soon three) more houses since that first one, had two of her grand-kids since her death ...

But I'd never thought of it in that way. A quarter of my life. That seems like such a big chunk. A heartbreakingly big chunk.

I just miss her. All the time. But more this time of year, given the timing of her death and how much she loved the holidays herself. She'd be in her kitchen right now, cooking like crazy in her sweats and an apron, probably, if she were still alive.

Well, anyway ...

If you are spending part of your Thanksgiving holiday with your mom (dad, grandparents, anyone you love and can't imagine not having in your life anymore ...), give them a big hug. You really, truly never know when it'll be your last chance.

The making of lemon chess pie

2010-11-23T15:18:00.000-08:00

Got our Thanksgiving pies made today, too, and BONUS! The batter made for two pies -- not one as the recipe said. Woot! BONUS PIE!!

Not sure if they taste good, but they smell and look pretty, as Hunter would say, "deewishus!!"

The fixings await ...

That handsy, sample-happy sous chef strikes again!

Ta-dahhhhh! (Now let's all pray they taste decent ...)

The chronicles of cranberry sauce

2010-11-23T13:09:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving has begun at my house, which, in essence, means that I have to start cooking a couple days early so that, come 4 p.m. on Thanksgiving day, I don't have to shake the flour out of my hair, crack open a bottle of bourbon and sink down to the kitchen floor in a puddle of tears and pity.

This year, much to my delight, I'm hosting my Denver-based family, which means I'll be cooking for 9. Of course my lovely siblings will be bringing side dishes (you GO Jay with your big, bad relish tray self!!), but I'm roasting the turkey and throwing in a bunch of other sides and desserts because, well ... because I'm masochistic?

No, actually, I love making a big holiday meal, even if it does usually mean a lot more stress than I bargained for. And it is particularly sweet this year since we're back where we belong. Now I'm just hoping for big, big snow on Thursday.

Anyway, back to today: My sous chef (also know as Wilder) and I made Triple Cranberry Sauce, something I've made every year for about the last seven, I think (and gratitude to my awesome mom-in-law, Teri, for the recipe). I decided to take some pictures because this is really the first year Wilder has been able to help me cook the big meal. He's an awesome sous chef ... a little liberal with the tastings, but great nonetheless.

Here are some photos:

The berries begin to pop ... my favorite part.

My sous chef, hard at work ...

Busted!

Seasonings, etc. await ...

Ready for the dumping ... and ...

There we go!

Wilder gives it a good final stirring.

And voila! The finished product.

Give me five, sous chef!

Our morning project

2010-11-16T10:55:00.001-08:00

I'm not one of those crafty moms. But this morning something came over me. Maybe it was the knowledge that, if nothing was done, I would be asked approximately 1,726 times over the next month and a half this question: "MAMA????!! HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS?!!?!!?"

So, behold ...

The Scott Family Christmas 2010 Countdown Calendar:

Now I should only be asked that question 876 times, at which point I will simply point to our 3-foot-long, 18-inch deep crazy creation and say: "Count."

But, in all seriousness, it's cute, no? Construction paper just my be my medium of choice from now on ...

Proud mama

2010-11-15T08:34:00.000-08:00

Just got home from having a parent-teacher conference with Hunter's teacher. Yes, he's 2. No, it makes no sense. And honestly, as I was sitting there waiting, still somewhat sick, wishing I was at home on the couch in my robe and fleece pants, I was thinking what a total waste of time it was going to be.

And, pretty much, it was. She handed me a folder of his artwork and a checklist of his skills and a few anecdotal incidents of him being sweet to his fellow students. And I didn't learn anything I don't already know. Which makes sense, of course: He's my kid.

But I did leave there pretty proud of him. Miss Naoko, his teacher, told me again and again how wonderful his social skills are, particuarly his ability to feel empathy for his friends and fellow classmates. "We don't see this level of social interaction in 2-year-olds, hardly ever." she said. Sometimes it takes someone else's angle on your own kid to remind you that there is something special there. I mean, I know Hunter is an exceptionally sweet boy, but I don't walk around all day thinking about it.

She asked me at the end of our meeting, half joking: "Maybe you can share with us how you raise him?" And I told her what I genuinely believe: That kid came out of the womb like that. It's not that I don't think I'm a good mom (sometimes), but I think those who know Hunter best, like me, will agree that he was just born that way. He's got a certain way of looking at life that involves equal parts mellowness, kindness and humor.

So that's all I wanted to say: Hunter is pretty damn great. (And Wilder is, too, but his p-t conference isn't for another couple weeks, so I'll brag on him then.)

/bragging

Can you smell that smell?

2010-11-11T08:01:00.001-08:00

Me, to Hunter: "Wouldn't you rather just admit you pooped than have people think you just smell like poop as a natural state of being?"

Hunter: (Pause ... grins) "Yeah."

Me: "So then you pooped, yes?"

Hunter: "Nope!"

Sigh ...

Thoughts on "Babies"

2010-11-06T21:28:00.000-07:00

Just finished watching the documentary, "Babies," which is one hour and 20 minutes of nothing but footage of the lives of four babies from around the world, covering birth up until they turn 1.

It's an OK movie ... in terms of having a message, there's not much there, but that's kind of what's cool about it, especially in this hyper-helicopter parent culture where we all sit around and secretly judge each other's parenting techniques and skills. It lets you draw your own conclusions, and I like that.

The babies are from Namibia, Mongolia, Tokyo, Japan and San Francisco, and one of the coolest parts of the film is watching the cultural differences. For instance, I was amused as all get out at the Namibian baby, who spent his first year in the dirt, sucking on rocks, old bones, sticks and drinking from the local gulley wash (or whatever). I could not help but think of the father I saw at the park on Friday, who was having repeated freak-outs every time one of his kids -- a son and daughter I estimated to be about 6 and 3, respectively -- would touch the sand at the playground. He looked exasperatedly at one mom and sighed, shaking his head: "The other playground does not have sand." He kept fussing at them about being "dirty" and getting sand in their shoes.

Dude, those kids are going to have some issues if he doesn't lighten up. I kept picturing him watching that little African boy picking an old bone from the dirt, or sitting six inches from the carcass of some animal his mother was skinning and gutting. I bet he'd break out in a sweat and have to shower or something.

The funniest part of the movie, probably unintentionally, was when the Californian kid was at some kiddie music and movement class with her father, and all these liberal white people (I am a liberal white person, so I can poke fun with impunity, right?) were chanting in some other language and then following that up with another verse about how Mother Earth will provide. It was all very Kumbaya-esque, and therefore giving me great fits of eye-rolling. Anyway, the kid, Hattie, gets up and makes a beeline for the door and starts shaking it, like she's trying to escape the hippie drum circle.

Hilarious.

I was a little worried that watching the movie would make me have pangs for another kid. But no ... I checked my exhaust-o-meter and it still reads that I'm pushing 40 and not getting nearly enough sleep as it is. So a family of four we shall remain. Although, if I could get my hands on that little Mongolian kid, I might adopt him. Seriously ... that kid, by the end of the movie, is right up my alley. Equal parts mischief, cheeks and nerve. Almost edible, that one.

Because the blog can't be all allergy bitching ...

2010-11-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

A few more pics of Wilder's birthday night. And stay posted for more pics, later today or tomorrow (depending on how long it takes me to sleep off this medication), of a hike the boys and I took yesterday.

Evil, wicked meds

2010-11-03T10:04:00.001-07:00

What's that? You didn't get enough of me talking about my allergies in the last post? Oh, well, good. Because I have more to say.

In essence, it's this: The allergy medication I'm on is EVIL. I noticed the very first time I took it, back when Jerry and the boys and I took a trip to Beulah and our doctor friends gave me a pill. A couple hours after taking it, we were at a party with a bunch of strangers and I could literally not get out of there fast enough. It's not that the company was bad, or the music was awful or the food tasted badly (exact opposite on all fronts) ... it was that I literally felt like a lobotomized, exhausted zombie (or at least how I imagine them to feel, having contemplated these things ad nauseum). I could not look anyone in the eyes, much less carry on an intelligent conversation.

