They Drove Me To It Part 2

Thank you all for your sincere notes of support concerning my hair (or lack of it). I appreciate the comments, emails and phone calls.

However, I will NOT be posting any pictures of myself until mid 2009.

For Pete's sake, this is the first day that I have not worn a hat.

Kids

Remember the good old days when you were a kid?

For me, childhood was all about imagination.

We had no computer, no video games, no Ipods or cell phones.

Heck, video recorders were barely invented.

Sure we had some cool toys like our "Charlie's Angels" radio/walkie talkies, real wooden cradles for our dolls and of course a pogo stick.

There were also toys that weren't so great. Like the Christmas I received Skipper (Barbie's chest-less little sister). I eventually forgave Santa and moved on with my life. But that's another story for another day.

My point is, that being a kid was all about make believe not about being entertained.

Now days it seems like kids are constantly bombarded with stimulation. Sometimes I wonder if my kids are missing out on the true essence of being a kid.

I worry that they haven't had enough "escaping to another world in a card board box" if you know what I mean.

But last night my faith in imagination was temporarily renewed.

Mark was at church so we decided to go for a walk. We started singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat in a round. We then noticed that the sprinklers were on causing a small river to flow down the edge of the path. Since boats were on our minds we decided to each make a boat and race it down the river.

Bet you can't guess which one was Rachie's...

We built a dam out of small stones.

We waded through the puddles and experimented with different size leaves.

Samantha had a good time watching.

Before we knew it, nearly an hour had passed.

"Mom", Lincoln asked, "Can we come back and do this again tomorrow?"

"..........and when we get home can I play on the Wii?"

They Drove Me To It

Today I lost all rational thinking and did something crazy.

I couldn't help myself. I was driven to it by two fifth graders.

Do you realize what happens to a person when she sends two fifth graders off to
the first day of school? It's hard, worse than the first day of kindergarten.

Fifth grade is officially OLD.

Gone are the days when what you wore didn't matter much.
Hair bows are now a thing of the past.
Questions like, "Can I get a cell phone this year" start to creep up.

Today 5th grade, tomorrow college.
That is about how fast time flies by

"I don't like this", I complained to Mark.
"We have two official pre-teens now."
"Why can't we do kindergarten and first grade one more time?"

On the way out the door Linc was so kind as to remind me that 5th grade is when they have
the m-a-t-u-r-a-t-i-o-n program. "You know mom", he said, "the bugs and the bees talk".
He went on to suggest that I check him out early that day because his dad already told him all he needs to know.

I think that comment was the final straw.

I kissed them goodbye with no tears.
I maintained my composure during a walk with Roni.
I kept a stiff upper lip when Mark gently asked if I was doing ok.

But when I got to my hairdresser this afternoon, it all came tumbling out.
They are growing up too fast I confided in her.
They are not little anymore.
They are in 5th grade for crying out loud!

Then the crazy, irrational thinking took over.
It happened quickly, hastily. They whole thing was a blur.

One minute I looked like me, the next minute I looked like me
with someone else's hair sitting on my head.

Hair that is jet black and about eight inches shorter than it was this morning.

Note to self: Not a good idea to make a hair appointment when you are under duress.

"Hmm" said Lincoln. "That's different."
"I like it." Mark lied.
Rachel tried her hardest to make me feel better. "It will grow back".

Because I am a glass-half-full kind of gal, I said to myself:
Things could be worse......
My hair could be ten inches shorter than it was and I could have two 7th graders.

Living Your Dream

Convincing your twin sister to help you talk your parents into taking a summer vacation to Boston. Zero dollars.

Convincing your dad that you are only ten once and it would be a dream come true to see the Red Sox play. Approximately four months worth of talking but, zero dollars.

Airfare to Boston: 1200.00.

Hotels in Boston: 1200.00.

Food in Boston: 500.00.

Tickets to see the Red Sox:
So absurdly expensive that it may cause your mother to choke.

Entering Fenway for the first time: A dream come true.

Finding your seat: A feeling like no other.

Hearing thunder and feeling raindrops: sickness enters your stomach.

The biggest night of your life getting rained out: heartbreak in its truest form.


Your dad saving the day by getting tickets for Saturday night's game:
Whew, you can breathe again.

Walking into Fenway the next night: unbelievable.

Seeing the "Green Monstah": exciting enough to make a kid cry.


Watching your hero, Jason Varitek warm up: thrilling.

Digging in to a Fenway Frank: simply. the. best.

Cheering your heart out when Pedroia (the Destroyah) hits a home run:

A moment you will never forget.

