Bicycle! Bicycle!

I was the only one in my family of five without a bike to ride.

Until today.

Riding my bike when I was younger was fun. I had an orange Huffy with a banana seat. It had a white plastic basket with various colors of plastic daisies decorating it. My friends and I would ride around the neighborhood, toting our favorite little things in the baskets, and occasionally falling and skinning our knees.

As a mom, I now watch my children conquer their fears and experience the freedom that comes with mastering the skills of riding a bike. They all pretty much have the bike thing down, even Julian, my reluctant bike rider. He is nearly ten years old and just yesterday finally admitted how much fun he's having. He is also nursing a skinned and bruised elbow, but I don't think it will deter him.

My hubby is so stoked for us to go bike riding together as a family. He has been anticipating this since the day we said "I do" in our new home together.  After four summers of hard work, falls, skinned elbows, tears, encouragement and frustration, we finally have all three kids comfortable and confident on their bikes. Only one thing was missing: a bike for me.

After searching Craigslist and various stores, we go to Target to find a bicycle for me- my first in over twenty years. I know what style I want: what I call an "old lady bike".  One with a lower, wide seat (for my sort-of wide seat) and higher handle bars.  Hubby says I need gears. I joke about wantng a basket with a puppy inside. With those criteria, we check out a few of the selection.

And then he sees it.

And then I see it.

It's the style I want.

It is an obnoxious shade of pink.

With flowers.

And fenders. Fenders!

And a basket.

Hubby gets it down for me and I try it out. The front part of the seat is tilted bizarrely upward, but I look and am convinced it can be tilted down.

The ten-year-old me is giddy with excitement over the possibility of going home with this bike. The thirty-something mom me wonders if I should choose something more...dignified. If that's a word one would ever use to describe a bicycle.

My husband spots a different bike. It is definitely a more subdued color- a deep, matte plum. The seat is smaller, and it has shocks, which kind of freak me out as I hop on to feel it out. The handle bars aren't quite where I would  like them, but Batman shows me how they can adjust.

Both bikes have their pluses and minuses.  The "practical" one is more expensive.  I worry about my tendency to choose impractically based on what's pretty or sparkly. Straddling the ridiculously pink bike, I ask Batman if I will look silly riding this one.

"Yes", he says, without hesitating.

He is smiling, but he voices his honest opinion.

And then it happens.

A gentleman about a generation older than me walks by, sees me straddling the Ridiculous Pink Bike, smiles, and says:

"That thing come with a bell?"

He laughs. Batman laughs. I laugh.

I bury my head in my arm, laughing, turning red. I am simultaneously amused and embarrassed. I am mentally transformed into the young teenager who was cruelly teased so often for everything and nothing at all.  Still laughing and still embarrassed, I tell Batman I will get the other bike. The sensible-for-a-thirty-something-mother-of-three bike.

"That really did it for you?" he asks, amused.  "That really cinched your decision?"

I nod. I once again try out the practical bike. I'm not convinced the handle bars can be adjusted the way I want. And I'm frowning.

And then I know.

I look my husband in the eyes and tell him I am nearly forty years old and I don't care what anyone thinks- I will ride whatever bike I want. I will ride around our neighborhood on whatever bike makes me happy. And today that bike is Ridiculously Pink and has a basket and fenders.
And it makes me happy.

My husband smiles at me.

"That's my girl."

Scared the daylights out of me!

It's February.  But it's also Kentucky, so it rained overnight.  In the wee hours of the morning, an enormous BOOM! woke me from my sleep.

Heart pounding, I sat up in bed.  A few low rumblings followed as I waited to hear small footsteps approach my bedroom. The steps never came, no knocking on my door. I fell back to sleep to the dripping of the rain, but no more thunder.

A few hours later, the cloudy day greeted my family.  I asked Gabriel if he even heard the giant, loud BOOM! of thunder.  Surprisingly, he did. He said he had thought about coming to my room, but decided he would just cover his head with his pillow if he heard another.  

"It was SO loud", I said. "It scared the daylights out of me."