So, when I was prescribed the very medication by my allergist, it was not without some reservation that I agreed to take it. Then I found out how much it cost and that wasn't pretty, either.

So I've been on it for two months now, and I've been taking the pills before I go to bed, because of the zombie-like fatigue. Let me state for the record that it does mask my allergy symptoms quite well, and for this, I would gladly shell out for the exhorbitant co-pay. And, for a few weeks, it also was helping me sleep.

But then, the last week ... OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH the last week. The. Last. Week.

See, it's not like I'm normally an exuberant, cheerful person. Or at least not consistently. I'm am given to certain amounts of what could be kindly coined "moodiness." I am also the mother of two small boys, boys who do not feel an ounce of guilt about sitting in their beds at night loudly singing, hollering, caterwhauling, etc. about not wanting to go to sleep, boys who routinely (and falsely ... and here I'm looking at YOU, eldest child) claim to have nightmares, which from what I gather is a dream not involving unicorns shooting rainbows out their ... ahem, horns). So, yes, I have bouts of tiredness.

But, I am also an adult woman who realizes my limitations and eccentricities and, for the most part, I try to keep them to myself. If I'm moody, you will most likely find me tucked away in my own corner of the house keeping quietly to myself so as to not inflict my mood on anyone else. If I'm tired, I just put on a good front and power through.

But this last week was different. I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept. Hadn't slept in, like, 1,000 years. I looked in the mirror and, not for the first time, realized I'd put on close to 10 lbs. very quickly. I started having disturbing dreams, the most recent involving my mother being in the hospital again. And, if you know me very well, you know that A) I almost never dream about my mother and that makes me sad, and that B) having my mother suddenly appear in my dreams but (and this is a big BUT) having her appear so from a hospital bed ... well, that made me very, very upset indeed. As in, I'm almost bursting into tears again just writing about it. There were other details that made this dream even worse, but I'll spare you those, as I'm already blocking them out of my own consciousness.

So, yes ... the allergy drug I'm on ... well, let's just say I'm no longer on it. Last night was the last night. You see, I want my children to like me, and I want my husband to want to stay married to me, and I want my house to not look like the house from "Grey Gardens," and I want to do all that and have all that with 10 fewer pounds around my midsection (well, really, closer to 20-25, but that last bit's on me).

Oh, and I want to sleep. I want to sleep for days, and then, I want to wake up, evil-allergy-med free, NORMAL again.

Me time (with needles!)

2010-11-01T10:07:00.000-07:00

Things I don't like about living in Colorado: dry, dry skin and allergies.

Things I like about living in Colorado: everything else.

Yep, that pretty much sums it up. And on that note, I finally began my allergy injection therapy this week, which is a fancy way of saying I get about 10-12 shots every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. After each shot, I have to wait 20 minutes for the next one, and then 30 minutes after the last one, before they'll let me leave. They're waiting to see if, at best, my shot site gets itchy and inflamed (so far, so good) or, at worst, my throat closes up on me (so far, so thank the lord that hasn't happened).

So, yes ... it's kind of a pain in the butt that, in the middle of my very busy life, I have to go into some allergist's office three times a week -- and two of those times sans boys -- and sit there for an hour or two.

On the other hand, I can bring coffee, a magazine, a good book, my iPod and/or my phone and do what I almost never get to do, which is sit there on my butt and read or just chill. It's an opportunity to slow down a little, which happens so rarely these days between work, Wilder, Hunter and the mountains of laundry, dishwashing and other assorted household tasks.

So, yeah, go ahead ... stick needles in my arm and I'll get back to my good book (this week, at any rate, it's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," by Barbara Kingsolver).

And speaking of being busy most of the time, we just ended what it one of our most frenetic times of the year, when Wilder's birthday, Jer and I's wedding anniversary and all assorted Halloween-related events align in the same week.

For W's birthday, we had a swim party at the Westminster Rec Center and had a really good group of folks join us. I made three dozen chocolate cupcakes decorated with French buttercream icing and M&Ms and rainbow sprinkles ... it was the first time I attempted something like that (normally I buy our birthday cakes from the grocery store), and I think they turned out pretty awesome. And, since I made them over two days, I didn't lose my mind.

So yes, Wilder had a great birthday. And other than the fact that he's calming down some, the only change in his new, 5-year-old existence seems to be that for some reason he thinks that being 5 means you can wear socks to bed. He's quite adamant that Hunter cannot, and he also told me this morning that when he's 6 he'll be able to wear his shoes to bed. I only look at him quizically and wonder how in the hell his brain works.

His brother, on the other hand ... well, I think I know all too well how his brain works. And, in essence, that means it works just like mine. He is equal parts curmudgeon and comedian (sound familiar?) and, for the most part, equal parts exasperating and entertaining. He will be kicking me out of his room, post-nap, one minute and killing me with some rollicking good physical comedy the next.

I think that, given that they mirror Jerry's and my personalities so completely (Wilder is mini-Jer and Hunter is mini-me), they are destined to be the best of friends, just like Jer and I. I hope so anyway.

Have to wrap this up as it's nearing time to go pick the boys up from school, but our busy, busy October was great. AND I'm glad it's over. I posted some photos on Facebook, and I'll try to post some extras here later. Now, onto Thanksgiving menu planting (oh, and voting ... don't forget to VOTE!!!)

Things to remember from today ...

2010-10-27T07:06:00.000-07:00

Apparently, when you are 5, you no longer kiss your mother on the lips, especially in front of your friends at school. You kiss her on the cheek and look at her like "go AWAY NOW."

Harumph. Moving on ...

This morning, while eating a hard-boiled egg, Hunter did what he always does when he gets to the middle part. He squeals with delight, pulls out the perfectly round, cooked yolk and screams "BABY EGG!!!!!" And then shoves it into his mouth. (He also dug through the spice drawer and insisted on putting chili powder and oregano on his egg ... a fledgling culinary artist, methinks?)

Later today ... some additional birthday pics I didn't post on Facebook.

The fox, the hound, and Wilder

2010-10-10T16:47:00.000-07:00

Just a bit ago, Wilder and I were watching "The Fox and the Hound." It was one of my favorite Disney films growing up. My mom used to take me to see them in the theater and, while the memories are hazy, I do recall sitting there in the dark with her and feeling like we were having a magical experience.

At any rate, the part of the movie came up where Widow Tweed has to take Tod deeper into the forest and say good-bye to him. The hunter has vowed to kill him, and she wants to keep Tod safe. Wilder asked me: "Mama? What's happening??" So I explained to him that, while she was sad to leave him behind, she had to in order to keep him safe.

At which point poor little Wilder's big heart just couldn't take it anymore and he dissolved into tears. He just slumped against me and sobbed and sobbed.

I have no idea if such a level of compassion is normal for a kid his age, but he never ceases to amaze me with his ability to feel empathy (unless, of course, you're talking about empathy for me having to repeat the same thing about 47 times a day). I have a friend who last her husband a couple of years ago, and she has two small boys just a little older than Wilder and Hunter. Wilder wanted to talk to me about where Luke's daddy was, and whether he'd be coming back. When I explained to him as best I could, he just couldn't take it and cried and cried. I gathered he both felt sad for his friend and was scared the same thing could happen in our family. I assured him the best I could, but ever since he's had a small preoccupation with the "Summerlands," which is what we refer to heaven as in our house.

Lately, we've been talking more about things like this. My own mama's birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and in talking about her and where she was now and what she was like, I think for the first time it has started to make sense to Wilder that people go away and don't come back. I wish there was a way to cushion him from this, but I know, all too well, that it's part of life. I remember when my own grandpa Wayne died, when I was about 7, I think ... I was so distraught at the funeral and I just could not seem to stop crying. I fear Wilder might have inherited this from me.

At any rate, I am proud of him for this sense of compassion. Yet, at the same time, it makes my heart hurt for him. He will feel things deeply in his life ... both good and bad.

Note to Future Wilder, should he ever read any of this: You are an extraordinary young man. I am proud of you for many things, but I don't think I am ever prouder of you than when you show what a sensitive and kind human being you are.

