Maddie on Milking

 WARNING: This post mentions the womanly art of breast feeding in a positive and loving way. If the idea of a woman using her body in the way Heavenly Father intended her to offends you tune in at a later date for a future post on Whimsies of the Wee.

For the last few Summers I have had a unique opportunity to teach gifted students at a local university for a three week period. I love the chance to interact with other people's Wees for awhile and my Wees love getting rid of me for a bit too.

The program is located in the heart of Atlanta which means that my family's normal routine is turned on its head. Instead of telecommuting I join the regular herd of disenchanted workers on their lemmingesque migration to the place which provides them the income to do all the fun things they would rather be doing than allowing the 95 year old postal worker with their blinker STILL on to merge into their lane.

In order to make this adjustment as painless as possible for Weeland we hire a live in nanny who provides continuity of care and fun for the kids for the period I am out of the house. This year's nanny is my college aged sister who my girls haven't had the chance to spend much time with up till now. While I am racked with "mommy guilt," they are gushing at the opportunity to "hang" with a "sophstipated" (Bella's word) coed cooler and younger than good old mom.

Of particular angst to me is leaving the littlest Wee for anything longer than his normal 30 second nap. As momma bears go on a scale of one to ten I am a 15. I nearly beat an old woman to death last week with a package of celery in the grocery store. In retrospect it was clear that she was merely handing Reid back his plush toy, but in the heat of the moment she looked like a scary babynapper to me. Her walker should have been a clue as to her harmless nature, but my motto is "better safe than sorry."

To be sure that Reid has everything he could possibly need in my absence I have been pumping extra bottles for him like mad. This means that despite attempts at modesty Wees 1, 2, and 3 have seen me using a breast pump at least once in the past few days. Wees 1 and 2 expressed mild amusement at the sight. Victoria even made the charming observation that  I looked like a cow on a dairy farm.

But Maddie has been captivated by the process and ferrets me out to get a front row seat.  There is no hiding place safe from her playtex sniffing nose and no lock secure from her constant handle jiggling. As soon as I try to pump in solitude I hear her firm stomp coming down the hallway and her belowing voice chanting "Are you milking mom? Where are you milking - can I see?" To her credit she is a motivator and routinely claps and cheers me on when a bottle is topped off.

One day last week I was loading the dish washer and the house was quiet - too quiet. The kind of quiet which means a mess that would shame the explosion at Chernobyl was being made somewhere. While mentally weighing whether or not the tranquility was worth having to get a back hoe out to clean up the play room later, I heard Wee 3's blood curdling scream coming from my bed room "My milkers!!! My milkers!! HELP!!!"

I sprinted down the hall throwing my weight against my bedroom door and burst through only to collapse in a heap of convulsed laughter. Maddie had taken her shirt off and was seated in the middle of my bedroom. She had somehow pried off the protective outlet cover on my bedroom wall and plugged in my breast pump. The pump was cranked all the way up to "Superhuman Suction" mode - a level I have personally never been brave enough to try. The pump was sucking and releasing like a steam engine on steroids and in her panic Maddie was pressing the cone of the pump harder against her chest instead of trying to pull it away.

I crawled with tears streaming down my face to the outlet and unplugged the pump. Wee 3 was not amused. She pulled the pump off tenderly fingering the welt appearing around her "milker" and threw down the pump in disgust. Giving the dirtiest look a 3 year old can, she yanked her shirt over her head and stomped out of my room. As her little perturbed body rocketed down the hallway I heard her mutter "I am never cooking for Reid again!"

A wee bit pumped,


CarrieAnne

Maddie on Counting

Human beings seem to derive an insatiable sense of satisfaction from counting down to things. We make little chains and remove a link each day as we head towards Christmas, astronauts can't seem to make a 9 ton space craft take off without a little voice over a loud speaker telling them when to go and mothers - oh' mothers love to countdown when trouble is brewing.

