Heart Warming

OK, so the following story may or may not warm your heart but it certainly warmed mine. And if I recall correctly my eyes welled up a bit.

It has been well over a week since the incident took place but I keep thinking back on it fondly. Part of me is glad I didn't have the video camera because it is a memory I think will be best served playing on a loop in my head. Hopefully, by writing it down I will help cement it in my long term memory, or at least have a place where I can go back and read about it.

The story is, of course, about Gavin. In the evenings Gavin comes toddling into the kitchen when he hears one us unlocking the safety latch to the doors under the kitchen sink. Recently he rushes over so he can try and get his hands on the dish washing tablets in a big round container with a clear plastic lid that he likes to take off. That night was no different so instead of fighting with him to get the soap tabs out of his hands I asked if he could help me feed the dog.

Turns out helping mommy to feed the dogs was his pleasure. I handed him the blue plastic cup filled with dog kibble. It wasn't Kea's usual dog food - her regular food is for large breeds so the kibbles are huge - not this stuff. The kibble looked like cat food. Of course, Kea's giant kibble has never stopped Gwen (our fat cat) from trying to eat it.

Before I could get to Kea's dish to hold it up for Gavin to lessen the spill factor he was at her dish and dumping the kibble "into" her bowl. I think maybe a quarter of the kibble landed in the dog's bowl.

For several reasons I profusely praised Gavin for his wonderful help. Some of the reasons for profusely thanking my toddler for spilling dog food all over the floor:

1. He's 23 months old - not even 2 years.
2. He gets very upset with himself for not getting all of the kibble into the bowl - he will pick up every last piece and place it in the dog's bowl - he used to stand there holding the empty cup and just cry when he spilled.
3. I asked for it.

Normally, I would just let the dog eat the kibble off the floor, she is a dog after all, but the kibble was so tiny and it was everywhere. I didn't relish the idea of mopping thick, viscous dog drool with kibble crumbs off the floor so I grabbed a broom and swept the kibble into a pile.

Gavin saw me get the broom out and disappeared into his bedroom for a brief moment. When I looked up again he was marching with a purposeful gait back into the kitchen with very stern look on his face all the while holding his little toy broom high in the air. He went right to work sweeping the neat pile of dog kibble I just mounded up all over the kitchen and dining room. The kibble was now even more spread out.

It was the sweetest thing to see him trying to clean up his mess - hoisting his broom over head and smacking it down on the floor over and over in an attempt to help clean up. Sensing he was getting a bit frustrated with his cleaning skills I thanked him for his help and stood behind him and guided the broom with his chubby little hands firmly clasped on the handle and helped him sweep the kibbles into another pile. Then I quickly took the broom back to his room.

My little guy really doesn't like disorder - when he is done with his crayons he will line them up. Just today at dinner he picked up the peas that he had spit out onto his high chair tray and put them on his plate with the rest of the peas. I even saw him eyeing the other three peas I picked up off the floor and set on the butcher block as a temporary holding place until dinner was over. If he could I think he would have put those peas back on his plate, too.

I think his dislike for disorder is a Haas trait. It could come from Ryan's side but I know I have some crazies on my side of the family when it comes to order. First and foremost, Grandma Martha - my dad's mom. Her house was always clean. Not just clean but c-l-e-a-n. She passed the clean gene onto my dad. Of course, I don't remember much of his neatnik ways but I've been told a story or two. Well, my mom was the same way, too. So she and my dad passed that gene onto my older brother Ike who would wake me and my younger brother up early in the morning when we were little so we could surprise mom with a super clean house - although I don't know what there was to clean since it was always clean.

Something happened and the gene completely skipped me and went straight to Joel. He and Ike always had the cleanest rooms. Mom and Dad never had to hassle them about cleaning their rooms. I had always chalked it up to them being boys and having boring stuff. Mom would sometimes tell me that she just didn't get how we were related sometimes because I was always so messy. My room was constantly a disaster. Poor mom - she tried. She really, really did. I remember her lessons: "April, when you are done with one thing you put it away before getting out the next."