As I typed that last sentence, I heard the credits for "The Fox and the Hound" running in the background. And then this exclamation from Wilder: "That was AWESOME!!" So are you, kid. So are you.

Fall hike shots

2010-09-27T18:32:00.000-07:00

Somebody loves his pup ...

2010-09-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

Hunter was in quite the "pose for the camera" mood tonight (something that doesn't happen often). He grabbed hold of Betty to give her a hug, and Wilder told me I should take a picture. He was right ... they're awful cute together (though one is clearly enjoying the Kodak moment more than the other).

The boys had doctors appointments today and, if it wasn't already clearly official, it is now: They're HUGE. Especially Wilder, who is pretty much off the charts in terms of height. Doc says: "You could put him in room with 100 kids his age, and he'll be the tallest." I guess we already knew that, though. Hunter too is tall, but less skinny ... my little linebacker. He also impressed the doc by following a number of commands and simple instructions. "Wow," the doctor said. "It's very rare for a 2-year-old to do all that."

Mutantly large geniuses, my boys. Heh heh. Yeah, right.

If I may ...

2010-09-13T11:38:00.001-07:00

I need to brag a little bit on Hunter. Each day that I pick him up from school, I get a feedback sheet. It tells me how his mood was, what he ate and played with, if he pottied, etc. It also includes a little blurb each day about something he enjoyed or did special.

And almost always, I get a comment on what a good boy he is. Things like:

"You were a very good listener today."

"You are always mellow and happy."

"Today you went out of your way to avoid conflict."

And he is a good boy. I'm never surprised to hear this stuff because, for the most part, it's exactly what I see from him at home. I'm just pleased that other people notice this stuff about him.

For the record, Wilder doesn't get feedback forms or I'd probably be posting similar stuff about him. He might not always be as mellow and easy as his little brother, but he's a good boy. And he makes me a better parent.

A harvest-festival kind of weekend

2010-09-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

So this weekend was busy, and apparently exhausting, if how I'm feeling this morning is any indication. We hit a couple of different festivals: the Arvada Harvest Festival on Saturday and the badly named but very fun Harvestival, in Wellington, Colo., yesterday. Both days were fun days, and the latter let us take another long drive in this state we both love so much. We took 287 (instead of the interestate) north, and it goes through a bunch of little towns like Lafayette, Longmont (where I used to work), Loveland, the not-so-little Ft. Collins and so on. Unfortunately, another wildfire broke out west of Loveland, and what was a single and small plume of smoke as we left at 10 a.m. yesterday turned into something much more major by the time we drove home in the late afternoon. So sad.

The highlight of Saturday, for me anyway, was watching Wilder do the Eurobungy (photo below). Wilder usually wants to try stuff like that but will, at the last moment, decide his personal safety is threatened and back off. This is also known as chickening out, I think. But he took one look at this contraption on Saturday and had to do it. And do it he did ... he was a bit little for it, and had a hard time maintaining the bounce of the bungy, but he got some good height and really impressed me with his bravery.

Sunday's festival was way more mellow, which is just what we were hoping. Jerry got to see one of his personal heroes, Joel Salatin of Polyface Farm, speak. That was great. And we also got to see cool stuff like old school buses turned into chicken coops, a trebuchet demonstration, tons of baby ducks, massive tractors, a livestock viewing area filled with cows, llamas, sheep, pigs, donkeys and a goat and more, and a hay maze that I think Wilder could have spent all day in. The boys had fun, but I think we all need a day of recovery today.

This coming weekend, Jerry and I are headed to the Great American Beer Festival on Friday night. And the boys are headed over to spend the evening with their cousins, Allie and Colin, and my brother and sister-in-law, Jay and Deb. I cannot express how happy it makes me to know they'll be there while we're out sampling a bunch of yummy beers. Having family around is not something I will ever take for granted.

Signing off ... enjoy the photos.

The boys and Jer check out a massive tractor.

The Boo-Boo Chicken Coup Bus.

Zoning out at the Arvada festival on Saturday.

Wilder after conquering the Eurobungy!

Bungy boy bungy!!

Hunter feeds some sheep. "Heeeeere sheep sheep sheep. C'mere girl." So cute.

Wilder hay-bale hops.

Jer and Wilder check out the baby ducks.

Baby ducks!

Hunter (who insisted on wearing his Home Depot apron he got at the previous day's festival)

Late summer stuff

2010-08-31T14:06:00.000-07:00

Just a few shots from the last week or so. The pictures of the boys were taken this morning. It was such a cool morning that I had to put them in long-sleeve shirts. I love this time of year in Colorado when you can wear shorts and sandals with a nice warm shirt.

Not much going on. The boys continue to love their school and we're just enjoying being here. Betty and I get to take long hikes in the surrounding open space a few times a week and, as you can tell from the last photo in this post, if often wears her out. Her tongue length when panting is directly proportionate to the length of the hike and the temperature out. She's learning what it means to be a Colorado dog!

I anxiously await this weekend. We're packing up after Jer gets off work on Friday to head to Beulah, a little mountain town west (I think) of Pueblo. On Sunday or Saturday afternoon, we're borrowing our Beulah friends' Eurovan and taking the boys to Grand Sand Dunes National Park. I've never been, despite my many Colorado stints ... always nice to see things through the boys eyes, but particularly nice to see NEW things through their eyes. EuroVan camping AND the dunes ... I'm hoping for epic awesomeness!

xoxo. k.

How cool is this?

2010-08-20T13:46:00.000-07:00

Two pictures from our playdate today with Reagan, 5, and Peyton, 2.

Reagan and Peyton's mom is my oldest friend and one of my best friends, Karen. On one of my first days of first grade, in walks this little tow-headed munchkin that no one had ever seen before. My teacher, whom I think was named Mrs. Leininger (Karen, am I right?) says: "Kristi, can you please show Karen where the milk is at lunch?"

And there you have it. We've been friends pretty much ever since, even through my many moves to Colorado and then Texas and then back to Colorado (that doesn't even count the latest moves between these two states ... sheesh!) In fact, Karen and I were roommates for most of college, and she lived a few doors down from me in Apartment P (I was in "L") when I met Jerry. When we bought our first homes, we were but a couple miles apart. We used to joke that we'd probably live together when we're 90 years old, taking turns risking our lives driving to the grocery store.

So today, it was pretty awesome to see our four kids playing together. And even better that they all got along so well. I forsee many more such days of four little tow-heads from a different generation bobbing around the playgrounds north of Denver.

We're baaaaaaack

2010-08-19T06:46:00.000-07:00

*sneaks back in the room; tries to pretend like she never went anywhere ...*

Well hello everyone. Yes, seems I took a little hiatus from blogging. Things happen, right? I mean, I think in the realm of excuses, I have some pretty good ones. I had a hangnail, after all. And it was a really hot summer. So hard to type when those things happen.

So anyway ... we moved to Colorado. Wait, let me retype that: WE MOVED TO COLORADO!!!!!

(OK, I'm back. I had to change my pants.) Yep, after many, many years of little prayers sent up into what felt like the void a lot of the time, and many, many discussions with Jerry, and then another couple of years thrown in for good measure and just to make sure I properly appreciated what we were getting ourselves into, we're here.

Every single day I get to turn left onto 112th in this new town we live in, Westminster, and see pretty much the entire Front Range laid out before me.

Thank you, Void. You have been more than kind to me.

Anyway, I don't want to get too ambitious with this, my first blog post since the Cretaceous Era. (Translation: The boys need breakfast.) I just wanted to say that this morning, I had one of those mornings that contained within it a scene that will no doubt be among those scenes that play out before your eyes when you're being delivered into the Great Beyond. The boys had climbed into bed with me and wanted to make a tent with the bed sheet. We were "hiding" from Papa, and they just had such sweet and excited smiles on their faces there in that soft, sheet-darkened morning light. I watched them, squeezed my eyes shut tight to imprint the image on my brain. And then I got my camera phone out to take some pictures. Here they are:

(PS. And oh, btw, if you're reading this, let me know in the comments below. I'd like to know if anyone still comes here. If not, I'll make sure to strong-arm ya'll into coming back ... much love.)