I am proud to say I am a card holding member of the count down club. I've counted my kids down from many a horrible act of toddlerness. Most notably were the "I am counting down from 10 and there better not be any more lipstick on my bathroom floor" incident of 2008 and the even more concerning "I am counting to 2 and my Godiva chocolate bar from Valentine's Day better be back in that fridge and untouched" incident of 2010.

Today we had another notable "counting down" disciplinary debacle. Wee 3 who I really, really do love was pitching a fit because I had informed her that she would be picking up all of the cheese crackers she had stomped into the carpet while I was laying Wee 4 down for his nap.  Maddie felt this request was simply unreasonable and clearly below her station, so she raised one eyebrow caustically and said - "NO, I don't think so."

I replied, "Oh, I really do think so - double time Missy."

My children normally take my usage of military vocabulary as an indicator that I am not going to back down and then comply posthaste - Maddie however, having never endured the delights of boot camp or Air Assault school and who is quite a bit more sure of the glories of heaven than her sisters was unimpressed. She turned her back on me and continued to fluff the tail of her favorite My Little Pony.

So as you can clearly see I was left with no choice, it was time for the countdown - and I assure you I can put Dick Clark and New Year's Eve celebrators worldwide to shame with my countdown voice.

I got right down on Maddie's level, looked her in the eyes and said, "You will be cleaning this floor up by the time I get to zero, are we clear?"
10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 .....

Reluctantly, my tiny general turned, slumped her shoulders and defeatedly mumbled, "Okay, okay, mom. I am cleaning up."

A few moments later, the play room was cleaned to an acceptable standard for a 3 year old, and while I was pulling out the vacuum to capture the itty bitty crumb escapees Maddie turned and said to me.

"Mom, I'm hungry, I want some lunch."

I replied as I was kneeling down to unravel the vacuum cord, "Maddie one minute, let me finish with this vacuuming."

Ever the star pupil, Wee three walked right up to me at eye level, took my chin in her hands and said. "I can count too - I want my lunch, 5-4-3-2-1!"

Thus ends another moment of domestic bliss. I'm taking comfort in the fact that she is already apprenticing for a role as an astronaut.

A wee bit counted upon,
CarrieAnne

Dad on Wee Rangling

To any soul who was brave enough to even peak in the window of a toddler nursery it is obvious that Wees between the ages of 2 and 4 are super busy. Whether it is climbing up the front of the fridge to get to the year old Halloween candy on top, or emptying an entire roll of toliet paper into the tub to make their own paper mache - toddlers just can't keep themselves out of trouble.

Wee 3 is especially busy. Busy like a tornado that mated with an acrobat with ADD. The impressive side of it is her amazing ability to multitask. Maddie can eat jougart, paint a picture and sing songs to Wee 4 all at the same time. In fact she is often befuddled by why I don't wont' to complete all the items on my to do list at exactly the same time.

Last night as Dad boldly attempted to read Scriptures to the entire family Wee 3 wouldn't leave him alone. She tugged up and down on the zipper pull on his fleece, messed with his socks, peeked in his sleeves, patted his head, peered in his ear and finally just plopped herself between his arms and the Bible.

Having been patient through most of it, Jansen finally said firmly to Maddie, "Daddy is not a busy book!"

Wee 3 thought about this assertion for a moment, and apparently disagreed as she only ramped up her exploration of his clothing and body. I assure you Lewis and Clark were less thoroughly interested in discovering the unknown than Maddie's desire to poke and prod every crevice in her daddy's jean pockets.

A wee bit bombarded by busyness,

CarrieAnne



Maddie - I am not a busy book - leave my zipper alone!

Maddie on Obeying the Letter of the Law

I imagine that in biblical times when prophets and kings stood on mountain tops and stared each other down there were some pretty good confrontations. Between sacrificing first borns and enforced slavery one had to imagine tensions ran high. Today, in my living room there was an epic showdown. For sure no one turned water into blood, but there was some definite posturing taking place.

