Don't Mess with the Mama Lion's Cubs. You'll Be Sorry.

A couple of weeks ago, Cole's dad found a nice, used riding lawn mower for sale.  He checked it out for us, thought it was a good deal, so we bought it.  Of course the lawn mower was in Flora and not here, so I had to borrow my dad's trailer and suburban to get it back to our house.  The boys and I left town Friday morning and had a play date with my friend Angela and her boys, Max and Will.  I wish, wish, wish that they lived closer because Ian, Max, and Eli were absolutely the BEST of friends.  Will is only three months old otherwise I know he would have been right there with the other three boys.  After the four of them had sufficiently tired themselves out, we headed to Flora to spend the night at mom and dad's house.

The next day the boys played their hearts out until dad had the trailer and suburban all ready for me to go.  We got the boys in their seats and were just about to leave when a nasty cicada found its way into the back.  I HATE cicadas.  I think they are the creepiest, most disgusting bugs in the world.  The whole 13 year cycle is so freaky.  I don't understand what they contribute to the ecosystem.  Anyway, my dad realized it was in the car and very quickly removed it knowing that if it came anywhere close to Ian we would have to taser him to get him to calm down.

We headed out to my in-laws to pick up the mower.  After a crash course in lawn mower operations, we were on our way home.  Both of the boys fell asleep shortly after leaving the drive way which made me very happy.  They were both overly tired and overly cranky.  I was ready for a little peace and quiet.  We cruised down the highway at a solid 55 mph; me listening to the radio and the boys sawing logs.  This trip was going to be a breeze.  I had just driven over the over pass in Effingham and was waiting at a stop light getting ready to wind through town to get the interstate when it happened.

I heard the click...click.......cliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.  My heart started pounding.  This could not actually be happening.  I was horrified, disgusted, disturbed, frightened, grossed out, you name it.  My skin was absolutely crawling.  The light turned green, and I steered the car into the far lane as I made my wide right turn with the trailer.  Even though the car was cold, I began sweating like a maniac.  (For an explanation of my profuse sweating please reference entry Never Again)  I was just slowing to a halt at the next light when I heard it again:  click...click.......cliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.  I thought my heart was going to break through my rib cage.  There was no denying it now.  This nightmare was a reality, and as the mother, it was my job to take care of it.  I had to face the facts........there was a cicada in the car.

It took one more red light and a four way stop to put together a plan that didn't involve getting my boys out of the car, abandoning the suburban, and just driving the lawn mower the remaining 70 miles back home.  I finally pulled into the 5/3 Bank parking lot.  As I was parking there was another: click...click.......cliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.  I knew it was somewhere in the front passenger floor board, but its exact whereabouts were a mystery.  As long as it didn't crawl up my leg while I was stopping I would be alright.

I find it best to remain calm in times of crisis, so that's exactly what I did.  I mentally constructed a logical plan that would get the cicada quickly and efficiently out of the car and back into nature.  First things first, I needed gear.  In order to rid ourselves of the cicada without endangering our own well-being, I would need three Hazmat suits, an extendable robotic arm, a large net, an industrial use vacuum, disinfecting wipes, 10 gallons of bug spray, and a portable tub and shower surround.  While donning the Hazmat suits, the boys and I would position the robotic arm approximately 30 feet away from the car.  I would extend the arm into the floor board and extract the cicada and drop it in into the large net.  I would then vacuum up the next of eggs the stupid thing undoubtedly laid in the car, and immediately disinfect any surface it touched to insure there was no way a missing body part could spontaneously regenerate like a starfish.  Next, I would lay the net containing the cicada on the ground and pour all ten gallons of bug spray directly on top of it to guarantee it will never terrorize another young family ever again.  Then I would cleanse myself of the entire atrocity in the portable shower and tub surround.  It was the perfect plan!  How could it fail?

I began to search the suburban for the needed gear, and it became very apparent that my mother was grossly unprepared for any catastrophic event.  I can understand the lack of portable shower and tub surround, but no Hazmat suits?  No extendable robotic arm?  Honestly, how did my sisters and I survive until adulthood?  Sheer luck, I guess.  Well, it was no time to panic, I would just have to formulate another plan, even though the next one would obviously be illogical and horribly inefficient.  Since my mom did not consider being able to defend herself from a predatory attack to be a priority, what did she consider a priority?  I started to take inventory.

-a grippy mat to keep your cell phone from sliding all over the car: worthless
-a metric ton of napkins: how could those possibly be of use?
-spare change: hmmm.............nah, well........................no.
-a golf umbrella: JACKPOT!

Ladies and gentlemen, let me present to you: Exhibit A.

My weapon of choice.  My mom's was actually a super cute black and white houndstooth with a chrome tip instead of natural wood.

I searched the console for some camo face paint, but mom didn't even have that.  Seriously, how did we all survive our childhoods?  I opened my door and slid down from my sweaty leather seat and into the parking lot of the bank.  I was armed, dangerous, and really wishing I had something to tie around my head so I could look just like Rambo.    Luckily the boys were still sleeping peacefully in the back.  I didn't want them to witness the gruesome events that were about to transpire.  I opened the passenger door like I owned it.  I wanted that cicada to know he had crossed the wrong mom.  Nobody, and I do mean nobody, messes with my babies.

As soon as the door was open, I began to panic a little.  I mean, cicadas are REALLY disgusting.  What if it looked at me menacingly?  Or what if it touched me?  The situation suddenly became very real, but it was no time to be a chicken.  I had two beautiful boys to defend.  I searched the floor board carefully.  Well, as carefully as one can from a distance of roughly four feet.  Where could it be?  I couldn't see it anywhere.  All of the sudden it started issuing its threats again: click...click.......cliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.  Immediately, my heart was breaking.  It had climbed into the plastic bag with my brand new super adorable beaded sandals that I had only worn one time.  How could this have happened?  It must be terrifying in that bag.  You can't escape even though you desperately want out because there is no air circulation, but there is just no way to get yourself out.  Plus, there is a revolting cicada in there with you.  My poor sandals!  They are extremely narrow and fit my feet so well, and this is how I repay them?  I don't even deserve to own such a fabulous pair of sandals.  If I could only go back in time and....

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  There it is!!!!!!!!  The cicada isn't in the bag, it's up under the dash!!!!!!  OH.  MY.  GOSH.  How dare that cicada trick me into thinking it was touching my defenseless sandals?  Well, guess what cicada.  IT'S GO TIME!!!!

I turned the golf umbrella into a bayonet, minus the rifle.  I was going to stab the cicada with the tip of the umbrella, fling it into the parking lot, and never look back.  If that cicada could send me into a downward spiral by almost terrorizing my sandals, what would I become if it went after Ian and Eli?  I couldn't imagine how I could possibly handle the stress of that, so I rushed the enemy with all my might.  I thrust the umbrella up under the dash with such force that I was instantly regretting the mess it was going to leave behind.  I could hardly bring myself to look at the bloody remains on the end of the umbrella, but eventually I did.  What the heck?  Where is it?  I looked back up under the dash.  There was the cicada.  He didn't even look scared.  Well, I'll show him.  For what felt like an eternity I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed at the cicada, missing every time.  I finally decided that it must emit some type of magnetic field that repels umbrella tips.  A primitive, yet effective defense mechanism.  Clever.

By this time I was insanely sweaty and needed a break to cool off and regroup.  I did NOT expect cicadas to have their own magnetic fields.  This definitely threw me for a loop.  How was I going to get rid of this thing now?  I checked on the boys who were both still sleeping serenely.  I had to hurry up and kill this thing before they realized their mother was crazy and extremely on edge.  Even though the umbrella had failed me up until this point, I had no other form of defense.  How does my mother feel safe in this car?  If this is how she traveled with us as kids, how did we ever live to become adults?  Well, the best ideas are born out of desperation, so I brainstormed like there was no tomorrow and then I was back in the fight.