2010-07-12T14:03:00.000-07:00

I was home for the 4th and I had a wonderful time. It was so odd as I ran up to Kris and the boys to actually see them moving. I felt like I had been looking at pictures in 2D for so long that to see them in real life was almost surreal.

Not that it had really been all that long. Weird.

Hmmm. I have just looked up and realized that I am posting on The Brothers Scott. Whoops! Picassa photo publisher defaulted me to the family blog.

Well in any event, seeing Kris and the boys was wonderful. I had a fantastic time. Wilder and Hunter were awesome, I played more rounds of 'Fight' with Wilder and Hunter than I have played, probably if you aggregated them all previous, in one weekend. The fireworks were awesome. Kris was fantastic. Jeff and Ginger and Patrick and Maggie and all the kids were a delight.

All in all it was a wonderful weekend. It was terrible to have to leave, but I know its temporary and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Its tough to realize that this is probably the first blog post my Grandaddy will never read. he would have loved this picture of Wilder. So sorry to have missed out on the chance to see him one more time. So sorry he didn't get to hold Wilder or Hunter one more time. I feel very happy to know tho, that he got to meet Mary Jane.

Love all,

Jer

Funny boy

2010-04-13T18:23:00.000-07:00

Just now as Wilder was going to bed, I was lying in bed with him, ostensibly to sing him a song, but really, we usually just lie there and cuddle and chat and try to make each other laugh. Tonight, he somehow managed to connect his elbow to my eye socket. As I held my eye, moaning a little, he leaned over and kissed it very gently.

Very sweet.

Then he told me: "Sometimes, when you get hurt, you need a kiss. But I hope it's not your feet that are hurt."

Long pause filled with the sound of me giggling.

"Actually," he continued, "I hope it's not ANYONE'S feet that get hurt."

More pause, more giggling. Then, when I'd composed myself, I said: "Yeah, but if I did hurt my foot, you'd kiss it, right?"

"No mama. You'd just have to go to the hospital."

Then we both laughed, me much harder than him, until Wilder had to ask, "Mama? Can you talk?"

Man oh man oh man I love this kid and his wonderful growing totally awesome sense of humor.

Long time no post

2010-04-02T07:33:00.000-07:00

I think for the first time since I started this blog, I let a whole month pass without posting. My apologies to readers, if there are any left. It has been quite the first quarter of the year. Jerry worked some crazy hours and often wasn't home until late at night and gone also on the weekends. With it pretty much behind us now, I think I can safely say it sucked mightily but we all weathered it pretty well, boys included. That said, when I told them that I was taking a trip and Wilder asked, "But who will take care of us?," and I responded that his papa would be taking off work to stay home with them, he all but pushed me out the door. "You can leave tomorrow, Mama." I mean, I'm surprised he didn't offer to pack my bags, pick up my Traveler's Checks and find me a ride to the airport.

Speaking of Wilder ... my is that little boy growing up quick. This past week he has started calling me "mom" (instead of "mama") more often than not. I just NOW caught him getting his own bowl of cereal (a first) and he's joined his first tee-ball team. Lest we get too carried way, let it be known that Wilder really should be on one of those teams named the Rockhounds or the Buttscrathers or the Starers of Things In the Great Beyond. He is not, shall we say, picking up on the big picture. I practice with him in the front yard, and he does pretty great. But put him in a large group of other likeminded little monkeys and he loses all that he's learned. Hit the ball? Run randomly toward some point in the ball field only Wilder is aware of. Oh, and did I say run? I don't know what I'm talking about. Wilder kind of lopes. He lopes kind of like a mentally challenged pony. I mean, I love my boy, but he only gets his hustle on if he thinks that either A) it's a race, or B) a fire-breathing dragon is running behind him.

He'll come around, I'm sure. This kind of stuff used to really bother me. The bemused and slightly exasperated looks on the coaches faces would be getting under my skin like no one's business, and I'd probably be that mom on the sidelines hollering my face off to "stand up!" or "move!" or "catch ITTTTTTTT!" And, while I cannot help myself -- I do occasionally offer encouragement in the background -- I do know that it really doesn't matter how well he does; it matters that he tries and has fun and that when we do find something he's both good at and loves, we recognize it and encourage it. A sure sign I've matured and become a more patient mom? He will practice in the yard with me almost daily, he tells me he wishes I were his coach, and -- probably most importantly -- when he tells me he wants a break, we take one. No questions asked.

Finally, thanks to these boys, at the ripe old age of 38, I'm learning some patience.

So, yes, Wilder is growing up. He is so fun. He laughs with wild abandon and declares his love of the "whole world!" and tries to torture his brother sometimes and sometimes sleeps in bed with us now and adores all things dragon-related (especially reinforced by last weekend's outing to "How to Train Your Dragon" ... highly recommend that flick) and rides a scooter now and will be cruising along on a new bike here soon.

Hunter, as you probably realized, turned 2 in March. I didn't realize it, but apparently he's lost most of his baby fat. Birthday party guests remarked on his slimness ("WHERE did that belly go?"). Hunter talks a TON -- way more than Wilder did at this age, but no doubt due to Wilder's constant steam of consciousness now. He is constantly surprised by the world around him (Mama, BUS! Mama, tractor! Mama, kitty!), and one of his most favorite, and my most loathed, phrases uttered goes like this: "Mama, I JUMP!" which is typically followed by the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen plastered on a face and a huge THUMP on the floor. Ninety-eight percent of the time, that's followed by more jumping and thumping. Occasionally, he miscalculates and it's followed by copious amounts of tears. But the boy is tough. Very, very tough. For now, anyway.

Well, I could probably go on for quite some time. It's been a while since I talked about the boys on here, and they've done lots of growing, but my dryer buzzer just let me know that there is haus frauing to do.

Will try to post some pictures later today.

Twinkle Twinkle duet (sort of)

2010-02-18T10:40:00.001-08:00

Wilderisms

2010-01-27T15:33:00.000-08:00

So I'm constantly trying to think up new ways to get Wilder to focus, listen, do what I tell him ... OK, threaten. Today I told him if he didn't listen to whatever it was I was trying to get him to do, I was going to rename him "Wilder Trouble Scott." He didn't like that and quickly complied.

Then, a few minutes later, on our drive home from school, he was trying to get my attention. "Uhh, Miss Cherry?" he said, quickly realizing that he was calling by his teacher's name. "Um, I mean Mama? Wait, I mean Trouble Mama?" He's quick, that one. He pretty quickly incorporates anything new into his lingo.

For example, another phrase he apparently learned at school today I've been hearing all afternoon: "Mama, you are full of baloneys!"

Kid cracks me up.

Monday Monday (with Hunter)

2010-01-25T15:48:00.000-08:00

Wish I could write more lately, but with Jerry working all kinds of hours, me starting a new part-time position at my old workplace, and the millions of other ways that life pulls and pushes at you, I just don't have a lot of extra time. I did get a chance today, though, to take the camera outside and follow Hunter around with it. (The REAL camera, not my camera phone ... which makes a huge difference but which I don't do often enough these days ... seems things like smart-phones and Facebook are shunting my creativity ... hmmm).

Anyway, here are some pics of my baby boy this morning. Is he not getting cuter every day? (The one of him smelling the chalk pretty much proves the genes from my side of the family have taken over ...)

Bye bye crib

2010-01-02T11:07:00.000-08:00

I don't know what came over me yesterday. Well, no, that's not true. I do, or at least I think I do. Jerry goes back to work the day after tomorrow. That return will officially start tax season, and because of his transition into a different position, this will likely be the worst tax season we've ever endured. Translation: Jerry will almost NEVER be home until some time in April. I've taken some measures to ensure we don't lose our minds around here. The boys will both be in school 10 hours per week, I'm trying to hire a neighborhood teenager to come play with the boys two or three nights a week and on one weekend day so I can cook dinner/work/hide in my room and cry/mutter/rock back and forth. That kind of stuff, and more.

My point is that I'm trying to plan, to get those things done that will need to be taken care of before Jer's extended absence. So yesterday, without much thought, I decided to tackle Hunter's room. To move the big bed in there, re-organize his clothes so that what doesn't fit is out and what fits is in. To organize what was once a changing table to a toy organizer (he barely fits on there anymore). Etcetera etcetera. Wilder, by the way, is increasingly my and Jer's little assistant and he was quite helpful in the whole endeavor. He was also VERY excited for his brother to be out of his crib.

