1/31/11

Sorry guys, no post today - I was horribly sick with the flu over the weekend. I'll be back tomorrow.
xo,
M

Moments

Friday moments with Soule Mama again. If you have a moment (or several) to share, please leave a comment with a link.

In the midst of the endless wintry-ness of January in NH, I was inspired one cold and snowy evening to introduce our big boy to finger paints. Unfortunately, he did not at all approve of dipping his finger into the paint.
"Wipe it off, mama."
So, being a quick-thinking and resourceful mama (i.e. not wanting to wipe his finger 17 times per minute), I provided him with Q-tip "brushes". Success!



Neat and tidy toddler.


In a less inspired mama moment, I got bleach on my brand-new shirt.




Dammit.


There are these wicked icicles hanging from our roof, just outside the boys' rooms.


That big one in the middle is easily five feet long.


We read wee tiny books, until we were exhausted.




Yes, he's resting his head on the shelf.



And we had moments of brotherly cuteness.


Where'd we get the sweet toybox? My uncles
made it for us. They rule.


The endless games of peek-a-boo continue.


As I mentioned last week, he cheats.

Happy Friday to you, and you, and you. Thank you for visiting. xo

Man to Man Defense

Recently it has come to my attention that the boys really enjoy one-on-one time with the Hubs and I. They don't ask for it, I don't think they even realize they need or want time alone with us, but when I have the opportunity to be alone with either of them, an opening up occurs between the two of us.

There are few, if any, tantrums or time outs, and there are lots of laughs and conversation. Yes, even with the wee one - it goes like this:
"Cah!" he says.
"No honey, that's a truck."
"Tuck!"
"That's right, Bud."
"Cah!"
"No honey, that's a tractor."
"Tack-tor!"
"That's right, Bud."
"Cah!"
"No honey, that's a train."
"Choo-Choo!"
"That's right, Bud."
Stimulating, no?

Anyway, last week I took the wee one to the library during that witching hour between a too-early dinner and bath time.

That thing he's shaking? "Cah!" "No honey, that's a digger."
"Diggah!" "That's right, Bud."

We read books, played with legos and fancy, intellectual toys. I perused the "potty" books section and brought home a variety for the big boy - which he ignored.  What would have been a horrible, endless, two-hour stretch at home turned into some sweet mama-baby time with just a change of venue. Who knew?

Meanwhile, this past weekend Hubs took the big boy to "da ice" for some skates-free hockey.

Although, I cannot speak for Hubs - it seemed as if they had a pretty sweet time. The big boy was weeping huge crocodile tears when he came home ("I don't want to weab da ice!"), and this alone was proof enough of his enjoyment of Daddy-time.

Fore! Oh, wait.

Certainly, having a sibling is a wonderful thing - there are these rare moments where they chase each other around my legs, squealing with delight, but mostly they fight. Hit. Kick. Steal toys, and generally harass each other, and me. I find myself wishing for a blissful moment or two alone. I pine for a break that will replenish the mommy-well.  No one was more surprised than I to discover that time alone with one child would be rejuvenating in an entirely unexpected way. Probably the only person who finds spending time with one child relaxing is the parent of two children, but - unusual or not - I'll take what I can get.

Reading: Lets Take the Long Way home by Gail Caldwell

I just finished Let's Take the Long Way Home: A Memoir of Friendship by Gail Caldwell - and let me warn you: it's wonderful and heartbreaking. This is the story of Gail Caldwell and her dear friend and fellow writer Caroline Knapp (Drinking: A Love Story) who died tragically of lung cancer.  She describes their one-of-a-kind and once-in-a-lifetime friendship with such honesty and accuracy that anyone who's ever had a best friend will sigh and nod, and grieve alongside her. 
This book got me thinking about friends. I tried not to imagine facing a cancer diagnosis alongside my own dearest girls. I remembered those moments in my life where I leaned hardest on my friends, and when they carried me through.  It is a risk to bond so deeply, to join your lives and hearts together so that every conversation feels like a continuation of the last.  It is hard to imagine surviving a loss like this one, it seems that no one should have to, and yet, some do.
I wish I could write a tribute to my friends as beautiful as this one, but since I don't have that kind of talent - I think I'll finish up here and make a few phone calls. Tell some girls how much I love them. How grateful I am for them.
Now, go read this book (bring kleenex). Then hug your friends.