I decided I would just knock the cicada off of the underside of the dash, fling it into the parking lot, and leave it for dead.  Easy enough.  It only took a couple of swipes with the tip of the umbrella (I must have demagnetized it somehow) to knock it into the floor board, but I wasn't exactly prepared for the cicada falling into the floor board and ran screaming through the parking lot.  This unfortunately woke up Eli.  He didn't seem too bothered, however.  He just looked out the window like, "Oh, it's just mom." which really made me wonder why he didn't react more.  I always "remain calm in times of crisis", and he was acting like this was totally normal.  But, I needed to focus on the task at hand, so I ran back to the suburban hoping the cicada had left on his own.  He had not.  Well, if he didn't want to do it the easy way, I guess we were going to have to do it the hard way.  I was prepared for the hard way.

I flipped the umbrella around and was gripping the slender end with all my might while using the wooden handle as a club.  I whacked and whacked the floor board of the suburban in self defense for an eternity, but never once did I come close to hitting the cicada.  Every time the wooden handle of umbrella struck the floor board, the cicada would bounce around from the force, and my anxiety about the thing flying out and getting stuck in my hair grew.  I was reaching a point that was positively unhealthy when I finally managed to hook the thing in the wooden handle of the umbrella and launch it into the parking lot.  I immediately slammed the door to prevent its reentry.  It had been a battle of epic proportions, and I had prevailed.  I felt like climbing a tower and declaring my victory.  I collected myself, examined my weapon for gut smears, caught my breath, and started to walk around the car to get back in the driver's seat.  That is when I saw the cop parked on the side of the road STARING at me.  In all fairness, I was only a half a block away from the police department, and the battle did last several minutes and included some screaming.  I don't know what the cop thought was going on, but I just acted as though I didn't see him and got right back into the car, glowing from my victory.

There are many things to take away from this story.  The most important is, don't mess with my kids or I will tear you up.  I might be mild and docile 99.999999999999999999% of the time, but I know how to take control when I need to.  And I will.  The second thing to take away is to always "remain calm in times of crisis".  I can not stress this enough.  Can you imagine what a fiasco this would have been if I had over reacted?  Yikes!  And finally, a lot has changed since people my age were small children and our parents were in charge.  Back then people didn't wear seat belts, they smoked in restaurants, they didn't have computers, and babies slept on their tummies.  A lot of parents get stuck in the "we didn't do/have that when you were young and you turned out just fine" frame of mind.  So, before you let your kids leave with grandma and grandpa, check the car to make sure they aren't as ill prepared for disaster as my mom was.  I mean, honestly, how did we make it to adulthood?

And......Scene

Cole and I are more or less a match made in parenting heaven.  We agree on almost everything when it comes to raising the boys.  Our main goal is obvious: To raise loving, respectful, generous, kind, well-rounded boys who will grow up to be loving, respectful, generous, kind, well-rounded men.  In our quest to guide our boys down that path, one of our most important parenting philosophies is,

"We want our boys to have life experiences, not stuff."

In order to accomplish this, we plan outings for the boys ALL the time.  Sometimes everything falls into place and the day is a bigger success than either of us could have ever hoped for.  Other times the day goes so poorly the only way it could be worse is if we burned the place down.  But, hey, at least we tried.  When the boys grow up I want them to have a heads full of wonderful memories and not storage units full of stuff.  Don't feel sorry for my kids, they have PLENTY of toys, as you can see.

The toys only look like this between the hours of 8:00 pm and 6:30 am Sunday-Saturday.

Most of our activities are typical "boy" outings.  I'm fine with this because I think that boys should be raised to be boys, but there are times that I just can't control myself and plan an activity that I know I will love and that I hope the boys will like too.  Recently, we had one of these activities.

June 4th we took the boys to see their first musical.  It was called U:Bug:Me, and was described as "a rock and roll musical for kids."  I thought the boys would love it because they both adore music and love to dance.  When I bought the tickets, I couldn't wait for the show!!!  It was in Sullivan at The Little Theatre On The Square.  My Grandma Stanford has taken all of the grandkids to performances in Sullivan, and every time it was my turn I was in heaven.  I LOVE live performances, the theater is so small that there isn't a bad seat in the house, and the cast is always fantastic!  I highly recommend The Little Theatre to anyone who loves musical theater.

The morning of the show I woke up and hopped right into the shower.  I could not wait for the show to start. While I was showering Cole got Ian ready for the trip.  When I got out of the shower,I couldn't believe how dashing Ian looked in his tuxedo.  Okay, it was actually a tuxedo t-shirt Aunt Jess and Uncle Brad brought back from Vegas, but he looked awesome!  Cole thought that the boys' first experience going to The Theatre should be black tie.  I laughed and laughed and laughed at his cleverness.

I was positively giddy all morning.  I was squealing, yes squealing, with delight and high stepping all over the house in an attempt to channel my excitement into something constructive instead of letting my head explode.  I didn't want to get brains on Ian's and Eli's tuxes.  Even in the car I was having trouble containing myself.  I really put my seat belt to the test.  By the time we got to Sullivan, I was so wound up I could have pulled the car the rest of the way to the performance and still had energy to spare.  I totally would have been going with the flow of traffic, too.  I'm talking 35 mph.  When Cole pulled into the parking spot I was flinging the door open before the car was in park.  I felt like a hyperactive kid after drinking a pallet of Red Bull.  I had so much adrenaline coursing through my body that I couldn't even blink, and my smile was so wide that you could see the scars from my wisdom teeth removal.  In NO way did I look like someone who could be trusted around small children, but I honestly could not help myself.  I was that excited!

I grabbed Ian, the diaper bag, and Eli's booster seat and headed across the street to join the line of fellow patrons.  The lobby is of course designed in such a way that all of the show attendees MUST walk past the concession and souvenir stand.  Though I had NO intention of buying anything because impulse purchases like these are for suckers, I scoped out the merch.  They had sugar cookies and punch.  "Ehh.  That's been done before."  Ink pens with glow sticks in the handles.  "Hmm.  I wonder how long the glow stick would actually last?"  Headbands with light up antennae.  "Oh, my gosh!  How adorable!  I wish I had a daughter!!!!  I guess I could buy them for Cambell and Sidney.  How cute would they be with their little headbands?  What colors do they have?  Blue, red, green.  Why don't they have any girly colors?  I guess the red is kind of like a lady bug, but pink or purple would look so much cuter.  Maybe the blue......"  Oh!  It's time to go inside.  I can't believe people get sucked into buying this stuff.  Some people are so weak.

When I bought the tickets I had purchased two seats directly behind two seats instead of a row of four seats. I wanted to make sure the boys could both sit on the aisle and get up and dance when the rhythm finally did get them.  I also thought they would be able to see the stage better if they were both on the aisle.  I had brought Eli's booster seat from the kitchen table because I knew he wouldn't be heavy enough to hold the seat down, plus, he's still REALLY short.

We were only in our seats for a couple of minutes before the show began.  As soon as the house lights were down and the music began, Eli morphed into Kevin Bacon's character, Ren McCormick, and just HAD to dance.  Eli's dancing is not calm and controlled; quite the opposite.  He is everywhere.  He wiggled, shimmied, and flailed in every direction.  He shook his head and clapped his hands with the most gigantic smile he has ever donned.  Eli was absolutely having a ball.  Ian, on the other hand, didn't know what to think.  He was completely stoic.  I had no idea what was going through his head.  I kept asking him if he wanted to get up and dance, but he didn't.  Eventually, he slid down out of his chair and stood in the aisle.  He didn't move a muscle; he just stood there.  He looked at the stage, and his expression never changed.  All the while, Eli was still bustin' a move in the seat right in front of us.  The song ended, and Eli started yelling, "More!  MORE!"  As far as I could tell, Ian really didn't care.