Wee 3 does not like nap time. Mommy LOVES nap time. Mommy lives for nap time - Mommy will throw down to protect nap time.

Five minutes before today's nap I gave Maddie her first prompt. "Maddie, lets finish up our snack so we can go read our naptime story."

This elicited a not-so-promising look. The story (which normally seals the deal easily) did not appear to be appetizing in the least.

Maddie's reply, "No, story - I play now."

The five minutes passed in stony silence. I then said, "Hey babe, let's race to your room - winner gets the first snuggle." Wee 3 is intensely attracted to any form of competition, but even this enticement elicited only a grunt of mild acknowledgment. Perhaps she had figured out that both contestants would actually be snuggling simultaneously? Note to self - up the reward for future races.

I thought I would try one more carrot before pulling out the stick. "Maddie, what songs should we sing, you pick the night night song."

No dice. And at this point she made her move - Wee 3 slowly, deliberately - much like Patton speaking before the troops - planted both feet and squarely placed her hands on her princess pull-ups. She then shouted "No NAP!!!"

Enter my internal monologue, "Oh, I see - Game ON."

I took Wee 3's hand, and guided her to her bed. I read her the story, sang the song and said in my sweetest and firmest voice, "nighty, night."

What happened then was an exhibition of pure frustration and childishness on both sides. Imagine in fast motion a wee leaving her bed and being placed back in it about 100 times. Then rewind and do it again.

Exhausted, perspiring slightly and very annoyed I told Wee 3, "The next time I see you - you better have your head on your pillow, your blankets on top of you and your eyes closed - got it Missy!"

I then went downstairs to check on Wee 4. But, before I even crossed the threshold to the hallway I heard defiant stomps. I turned, and I kid you not this was the sight I beheld.

Wee 3 had one hand on her Strawberry Shortcake pillow, which was indeed held behind her head. The second hand clutched her beloved blankets "Pink" and "Purple" to her chest and yes folks her eyes were indeed closed.

Wee 3 - 100 points, Mommy defeated.

A wee bit past the Rubicon,
CarrieAnne

Maddie on Humility

Now that Wee 4 has matured enough to recline in a high chair during snack time I have two hands free again to teach Wee 3 the advantages of eating like a biped. Maddie is fairly ambivalent to all forms of persuasion when it comes to table etiquette. She seems little bothered by the fact that most of her food ends up on her chair or the floor and is resolute in her determination that eating utensils are for the less adventurous.

Yesterday, I attempted to get her to eat yogurt with a spoon instead of licking it out of the cup like a hopped up chihuahua, and Maddie said "Oh, mommy you are so silly. No need spoon for yogurt I am doing just fine."

While demonstrating that much more of the yogurt made it into my mouth when I used my spoon, I replied "Maddie, you are the one being the silly goose - look at all the yogurt on your chair. Mommy's yogurt is in mommy's tummy."

Taking in the scene like someone circling the 10 differences between two almost identical pictures, Maddie pointed to herself and said "I no silly goose, I perfect! My chair no perfect, very naughty chair."

At least I can say the child is blessed to have confidence in good measure!

A wee bit messy,

CarrieAnne

Perspectives on Laundry

Like most domestic goddesses who rule a Wee fiefdom, washing, folding, and ironing all the laundry in the house is a quest that I earnestly seek to accomplish. But much like rearing Wee's this is a task which is never truly "done." Because just as soon as the last sock is matched or the last collar pressed it is inevitable that all of the Wees have just finished a mud wrestling match or ice cream cone dribbling contest. As laundry can be just as much a battleground as the ancient jousting tourneys of yore, I thought reflecting on laundry from both the Wee and the "Me" perspectives would be thought provoking.


THE WEES

Wearing Clothes

How can one woman come up with so many "rules" about clothing. We aren't supposed to chew on our sleeves, wipe our noses on the cuffs, step on the hem, wear the knees out on the playground, spill food on our shirts, or wear things which don't match. I think it is especially irritating about the matching - that's entirely subjective. Who says a gray Hello Kitty shirt doesn't match my yellow pants with the turtles on them. They are all animals after all.