Working

Do you ever take a look around at your life and wonder: what exactly am I doing here?

I am a stay-at-home mom.

No, I do not dress us in matching outfits - this was a coincidence.
PS - grey sweatpants are totally sweet.

I also work part-time as a nurse. I've worked in labor and delivery for over five years. Five years. That's the longest I've ever done anything.  I should be great at it by now, wouldn't you think? The thing is, since the wee one's arrival, I only work a little. Once a week - sometimes less, and so I'm losing that body-mind-gut-hands thing that nurses have - you know, reaching for the pink bucket before the patient even realizes she's gonna vomit. I have to think about what I'm doing, whereas three years ago, it was all second nature - my hands working usually before a thought had time to completely form.

Upside down book.

Now, I have that mind-body-gut-hands thing going with my kids. I  know what they want or need, often before they do. I can tell when they're getting sick, hungry or tired. I can soothe, distract or discipline as needed without really thinking about it. I can deftly switch gears to avoid a tantrum, without even realizing consciously what I'm doing.

Brothers.

But it bothers me, this career-on-the-side, thing I'm doing.  There's a fine balance to it, and right now, I'm tipped toward the kids. But I can't help but wonder, what am I going to do with myself when they get to kindergarten? First grade? High school? I can never get these years back - if I try to reenter the workforce full time five years from now, will all the new graduates be smarter than me? Will I be able to get that nursing-sixth-sense back?

New haircut.

I want my boys to be proud of me. And for some reason, I feel like I have to be successful at "work" in order for them to respect me.  Is that even true? I don't know, but it's how I feel.

Right now I'm trying to take on a little more in the work department, and it's going to take some juggling and balancing, and I hope that I can give some of myself to my work and still have enough to give my two boys what they need.  I feel pulled in two directions at once, and although I'm making the best choices I can, I know that if I overextend myself, we all suffer. 

My mind-heart-gut tells me to go ahead and stretch a little, it's good for me. I have to trust that I'll be able to recognize if things get out of balance. I have to trust that I'll be able to pull back if I need to.  Unfortunately, I'm not really trustworthy in that department, I'll push myself too far, afraid to disappoint anyone, unable to accept that I can't do it all.

It's hard to measure success by your own standards, but that's what I want my boys to do for themselves, so I better figure it out.  You know - in the end - they'll probably be the ones to teach me how to get it right. That's always the way.

Monday

How was your weekend?

My dear (younger) friend told me she was going out with another couple for dinner to celebrate their recent engagement (Congratulations!).  Jealousy hit me in the gut like a sucker-punch. I was bombarded by memories of pre-children Hubs and I, going out for leisurely dinners, seeing movies, shooting pool and generally living it up.  Unfortunately, now-a-days we are pretty lame.

What did we do this weekend?

Well there was a lot of surviving-the-cold.



Here's me in my sweet snow outfit.  Yeah, lookin' pretty fly.


The wee one decided to experiment with mama's hat.



Looks like a good fit.



There was a generalized dislike of the snow. The wee one did enjoy sledding, but not nearly as much as he enjoyed contemplating tee-ball in the spring.



Green bat or yellow? You think he's
juiced? Damn Jose Canseco.


The big boy categorically refused to leave the garage.



Which would make a larger dent, tee-ball bat or hockey stick?

A giant pot of vichyssoise was made (recipe to be shared later), some unimportant (i.e. not related to my home team) football was watched.  I stuck my nose in a great book (post to come later).  Some chores got done.  A lot of tea and hot chocolate was consumed.  And here we are, Monday again.  Poof. Where'd your weekend go?

Savory Bread Pudding

Since the days of frenzied cookie-making are past us (at least until next year), I noticed it's been awhile since I posted a recipe. For shame!

Recently I had a large baguette going stale on top of my fridge, and I - lover of all things bread - could not see it go into the trash.

I whipped up this great bread pudding for supper - and it  meets all my criteria: easy, cheap, and not so much a "recipe" as a few guidelines ready for my mantra "guesstimate, approximate and taste".  This "pudding" has all the goodness of quiche, but is easier to make - what could be better?