Singing "Sweet Caroline" with 36,000 of your closest friends: Sweeeet!
(see below)

Living your dream to experience Red Sox Nation..........
Absolutely 100% PRICELESS.

Meet the Douros Family

You've met Mark's family, haven't you? You know those nice, calm, rule abiding folks.

Now, I would like to introduce you to my family. This is the Douros Clan. The three words that best describe them are crazy, loud and highly mischievous.
Time passes and things change. My grandparents have been gone for a few years now. My cousins are mostly grown with spouses and children of their own. My aunts and uncles have turned into grandparents.

But there is one thing that always remains the same, we cannot get together in the summertime without chaos breaking out in the form of a water fight.

It happens each and every time, no exceptions.

The only rule is "There ain't no rules".

Siblings turn on each other.

Husbands have no loyalties to their wives.

It is serious war between cousins.
Aunts and uncles will take you down.

No mercy is granted, even if you get tangled up in the hose.Safety is only guaranteed to those age two and under and pregnant women.
Don't try to hide in the house, you will be found and brought to justice.The best thing to do is just brace yourself for the inevitable.

There are no umbrellas large enough to keep you dry.
Training starts at an early age.



Yes, we're a loud and crazy bunch.
We're a little wild for a Sunday afternoon.

I have to admit that I apologize in advance to my neighbors.

But we are family.

We're bound together by

blood,

love

......and lots and lots and lots of water.

Santa and the Nerf Gun

Last Christmas, the twins confronted me.

Is Santa real?

OF COURSE! I replied.

Can you imagine a question like that from two nine year olds? What nerve.

Seven months later I am constantly stepping over proof that old Kris Kringle is the real deal.

You see, Santa his his infinite wisdom left this present for Linc:

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I would never buy such a gift for my child.

I don't allow weapons of any sort.

Lincoln begged and pleaded for a toy sword. Only after he reluctantly agreed to be Rachel's Prince Charming for Halloween one year did I allow it. And even then it was against my better judgment.

The closest thing Linc has ever gotten to a gun has been the microscopic kind that Army guys hold. He plays with them in the tub each night.

Even water guns have been banned.

So what possessed St. Nick to leave such a gift is beyond me. Not only could a nerf gun be classified as a weapon but the little nerf darts could drive a normally calm and friendly minded mom up a tree.

These things turn up EVERYWHERE.
These guys can be found in the darndest places.

They haunt me. I am on the verge of having nightmares about invasions of little orange darts.

So this Christmas, if they try to corner me into a conversation about the authenticity of Santa Claus, I will simply growl and throw a few darts their way. Enough said.

Joyfully Tired

Have you ever heard the term "joyfully tired'?
Those two words together are so contradictory, they almost qualify as an oxymoron.

How can a person be tired to the point of exhaustion and yet be completely joyful about it?

I'll tell you how in one simple word....

SAMANTHA.

Not even ten months old yet and she has her own ideas.

For example:

She absolutely refuses to take a bath in the bathroom next door to her bedroom.

She only likes baths in MY tub. So in the basket where I used to keep candles and bubble bath, you will now find foam toys and baby soap.
She insists that she is big enough to do stairs. She is not.
She has turned into a baby food snob. Forget about strained carrots. She wants to eat what we are eating and by the way, she will feed herself, thank you very much.
Choking hazards of every shape and size are constantly stored in her mouth.

We were out to lunch a couple of weeks ago when she decided to snack on a paper napkin.

I quickly fished out chunks of napkin from her mouth. The next day we were at church (a full 24 hours later) when I noticed something white near her bottom teeth.

Guess what it was? Yep, a large piece of napkin had been hiding out in her cheek.

She simply does not have time to sit around during a diaper change. She waits for the moment when you are rolling up the old diaper and unfolding the new one. Then she is off.

Curtains have been pulled down, drawers have been emptied.

Mark came home last week and made a declaration.
"You look so tired" "Tonight I am going to give your feet the royal treatment!"
WOW! GREAT! CAN'T WAIT! I cheered.

So we put the kids to bed a little early. I took a warm shower so that my feet would be nice and clean for the big event. I stretched out on the bed while my personal masseuse was finishing up a few things.

Then I promptly fell asleep. Mark came in and tried to wake me. I muttered something about a raincheck.

Sometimes I review how much life has changed in the past year. Wow is it different.

And you know what?

I wouldn't trade one

draining, depleting, over extending, sleepy,

blissful, delightful, jubilant, joyful moment.