Hunter was also pretty excited about the new bed and set up a chair to leap from onto the bed. Kept running across the room and launching himself onto it. Kept rolling around with his stuffed animals on it. Still, the first nap and the first bedtime ended, after much crying, hollering and fussing, with him going back into his crib, which we've kept in the room for now. He wanted to be in the big bed, but it was all so new as to cause much consternation.

But now, as I type, he lays in there peacefully zonked out. The third time was the charm. So, what I'm almost positive is my last baby is no longer a baby. The crib is out. The only thing that really remains are diapers, and I'm sure I won't have quite the misty-eyed reaction to seeing those go that I've had to the crib. More like dancing around the room, waving my arms above my head and singing "Hallelujah!"

And to Hunter, one of the sweetest baby boys who ever roamed this earth ... I feel like this marks the end of an era, in a sense. So let me have a few words: Hunter, you are AMAZING. You are this wonderful combination of sweet, loving, affectionate, rambunctious, crazy, joyous, cranky, calm, confident and creative that lights up our lives and fills our home with much laughter and love. I cannot have imagined a more perfect addition to our family. I love you so much, sweet boy, and can't wait to see your barrel through more of life's challenges and adventures.

Here are some photos from the last couple days.

Happy happy joy joy LIGHTS!!

2009-12-19T19:21:00.000-08:00

Tonight, after dinner, we headed out to Liz Simmons' house in the Hollywood Heights/Santa Monica neighborhood of Dallas. Every year, Simmons goes ALL OUT with her 150,000+ lights display. It is truly incredible, not only because it is so dazzling but because she recycles a lot of stuff in putting it together. Everything from some old vintage plastic owl decoration to an old mega-Skyy vodka bottle (her entire front walkway is lined with old bottles filled with Xmas lights). It is notable for both its abundance of cheer and funkiness, which somehow for me outshines all those other generic lights displays I see around town. They're nice, too, but Liz's just rocks my world. I find it impossible not to be happy there. Anyway, I posted some photos over on Facebook ... you can find them here. Mwah!

Video time

2009-12-19T07:37:00.000-08:00

The video above is of Wilder singing some song he's learned at school. It might be hard to make out, but he's singing about the artists they've studied so far: Monet, Mondrian, Cezanne and Michelangelo. I particularly love the flourish he gives to the "Michelangeloooooo!" part, which comes near the end.

One of two videos I got of yesterday's Christmas program at W's school.

And the second video. The blurry blog of color at about the 1 minute mark is Hunter dancing on Jerry's lap. And yes, that's my child pointing repeatedly at the audience at the end, as if to say: "No, you guys! You guys, my fans, are GREAT!" Wilder is so awesome.

Oh really? Care to confirm Uncle Ty?

2009-12-03T15:38:00.000-08:00

Me to Wilder: Where does Uncle Ty live?
W: In Uncle Ty City.
Me: And Uncle Jay?
W: In Uncle Jay World ... and Uncle Ty lives in a fashion show.

Bwaaahahahahahahaha!

Snow Day! On Jer's Birthday!!!

2009-12-03T06:03:00.000-08:00

OK, so the use of explanation points in the title of this post might be a little overkill. But suffice to say we were all pretty excited that it was snowing on Jer's birthday yesterday shortly after we woke up, with Wilder and I both taking credit for it (at least in our own mind's, if not out loud) and with Wilder declaring that it now "must be Christmas!" for it clearly can snow on no other day. ;-)
At any rate, it was a great day for all involved, I think. I've been remiss the last few years in making Jerry feel as special as the birthday guy should feel. I think it has something to do with the fact that it's damn near impossible for me to get anything done without surgically removing a boy from the top of my head. But this year, we pulled it off.

Below are some photos, of the snow and the festivities. Enjoy. And love to all.

Didn't turn out as good as I'd hoped, but I still love the hugs.

First taste of snow.

Hmmm, it's kinda cold out here.

Wilder kept commanding me to "taste the snow, Mama. TASTE IT!"

Bundled up and ready to ... stand stiffly and wonder what the hell is going on out here?

Wilder ... so pleased.

A post-cake game of hiding under/over the coffee table.

Zee chocolate-mustacioed one!

Poking the cake. Good game.

First, a taste test.

They were supposed to look like a "4" and a "3"

Wilder, VERY excited about lit candles. And who can blame him.

The tiptoe button

2009-11-23T12:11:00.001-08:00

Just now we were driving home from our friend Ginger's. She'd watched Hunter for me this morning while I joined Wilder at his school for the Thanksgiving party, which was fun and I'm glad I got to enjoy it without having to chase my littlest one around ... thanks G!).

Anyway, we were driving home well after Hunter's usual nap time, so he passed out in his car seat not five minutes into our drive. At some point, Wilder noticed, right as I was saying something to him.

"SHHHHH!" he commanded me, waving his hand in the air to indicate that I should shut it right then and there. Pointed at Hunter and gave me a very stern look.

"It's OK," I said. "We can talk quietly."

"No, Mama. No talking. Just drive," he whispered. And then: "And make the car tiptoe. Where's the tiptoe button???"

I love the things he says. Clever boy.

Hunter: not quite a mama's boy, but not quite not

2009-11-19T05:53:00.001-08:00

Hunter is at that point in his developing toddlerhood where he has set preferences and clear opinions. For instance, he likes Jerry to pull him out of his crib first thing in the morning. If I go in, he gets mad, hollers, "no no no no no! PAPA!" At which point I shrug my shoulders, head back to bed and tap Jerry on the shoulder as I begin a glorious fall back into the soft contours of my mattress and pillow. This sometimes even happens when Hunter is napping during the day, when Jerry is at work, and after the bit where he hollers at me that I should not deign to live his hefty little butt from his slumber, sometimes literally telling me to "GO AWAY," I let him know he's in for a long wait and walk back out the door. He comes around eventually.

OK, so I'm kind of flippant about this, and I try to remember that sometimes the boys prefer me for other things, and also look on the bright side -- I can get an extra few winks in the morning or just lay in bed taking a little more time to wake up, which is great for an a.m. crankpot like me. But truth is, it does cause my heart to ache just a twinge when he sends me packing, demanding his papa.

Cut to this morning. Hunter woke up. Played in bed awhile. Then started calling out "Papaaa!" Jerry got up and took him out to the couch. Every morning, Hunter insists on taking his blankie, his doggy and his froggy out of his bed with him and cuddling on the couch with all three. Apparently, after he'd been up a few minutes this morning, he started gathering all of his lovies up and launched off the couch and started heading toward the hall that leads to the bedrooms.

"Where you going?" Jerry asked.

"Where's Mama?" Hunter answered, as he continued on his march.

A few seconds later, he wandered into our bedroom, calling my name. "Maaaaaaamaaaaa?" Walked over to the bed, looked up, saw me in it and demanded: "Up???" Then he crawled into bed with me, arranged all his prized possessions around me, laid his head on my chest and grinned at me.

Of course he then proceeded to roll around like a sumo wrestler, at some point butt-slamming my nose with his ample behind (we don't call him Captain Longcrack for nothing). But still, it was a sweet moment that I'll cherish.

Wilder: Helping a brother out

2009-11-17T14:08:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how sweet Wilder can be. We received a toy catalog in the mail a few days ago, and he's been going through page by page circling things he'd like for Santa to bring him — so much so that it's now pretty dog-eared.

But now, having searched through it exhaustively for selections for himself, he's now spent a good portion of his day finding things that Santa can bring his little brother.

We also look at the Christmas Countdown online every day, and his response is: "Oh maaaan, that's gonna take forever!"

Affirmation is sweet

2009-11-10T14:27:00.000-08:00

There have been a number of (particularly trying) days since I started staying home with the boys back in February of this year when I wondered if I'd made the right decision by quitting my job. Today those concerns were put to rest.