It has taken 32 years but I think I'm slowly starting to tame my inner slob. Hmm, I don't think taming of the slob is really the best way to describe being more orderly - more like whipping the slob. The slob is morphing into an adult who likes a bit of order, or at the very least, less chaos.

To add to Gavin's woes the poor child has a pack rat father (who would vehemently deny this claim, preferring to think of himself as frugal and not wasteful about stuff we could likely use one day but if the shoe fits...) who is slowly being tormented by his wife's exorcising of her own pack rat demons and as a result is slowly freeing himself of stuff. It is my fantasy to get rid of everything we don't use. The rule that personal organizers (and sane people) have is: if you haven't used it in a year then you don't need it.

My biggest space hog are all of my clothes of yesteryear. 3 sizes ago. I have 3 wardrobes because I have 3 different sizes I'm clinging to. My goal has been and always will be to fit back into those clothes. But I think its time for me to bite the bullet and to get rid of them. Even if - I mean when - I fit back in them they are so outdated I wouldn't want to wear them anyway. Maybe I can purge them tomorrow.

Hmm, I went from a heart warming story about my son to purging my room of ill fitting clothes. I wonder if his thoughts will be as scattered as mine or if he will have the engineer brain of his father. I've given Ryan a hard time lately about his engineer brain. When we are hiring someone to do a job around the house or buy a new something for us or the house he can think of 10 times as many questions as I do about the person/job/product. Now I try to anticipate what his questions will be but, lo, my brain is not wired the same way as his. Sometimes when I call a person back for what feels like the tenth time to ask another question I say, "sorry, my husband is an engineer and he thought of another question." The person on the other end usually quakes in fear knowing full well they are going to be under the microscope. If I can't handle asking any more questions I pass the job back to Ryan to pick the person's brain because I also forget half of what they tell me by time we are off the phone anyway.

I told Ryan this the other day about people groaning when I tell them I'm asking a million questions because he is an engineer and instantly felt bad. There is nothing wrong with making sure the service or product you are purchasing checks out. His questions have saved us money and lots of headaches. Why, just the other day, his engineer brain figured out a way - over the phone - to get the Bob duallie stroller to fit in the back of our car because I and woman selling me the stroller couldn't figure out how to get it in the hatch and close the door.

If he was a little bit smarter he wouldn't have figured it out and left me to buy a much cheaper stroller. : ) One of the rare times his engineer brain cost us more money.

Pumpkin Preview

Here are some more pictures of my little guy.

Sneak peak of the cutest little pumpkin!

Watching the Tigger movie at Nana and Papa Monten's

He likes his cousin Erika's Dora the Explorer couch

Playing in a fort under the new dining room table.

Surrounded by blankets made by people who love him. Brown quilt from Jenn from Malawi, patchwork quilt on right by Heidi, crocheted blanket on left by Anna and the blanket over his head by his cousin Laura (8 at the time).

Domestic Goddess

After a while reading about the gourmet meals other people prepare for their families, the wonderful things they sew, the amazing vegetables they grow (and that their families actually eat) I start to feel pretty inadequate.

What do I manage to do with the same time that the domestic goddess has been given? Whereas in the domestic goddess's day there is time for super duper fun trips to the park, time for crafts and time for shopping and picking out fancy cheese - and time for cleaning up messes, sewing clothing for your family and tending to the garden that probably has a magic bean stalk somewhere I seem to barely manage to do simple mundane things like take a shower and eat a meal.

Yesterday I felt super put together because I got to take a shower and comb my hair and put on make up. The only thing that would have put a cherry on top of that hygiene sundae would have been being able to do it while sipping a cup of fresh brewed coffee (well, not while in the shower obviously). But to add brewing coffee to this list would have been greedy and the universe would have laughed at my ambition and taken away my time to comb my hair and put on the scant make up I did slather on my face.