The actors started "acting", and Eli watched intently.  Ian had realized that nobody was sitting around us and decided to walk through the rows of empty seats.  I decided it was alright if he wanted to sit in the row behind me if that would help him warm up to the idea of watching the performance.  Of course, he didn't want to sit in the row behind me; he wanted to run in the row behind me.  For the next three songs and acting interludes I wrestled and wrangled Ian as he attempted to terrorize The Little Theatre like the Phantom of the Opera.  I finally got him to sit during the fourth song and watch the dancers.  I kept whispering in his ear that he could get up and dance if he wanted to, but all he wanted to do was run the aisle so I had to keep pulling him back into row 11.  Finally, the stress got to be too much for him and he yelled at the top of his lungs,
"I want to dance on that stage right now!!!!!"

He could be heard clear as a bell over all of the actors, and oh yes, heads they were a turnin'.  My heart ached for him.  I wanted to yell, "Me too!", grab his little hand, and rush the stage.  I mean, we would have stood in the back.  It's not like I would have blocked the actual cast.  I'm not crazed.  But instead Cole turned around and suggested that we trade kids since Eli was absolutely LOVING the entire production and it was quite obvious that I was not able to enjoy a second of it while enveloped in Ian's bad attitude which was taking up rows 11-15, seats 1-8.

I happily moved up to row 10 while Cole took over in row 11.  Eli and I were clapping and swaying to the music and following the storyline as if we had written the musical ourselves.  Behind us Cole was trying to hold Ian's attention by pointing out every possible prop, light change, and costume accessory.  Ian still did not care one bit about what was going on.  I was so immersed in the show I had completely forgotten that I was a human, and not in fact a bug, until I heard Cole laughing behind me.  I turned around so he could let me in on the joke, and the conversation went like this....

Cole: "Did you see that kid?"
Me:  "What kid?"
Cole:  "That kid the dad just carried by?"
Me:  "No.  Was he sick?"
Cole:  "No.  Not at all.  Wait until he comes back"

At this point we were about half way through the one hour show, and Eli was sick and tired of being restrained in the booster seat.  He needed to get out so he could stand in his chair and swivel his hips and do a few deep knee bends.  Now he was really in his element.  He was able to dance his little heart out and watching him was absolutely hilarious.  The only problem was the seat kept folding up, and he would lose his balance and drop down on his bottom.  Of course, folding himself up in the chair was almost as fun as dancing and the next couple of songs were spent folding and unfolding the chair to the beat of the music.  I fully expected to lift Eli's shirt and see a six pack that would make Mr. Universe jealous.

Shortly after Eli concluded his ab work out, I dissolved into hysterics.  A little boy, mostly likely 4-ish, came walking up the aisle COVERED in the contents of a glow stick ink pen sold at the concession stand.  His shirt, pants, and sandals were completely glowing florescent green in the darkened theater.  His little body could have been used to land planes in the dark.  I felt bad laughing at the kid, but he was COVERED with the contents of the broken pen.  It made me wonder how much stuff is actually in those things, and if they kept him in the freezer, would he continue to glow for weeks the way the glow stick companies claim?  I turned around to tell Cole about it.  This kid was the reason Cole started laughing earlier in the show.  Cole had seen him being carried out by his father, in search of a bathroom, I'm sure.  When he had seen him, the kid had it all over his face and hands, too.  I probably would have wet my pants if I had seen him pre clean-up.  I just kept thinking, "Thank goodness it wasn't one of mine."

Eli had decided that the last few songs needed to be danced like a true wildman, and was back on his feet in the chair.  He was shakin' it, and decided to turn around to make sure that Ian was shakin' it too.  When he did he shifted his weight to the very back of the seat which instantly folded up and sent him rocketing out the bottom.  He was stuck between the back of the chair and the seat of the chair with his faced pressed into the back.  I tried to extract him from the chair, but his sandals were big and clunky, and I couldn't stop laughing.  Eli kept grunting in frustration, and I kept lifting and shifting fruitlessly.  Finally, Cole deemed Ian trustworthy enough to relinquish his death grip temporarily to guide Eli's shoes out of the grips of the theater seat.  Once he was free, Eli jumped right back up and started to boogie down like nothing had happened.

Right at the one hour mark, the show drew to a close.  Eli had had the most fun, but was definitely ready to go.  As soon as the house lights were up, Ian decided that he LOVED the performance, too, and didn't want to leave.  As much as his bad attitude had interfered with his enjoyment of the show, it didn't compare to how much it was interfering with our ability to leave peacefully.  We explained that the show was over and there was nothing we could do about it.  As you can imagine, this did nothing to ease his mind.  We thought we would go outside and let Ian meet the cast, but we quickly realized that he was in no state to be among the general population, so we opted for lunch instead.

This was such a fantastic day for us!  Eli was absolutely in his element, and if Ian had just been willing to get out of his funk about 59 minutes earlier, he would have had a great time, too.  Cole and I both had a great time experiencing another "first" with the boys.  I love adding variety to our experiences so that things stay fresh and exciting for the boys.  I also want to expose them to everything I possibly can so they can figure out what they have a passion for.  And, if their passions just so happen to mesh with some of ours.......well, I guess that will be alright.  :)

Root Beers and Redbirds

A few months ago Cole called me from work.  His supervisor's son plays baseball for a nearby town's high school team, and they were doing a fundraiser.  If they could sell a certain number of tickets to the Cardinals game on Memorial Day, the high school team would get to play an exhibition game on the field of Busch Stadium after the Cards vs. Giants game.  They would also get a portion of the ticket sales donated back to the high school's athletic department.  Cole wondered if I wanted to get tickets for us.  I immediately said, "Sure!"  "Do you think we need three tickets or four?" he asked.  I responded without hesitation, "Four!  There is NO way I am going to a game and holding a child for the entire 3 hours."  $120 later, we had ourselves an outting for Memorial Day, and I was jazzed.

Since we were going to St. Louis, I got in touch with my friend, Dustin, who then got in touch with our friend, Ryan, and our day at the ballpark grew to include lunch with friends that I hadn't seen in over two years!  I let my friends choose the restaurant since they live in St. Louis, and I wanted to try something new.  Dustin suggested we go to a place called Fitz's, and I set the time to dine at 12:30.  I couldn't wait to see my friends, show off my boys, and watch the game.

When we bought the tickets we really didn't have any idea what the weather would be like on game day.  I thought it would go one of two ways: 1) cold and rainy or 2) hot and humid.  Either way, I planned for "miserable" from the second we bought the tickets.  As the weekend neared, I realized it was going to be HOT the day of the game.  "That's okay," I thought.  "Baseball weather is supposed to be hot."  My confidence in handling the heat gracefully began to crack as the Sunday before Memorial Day passed by.  Was this what summer feels like?  I guess I had forgotten.  I could handle the heat, but what would the boys do?