Why can't I pick at the picks in my tights? If anything was ever asking to be picked certainly something named picked would be it right? Oh, crud I made a hole in my tights - better pull my skirt down even further.

And what's the deal with not wearing socks with holes in them. These are my favorite socks and most of the sock doesn't have holes in it - just where the big toe is. Since mom won't let me wear my favorite shoes with the holes in them, no one is going to see the holes in my socks anyway. I think I will just quickly put them on and run out the door. When she asks me if these are the socks with the holes in them I will mutter under my breath something that sounds like "muffinrollercoaster" or "ninjatire" - that kinda thing always throws her for a loop.

Why do my clothes have to fall into categories "church," "school," and "play." It is just ridiculous that I can't where what I want when I want. I think these categories are prejudicial. Since when did a wardrobe have to suffer profiling or apartheid? I am staging a protest! I will walk the house naked as a sign of my displeasure - even better, I will stage this expression of my civil liberties when my mom is stressed out because company is on its way.


Putting Clothes in the Hamper

Hey, this is just like basketball practice in gym class. Who is up for a few free throws? And just like school there is a ball boy - or should I say "sock mama." Mom will grab all the ones that don't make it in. Also I really don't feel like putting these smelly dirty yard work clothes in the hamper so I will dump them in my closet and forget about them for a few weeks. Mom loves to be challenged and to accomplish difficult feats so removing mold will really be inspiring and fun for her.

When she said "sort" the clothes, what I heard was "raise the clothes over my head and let chance and gravity do the work." Hasn't she seen all the commercials that come on the Disney channel - with the new laundry detergents clothing colors never bleed - mom is positively ancient with her traditions and outdated theories on housework.

Putting Away Clothes

Why would I put my clothes in their assigned drawer or hang them up in my closet? I can't see them all at the same time if I do that. Instead I will artistically splay them in a random Andy Warholesque fashion. If mom nags me about this I am just going to throw them back in the dirty laundry basket. That way she'll never even know they didn't get put away.

MY PERSPECTIVE

Wearing Clothes

How is it possible for such small beings to ruin their clothes so quickly? This sleeve looks like a squirrel went on a gnawing rampage and these jeans - was she trying out for an Olympic curling team in gym class today. Why do I even tell them to be careful - they never listen.

Oh, my goodness that outfit is a doosey. What are you trying to channel - the flying nun meets the incredible hulk? No you can't wear that to school because the skirt is two sizes too short and the top does not even come close to matching. No, just because both prints are from animals in the same genus, it does not mean that they match.

What are you doing - put your clothes on right now! Our dinner guests will be here any minute - so help me if you don't get dressed in appropriate clothing by the time I count to 10 a straight jacket with leggings will be your uniform for the next month.

Stop picking at your tights, they are going to unravel. Money doesn't grow on trees and tights don't either. Why is she pulling her skirt down past her knees? The waist band is barely over her bottom - is that at hole behind her knee - forget it, I am not looking any closer.

No sweetie, you can not wear that to the park because that is a church outfit. Your clothes rotate through a cycle. Your best clothes for church, these are demoted to school clothes when they become damaged and then they become play clothes when your art teacher forgets that paint and permanent marker don't always wash out. Yes, I do know when you purposefully ruin your clothes to demote them quicker and yes, I get royally steamed when their is nothing to pass down to your sisters.

Putting Clothes in the Hamper

Wait a minute, you can get to level 1.65 million on your Nintendo DS, climb a rock climbing wall at school and read at the 4th grade level in the 2nd grade, but you can't get a pair of socks in your hamper? Who do you think is going to pick this tornado of dirty laundry up the "lint bunny" or maybe you believe in the "load sorting fairy."