Savory Bread pudding

stale baguette
1/2 medium onion (diced)
2 large cloves garlic (minced)
2 cups milk (low fat or high test - either one works)
3 whole eggs
2 egg whites
2 cups shredded cheese (I used 1 cup Parmesan and 1 cup cheddar - but use what you've got)
2 cups leftover cooked veggies (I used 1 cup steamed broccoli, and 1 cup mushrooms which I sauteed with the garlic and onions*).
a few sprigs of thyme (the last harvest before my plant bit the dust)
salt/pepper
1 pinch nutmeg
2 tbs butter

Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Coat a 9x13 pan with a quick spritz of non-stick cooking spray.
Cube up most of one of those very long french baguettes you get at the grocery store (about 9 cups). It's best if the bread is stale and dry. Put the bread in the pan, in a relatively even layer.

In a small saute pan - cook up the onion and garlic (*and the mushrooms and thyme if you've got 'em) in a little olive oil until soft and fragrant. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and nutmeg. Set aside to cool.

In a large bowl whisk together the eggs and milk, then add in 1/2 of the cheese and your onion mixture (plus any additional leftover, cooked veggies).

Pour over the bread and press down with your hands for 5 minutes to help the bread absorb the custard mixture.

Spread the remaining cheese over the top, dot with butter, and bake for 45 minutes until the pudding is set and browned.

Serve hot, cold or room temp with a nice salad - good stuff!

Comfort food!

Moments

Participating again in SouleMama's {this moment} . Amanda limits herself to "a single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week." I can't restrain myself to meet her standards yet, so here's a summary of our week, in moments.  If you have a moment to share, leave a comment with a link.

Here's someone eating noodles for lunch.



He has named the little dude in his mouth,
"Ma-Man" and no one knows why.

We gave the boys their first sips of hot chocolate one evening. The big boy insists we call it "warm chocolate". The conversation went like this:
"Hey bud, you want to try some hot chocolate?" I say, offering the mug for him to inspect. He sniffs, interested.
"It's hot?" he asks, knowing that he is not to touch hot things.
"Not too hot," I say, "It's okay."
He takes a wee sip and declares, "It's warm chocolate." He was right, you know.

The little one just calls it "Share some? Pweeze".

You think he liked it?



Please pardon my bizarre hair - post-gym-hair-meets-hat-head.



We discussed snowplows with the cat.


"You see dem?" he says to her, and she looks. "Dey pwow-in"



And one last one, there were these gorgeous snowflakes on the day which will not be mentioned.

You should have seen the contortionist moves
it took to take a picture of my own left shoulder.

There were lots of other not-so-picturesque moments, but we'll save those for another day. Happy Friday!

Almonds

Yesterday the Hubs teased me about finding (yet again) the open bag of almonds in the pantry.  Just waiting, he insists, to fall off the shelf and make a horrible mess.



See 'em? Right there, in the middle.


Almonds are my 10am snack, I grab a handful as I am dashing out the door - taking the kids wherever it is we are going that day. I never close the bag. Irritating as it may be, this simple act of omission on my part is unfortunately a symptom of a larger phenomenon. There is so much in my life that is left undone, or done with only half my attention. There is evidence of it everywhere.

I used to clean my house every week. Top to bottom. Stem to stern. From the baseboards to the tub jets, everything was scrubbed and sanitized. Now there is dirt on the floor, crumbs under the table, and sticky milk rings on every flat surface. The baseboards? Please.

I am always in a hurry. Dashing here and there to avert a crisis, soothe a hurt, obtain a binky, refill a cup, check on suspiciously-quiet children. I am always thinking two steps ahead. Wipes are getting low, better grab a refill next time I'm upstairs. What's this sippie cup doing in the toy box, thank God I spotted it lest we have another "nasty milk" situation.  Better reload supplies in the diaper bag. This bum's red, where's the Desitin? Are we out? Heading to Target today, better check the diaper stash - where are the coupons? And isn't it someone's birthday this month?

My mind and my body are often in two completely different places. My hands working independently. There is so much to do. It's endless and relentless, and things slip through the cracks. Actually, they're not so much "cracks" anymore, with things slipping through - but rather gaping chasms where entire days slip through. 




Ugh.

Sure, I know - it's common knowledge that kids are messy and crazy, and they bring chaos into your life.  Everyone tells you to cut yourself some slack - you'll clean when they go to college. But that's not really how the world works, is it? The expectation is that perhaps you'll stop polishing the furniture with homemade, organic beeswax from the hives you tend in the backyard and instead switch to Pledge, right? No, you don't need to iron the sheets, but they still need to be changed every week.