Gabriel replied, "You mean the night lights, Mom. It scared the night lights out of you. Cause it happened during the night."

Ah, yes.  That's what I meant.

New Post, Chicken Host!

Remember that joke from when you were a kid that goes like this-
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"That's what, chicken butt!"

Well Gabriel has learned this joke much sooner than I learned it.  Like all jokes, it was cute the first time.
This has now morphed into an entire lifestyle for Gabriel.
And us.
Every. Single. Answer. from Gabriel now goes like this:



"No fair, chicken hair!"

"What, chicken butt?"

"I don't know, chicken toe."

"But why, chicken thigh?"

"That's fine, chicken spine."

"Guess who, chicken poo?"
"Why not, chicken spot?"

"Go fish, chicken wish."

"Ugh, chicken thug."

"Yes, chicken mess."

"No thanks, chicken spanks."

"No fair, chicken hair!"

"No it's not, chicken snot."

"Goodnight, chicken fight."

That's the end, chicken friend.

Live long and...what?

Oh my.
It seems I've been complete negligent in my blogging.
The adventures of our summer, going back to school, and winter break have all been relegated to several fleeting Facebook updates.

I wanted more than that.

School is going well for the kiddos.  Gabriel managed to break his arm at the school skating night.  Frankly, I'm surprised it took him seven years before he wound up in a cast. He handled it all beautifully, and I'm impressed by how quickly he adapted to life as a southpaw for awhile.

All three children have recently lost grandmothers.  Maddie's mom recently married and the boys' dad has moved. Again.  After seven years, he finally has a place of his own.  Batman and I continue to strive to be the constant in their lives.  It's important to us that even with the frequent changes that happen in their other households that we keep our routines, maintain stability, and try to be the balance they need.  He and I both struggle with how things are handled with our exes (regarding the children, that is.  After all, they are the only reason we still have to interact with them).  We address things when needed, and just do our best for our children in our home.  I am learning that much of co-parenting is knowing when to speak up and know when to let it go.  It's hard, because we love our children more than anything in the universe, and we only want the best for them.

We have a newish bedtime routine.  For the first time in my boys' sweet little lives, I am required to check for monsters under the bed.  There never are any monsters.  What they don't know is they should be afraid of what's really under the bed.
Cat hair. Dust bunnies.  Random Lego pieces.  Stray blankets.  Pennies. Paper scraps. Stuffed animals who have either lost their way or are diving for cover.
And they have to see me check under the bed.  There's no convincing them I peeked real fast while they weren't looking.
Then there's the Spock thing.  I have to make the Vulcan hand sign thingy, and pronounce, "May The Force be with you."
Wait...what?
Yes, my boys have combined their Star Trek and Star Wars geekiness.
I have added "Live long and prosper." while I do the Spock thing.
It just feels right.
Then I wish The Force with them. Especially for good dreams.
Then I blow them each kisses.  Gabriel requires an even number of kisses.  Just because.
I remind them a thousand times to whisper!
I wish them good dreams again. I tell them I love them.
Then I tell Gabriel "I love you bunches and bunches".
Just so he can reply, "I love you one bunches more."
Sigh.... I just love my boys.

The Importance of Keys

So it's time to play a bit of catch-up. Several posts are lined up, all waiting in my brain's cue to be completed. They are taking up too much precious space in my over-taxed mommy brain, so I need to get them down in writing.

We will start with: Keys!

One thing you should know about me: I never lose my keys.

Never.

This is simply because I am exactly the kind of person who loses their keys.

Over the years, I have forced myself to always, always, always put my keys in the same place, so there is no chance I will absent-mindedly drop them somewhere, only to have to retrace my steps when it's time to leave the house again. Keeping this in mind, picture a chilly February morning. The kids and Batman are out the door, off to school and work. I am dashing around the house getting ready to leave for work myself. I've had my coffee, and am ready to head out. I've even left a few extra minutes in case I get caught by the train. I check my purse for my keys.

They're not there.

Weird, I think.

I go to grab them off the counter.

Not there either.

Seriously?