Generally speaking, Cole and I really don't like "stuff."  We don't have a DVD player for the car, the boys have to entertain themselves, and even though our boys are still too young for video games, don't expect to find them in our house when they get older.  We don't allow any toys at the dinner table no matter where we are eating.  The boys need to learn how to engage in polite conversation while waiting for their food, and we are happy to have their undivided attention in order to talk with them.  And, we definitely do NOT allow toys at church.  Church is not now and never will be "play time."  However, I knew it was going to be very hot inside the stadium, so I decided the best thing to do to get us through the game was to buy some "stuff", specifically: spray bottles with fan blades.  I knew Ian would absolutely love to have one in his control because every time I leave out the little spray bottle I use to wet the boys' hair down, Ian finds it and sprays it into his mouth until there isn't a single drop left.  The fan feature would just make an already awesome toy even more awesome.  I wasn't sure that Eli would be that crazy about the spray bottle/fan, but I thought the desperation to beat the heat might change his mind as the game wore on.  So, Sunday afternoon Cole and I went in search of the ultimate hand held cooling machines.

As I have never purchased a spray bottle/fan before, I imagined the stores would be teeming with them.  I thought we would have to ride through the aisles upon aisles of spray bottle/fans on special "Spray Bottle/Fan Shopping Trams" because the selection would be enough to fill O'Hare Airport and there would be no way our unconditioned feet and legs could handle the trek.  Cole and I went to Flora Wal-Mart first.  I thought the goods would be back in the sporting goods department, so I boldly took the lead and walked to the far back corner of the store.  Up and down the aisles I went, leaving Cole in the dust, completely focused on the task at hand.  I couldn't wait to proudly hoist the fans into the air and declare myself "Master Shopper" while confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling as the lights flashed and sirens blared.  The only problem was, the fans weren't in the sporting goods department.  Cole suggested checking by the pool toys.  I had already missed my chance to be declared "Master Shopper" so I moped along behind Cole and envisioned him being showered with confetti and balloons and not appreciating it anywhere near as much as I would have.  But, lo and behold, they weren't there either.  After retracing our steps through the pool toys and sporting goods too many times to count, we finally admitted there were no spray bottle/fans at Wal-Mart and left.

Next, we decided to try Dollar General.  On our way there Cole said, "I just feel like this is something Dollar General would sell."  Now he was getting into it.  Maybe Cole would appreciate the "Master Shopper" fanfare.  I decided that no matter who found the fans, we would share the glory.  We stormed the doors of Dollar General with a spirit of determination and purpose.  We WOULD buy each of our children a spray bottle/fan.  Again, we searched the aisles with the efficient grace only a married couple acting on behalf of their children could execute.  After a few minutes of diligent searching, we were once again forced to admit the spray bottle/fan did not exist with Dollar General's four walls.  We left the store disappointed but not defeated.

We decided to drive about one block over and check at Ace Hardware.  We did not have high hopes for Ace, but we figured we were already there, so we might as well check it out.  Within just a few minutes, we were climbing back into the car empty handed.  How could it be possible that the entire stock of spray bottle/fans were sold out before it was even "unofficially" summer?  I was so irritated, but also slightly panicked.  How was I going to keep my babies cool during the game?

Cole and I decided we would search CVS next.  I'm not a frequent CVS shopper, but I'm familiar with it enough to know it sells an odd assortment of stuff considering it is a drugstore.  When we pulled into the parking lot, it was difficult to force myself out of the nice cool car and into the stifling heat knowing that we were most likely going to have no luck finding the elusive spray bottle/fans.  When the automatic doors parted to welcome us inside, I could sense an energy the previous stores had lacked.  The fans were here.  I knew they were!  Now, it was just a matter of finding them.  Cole and I confronted the aisles of stuff with a "never say die" attitude.  We were determined to leave CVS the proud owners of spray bottle/fans.  And that's exactly what we did.

In the parking lot, we ripped the tags from our blue and green spray bottle/fans and loaded them each with AA batteries.  They both worked like well oiled machines.  We tossed the tags in the trash can and climbed back into the car.  Since we were outside, we obviously did not get showered with confetti and balloons, but the sun shone a little brighter and the grass appeared a little greener.  The next day was going to be a good day.

Monday morning we headed to St. Louis to eat lunch with friends and watch the Cardinals play the Giants.  We found the restaurant with absolutely no problem, parked CLOSE to the building, and headed inside.  When we walked in, my friend Dustin met us at the hostess stand and led us over to our table where my friend Ryan and his wife, Caroline, were already seated and waiting for us.  Fitz's is a really cool place.  It is part restaurant, part root beer bottling facility.  The entire back wall of the restaurant is glass so as you wait for your food/eat you can watch the root beer go through the bottling process.  I didn't take any pictures of this, and I'm not sure why, but just imagine the opening sequence of "Lavern and Shirley".

I was so pumped to be seeing my friends that I hadn't seen since Dustin's wedding over TWO YEARS ago!  I spent a LOT of time with Dustin and Ryan while we were in college.  Dustin, Ryan, my roommate Jenna, and I ate dinner together every Wednesday night for almost a year while we were in college.  We always went to the same pizza place, Quatro's, for deep dish pizza and 99 cent pitchers of beer.  (I always drank Pepsi which was sickeningly more expensive than the beer.)  In all honesty, our Wednesday night dinners are hands down my favorite college memories.  I don't have any specific memories of those dinners together, but I definitely remember that every single one of them was completely fantastic!  It was always a minimum of 2 hours of laughing my butt off with my absolute favorite people in Carbondale and almost anywhere else for that matter.  What could be better than that?

Eli was seated at the head of the table with Cole on his right and Dustin on his left.  He reigned over our table with the poise of a four year old.  I had no reservations about Eli sitting next to Dustin.  Dustin doesn't have kids of his own yet, but he has been an uncle for a long time so he's very good at amusing little ones.  It didn't take any time at all for Eli to sense that Dustin was a push-over when it came to charming little kids.  As soon as our food was served, Eli turned on the charm.  He would very slowly reach his chubby little hand over to Dustin's plate and very slowly and delicately pinch a single french fry between his thumb and pointer finger.  Then he would look up at Dustin and flash his pearly whites and make his eyes sparkle.  Instantly, Dustin would grant permission and Eli would promptly say, "Dank Dou!" and happily place the warm fry in his grinning mouth.  Cole and I both told him repeatedly to stop, but Dustin kept granting permission and Eli kept mooching.  Other than eating his body weight in fries from Dustin's plate, Eli was a perfect dining companion.

Ian was seated between Cole and me and was directly across from Ryan.  Ryan had ordered a root beer float to drink and when the waiter sat in front of him, Ian's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.  All Ian got to drink was a boring old glass of water.  I'm pretty sure that Ian would have gagged on the taste of root beer, but would have loved the ice cream.  Cole and I made him refrain from sampling Ryan's sweet treat but promised ice cream at the baseball game.  Caroline is a nanny for twin boys and knows how to entertain little boys.  Ian and Caroline talked about Ian's favorite show (Jake and The Neverland Pirates), his favorite toys (monster trucks), colors, shapes, and silly jokes.  Ian definitely enjoyed Caroline because she related to him as a two year old little boy, and it was great.  Ian ate his own smiley face fries, mainly because Cole and I don't allow the boys to take food off of our plates, and all too soon our meal drew to a close.  The dynamic of the meal was definitely different since we are all now married, gainfully employed, and I have two kids, but I enjoyed our lunch just as much as I enjoyed all of the Wednesday night dinners at Quatro's in Carbondale, especially a particularly hilarious story about Ryan playing washers that made me realize maybe we haven't really changed that much.  I can't wait to see Dustin and Ryan again at our friend Jeb's wedding at the end of June.