This morning, still high from my shower and combed hair from the day before, I set out to make an awesome meal for my awesome family. As I was washing basil for the pesto I was making, from scratch, I got to thinking that I was feeling all sorts of smug and superior because I was making pesto.

Pesto.

Is pesto not the easiest of all sauces to make? Basil + cheese + pine nuts + olive oil + garlic = pesto. Throw in blender, whir and done. Then throw in the fridge and wait for hubby to get home so you can shock him with a delicious homemade meal.

Except you didn't slice the bell peppers or take the chicken out of the freezer or buy fancy refrigerated pasta (extra Martha Stewart points for making the pasta). Hubby then notices the leftover grilled sausages and bell peppers in the fridge (that you of course, had nothing to do with as they came on skewers with big hunks of steak from the grocery store because you were too tired to cook - and to be fair, a lot sick).

Sauteed sliced chicken sausage with thin slices of the formerly large wedges of bell pepper and onion are a nice addition to the skillet. Boil water for the quickest cooking pasta you have - half a package of angel hair spaghetti - because time is already slipping away from you and three minutes later your gourmet, home cooked meal is ready to be assembled.

Oh, and there are no side dishes. No exotic grains, no salads with an assortment of colorful lettuces and spinach with craisins and nuts. The meal comes complete with a protein and two - count 'em two - vegetables.

Hubby eats half of his before he has to run off to the Seahawks game. I scarf mine while trying to coax Gavin to try ONE FREAKING BITE. He cries and turns his head to the side. I sneak a minuscule bite into his mouth. He reacts as if I stuck a pile of putrid slop from the compost bin in his mouth. OK, not a fan. I help him scoop the offensive food out of his mouth and tell him he doesn't have to eat any.

For dinner my son ate a plum the neighbor gave us from his tree.

A plum.

Oh, and drank some milk.

What am I going to do?

So, my grandiose plans for an awesome meal were dashed. Tomorrow I'm going to try a recipe I saw in a magazine. It involves a ton of eggs, some cheese and vegetables. I figure the chances of getting some vegetables into Ryan and Gavin will have more success if they are covered in egg and cheese. Oh, and it's supposed to be super easy to make. I'm sure it will turn out to be edible.

That's all I can really guarantee. The house is trying to slip into its natural state of disaster and it feels like all of my energy goes into keeping the from falling into the hovel hole again. Load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, wash pots and pans, take care of pots and pans. Clean counter tops, sweep floors, take care of papers that find their way to the dining room table where they really want to take up residence and start sending open house invitations to their other friends in the clutter world.

Then there is the issue of laundry. Quickly take the hamper downstairs while Gavin is engrossed in some activity for all of a couple of minutes.

Next trip dump clothes out on laundry room floor - if Gavin is downstairs with you - sort clothes. Go upstairs because Gavin is getting a little too close to the cats litter boxes.

Sort the clothes when hubby gets home. Throw a load in the washer.

Forget about said load in washer until its too late and requires another washing - this time with a hefty dose of vinegar in the rinse water.

Remember load in washer just in time. Throw in load in dryer.

Pick clothes out of dryer as you need them. Bring them up when hubby can't find any clean clothes. Fold all of his clothes and find none of yours because you've been getting your exercise going downstairs to fish clothes out as you and baby need them.

So what do I do with my time? Well, you see, I'm here at almost 4 in the morning because a charlie horse woke me up. It was all in my right leg. One cramp on the top of my foot and one in the calf. If I tried to ease one it would exacerbate the other. The reason I'm blogging or on facebook in the wee hours of the morning vary - last night it was because I couldn't lay down without deep, bed shaking coughing. All of this owlish activity turns me into a less than productive person during the day.

Of course, if I was a true domestic goddess I would be able to make a poultice for the charlie horse and would brew a tea of herbs from my own garden to ease the coughing.