The day before had been so busy, I hadn't even been in other parts of the house. I looked and looked, rearranging a small stack of papers I hadn't touched in days. I glance at the clock, become a bit panicked, and start digging through the couch cushions, knowing they aren't there.

I checked the clock again. Was I really going to have to call my boss, saying I would be late because I couldn't find my keys? It was getting more absurd by the moment, and I began to suspect my children were involved. One six-year-old in particular.

I call my boss.

I blame my kids.

I looked and looked, and don't ask why I even thought to look here, probably because it was the only four square inches of space I hadn't checked already.

But after 40 minutes, here is where I found them:

What? You don't see them? They're right there.

And with that, Gabriel's fate was sealed. A talking to for sure!

Fast forward to that same evening in February. Our elementary school hosted an event. Batman met us there straight from work. We were among the last to leave. Gabriel hopped into my car, asked if he could sit in the driver's seat for a moment. I said yes, and stood right next to him as the car warmed up, and Batman and I finished chatting.

Batman leaves.

My ex-husband is there, ready to take the boys back with him.

And then it happened.

Somehow. Some. How.

Gabriel locked my keys in the car.

While it was running.

My ex witnesses this. He humanely offers to allow me to sit in his warm car while I wait for rescue. I decline. He really needs to get the kiddos back to his house and into bed.

I wonder where my film crew is. The absurdity that is my everyday life with my amazing kiddos should be documented. And broadcast. Even if only for the benefit of other moms and the absurdity that is their life.

A mom I know is leaving the deserted school. She asks how she can help. I laugh as I explain my situation. She laughs even harder, especially as I recount events from earlier in the day. Her lovely six-year-old Lily doesn't undertand our hysteria. The mom offers me gum.

Gum.

Because she doesn't have any vodka.

I happily accept.

She leaves, knowing my Batman is on his way to rescue me.

The chewing action of my gum fails to keep me from shivering as I wait, laughing inside at my beautiful, wacky adventure of motherhood.

My hero arrives. More laughter. More head-shaking. Life is good.

Meatloaf Cupcakes

We called Leap Day "Wacky Wednesday" since it was so unusual.  To go with the theme, I made Meatloaf Cupcakes for dinner.  They were a hit!

I could see this being a fun April Fool's thing to make also.  I simply took my favorite meatloaf recipe (made with turkey) and baked it in a muffin tin (which is awesome, because it only takes about 20 minutes to bake!).

I made mashed potatoes, a little more whipped than usual, and piped them on using a pastry bag with a really large tip.  They were HOT!  And not without a few lumps, even though I was careful.

Next time, I think sweet potatoes would be even prettier, and a bit more nutritious, of course.

Then I steamed some peas and individually sprinkled them on top.

The kids went bonkers for this.  It's fun because you can change this up and be as creative as you like.  Let me know if you wind up making a version of these and share pictures on here!



A WHAT in your pants?

I am pretty careful about the music my kids listen to. I believe in keeping my beautiful children innocent for as long as possible, but still be reasonable so they are not too sheltered.

Julian was listening to his iPod the other day. I forget that it also functions as a radio. He was seriously jammin to I'm Sexy and I Know It. Sure it's a great dance song, and even though I know it's not the most kid-friendly song, I didn't hear anything seriously objectionable in it so I wasn't too concerned.

Until my six-year-old asked what sexy means.

And then I heard Julian sing, "I've got a passion in my pants and I'm not afraid to show it."

Um...WHAT??

Of course his innocent little mind has no idea what this means. However, I explained that that was not the most appropriate thing to be singing. When he asked why, I explained that those words have very grown up meanings and he should make up some other words to sing during that part of he song- just to see what he would come up with.

He came back a few minutes later and excitedly told me he had new lyrics. He cheerfully sang "I've got a parrot in my pants and I'm not afraid to show it."

I praised him for such creative thinking then giggled before he left. I'm not actually sure if those words are any better, but I'm sure it conjures a comical picture in his mind, keeping it completely age appropriate for him.

In a few years, when he gets a girlfriend, I will definitely be sharing this. :)