Cut myself some slack. Where exactly? The housework has to get done - or else you end up on that show, Hoarders. You have to cook nutritious meals or else the family ends up on The Biggest Loser.  You have to keep up with the laundry, or else you end up naked.

So what's the point I'm making here? There's just too much. Too much to do. Too much to remember. If I'm going to try to remember to close the bag of almonds - something else is going to get forgotten. It's inevitable. Let's just hope it's not one of the children.

Fever

Warning: this post involves puke.

Yesterday afternoon the big boy woke up from his afternoon nap with bright red cheeks.
"You feel okay, bud?" I ask him.
"No." he responds and lays his head down, refusing to budge from the bed, even when I offer him television.

I know my boy though, and I know even a moderately high fever will make him vomit. So I bribe and cajole and eventually he submits to being carried downstairs (to the hardwood floors and off the carpet) by his most favored parent - Daddy.

Over the next hour he deteriorates into a heap on the floor, his cheek pressed to the cold wood.  I try to ride it out - I know with him a virus hits fast and furious.  I take his temp and he wails - the thermometer under his arm an endless agony while we all wait for the beep.

103.7. I give him a dose of Tylenol, which he dutifully swallows, a trooper. Then promptly vomits. A pink, cherry-scented, splatter pattern on the floor. Hubs and I share the duties of holding him and ssh-ing, obtaining clean clothes, and mopping up the floor.

We hide in the kitchen and take turns eating dinner, feeling it would be cruel to eat in front of him. And it is at this moment, as we divvy up the leftover Chinese-food appetizers from Saturday that I realize: we have become parents. We soothe the sick one, clean up the mess, feed the healthy one dinner, clean up the dishes, set up the coffee pot for the morning.  Working around and with each other, in a dance so finely choreographed it's effortless.  We manage.

Over the next hour, the fever cools down a bit, and we feed him popsicles. We listen to his favorite song, "The Yellow Submarine" on endless loop.  By bedtime he is himself again, negotiating for extra stories and demanding to bring his yellow spatula to bed with him.

We switch on the baby monitors and collapse into our favorite spots on the couch, eyeing each other wearily. No words necessary. Two soldiers savoring a quiet moment in the trenches.  An understanding so deep it is sustaining.  It may be a difficult, messy journey we're on -  but at least we're on it together.

Ebb and flow (again)

I'm feeling a little bit down today.  Could be the continued struggles with our beloved-but-currently-challenging-three-year-old. Could be that all surfaces in the house are either dirty, sticky, sandy, crusty or stained. Could be the endless piles of laundry we accumulate around here. Could be the Patriots pathetic loss Sunday.

We grieve.

I'm not sure what it is but my usual methods of self-motivation are failing me. A junk food filled weekend has left me guilt-ridden and lethargic. My trip to the gym this morning felt like a slog through an unforgiving wasteland of people thinner than me. I can't even head to the kitchen to cook myself happy because I have to unearth the counters from beneath the detritus of the weekend.



Oh the horror.

No, nothings "wrong". I'm just pooped. I feel like I don't have what it takes today. I envied my husband as he rose for work before 5am. Yes, I envied him and before five am.

I know how blessed I am. Two healthy children. The ability to stay at home these early years, while working a few evenings to stay current in my practice. I have much to be grateful for: my health. Hubs' health. A warm house. Naptime. The Mentalist. Books. Coffee. A lot, really.

It's just that some days I feel like a hard-working mama who's doing the best she can for these two incredible little humans I get a chance to raise.



He's like a cat, sometimes he sees things I don't.


And some days I feel like the whipping boy for a relentless task master. I think there are fair labor laws that might apply to my life sometimes.

 

You! Get back to work! Change my diaper!

And that's the hard truth. One day everything seems to flow (with hard work and a metric ton of patience, naturally) and the next day getting bodies dressed and teeth brushed seems like an insurmountable task.  Today is one of those days where I've got to dig deep just to get the minimum done. And minimum ain't so mini here. Especially when cutting myself some slack doesn't come naturally to this perfectionistic mama.

Today's the kind of day when I feel tomorrow, and the next day and the next day pushing down on my shoulders.  A break, my kingdom for a break.

But, tomorrow will be better.  There's always next year for our beloved, heartbreaking Patriots. And spring training will be here before we know it.

Today is long, the work is hard, and my patience is waning. 

But, tomorrow will be better. And if not tomorrow there's always another chance the next day.