The baskets are for light, dark and white - not "maybe," "I don't know" and "she'll figure it out."

I don't remember having a shirt this color pink. Wait a minute, this was my favorite white shirt. They did not throw in their cheap, screen printed bright red school spirit shirts in with my nice clothes. 500,000 loads of laundry later, you think they would believe me over some ridiculous claim by a stranger wanting to make a quick buck on TV. It is experience - unappreciated experience! I hope Oxy Clean gets this out.

Putting Away Clothes

Are there clean - still folded clothes in this hamper? I know that can't be the case - I just know it because my children love me and don't want me to self-commit to a mental institution. Perhaps them piling those clothes up on the floor wasn't such a bad idea - maybe I'll just close the door to their room next time and pretend the laundry is actually "done."

A wee bit over-loaded,

CarrieAnne

The Wees on Coupons

Now if you read the title of this blog post and rolled your eyes at the word "coupons," you clearly aren't trying to raise four Wees in the midst of a recession. Wees eat. In fact they eat a lot and therefore we coupon. Now we aren't extreme couponers - no need to send a TLC camera crew to our house or for us to build an annex out of cereal boxes for our supply of dental floss. But we do coupon and the Wees have mixed emotions about it.

Wee 1
Victoria thinks coupons are pretty cool for two main reasons. Cutting them out of the newspaper is the only time she gets to use really big adult scissors and because they are forbidden most of the time, she feels extra powerful with them in her hands. The kid also loves brand name snacks. Shopping with Wee 1 is like having a living infomercial chatting it up besides you. Often, I hand her the coupon and let her pick the flavor she prefers for an item. What ensues is a battle of the brands via a commercial reciting monologue. For example a few weeks ago it was time for us to buy cereal and Victoria had to choose from Rice Krispies or Frosted Flakes. Her verbalized introspection went something like this:

"Frosted flakes are "GRRRREEEAT" so clearly that would be a good choice, but Rice Krispies go "Snap, Crackle and Pop" and that is entertaining. I don't think the Frosted Flakes have every actually said anything so I am going to go with Rice Krispies -the taste and the added sound track make them better."

Wee 2
Bella is clearly flummoxed by coupons. First of all the name continually throws her for a loop and she calls them "poopons". She says this in a manner in which the "poop" part is heavily accented. She then pauses and says "ons." We don't know why she does this and what makes it even more interesting is that she clearly does not think she is being funny and in no way associates her pronunciation with a bodily function of any kind. She reacts with strong feelings of anger when teased by her pronunciation and has resisted all efforts at correcting it.

Wee 2 knows these "poopons" are imbued with magical powers, that allow us to "save" money for fun things like going to Disney World and that make cash register shelf candy free. What she doesn't get is how they do wonderful magic tricks and why everyone else doesn't use them. On more than one occasion she has asked the person checking out in front of us "You aren't going to use a "poopon" for that? Are you rich or do you just not like candy?"

Because most people - especially those without wees - don't know what a "poopon" is, we have gotten a mixture of responses from her questioning. These ranged from sheer horror of the word "poop" being mentioned and their being in close proximity to a child who may have had something to do with that recently and a kind old man who once gave her a quarter for being so concerned about his financial well being.

Wee 3
Maddie and the coupons have a very adversarial relationship. What she understands about coupons is that they take up a lot of my Tuesday morning while the girls are at school. Time she very possessively feels she should be taking up. She also feels that they must somehow be her mortal foe as when she rips, scatters, or otherwise molests them I become quite irate and send her to time out.

What Wee 3 loves about coupons are the machines which spit them out in the grocery store. She is like a heat seeking missile when she sees that little red flashing light. And whether it is something we will never use like adult diapers or something we use way to much of like baby diapers she has a compulsive need to pull one coupon from each machine. What is nice is that she only wants one, as "sharing" with strangers is far easier for her than sharing with her siblings.