There's no winning when there is a domestic goddess around for comparison.

******

The preceding story of the domestic goddess is not about any one woman. It is merely a compilation of many women - who, I know, all have their own struggles but who manage to turn their struggles into amazing works of art. They are women I am mostly envious of because of their talents in areas that I aspire to be better in.

I may not have the best kept house but you know what, I bet I can make you laugh.

Now if only that laughter could churn out a knitted scarf and a three course meal.

Pics of Cute Kids and Pets

Here are some photos of Gavin, his friend Aislin, Bob the cat that no one believes we have because she is deathly afraid of everyone but the residents of her home, her sister Gwen and the dog, Kea.

Gavin and his 'beeket'

The G made a train out of his various trucks

This isn't the most flattering picture of Bob but it gives you an idea of what she looks like with her recent shave. I LOVE me a shaved cat! They leave so much less fur around and as a bonus they look hilarious.

This is Gwen. As dumb as she is beautiful.

Another picture of Bob. So you dont think I'm mean, Bob actually likes being petted more when she's shaved. I think its because she won't let us comb her and the matte's hurt when she's pet. So, this is as much for her comfort as it is for my ease in housekeeping (and amusement).

Aislin waiting for her turn in the dog's kennel. Stinkiest playhouse ever.

This picture cracks me up!!!! She's keeping an eye on Gavin.

Another hilarious photo. Aislin wanted her hands on the toys and Gavin wanted his hands on the beverages.

Bobbi wanting to ram the camera with her cute little head.

He sat on the dog's bed for several minutes listening to Elmo talk as he pushed his hand.

Waiting for the 'claw' to attack his belly.

The Greatest Baby Sitter

We almost made it to 2 years before Gavin watched TV. That's not to say he hasn't seen his fair share of soccer or news but that really doesn't grab his attention. He'll look up at the screen for a minute and get bored and do something else. We've given him opportunities to watch cartoons in the past. Those rare times were when he got a big boo boo and nothing would console him. Turns out in those times undiluted juice was a big treat and he had zero interest in cartoons.

On our flight to Hawaii we tried really hard to get him interested in cartoons. He would have none of it. Not the cartoons we had playing on Ryan's laptop nor the ones the airline had in their DigE players. I was beginning to think our son was abnormal.

Then, on Friday evening, between a painful infection and a head cold he became inconsolable. Until... daddy had the great idea to break out a cartoon. He started looking for the cartoon network when I remembered Gavin received a cartoon DVD from his Uncle Ike & Aunt Jenny as a gift not to long ago. Ryan popped it into the DVD player and *wah-lah* all crying ceased. (I want to avoid the cartoon network at all costs - I don't want him to see all of those ads for toys he will one day die without).

All it took to take Gavin's mind off of his pain was a giant green bear named Boz singing about the alphabet with the help of Gracie and Drew. The only other time he sits so still is when he is on a book tear. He'll sit still for long periods of time if someone reads to him (of course, they have to be the right books otherwise he'll grab them and toss them aside or simply state his disapproval with a matter of fact, "no," before handing you a suitable book).

So far there haven't been any protests when we turn the TV off. I tell him to say bye bye to Boz, which he does. Then Boz is gone. If only his songs were gone; they have an annoying sticking power.

Saturday morning I saw him, Gavin, not Boz, sitting on the couch with the remote control pointed at the tv. He would push a button then look up to see if it worked. Eventually he turned the tv on but the poor guy would have to change the setting then get a different remote out. I'm so not teaching him how to do that. Heck, Ryan just taught me how to do it this weekend. Rather, he gave me a refresher course on how to do it.

Here is a picture of Gavin watching the cartoon for the first time. I like to say he is glassy eyed and slack jawed out of awe for the cartoon but I think having a head cold, not being able to breath from his mouth and having to look up to see the tv on the wall naturally lent itself to this look.