Shifting gears

Thank you to everyone who posted kind words, advice, and understanding - I appreciate each and every comment. I am so bolstered by you kind folks out there.

The struggles with my cantankerous three-year-old continue. So I've decided to switch gears today and write a wee bit about his wee baby brother.

Four gigantic molars have appeared in the wee one's mouth and it is as if a curse was lifted with their arrival.  A sweet, funny, charming little dude is emerging.

He likes to play peek-a-boo.

Although, he totally cheats. You've been warned.

Sometimes, he's a super hero.

Dun da dun! Don't mess wid da binky.

He likes to climb up one step, and have a seat. Unfortunately he can't get down the one step so eventually he stands up and hollers, "Git down!" until one of us comes to get him.

Yes he brought his cup, binky, blankie, and snack with him.
I've got two kids - sometimes he has to wait for rescue.

He really likes pears.

I have to snatch the core before he eats that, too.

And he loves to share.



Yes, have some.
(Please tell me someone recognizes that quote.)



He's busy idolizing his big bro.



Think the makers of Tag would pay me for all the free advertising?


And sometimes - he's just got to run wild.




Somebody stop me!


He's been making us laugh and lightening things up around here, and we are so grateful.




Come on mom, not in front of everybody!



The boys are often cyclical in their behavior, when one is struggling - the other chills out. I hope that noticing and acknowledging the ebb and flow will help me survive the difficulties we're facing with the big one. 

An extremely long and wordy post

Today was a day that tested this mama. 
Last night I worked until 11:30pm. Got in bed around midnight with half a dose of nyquil to quiet this nagging cough. The big boy woke me from crazy nyquil-dreams at 6:30. I was a little tired.

There was no time for fatigue though, today was the big boy's first solo swimming lesson.

I had a feeling this really wasn't going to go well, but I had no idea just how hard it would be for me.

This morning was a comedy of errors. As I struggled to lug one twenty pound baby, one diaper bag, one swimming bag, and still hold the hand of a wayward three year old (did you know he turned three last week? Yah, it was his birthday - did I mention that?) all while trudging through about 4 inches of slushy, dirty snow a mile through the "plowed" parking lot of the YMCA - I nearly dropped the baby. Seriously, slippery winter coats plus overloaded arms is clearly hazardous to a baby's health. Luckily, I managed to catch him before he hit the asphalt.

We got inside and I discovered that KidsStop (babysitting) doesn't open until 9, which is unfortunate because the big boy's lesson starts at 9, so I dragged both kids and both bags down to the family changing area - stashed the coats, bags, and boots in not one but two lockers and lugged everyone to the pool.

Just getting to the lesson itself had tested this mama's patience, but I gathered my courage, handed him over to the instructor, and dutifully took my seat on a faraway bench to wrestle with a restless eighteen month old.

"We have some rules to follow," began the kindly swimming instructor.
"That," interrupted the big boy, at maximum volume, "is a fan!"
Oh dear, I thought, this isn't going to go well.
My beloved three year old did not sit on the step as he was instructed. A handsome teenage lifeguard eventually came to stand right next to him and continually remind him to sit down, lest he fall off the step and potentially drown.
He also did not want to get in the pool with the instructor, and she eventually asked me if it was all right just to haul him in.
"Yes, of course." I said apologetically, "I think that's the only way you'll get him in."
What was I thinking?
Once he was in the water he began to holler, "I don't wike dis!" at the top of his wee voice - which is not at all wee, really - especially with the awesome acoustics in a giant indoor swimming pool.
This continued for thirty agonizing minutes. Watching him squirm off the step, toddle around, ignore the instructor and the lifeguard, holler, whine and complain - I began to break out in a cold sweat.
I am a horrible mother. Look at him. The instructor hates him. Hates me, too. Why can't he sit like the other kids? He loves the pool and he's familiar with this instructor - why oh why is this such an epic fail?
I should go back to work full-time and send him to daycare. It would be better for him. I'm obviously not doing a good enough job here.

Afterwards I asked the instructor if I should put him back in the parent-child class, and she said "Let's give it a few weeks and see how he does."
This seems perfectly reasonable, yet for some reason I had to thank her and quickly dash away because I was about to cry and I was mortified.

Cry? Over swimming lessons? Really?

Yes, really.

I can't help but feel as if my parenting is on trial when I send him out to the world. If he's not perfect - it must be because I am a bad mother.