Wilder just woke up from his nap. It took him quite awhile to fall to sleep, so he'd been in his room for a little over three hours. He woke up in a great mood, and was all stretches and sleepy smiles. He pointed to a toy in his bed and told me he was sorry for bringing it into bed to play.

"It's OK," I assured him. "You napped and that was the important part."

"But I missed you," I added

"I missed you too," he replied. And then he paused, and followed that up with this:

"And when I was a baby, I'd miss you all day when you went to work. I missed you so much."

"So you're glad I'm home with you now?"

"Yes, Mama. I'm glad." Big hug.

Leaves! Fall! Fun!

2009-11-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

Me = destroyer of life

2009-11-06T10:23:00.000-08:00

So, being a mother of boys, and specifically of two boys aged 4 and 1, I really never thought I'd hear the phrase: "You're ruining my LIFE!!" uttered. And, if I did ever hear it, I figured it would be many, many years.

Leave it to Wilder, our resident expert in drama. On the way home from school today, perhaps due to the very warm weather we're having, he asked if we had any popscicles. No, I replied. "Well," he demanded, "you need to go get some. You need to take this car to the food store RIGHT NOW AND GET SOME. Do you hear me, Mama? I WANT POPSCICLES." (Note: This very clear desire was uttered after about five minutes of him talking and me wondering what in the hell the string of words coming out of his mouth could possibly mean ...)

To which I replied: "Well, your Lordship, while it is clearly my job to grant each of your many daily wishes, we're NOT going to the store, but we ARE going home to have lunch."

Wilder: "So we're not going to the store?"

Me: "Umm. No. Correct."

Wilder: "Mama! You're ruining my life! I need popscicles and you won't get them and NOW YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE!!"

Which was followed by about two minutes of: "Mama! It's NOT funny! Stop LAUGHING!!"

The name game

2009-11-02T05:41:00.001-08:00

Wilder, who has renamed himself Thunder Wilder Snowman, just asked if we can rename Hunter thusly: Baby Hunter the Cat Petter. Man, this kid cracks me up sometimes.

Halloween!

2009-11-01T06:54:00.000-08:00

A quick post of photos from yesterday's pumpkin carving party and neighborhood Halloween party. I wish I'd got some of them trick-or-treating, but I was pretty worn out by the end of the day. It was a pretty successful holiday. Wilder approached the candy-harvesting with even more enthusiasm than last year, sprinting from each house to my side, holding out the sweet treats that had just been gifted him and hollering "Look, Mama, look! Look what they GAVE MEEEEEE!" after each house, right up to the last one. I think he just couldn't believe each and every total stranger was giving him something he clutched so dearly to his heart.

And it was so fun to see wee little Hunter toddling up to the doors, well behind Wilder and our friends' son, Micah. He was carrying his big old plastic pumpkin bucket with aplomb. He didn't make it quite as late as the bigger boys, but he held his own.

Anyway, the photos. Hope everyone had a very, very happy Halloween 2009.

Hunter inspect some Halloween-themed lawn art.

I think this might have been the only pic I got of him with his hat on.

Skelly Boy!

Wilder gets a turn on the rope swing. Weeeee!

More animatronic lawn art. Such a cool decorated house.

Vampire Jer and Skelly Boy.

The family headed down for the neighborhood party.

Earlier in the day, at the pumpkin carving/brunch party, Wilder and Lea go head to head.

Kris and her starry-eyed Jack.

Hunter takes a contemplative break.

Hunter pointing out something high in the sky to Papa.

Lea plays ball!

Wilder paints a wee pumpkin.

Wilder turns 4

2009-11-01T06:38:00.000-08:00

Wow, I've been pretty remiss in posting lately. Sorry. October is always a crazy month for us, what with Wilder's birthday and Halloween and all the requisite parties, costuming and what not that goes along with it. That and the fact that at least three members of the family have pretty much had stuffy noses and coughing lungs for four or five weeks now. 'Tis the season!

Anyway, thought I'd jump on here today and at least post some photos. This first batch is from Wilder's birthday party last weekend. We had it at a park and it went pretty smoothly. I wish I'd taken more pictures, but I did get some video that I'm hoping to use to learn a video-editing suite before his 5th birthday. I set reasonable goals these days, you see.

Wilder had a GREAT time with his friends. One thing that amazed me and differed from all his previous birthdays was the rapidity with which he dispensed opening the gifts. Everyone pretty much brought gifts bags and he'd tear the tissue paper out, remove the gift, exclaim his happiness, set said-gift down and move on to the next. It was like watching gift-opening set to Benny Hill music. He also managed to spittle all over his cake while blowing out his candles, leaving many of the adults to lay stake to pieces of cake near the back. Silly grown-ups.

Anyway, it was a great birthday. Thanks to everyone who shared it with us. Now, some photos:

Wilder pairs the newly acquired Woody to his old Buzz. Very happy reunion.

Stomp Rocket. Coolest gift ever.

The cake, courtesy of Tom Thumb.

Proud parents of a 4-year-old.

Jerry grilling. The Dallas Parks and Rec department told me there were grills at this park. Yeah ... never trust Dallas city employees to provide you with accurate information. Jerry had to hightail it around East Dallas for 45 minutes hunting this little thing down.

The fastest gift-opening session known to man. Very fun.

Arden, our friend Carmen and Michael's little girl, and little sister to Wilder's best friend Owen.

Hunter with our good friend Kristen.

Tennessee trip photos

2009-10-08T18:45:00.001-07:00

Will write more later about the trip, but here are some photos I've posted on Facebook. Love to all, k.

One tough son of a gun (sort of)

2009-09-23T17:17:00.000-07:00

Hunter had his 18-month checkup today. Everything went smoothly, and his stats are so close to Wilder's at the same age, that I now know I should go ahead and start a savings plan solely for things like bread, milk and whatever else it is that teenage boys consume with wild abandon to make them grow and help their frontal lobes develop into something resembling a non-window-licking individual. Anyway, here they are -- I record these only for us. No one else cares, but I like to remember how giant my babies are, so that when I'm 75 and my back aches and they don't visit me, I can remind them how I carted their mutantly huge heinies around for a few years. You know, load my mama barrels up with guilt-trip and fire away.

So:

WEIGHT: 27 lbs, 11.5 oz.
HEIGHT: 34.5 inches
HEAD CIRCUMFERENCE (I have NO idea why we note this): 49 cm

Anyway, the best part of the doctor story is when Hunter got his shots. The office was unusually busy and backed up today, so we had to wait a fair amount of time, and after the doctor came in, it was probably another 20 minutes before the nurse came in with the flu shot and three other vaccinations. Of course, the waiting was hurting. I hate knowing that my kid's about to go through some serious pain, and I was anxious to get it over with.

So the nurse comes in and, as always, asks me to hold my kids arms and hold him down. I hate it, too, when they basically ask me to be their heavy. I know it's impractical, but I wish doctor's offices would employ someone else to do this. Anyway, I've got him pinned and she picks up the first needle and sticks it into his thigh ...

Hunter looks at me like: "What the hell?" but does not cry. Second needle ...

Another look, this one says: "Dammit now! That HURT!!" Still no tears. Third needle ...

The boy just turns a bright shade of red and his eyes go wide. I think he's more pissed than in pain. Fourth needle ...

"Whhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" The tears finally come, but c'mon! My kid is pretty friggin' tough, no? I mean, jabbed three times and nothing but righteous indignation? That's some seriously thick skin!

So, here's the kicker. On our way out, Hunter wants to walk instead of being held. He's still wimpering a little, but mostly over it. Until we pass the doctor. When he sees her, he affects a limp. I mean, it's so obvious he's faking it, it's comical. The doctor notices it and calls him a drama queen.

So much for the stoic reputation, little dude.

Pictures from yesterday and today

2009-09-22T17:44:00.001-07:00

Just a few quick photos from the past couple of days. After hitting about 90 yesterday, a cold front hit today and we're having much cooler temps. Just in time for the first day of fall. Please enjoy the pics. Hope everyone is doing well. Hope to be writing more soon ... just kind of crazy around here lately. xo, k.

My future little WWF champ

2009-09-13T16:55:00.001-07:00

Happy Grandparent's Day!