We said good-bye to our lunch companions in the parking lot, much to Ian's dismay.  He was NOT ready to leave his new buddies.  We loaded into the car and headed towards Busch Stadium with Ian really showing his ugly side in the back seat.  Once we parked the car and I set up the stroller, I became very aware of how hot and humid the afternoon had become.  Ugh.  Oh, well.  There was nothing we could do about it, and we had our spray bottle/fans!  We walked the four or five blocks to the stadium while Ian cooled himself with the fan (no water yet).

Once we got to the gate, we realized our side by side double stroller was about two inches too wide to shove through the turnstile.  I guess we should have looked for the handicap accessible entrance, but we didn't.  So, we had to get both of the boys out and and lift the stroller over the gate in the middle of a sea of people, which was exactly what we did not want to do.  As soon as I was through and our family was reunited, we scurried over to a closed gate, the only three square feet in the stadium that wasn't swarming with people, and secured the boys back in the stroller.  We pointed the stroller in the general direction of our seats and were off once again.  Once we got to our level change, a staff member stopped us and told us to get the boys back out of the stroller to go up the escalator.  I was looking for a ramp; I don't mind the walk and we had plenty of time.  I told her we didn't want to take the escalator so she directed us to an elevator instead.  We were given a private ride (don't get too excited, it was just because nobody else was in line) to our level and shown directly to our section.  Now, it was time for sunscreen.

Ian and Eli have inherited my fair skin that will burn from direct exposure to a 60 watt light bulb, so we slathered every inch of their bodies with SPF 85.  We took extra care to shield Ian's eyebrow which is still healing from the stitches.  Cole and I had stupidly asked Aunt Whitney to buzz the boys' hair the previous evening.  Their scalps were now begging to be fried, but we had come prepared with hats to wear.  We made our way down to our seats with both boys and 170 pounds of "essentials" in our arms.  It was about 2:45 and the game didn't start until 3:15 so the row was still empty, thank goodness.  Had we gotten there any later, it would have been more practical to hire a helicopter to drop us down in a rescue basket and let us fall into our seats with all of our stuff rather than try to crawl over a row of people.

Once we were seated in our hot-enough-to-cook-your-own-Cardinal-dog seats, we filled the spray bottles with water.  Ian LOVED it!  Eli HATED it!  Typical.  Cole and I just let the boys do their own thing in seats seven and eight while we sat guard in seats six and nine.  Soon, I noticed that Ian looked, well, odd.  I took off my sunglasses and pulled back his hat to get a better look.  I completely lost it.  He had sprayed himself to the point of saturation.  His face was so wet that he had managed to wash the sunblock off of his skin and it was moving down his face in the form of a sort of thick, watery, lotion goo.  He looked like a wax mannequin that was slowly melting in the sun.  His shirt was wet all the way down to the waist band of his shorts.  I didn't care.  He was cool and couldn't have been happier, and I had a change of clothes for him in the car.

I'll be honest, I have virtually no clue what happened during the vast majority of the game because I was busy watching the boys and the people around them, so my recap of the game has little to do with what went into the score books, but here we go.

THE 1st INNING
*Cole's friend Mike showed up, and his block of seats was directly in front of ours.  Ian adores Mike because Mike drove him around in a golf cart at his house.
*The monster trucks came out of the diaper bag in an attempt to provide entertainment
*Ian begins asking, "Where's Hubbs?" (Ryan)

THE 2nd INNING
*By end of the inning, the sun shifted enough that we were now in the shade
*Mike left and came back with ice cream
*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

THE 3rd INNING
*Ian and Eli refused to wear hats so we used sunblock on their heads which created a very odd gray paste in their hair that was so thick the paste protected them from the sun without the sunblock ever coming in contact with their skin.
*Cole left to get ice cream
*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

THE 4th INNING
*Cole returned with Ben & Jerry's
*The Giants hit a grand slam (Boooooooo!!!!!)
*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

THE 5th INNING
*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

THE 6th INNING
*Our section won a free meal at the Lumiere Casino Buffet and we were on the Jumbo-tron
*Eli decided to bite me on the wrist and leave teeth marks that lasted for hours
*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

THE 7th INNING
*Ian needed a diaper change and the bathroom did NOT have a changing table.  Disgusting.
*Eli headbutted me during "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" and then sobbed hysterically when he was told this was a "no-no"
*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

THE 8th INNING

*Pujols hit a home run, the fireworks went off, and Ian hit the deck and REFUSED to get off of the ground because "fireworks are scary".  This would have been much more disturbing had he not been on the floor of a public bathroom during the previous inning.  (Yes, I used a changing pad, but it was still on the floor.)

*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

THE 9th INNING

*The Cards lost

*Ian had an emotional breakdown because he couldn't go home with Mike

*The sweaty, stinky Anderson family left the stadium

*Ian continues asking, "Where's Hubbs?"

We did it!  We made it through the entire baseball game!  Other than Eli's bite and headbutt, the boys were FANTASTIC!!!!  There was no whining or asking if we could leave.  There were no major fights.  I think the people watching kept them more than occupied.  Cole and I have included the boys in practically everything we do since they were born, so we probably do more things with little guys than most families.  Part of that is because we don't have any family closer than 2 hours away so we usually don't have a choice.  But, it's mainly because that's the way we want it to be.  We had children so we could be parents and experience childhood all over again, and that's exactly what we are doing.  I know with every ounce of my being that I will never look back and think, "I wish I would have spent more time with the boys when they were little."  It would be impossible to spend too much time with my Great Bambinos.

Sum, Sum, Summa Time

Summer is here, and at our house, it's in full swing!  Since I am no longer committed to kicking Organic Chemistry's butt (a high A in lecture and a high A in lab for both semesters, thank you very much), I am absolutely loving all of the free time I now have to do FUN things.  I know that memorizing hundreds of chemical reactions and their mechanisms is incredibly thrilling, but after two semesters, I was just ready for a change of pace.  You know what they say about too much of a good thing....

For me, summer started the day after my last final exam for the semester.  Unfortunately the first day of my summer vacation was the day Ian ended up in the E.R. with 14 stitches in his eyebrow.  His injury didn't slow us down a bit, though.  I had loads of fun mentally planned for this summer, and we jumped right in to the freezing cold pool of summer time fun with gusto, which is kind of the way Cole and I do pretty much everything related to parenting.

This year I threw Cole a major curve ball when I told him I did NOT want  jewelry for Mother's Day.  After a complete psychiatric evaluation, Cole decided I was telling the truth and was, in fact, mentally stable, and he asked me what I wanted instead.  I told him I wanted a bike and a bike trolley for the boys to ride in.  He liked the sound of bikes, and quickly agreed.  I knew this was a major decision so I took my bike search VERY seriously.  I scouted for bikes like a panelist from Consumer Reports, except instead of noting performance, reliability, and overall value, I noted colors, accessories, and overall cuteness.  Finally, I found an adorable pink and white Schwinn beach cruiser at Sears that was PERFECT!  It scored above average in the "colors test" and blew the competition away in the "overall cuteness" category.  I had clearly found the best bike for my needs, and couldn't wait to take it home and have Cole take a picture of me while I proudly grasped the handle bars in my perfectly manicured-to-match-the-bike hands.  My excitement was squashed like a bug when Cole said, "I would not pull a bike trolley with a bike that has no gears.  I don't think you should get this bike."  Gears?  That wasn't even a testing category!  They aren't even cute!

I was so bummed out all I wanted to do was pout in my room or maybe kick a bunch of rocks around at the school yard, but I knew the search must go on!   I continued my search, slightly deflated, but bounced back quickly when I found a very comparable Schwinn cruiser with gears with a pink body with white fenders at Target.  Plus, this bike had a pink basket on the front!  It was a bike that I would have been forced to arrange to be "stolen" as a kid but wanted to snuggle with in bed as I fell asleep at night as an adult, especially since I was able to find a super cute helmet to match!  I would have ridden the bike to the register if I had a little less dignity.  I refrained, but there was no denying that I was in love.  It met all of my criteria: cute colors, cute accessories, and a very high overall cuteness quotient.  After my disappointment at Sears, I was so relieved that this new bike I loved also passed all of my highly scientific tests.  It was a match made in bike factory heaven.