If I were a good mother he'd sit still, cooperate, listen.

I realize as I type it how ludicrous that sounds, but it seemed perfectly reasonable as I watched the lesson unfold, sweating, embarrassed, and desperate to get out of there.

I don't know if I can do this, guys. I know I can't take responsibility for every move he makes, but I am responsible.

I have to let him go. He has to go out into the world of teachers, instructors, coaches, peers - and I can't go with him. I can't stand over him, guiding his behavior. Unfortunately, watching him from the sidelines - it hurts. My own judgement is so harsh - I can hardly bear it. A minor misstep on his part fuels a deluge of guilt and self-recrimination. Bad mother. Bad mother. He deserves better.

I imagine this will get better with practice - both his behavior at swimming lessons and my ability to watch him struggle. I imagine that if this were my seventh child - I wouldn't even bat an eyelash at his inability to sit still, but would instead regale the other moms with tales of, "That time billy-bob whacked the teacher with a noodle." or some other hilarious misadventure.

I knew this wasn't going to be easy for him, I just had no clue how hard it would be for me. God, motherhood. It's a pisser.

The big snow. Part deux.

Well the weather forecasters can't be wrong every time - and this time they got it right. Mother nature delivered about a foot of snow to our neck of the woods.

The snow was eagerly anticipated.

And thoroughly enjoyed. Well, enjoyed for a few hours by the big one, and for about fifteen minutes by the little one. But, it was a glorious fifteen minutes.

"Th-now"

What was not thoroughly enjoyed by this mama was the application of snow apparel to two reticent snow-goers.

The tantrum over snow boots reached epic proportions.

A tenuous treaty regarding the snow boots and suits was reached by the threat of an entire winter spent indoors.  And a small amount of bribery. A mama's gotta do what a mama's gotta do.



Yet, another example of my sweet photo editing. Go ahead, just try to
read the license plate and stalk us, you creepy stalker-weirdo. Ha!

We left the shoveling to the wee one, who as you can see, had it under control.

So I took my wool socks inside for some hot chocolate. 

What's more flattering than wool socks and grey stretch pants?



In other news, today is my Dad's birthday. Happy Birthday Dad. There are a few very important things I learned from my father:

1) Do not cut a tomato using your thigh as a cutting board.

2) How to drive a stick shift.

3) Work hard and smart.

4) Laugh. A lot. At yourself and at everyone else, because it's all funny. 

5) Grow a garden. A good garden.  

6) Argue. About everything. Know your opinion and stick to it. No matter if the other person ends up being right. Old coins, Kathy! Old coins!

7) Camping is awesome.

8) Cooking should be fun and messy.

9) How to swear effectively. In more than one language.

10) And finally - go back and re-read number 4, because that one's the best one. No matter how bad it gets, you can always laugh. This is the man who nick-named me "Strokey" during that whole I-had-a-stroke-and-brain-surgery-at-mass-general-thing. You gotta laugh or you go nuts. Or perhaps we're laughing because we are nuts. I don't know, and I don't really care - because I'm going to keep on laughing. Thanks, Dad.

Big Snow?

The weathermen say there's a big snow on the way. Me? I'll believe it when I see it. This isn't the first time they've promised the big snow this year.




A dusting. Pitiful.

Regardless of the accurateness of our weather-folk, we make preparations. The snowblower and the generator have been tuned, oiled, and gassed-up by Hubs. I made run to the grocery store today for a few essentials. Tonight we'll bring in all the outdoor toys to make sure they aren't lost until the spring.

God forbid we lose the wagon, cuz I love hauling this
chubba up and down the driveway all freakin' day.

After I finish clackety-clacking away here - I'll get some soup going on the stove. Potato corn chowder? Or vegetable? I'm thinking chowder.

I'm also thinking, how in the heck am I going to survive being snowed in with these two little people? Whatever shall we do?

Well there will be tickle-fights.

Tickling = mama vengeance

 There'll be a flash-light-rave-party or two.



Dude, can you feel the bass?

Heck, maybe we'll even let 'em watch a little tv. Although, I gotta admit - that glazed-over expression kind of freaks me out.



Oh, I suppose if you've never been here - that black thing
is the entertainment center. There's a tv on top.

Hopefully there'll be snowball fights and snowmen. Sledding and long, long naps taken by snow-exhausted children (please, God).

Hot chocolate? Check.
Whipped cream? Check.
I think we're good to go.