2009-09-13T16:37:00.000-07:00

Funniest thing ... Wilder had been talking about his grandparents all day today. For example, sample conversation frome earlier today:

Wilder: "Where's my grandpa?"
Mom: "Which one? The tall one or the surly one?"
Wilder: "Surly one. Heh heh heh."
Mom: "He's in Arizona."
Wilder: "Let's go there."

Anyway, so this went on a few times today, until it finally hit me: IT'S GRANDPARENT'S DAY! So, on that note, here's a short video we put together for all of our wonderful grandparents in Arizona, Tennessee and Florida ... We love you all, even you surly ones. :-)

Some recent photos

2009-09-07T13:08:00.001-07:00

A few pics, from Wilder's first day of school and today, Labor Day:

First Day of School + Labor Day 2009

A recent lunchtime chat

2009-09-03T16:51:00.000-07:00

School starts tomorrow -- sneef -- and a few photos

2009-08-30T17:33:00.000-07:00

Wilder starts pre-school tomorrow. We're totally prepared for this new ruffle in our morning routine: the clothes are laid out, the backpack is packed, the forms are signed, supplies packed and all I have to do is hit "brew" on the coffee pot in the mornings.

So yep, everything is pretty much ready. Except for maybe my heart. It seems like just yesterday my baby boy was born and I was holding his squishy little body in my arms and he was squishing up his eyes, gazing into mine, as if to say, "Oh, so you're the lady who's been carrying me around bitching for all of eternity." I know it's cliche as hell, but it just goes too fast. I know that if you multiply these last lightning-quick almost-four years by just four, he'll be driving a car, getting ready to graduate from high school, with his little brother not far behind him. There is nothing to prepare your heart for how quickly time flies and how fleeting it seems that they're in your nest. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it through the drop-off and orientation in the morning without shedding a few tears. I'm hoping I can hold it all together until I get in the car and then get a good cry on the way home.

All that said, I AM looking forward to more alone time with Hunter. He doesn't know it yet, but he's my workout partner. A few weeks ago, I got this crazy notion in my head that I was going to run a half-marathon in December. Now I've bought the new shoes, the new jogging stroller and all but paid my entry fee, which I'll probably do this week. So yes, little H and I will be at the lake three days a week (at least), pounding the pavement. Hunter LOVES the new stroller (it has an iPod hookup so he gets to jam), so he'll enjoy it. I, however, am truly scared at how my body will respond. Keep my knees and hips in your prayers.

Enough rambling. Below are some photos from the last couple weeks. Enjoy and love to all.

The boys had just woken up from their nap and were cuddling on the couch. They really do seem to adore each other and it makes my heart sing to see things like this.

Posing with the new jogging stroller at the park. I call this Wilder's "Blue Steel." (From the movie "Zoolander.")

Flying down the slide with unadulterated joy. This kid hasn't met an adrenaline-enhancing experience yet that he hasn't enjoyed full throttle. I fear I might be holding my breath for the rest of my lfie.

One more cuddling pic, just for good measure.

There is no food that Hunter does not love rubbing over his face and head. It just so happens that oatmeal is the hardest to remove.

Our day at the zoo

2009-08-30T17:30:00.000-07:00

On Friday we hit the Fort Worth Zoo with my friend Liz and three of her four kids, twins Madelyn and Hannah, 4, and Jack, who's almost 2, I think. It's an hour drive from our house and I was thinking it had better be a darn good zoo for that commute. Not only was the drive pleasant and quick, but the FW Zoo rocks. If you ever get out this way, I highly recommend it. I'm already hoping to go back when the fall weather sets in.

Below, some pics:

Fort Worth Zoo: August 2009

Hump day, indeed

2009-08-26T15:46:00.000-07:00

Two phrases I never thought would come out of my mouth, uttered within two minutes of each other just now:

1. Do what you gotta do. Dry hump the pillow. Then get off of it so I can put it back on the couch.

AND

2. If I catch you licking the TV again, you're going to time out.

Clearly someone's feeling, uhh, tactile here at our house today.

Big Praise

2009-08-24T07:59:00.000-07:00

I was just called "the best mad mama in the world" by Wilder. I guess that's OK with me. I'll have to work on getting him to drop the "mad" though. ;-)

Scenes from a Thursday in August

2009-08-20T14:28:00.000-07:00

Hunter hasn't been feeling well for a few days. We've all gone through this round of crud, but it's been relatively easy on the rest of us. Hunter, on the other hand, hasn't been feeling so hot. And his brother's been running around the house pointing at his face and yelping "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGIES!" as if a Chernobyl-like incident has just occurred on his brother's upper lip. It can get to a kid.

So today he's feeling better, and I woke up determined to get out of the house. Keeping these two inside for a few days on account of a cold is no fun. No fun at all. We were all walking around, I think, with a few extra facial tics on account of being tired of walls around our heads. And, frankly, a little sick of each other.

So we hit the lake, then had lunch with friends, then naps and, after waking, we headed to the nearby TC Shaved Ice, which is about five minutes from our house, has a drive-thru and serves, as Jerry put it when I told him, "stone-cold sugar." Then we sat in the front yard and ate to our hearts content. Hunter ended up wearing half and eating half and is still stained a bright shade of red. But he sure enjoyed it, as he slurped happily through it for 20 or 30 minutes, stopping only occasionally to murmur "mine" and "yummmmmmeeeeee."

Here are some pics of our day.

After tiring themselves out at the playground, the boys sit on the bottom of a hill near the lake's edge and watch some folks fish while snacking. There were THOUSANDS of dragon- and damselflies at the lake today. I was really kind of amazed that Wilder, who can be a bit neurotic about bugs sometimes, hardly even seemed to notice. Hunter just screamed "cocka!" at them, believing they were tiny birds. I do this bird call every time we see a bird come close -- "caw-CAW!!" -- that Hunter has just malappropriated as "cocka." The nannies at the park seem amused that my kids keeps uttering "shit" in Spanish.

A self-portrait of H and I. It was a hot day!

Early in the shaved ice experience, and clearly not knowing where styrofoam ended and the sugary goodness began. By the time he finished, those shorts were pretty much ENTIRELY pink, including the booty.

Wilder keeps a paranoid eye on some birds, whom he was convinced were going to try to make off with him. Like I said, a little neurotic sometimes.

A happier demeanor after having the physics of the impossibility of bird-on-human kidnapping to him.

The bi-yearly portrait

2009-08-16T17:50:00.000-07:00

So I've taken to taking portraits of the boys every six months (or so I'm trying), in February and August. Here's the latest:

Going to put the previous ones in a Picasa web album that I'll link to here once I get it done, along with some outtakes from the photo shoot. It gets harder every time to get them to sit still and not tackle each other for a few seconds so I can get a half decent shot. But I think it's worth it ... I love seeing the changes in their little faces, though it hurts my heart just a wee bit to see them growing so quickly.

Tomorrow, Wilder and I go meet his new pre-school teacher, Miss Cherry. I love that she has such a memorable name, and she's supposed to be the teacher-in-demand at this place, so I'm really hoping we like her.

More photos TK in a post soon, including a series of pics where the boys try to make Jerry's head pop off. Pretty funny stuff.

xo, k.

The fine art of flattery

2009-08-15T11:13:00.001-07:00

When we put the boys down at night, we read books and sing lullabies to them. Well, we do that for Wilder. Hunter is often so ready to go to bed that he can't be bothered with our little rituals, pushing the book aside and lunging for the crib. I'm sure that'll change. In the meantime, we do this for Wilder, and he looks forward to it so much that threats of no books or no singing work as great deterrents against any anti-bedtime protests. As in:

"I don't WANNA GO TO SLEEP!"
"Well, OK. But I just won't read you any books."
"OK. I'll go."

He doesn't get the anti-logic of his argument yet, thank goodness.

So, during the day, when he goes down for his nap, I do a little mini-version of bedtime wherein I read him one quick book, turn on his lullabies and leave the room. Today, just now as I put him down for his nap, he asked if I would sing after I read. No, I answered, we only read at naptime. No singing.

"But Mama," he implored, "you're the best singer in the whole world."