Here's "Lulu", my bike.  She was named by Schwinn, not me.  Isn't she a looker?  Her back fender is currently on a shelf in the garage, but she won't be showing off her back wheel like a hussie for much longer.

As if my bike didn't scream "MOM COMING THROUGH!" on her own, I decided I needed the addition of a bike trolley, just in case there was any question as to whether or not I am a mother.  I couldn't wait to go on bike rides with the boys sitting serenely in the trolley while I pedaled through town as people waved merrily at me and my ducklings.  I pictured us wending our way through the streets on hot summer days while the perfect summer soundtrack could inexplicably be heard all around us.  We would laugh together while the boys learned all of the different species of trees in town, checked birds off of their Audubon "Birds of the Midwest" lists, identified butterflies from ten paces, and sipped their ice-cold lemonade without ever having a single tense moment.  By the way, in my fantasy, I never broke a sweat and was perfectly tanned.  I've found that having realistic expectations helps me to be a better mother.

Our summer transportation

(Doesn't the driveway look great?  We just had it sealed.)

Once the trolley was securely attached to my back wheel, I couldn't wait to get out of the driveway and onto the road.  The boys, however, could wait.  Neither of them cared much for the trolley.  Huh, this could put a serious damper on things.  I didn't really get too concerned with their bad attitudes because I knew once they felt the wind on their faces they would LOVE the trolley.  Once they were securely seated in their trolley, we were off.  It had been a LONG time since I had ridden a bike.  Probably since jr. high school, to be exact.  But, you know the old saying, "It's like riding a bike.", so I didn't foresee any problems.  Did I mention that I've found having realistic expectations helps me to be a better mother?

As you can see from the picture above, our driveway has a slight slope toward the road.  The perfect starting point for a long, relaxing bike ride.  I cheerfully hopped onto my fabulous pink and white seat and glided down the driveway and into the road without pushing the pedals once.  The wind blew through my hair and I instantly felt as though all of my worries were carried away with the fresh summer breeze.  I picked up speed quickly and coasted down a side street feeling light as a feather.  Suddenly, it became quite obvious that we were having an earthquake.  My handlebars were shaking violently in my tight grip.  The front wheel of my bike was going all over the road and me and my defenseless ducklings were just going to have to ride this thing out.  I had no control over the bike, and we were being tossed about like popcorn kernels in the microwave.  I frantically searched for Cole, hoping he hadn't been knocked off of his bike and thrown to the road now in need of medical attention.  He was riding smoothly beside me and wasn't veering at all, what the heck?  I couldn't believe how localized this earthquake was.  I looked around in all directions, and it appeared that nothing else was feeling the effects of this earthquake either.  Now I really couldn't believe how localized this "rolling earthquake" was.  I could NOT get away from it.  It seemed to be moving right underneath me at the exact speed I was pedaling.  Finally, I realized that there was a very slight chance the earthquake was not actually an earthquake, but my own horrible riding abilities.  That didn't seem to be a possibility since people always say that you never forget how to ride a bike, you just pick it back up, but as far as I could tell that was the only explanation.  Well as it turns out, I must have been the WORST bike rider on the planet as a kid.  I was all over the place in a desperate attempt to stay on two wheels, four if you count the trolley in tow, and I of course had to do my best to hide my obvious lack of skill from Cole.  I didn't want to get grounded from my bike during the first week of summer vacation!

Cole kept glancing at me as I rode wildly down the road with the concentration of a brain surgeon and the steadiness of an unmanned fire hose.  Why couldn't he just mind his own business?  It's not like I was pulling a trolley with the two most important people in the world in it.  Oh, wait.  We finally reached the end of level ground and it was time to climb the first hill of our ride.  My bike began to slow on its own so I began pedaling a bit harder.  "Wow, this is a bit harder than I expected," I thought.  I pushed harder, and harder, and harder still but the bike didn't really care for the hill.  I decided to stand and put all of my weight on the pedals just to give us a little jump start.  "Huh, I expected that to have more of an impact", I thought while silently cursing myself for having lost a few pounds in the previous month.  At that point in time, I needed every ounce of weight my body had to drag the trolley up the hill.  I pushed and grunted and pedaled and gasped and repeated until I FINALLY made it to the top of the hill.  I was fairly certain I needed an oxygen mask to fall from a tree and dangle directly in front of my face just like on a plane if I was going to be able to continue on this bike ride.  I wonder if the basket would hold a small oxygen tank?

Cole was far ahead by this point and realized I had been left in the dust.  He circled back.  "Ya alright?", he asked.  I managed to blurt out, "Yeah, I just need to get used to pulling this trolley."  Of course this was a lie.  What I truly wanted to say was, "No, I'm not alright!  I think I'm going to die.  This trolley was a stupid idea, and I never want to look at it again.  Tomorrow, while you are at work, I am going to "accidentally" forget it is in the driveway and "accidentally" back over it with my car, probably twice for good measure, and "accidentally" destroy it.  How does that grab ya?"  But, I just smiled and pretended that I was the happiest person on the planet, and I couldn't imagine a more wonderful activity than pulling a 25 pound bike trolley with a 34 pound kid and a 24 pound kid stowed safely inside.  So, on we rode.

My riding was becoming slightly more controlled and slightly less terrifying, but it was still frighteningly similar to that of a child whose training wheels had been removed just minutes earlier.  The good thing about my horrendous riding ability was that the intense concentration required to keep myself from wiping out distracted me from the incessant screaming and fighting occurring within the confines of the trolley.  I'm sure the fight was justified.  It most likely started as a heated debate about the best way to solve the state's budget crisis, and quickly came to be a petty argument of who was taking up more space, who was drinking out of the wrong sippy cup, and who was the REAL owner of the toys they are told to share on a daily basis.  Cole and I trudged on, determined to enjoy our bike ride.

With each block ridden, the weight of the trolley seamed to increase by another three to four pounds.  There was no way I was going to let on how miserable I was.  I just kept pedaling and pedaling and pedaling.......  Finally, my rear end began to ache.  This so called "fabulous" seat was terrible!  It was like sitting on a bed of nails.  I had never realized how bony my butt was.  How could I have made such a terrible selection?  Looking back, comfort wasn't on my list of necessities.  That was stupid on my part.  I should have know that it would be uncomfortable.   Most cute things are.  High heels, anyone?  For the next five to ten minutes I thought of ways to make the seat more comfortable.  Ultimately I decided the best solution was to "accidentally" forget the bike in the driveway right next to the trolley.

Cole was putting Lance Armstrong to shame and kept riding and riding.  I wasn't going to let Cole out do me so I just kept on riding and smiling and happily agreeing to every turn that took us farther from home.  This is when I began to wonder if Cole was taking "performance enhancing" drugs.  Were his legs powered by diesel engines?  Why were we still riding?  Eventually, the pain in my derriere was greatly overshadowed by the extreme fatigue in my legs.  By this point in the ride, pulling the trolley felt like pulling an elephant carcass filled with lead only not as smelly.  We had wound around town for about 45 minutes and were now in a residential area with a steep hill quickly approaching.  I began to imagine my obituary: "Danielle Anderson nee Zimmerman, adoring mother and loving wife, died today because she refused to admit that her husband could ride a bike longer than she could.  Even though she was 28 at the time of her death, Danielle still maintained that she was only in her mid-twenties, not late-twenties, and would like to be remembered as such."