Wee 4
Reid's stance on coupons is fairly ambivalent. For a 3 month old he is shockingly impervious to all forms of marketing. He cares very little about what brand of diaper he is wearing or whether or not he is getting a free candy bar at the end of the shopping trip. Though I think he finds the blinking light on instore displays entertaining, more research needs to be done on this. His primary area of interest is whether or not cutting or using coupons interferes with his eating schedule. So long as I can clip and he can sip he remains supportive of the entire enterprise.

A wee bit thrifty,

CarrieAnne

Maddie on Cannibalism

I am not sure if it is because of the rise in popularity of Twilight and other vampire inspired pop culture media, but Wee 3 has developed a distinctive taste for human flesh in the last few months. It is okay to be horrified, I too judged the parents of BITERS, before I had one. Relish in your superiority - it does not offend me at all.

Now Maddie, doesn't carve a hunk off a human every day, but on occasion when she feels the need to demonstrate her power (or lack their of) in the ranking of the Wees she seeks out a victim. Her meal of choice tonight was Bella (aka Wee 2).

Following the crime, I sat Wee 3 down and tried to explain the evils of biting to her. I also wanted to get to the bottom of her motivation for this heinous toddler behavior. The conversation went like this.

"Maddie, why would you bite your sisters. You love them and biting hurts. We don't bite people. We bite food. Were you hungry or were you trying to express that you were mad?"

Afraid I was about to force another serving of vegetables on her Maddie quickly replied "I not hungry. Sisters are not for dinner!"

Seeing my magic opening I replied: "That's right sisters are not for dinner. We don't bite sisters. Why don't we bite them?"

Maddie's reply "They don't taste good."

Obviously I would like some higher moral code to be the reason for her biting to stop, but I will take what I can get.

Hungering for a wee less biting,

CarrieAnne

Mom on Getting Ready for Church

Now no religion that I am aware of professes this, but I personally have to believe that in heaven there are angel accountants. The main responsibility of these angelic tallyists is to keep track of the "heaven points" earned by us mothers here on Earth. This begs the questions - "What is a heaven point and how do you earn it?"

A heaven point is a little kudos (kinda like a celestial attaboy) that we mothers earn for doing crazy things that we know are the right thing to do or that we do because we want our Wees to be happy. Examples of heaven point worthy tasks might include:

1. Cutting off all the crusts on a Wee's sandwich and I am not talking about a hatchet job here, I am talking the surgical removal of anything even remotely brown or crunchy on that pb&j.

2. Driving a Wee to 3 different birthday parties on the same Saturday, so they don't have to choose between their BFFs.

2. Attending 9am church with 4 pew wiggling, snack wanting, boredom claiming Wees every Sunday without (too much) complaining on my part.

As it is Sunday I would like to hone in on this last example. If there ever is a time when heaven points should be doled out like the coins Mario scooped up in the Nintendo games of old - it is Sunday morning.

Why you ask? Well, let me relate to you what it takes for the Wees, dad and I to get to 9 am church.

The Night Before

All church clothes must be laid out and vetted by the Wees. Much like the Golden Globes or the red carpet at the Academy Awards it is very important to Wee 1 and Wee 2 that they feel confident and focused in their Sunday best. This consultation is complete with shoe selection and hair accessory matching. Following the consultation all Wee clothes must be starched, ironed and placed in a Wee free zone to avoid rumpling, crumpling or staining. It is almost a scientifically provable law of nature that at least one wardrobe change will be requested after the last flounce is fluffed or pleat is pressed.

Now because I am still in that post-baby, pre-real clothes phase I personally have a mini fashion show of what does not fit. By some miracle each Sunday I find two pieces of clothing that don't make me look too much like the next contestant on "What Not to Wear" and I protect that outfit from Wee touching like the Holy Grail in the Crusades - because if it gets ruined going to church naked becomes a very real possibility.