Somewhere in Phoenix, my father is reading this and laughing, as he's always been the first person to point out -- insistently, I might add -- that I cannot, in fact, carry a tune.

Still, you gotta give the boy credit for learning the subtleties of fanning a person's ego. It's like those co-workers I used to have that insisted I made better coffee than anyone in the office. I knew they were blowing sunshine up my ass, but I still made the coffee.

For the record, I didn't sing. I'm learning to stand my ground. ;-)

The darndest things

2009-08-02T09:11:00.001-07:00

So Jerry and Wilder went to the store a bit ago and brought home some fresh produce, among other things that little boys and their papas get when they go to the store (it's always a surprise, and I love to go through the bags and consider the conversations that revolve around those purchases).

Anyway, Jerry bought an acorn squash. Just now, Wilder walked into the kitchen and told Jerry that he had to put that outside for a squirrel. Jerry told him it was for dinner tonight.

Wilder: "No, Papa. It's not for people. It's for squirrels. A BIG SQUIRREL. You have to throw it outside, Papa."

He would not be deterred, and left the kitchen in a bit of disgust at his father's ignorance of common-knowledge squirrel diets.

Wilderism No. whatever

2009-07-31T10:23:00.001-07:00

Wilder, walking around buck naked with a cowboy hat on, looks down at his belly, assumes a bow-legged stance and declares: "Hey, pardner, you look SHARP."

In which one boy amazes me with his bodily functions

2009-07-28T16:15:00.000-07:00

I should just go ahead and put in the disclaimer that this will be a potty-training focused blog post. I know it's one of those annoying things parents do, assume everyone cares about their kids' toilet habits, so feel free to go ahead and stop reading now.

Anyway, if you're a regular reader, you know that Wilder did not get potty-trained until a couple months ago. He's going great now. But I guess it goes without saying that, after that experience, I did not have high hopes for Hunter. I assumed maybe it would help that he had an older brother who was showing him what to do, and it might help even more that I'm home full-time now. But beyond that, I had no aspirations. I just wanted him out of diapers before college.

So you can imagine my surprise at the events of the last couple of weeks. I think I mentioned that he had peed outside a couple times. And then, this afternoon, after bath time, I was putting a diaper on Hunter while Wilder continued playing in the tub. Hunter started emphatically shaking his head and yelling "pee pee!" at me. I asked him if he had to go. Emphatic nods. So I stripped the diaper off, we went and got his little potty together, brought it back to the room so I could keep an eye on Wilder and I plopped his booty down on it.

And. He. Went.

Now, I'm not saying he went No. 2. He peed. But he did concentrate really hard and fart about four times, so I know he gets the gist of what goes on there. Again, I realize, too much information. But what can I say? I'm damn proud of my boy, and though I realize that we're still a long way from a diaper-free existence, I think I'll ride out this high for awhile and visualize two boys using the potty by Summer 2010. It's possible, right? We'll see.

Nothing but photos

2009-07-23T19:16:00.000-07:00

Just a couple of collages of photos -- first from the last couple days and second from the last few weeks -- that do nothing but make me smile. Enjoy.

In which I relate a story that will embarrass them when they're teenagers

2009-07-22T10:56:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd jump on here real quick while the boys are napping. The photos below are from the last few days; just a bunch of random pics of us enjoying the outdoors and one of Wilder in an increasingly rare moment of stillness.

I'm relearning how much fun it is to have a boy learning to speak English in the house. Hunter's vocabulary has really taken off in the last week or so and it's changed his outlook on life, to say the least. He seems to be in a constant state of amusement now that he understands more of what's coming out of everyone's mouth and learning his own little set of words. Of note: puppy, ball, outside, shoes, nana (this means cup), pee pee (more on this in a minute), poopy, moon ... there's more, I'm certain, but some of them escape me now. While he still doesn't say too many words, he understands a ton, and I can tell him to do something now and have him do it. He takes a box out of the pantry. "Put it back, please." And he'll do it. It's pretty fun watching him go through all this ... I'd forgotten just how cool it is.

He and Wilder seem to be deepening their relationship as cohorts and brothers-in-arms. They make each other laugh constantly. The other day Wilder was -- apparently -- doing the funniest thing in the world by dragging his feet through the wood chips everytime he swung backward at the park. Hunter just giggled and giggled, and then Wilder caught on and so kept it up. More giggling, more goading, me wondering what the hell was so funny about it all but laughing hard with them because they were laughing so hard. Good times.

This is a story a story they'll no doubt exact revenge on me for when they're 16 and 18 years old, but so be it. Last night in the tub, Hunter started sticking his tongue out at me and giggling. So I did the same. Then I started counting to three and yelling "TONGUE!!!" and sticking my tongue out. Pretty soon the boys caught on and we were all sticking our tongues out. Then Wilder leaned over and touched his tongue to Hunter's. Mutual freakout occured as Wilder started scrubbing his tongue with the washcloth and Hunter kicked his feet, screamed and shook his head violently. Then they proceeded to do it over and over, each time having their "ooooh gross!" reactions for another five minutes or so before I announced that it was probably good to stop as tongueing your brother in the tub as looked upon by society as fairly inappropriate. Still, while it lasted, we all had a good time cracking up.

On to pee pee. As you all are well aware, I had a hard time training Wilder to use the potty. He's now fully potty-trained and even staying dry through most nights and naps. Very, very proud of him as once he got it, he just got it and is doing fantastically. So it's of no small amount of import that Hunter is learning even the beginning steps of pottying somewhere other than his diaper. A couple of times, upon getting out of the pool, I've let Hunter stand naked next to his brother while Wilder pees in the grass, and lo and behold Hunter will pee too. The way we all cheer and freak out, you'd think world peace had just been attained. This morning, I'd pulled H out of his crib and had him on the changing table, putting a diaper on. He violently shook his head and hollered "PEE PEE!" at me. "Outside?" I asked. Emphatic nodding. So we took him outside and ... whadaya know? The kid peed in the grass, then climbed back up the steps and trounced into the house.

Woot. :-)

All right, I need to get some stuff done before the natives wake back up. Enjoy the photos.

Starting the day off right

2009-07-05T16:04:00.000-07:00

Last night, we spent the night at one of our favorite Dallas haunts, the Belmont Hotel. They were having a Fourth of July special on rooms, and the price included admission to a pool party, blues band and a great view of the fireworks around the city.

Anyway, all that only goes toward explaining that we spent the night in a strange place. We had two connecting rooms, and Wilder had one big bed to himself, and Hunter slept in a portable crib next to the bed in Jerry and I's room. We were lucky that, for the most part, he slept through the night. But when he awoke this morning, he was clearly a little upset about the strange surroundings, crying out, and so we pulled him into bed between us.

He laid there for a moment, getting his bearings, and then rolled over and climbed up on top of Jerry's chest, sleeping stomach-down on his Papa, both arms wrapped around Jerry as far as he could reach. My first thought was to smile and simply appreciate how much my boys love their Papa. My second, of course, was a little twinge of jealousy that he had not snuggled up to me. I can't help it, just a little — both boys have gone through their "only Papa will do" stages, though they feel that way about me sometimes, too. Anyway, since I was feeling a little envy, I closed my eyes and remembered all the times during Hunter's first eight months of life — when I was nursing — and we slept snuggled next to each other during most nights. I'd wake up almost every morning to his smell and his breath on my cheek or arm or chest. He'd snuggle up close as he could possibly get.

As I was remembering this, I suddenly felt a small hand patting my arm. I opened my eyes and there was Hunter, looking at me with a wistful grin, as if he was remembering the exact same thing, and wanted to assure me I was still part of his early-morning world of love. He then rolled off Jerry and snuggled up to me.

For the next 30 minutes or so, he continued to go back and forth between us. At some point it became more of a wrestling session than a snugglefest, so we turned on the lights and began stirring around. Peeked in on Wilder and he was sitting up in bed, sleepy-eyed. He looked at me, said: "Mama, I took a LONG nap in this new big bed," and rolled out of it and into our room.

This is how we started July 5th. It was pretty great.

Hope everyone had a great Independence Day. We did. I posted some pictures here.