I persevered, unwilling to admit defeat, until I came to a devastating halt half way up the hill.  I waved my white flag and climbed off my bike.  The blood rushed to my bony butt, and I felt like dancing a jig in celebration of the relief of pain in my rear.  I began pushing Lulu and the trolley up the hill.  Cole stopped.  "What are you doing?" he asked.  "I can't do it anymore.  I'm dying", I honestly admitted.  "Well let me ride it," he said.  "Take a break from pulling them."  I happily agreed to let Cole take over, and jumped on Cole's bike, sending my butt back into a throbbing hell.  Cole zipped up the hill and was quickly soaring down the other side with me hot on his tail.  The feeling of summer time freedom quickly overtook me once again.  The down slope of the hill seemed to stretch out for miles.  We were zooming through Anytown U.S.A. and loving every second of it.  I would have stretched my arms out to my sides and closed my eyes if I wasn't certain I would end up looking like Frankenstein's Monster from such a stunt.

Eventually, the hill did end and once again we found ourselves on flat ground, side by side.  That's when Cole let me in on a little secret.  "You had this in the WRONG gear," he told me.  "You should have had it on the lowest, not the highest.  No wonder you were miserable."  I couldn't believe it.  All of that suffering for nothing!  Why didn't I ever try to adjust the gears?  Well, probably because I couldn't safely do such a thing.  I would have been distracted from riding and probably would have ended up with a broken arm or something worse.  I had just had the most intense upper leg workout of my life, and it was for no good reason.  I expected to look in the mirror when we got home only to realize I now had Tina Turner's million dollar legs.  Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

The good news is, since finding out why riding my bike was so terrible, I have made the proper adjustments to my bike gears and now really enjoy riding my bike, trolley and all.  I never did "accidentally" forget the trolley or my bike in the driveway, and we are enjoying every single day of summer vacation.  We go on a bike ride, walk, or wagon ride everyday and then do it again when Cole gets home from work.  So far we have been to park district events, a root-beer factory, and a major league baseball game.  We have a trip to the pool, a musical, a zoo visit, a children's museum visit, and minor league baseball game all coming up soon.  Plus, our privacy fence is going in this month!  This is the first summer since 2007 that I haven't been pregnant or nursing so we have a lot of freedom that we haven't had before.  I'm certain this is going to be the best summer so far, as long as my bike doesn't get stuck in the wrong gear.

Never Again

Once again I find myself being the dutiful "Cat Wife": flying solo during the week while Cole is in Wyoming visiting a mine site. I shouldn't complain too much because while Cole's coworkers, through no fault of their own, were dropping like flies a couple of years ago when Cat was really struggling, Cole never lost his job. He we are two years later and Cole is still employed and is FINALLY going to settle into the position he was hired to fill four YEARS, yes YEARS, ago. So much for, "We just need you to fill in for three months."

Anyway, Cole had to leave on Tuesday which also happened to be the day Ian's 11 external stitches needed to be removed. So, as you can imagine, the stitches are still in Ian's eyebrow. KIDDING!!! As much as I did NOT want to take Ian to his doctor's appointment, I knew there was no avoiding it. I had been dreading the removal since he was sewn up last Wednesday night. We have several nurses in the family who were more than qualified to remove the stitches, but I didn't want Ian to have any negative associations with his family members so I scheduled his regular pediatrician to do the suture removal. Better.

Right after returning from the E.R.

Tuesday afternoon we waited, and waited, and waited to be called into the exam room. With every passing second I became more and more uneasy about what was to come. "I need to be drugged," kept running through my head. I wanted to march out declaring, "I have somewhere I need to be!", but I knew that wasn't a possibility. Finally, the nurse called us back. I was so jittery I was considering kicking Eli out of the stroller and sitting down myself. I know the boys could have pushed me. They are a couple of little brutes. But, I allowed Eli to keep his seat and led my little ducklings down an unfamiliar hallway. I have been taking the boys to Dr. Maranon since Ian was born. We have been to EVERY, SINGLE, well-baby check-up precisely as scheduled and not once had we trekked down this alternate corridor. I couldn't figure out where we were going, but when I turned the corner into the exam room, I suddenly realized, we weren't in Kansas anymore.

This room was not the inviting exam room of the well-baby variety. The first thing I laid eyes on was an oxygen tank standing prominently in the corner (oh, dear), large spotlights dangling from the ceiling (I don't particularly care for that), and two papoose boards hanging on the wall. (holy bleep). We were in foreign territory. This room was a torture chamber cleverly disguised as a pediatric exam room complete with hoses to cram down parents' throats to bring them back to life after seeing their children writhing in pain and terror. I immediately started to feel anxious. I had no time to get comfortable in the room because within seconds of the first nurse leaving, Dr. Maranon appeared along with another nurse. As soon as the door opened, my natural reaction to anything that induces anxiety (profuse sweating) was in full swing. And this particular incident was almost as horrible as the Chinese Acrobat Incident of 2007. Seriously........The Chinese Acrobat Incident!

Way back before Ian was a glimmer in our unsutured eyes, Cole and I went to see Chinese Acrobats. I was super jazzed from the time I heard about it on the radio until..........the chair stacking. At some point in the performance a man came onto the stage with an innocent looking chair. "Hmmmm. I wonder where this is going?", I thought. The man then took another chair, stacked it on the first, and stood proudly atop his small tower. "Fabulous!", I thought. "I know I would never stand on TWO chairs. That's terrifying!" Then, an assistant brought another chair. "What's this guy's deal?", I wondered. "Can't he see the trick is over?" But it wasn't over. It wasn't anywhere close to being over. The crazed lunatic standing on the top of the tower of chairs kept happily accepting each proffered chair and skillfully balancing them on top of each other. With each additional chair my heart would beat faster and my body temperature would rise. Eventually, Cole could see how horribly uncomfortable I was, and the tower was only half assembled. He was suspicious, though, and thought I was just being dramatic. He quickly realized I was not being dramatic I was FREAKING out and could not control what was going on. I started breathing deeply to keep myself from vomiting and couldn't even look at the stage. I could hear the gasps and cheers of the rest of the audience, so I knew the journey through my own personal hell was nowhere near being over. Before long I was actually crying and shaking, and by the time the last chair was stacked my sweating was so out of control that I could leave wet hand prints on my pant legs, my hair was actually dripping with sweat, and my shirt was sticking to me. I have not watched another Chinese acrobat climb chairs since this fateful night, and I plan to keep it that way.

While Ian didn't stand on a tower of chairs to have his stitches removed, I was no less uncomfortable. I had to leave the room the night the stitches went in, but I didn't have Cole to "tag in" so I had to figure out a way to be there for my brave little man. At first the nurse laid Ian on the table without the papoose board. He was okay with this until the spotlight began burning his retinas. Having that light in your face is like standing on the surface on the sun. Not to mention, it puts out enough heat to cook a Thanksgiving turkey in less than an hour. Ian asked to have his eyes covered, and the nurse gently laid a white washcloth across his beautiful blues eyes. She then took his head firmly in her hands and positioned his face so Dr. Maranon could begin her work. I took my place at the foot of the table and held both of his soft little hands in mine. Here we go.