Sunday Morning

On any other morning, the Wees are up tearing through the house like superheros hot on the tracks of some diabolical villain. But on Sundays, when we need it the most they are sluggish. Instead of fired up heroes they are more like Superman showering in Kryptonite. Wee 2 inevitably decides that she wants something "special" for breakfast. And I don't mean special like Cocal Krispies instead of the Vanilla white ones. She wants crepes served with homemade cream and a believable French accent. Wee 1 is mad that there is no time for cartoons. Wee 3 doesn't want to brush her teeth because the fuzzy feeling of plaque build up is "neat" and our Baby Wee has selected Sunday morning as the perfect time to actually sleep.

Once every Wee is actually fed the dressing process begins. Though all the shoes and tights were set out the night before, this preparation can not account for feet which magcially grow two sizes over night and no longer fit in their assigned shoes. Tights have runs that turn into large gullies do to little Wees forcing their fingers through them and saying "Look Mom - COOL!" . Inevitably Wee 3 who is potty training decides she has to potty after she is completely dressed and someone will certainly start crying for no reason at all.

This moment, when the tide of the battle has yet to turn and you feel as though you should capitulate - after all what is religion but a life altering ideology which will most likely help your children through all the rough patches in their mortal existence. They don't really need it right?

At this moment - heaven points become a motivating force in actually getting out the door. As I move through each crisis like a stealthy heel wearing ninja, I can hear Mario rooting me on and that ching, ching of point accumulation adding up.

Not losing my temper at Wee 2 messing up Wee 1's hair and throwing her pony tail holder into the toy box- 5 points.

Patiently flipping through the coloring books to find just "the right one" with only minutes to spare - 8 points.

Actually remembering to put the baby in the car seat and bring him with you - 11 points.

Finally, getting everyone in the car in one piece without having committed a class A felony - 25 points.

Showing up to church only 15 minutes late with a smile on your face and semi-perfect looking Wees - infinite points.

I must confess that when I walk in the door I imagine a very large crowd giving me a standing ovation and my offering a little victory speech ("No really, it was nothing - please no more applause")

Here's hoping there really are those angelic accountants up there - and if there aren't please don't ruin it for me - Sunday is only 6 days away!


A wee bit pointed,

CarrieAnne

The Wees on Dancing

Music plays an integral part in taming the Wees in our family. My husband knows that if he walks in the door to church hymns that I am on my last ounce of fortitude and hoping for divine intervention.

Aside from using it to calm the kids we also use it to have a pretty much daily dance party after school. I think that after a hard day of ciphering, reading, and making paper mache robots - kids need a bit of free form crazy before doing homework. Never having been interested in the Studio 54 type of club scene, I'm not sure what happens out there in the real world, but here in Weeland we have a number of dance styles I'm fairly sure you won't find anywhere else. For example the following moves were in play after school today.

Wee 1: Favorite Dances - Anything to do with Yard Tools. Think literally here - Victoria has taught us the sprinkler, the lawnmower, and the rake. These are all great impersonations of real work - what I can't figure out is why when the lawn actually needs to be sprinkled, mowed, or raked she claims a total lack of knowledge on how these tasks are to be performed. I am also a bit fuzzy on Black and Decker as her muse? Any feedback on that would be welcome.

Wee 2: A strong believer in the merits of the classically trained, Bella likes to keep it as en pointe as possible. That is until the beat gets to her and then its arabesque into an electric slide or pirouette into a bit of hammer time. It only takes a song or two until she has completely deconstructed Swan Lake into a routine any 1980's roller rink skater would be proud of.

Wee 3: I imagine Maddie's dancing is not to different than that at an actual Rave (can't say though for sure since 30 something soccer moms aren't welcome at those events as investigative reporters). Because just being around the other kids gets her hyped up she crazily runs around the room and then does her best impersonation of the twist with a Heimlich Maneuver and kung fu chop thrown in for style points. Bright lights and day glo necklaces only increase her fervor and she often only stops due to complete organ failure brought about by exhaustion and juice box withdrawal.

Wee 4: Due to the whole lack of spinal strength and having only just mastered holding up his head, we have a pretty low standard for what we count as dancing for Wee 4. He currently fancies the blink, the crazy drool with super cute smile and the occasional arm jerk. Now some of you might be skeptical that these are in fact real dance moves - but what are the odds that every jerk would be in time with Beyonce's "If You Like Then You Should Have Put a Ring On It." I am telling you the boy is a natural.

The dancing normal ends in a fit of breathless giggles and then its on to more serious things like sight words and multiplication - but its super fun while it lasts.

A wee bit of a toe tapper,

CarrieAnne

Maddie on Vegetables

When it comes to the dinner table and what is served on it, we have a "no negotiating with terrorists" policy. You eat what I cook and that is the end of that. For the most part this has worked out fantastic in Weeland as Wee 1 and Wee 2 will eat anything you put in front of them (even spinach and Wee 1 often actually requests brussels sprouts).

Wee 3 is another story. In the past few days especially she has put up noticeable resistance to eating anything which sprouted from the ground, off a vine, fell from a tree, or was harvested by anyone who even remotely could call themselves a farmer. Sticking to our guns, dad and I have firmly reasserted our stance on not leaving the table until Wee 3 was a member of the Clean Plate Club. This has resulted in the kind of sobbing and clothes rending reserved for major events like the fall of communism or the US someday winning a World Cup.

So this evening Wee 3 was put back in her chair multiple times and with my last ounce of patience fleeing me I raised (read here yelled) my voice and said "Maddie, just eat your ever lovin' vegetables".

Maddie's response "I don't want to play this game anymore."

It was difficult for me to keep a straight face, and even more difficult for her to finish her plate, but we both did it and have lived to fight the battle of the side dishes another day.

A wee bit more nutritious,

CarrieAnne

Maddie on Manners - Part Two

Having once again used her food as her medium, and her body as a canvas, Wee 3 was looking particularly like a Picasso after dinner last night. With angel hair pasta, corn and salad flung in every direction, she began to chant her list of demands. Key amongst them was for her to be taken immediately to her bath.

Remembering the failed attempt to teach proper etiquette mentioned in my last post, I felt here was my chance at redemption - my chance to prove that I could teach a Wee in the throws of full crazy to be polite.

As her chant for cleansing reached its crescendo Maddie shouted "TAKE ME TO THE BATH NOW!!!"

Mustering a bit of patience, I sweetly chirped "Maddie, did you forgot something?"

She paused a moment to allow the churning wheels in her mind to process the request and than with the greatest solemnity replied "You".

"YOU TAKE ME TO THE BATH NOW!!!"

In the old days a 67% was a D and a D was passing. So does this mean that if 2 out of 3 of my talking Wees competently uses her "pleases and thank yous", that I've passed the Mommy manners test?

Moral of the Story: You apparently can't teach even a young dog new tricks.

A wee bit flustered,

CarrieAnne

Maddie on Manners

When she wakes from a nap a bit too early, Wee number 3 can be somewhat frightening. Staggering from her bed like the offspring of an irate T-Rex and an Indian monsoon, Maddie will mumble incoherent demands irately as she attempts to smooth down her bedraggled hair. Calming her before she interacts with the other Wees is a must to avoid creating the perfect storm.

Yesterday, as she shouted out her post-snooze demands she wandered into the kitchen where I had been doing a craft with the older Wees. Walking right up to me she grabbed my shirt sleeve and grunted "Water, now!"

Thinking this was an excellent opportunity to do Ms. Manners proud, I said, "Maddie, what is the magic word?"

Looking me dead in the eye with her most serious dictator expression, Maddie replied,"abracadabra."

Needless to say the child was right, - "abracadabra" is THE magic word.

So I gave her her water. And gone went another teaching moment - shot down by the straightforwardness of a wee.

Moral of the Story: Never ask a witness a question that you don't know the answer to.

A wee bit humbled,

CarrieAnne