The first stitch came out without much trouble, but Ian didn't like it anyway. The second stitch was a bit more difficult. Ian started squirming while Dr. Maranon was cutting it loose, and by the time the third stitch was pulled free, he was clinging to me as tightly as he ever has. I did NOT want to let go of him. I couldn't believe what these monsters were doing to my baby. But, I knew they weren't monsters, and it just had to be done. I wasn't allowed to hold him long because his face had to remain sterilized, and shortly after he had jumped into my arms, he was being wrestled into the harsh, unloving embrace of the papoose board. He was terrified, and the more upset he became, the more my heart broke. He was sobbing uncontrollably and screaming, "Help me, mommy!" I managed to wiggle my oddly slim hand into one of the velcro restraints holding him still from his neck to his ankles. I couldn't grasp his hand so I had to settle for simply touching his outstretched fingers.

The stitches that HAD to come out

By this point I, too, was crying. I was also sweating so much I could feel my shirt sticking to my back. I wasn't the only one sweating. All of Ian's efforts to free himself from the papoose board were making him as sweaty as he's been in his entire life. I couldn't look at him because I couldn't bear to see the stitches being removed or the sadness in his face. I tried singing his favorite songs, but the stress of the situation turned my brain to mush, and I stumbled over the words and never made it through a single unaltered verse. I finally abandoned my singing attempts, which were getting us absolutely nowhere, and decided a sweet treat might be a better distraction. I suggested that after we were done we should go to Sonic to get a Cherry Limeade as cheerfully as my own tears would permit. Ian didn't want to hear my crappy ideas, he just wanted out of the spotlight and onto my lap.

The last two stitches were VERY difficult to remove. They were very small and very tight. Ian went bananas! He finally mustered enough energy to pull his head free of the papoose board and was on the loose from the neck up. It took quite a bit of effort from the nurse before Ian was once again held tightly enough that Dr. Maranon could finish the job that had my poor little boy so upset.

As soon as the last stitch was dropped into the pan I was ripping the velcro restraints open, freeing my Ian boy. He was soaking wet from his shoulders down, and could hardly catch his breath as I held him. He sobbed and wouldn't even look in the direction of Dr. Maranon and the nurse. Finally, there was a break through. Dr. Maranon asked if Ian would like a juice box. Ian's eyes were instantly sparkling again and he answered with a very enthusiastic, "YES!" This was a HUGE deal because my boys are not allowed to have juice. Why? Come over about 30 minutes after they drink a glass of juice and you'll know why. But, at that moment I didn't care if they pooped for 6 hours straight. As far as I was concerned, Ian could have WHATEVER he so desired.

The doctor left to get the goods, and Ian quickly relaxed. Secretly, I was hoping she was going to bring me a juice box (A.K.A. box of wine), too. That was absolutely gut wrenching. Soon, Ian was walking around, spinning the doctor's stools, and rapidly forgetting the most unpleasant procedure he had just been through. When Dr. Maranon reappeared with Mott's for Tots, Ian was ecstatic and so was Eli. Oh, yes. Eli had to sit in the stroller and experience the stitch removal as well. Some kids have a hard time with juice boxes. Not Eli. He immediately learned how to squeeze the hell out of it and spray himself with ultra sticky juice. I guess he's just advanced. I'm not sure what Ian was doing with the juice box. He was holding it gently and sucking the juice out through the straw. Huh. Weird concept.

By the time we walked to the car, Eli was SOAKED, and most likely parched since I don't think a single drop of juice graced his tongue, and Ian was laughing and smiling. I got the boys situated in their car seats and tucked the stroller into the trunk. When I got in the car I turned around to admire my lovely children. I asked Ian, "Are you okay, bud?" He just smiled and said, "My juice box making me so happy," and promptly returned to quenching his thirst.

Stitch Free Is the Way to Be!!

I've obviously given birth to two children, and child birth ain't painless. But, I definitely think that watching Ian in misery was far more painful than Eli's non-epiduraled birth, which was horrible. I am absolutely amazed at how quickly little kids move on from crappy situations and get on with life. I'm also incredibly glad that a few stitches were all that were required to return Ian to his old self. I know that being the mother of boys means learning to deal with injuries, especially since Eli, Wildman Extraordinaire, has another 17 years before he flies the coop, but I don't think this kind of thing will ever get easier. I'm just happy this particular wound is on the mend.

One Man's Trash, Is Another Man's Treasure

What's the best part of buying a house?

A. Having a home to call your own

B. Building your net worth

C. No longer sharing a yard or common wall(s) with your neighbors

D. Inheriting things from the prior owner

That's right! D. Inheriting things from the prior owner.

Not everything left in our house was of value to us. In fact, the microwave that shocked the $#!% out of me while we were painting before we moved in was quite the opposite of valuable. However, we were lucky enough to inherit an actual treasure. We've waited a long time to put it to use, but yesterday the time had come.

We bought our house from a elderly couple. They had lived here for only 10 years or so, and in that time they had a grandson. They did what any good grandparents would do and bought fabulous toys for him to keep and Grandma and Grandpa's house, ensuring their spots at the top of the "preferred adult" pyramid. The day that I came to do the final walk-through before closing on the house, I had 10-month-old Ian on my hip and a realtor in my wake. The elderly couple's son was cleaning out the last of the couple's belongings while we were there, and we exchanged pleasant hellos in passing, but nothing more. I couldn't wait for the house to be ours!

The day of the closing we all gathered around the glossy, wooden conference table at Summit Financial, and there was the son who had loving taken care of moving his parents' things from their former home. I had expected to see the actual owners, but his mother had passed away a year earlier and his father had very advanced Alzheimer's Disease, so he had the heartbreaking task of being his father's full-time care giver as well as his Power of Attorney. The man was quiet throughout the closing. He made a couple of comments that he was having an extremely difficult time having to sell his father's house without his father knowing, but his father's disease was so progressed that the poor man didn't have a clue about what was going on around him. However, he also expressed much relief to no longer worry about the upkeep of his father's home as well as his own and the needs of his family on top of the 24 hour care his father required.

As we were finishing signing our $$$ way for the next 30 years, the man told us he had noticed Ian on the day of the walk-through and had left a couple of toys in the basement that had belonged to his son. The owners' grandson was now 8 years old and had outgrown the toys years ago, but his grandparents had never gotten rid of the toys. I could only remember seeing one toy in the basement, as the basement was unfinished and very basementesque so I had mainly just kept my eyes on the floor and hoped nothing weird dashed across in front of me, so I assumed that HAD to be what he was talking about. I couldn't wait to see Ian playing with it! He then said, "It's been a long time since little feet went running through that house. I hope you enjoy it."

A little while later, we stepped out into the beautiful June 26th sunshine with a pep in our step and house keys in our pockets. We were the owners of a beautiful all-brick, one story ranch with HUGE picture windows, a GIGANTIC yard, two car garage, asphalt driveway, mature landscaping, a great neighbor called "Monk", and .....................a POWER WHEELS JEEP WRANGLER, at no extra cost!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The house quickly became our home, and the jeep, even more quickly, became a dust collector in the basement. Don't worry, the original plastic was protected by the 637 address labels affixed to the Jeep. Don't even think about trying to steal our Power Wheels; you can see from space that it belongs to Jean Ingram at our address. But, if you are dumb enough to attempt a theft, as soon as one of the other 5,000 residents of our town catches a glimpse of just one of those address labels, you will get to hear an hour long history of "the house that used to have a flat roof" and you will be BEGGING us to take the Jeep back so people will leave you alone and stop asking, "Now, were you the ones who put the gabled roof on the house? That was in 2008, right?" Please note that I am NOT kidding or exaggerating at all. Our house is infamous! Instead of giving our address to anyone familiar with our town, we simply say, "It's the house that used to have the flat roof." and EVERYONE knows EXACTLY where we live. Ah, small town life.

Last weekend we decided it was time to get the Jeep out of storage and see if it was up to "The Anderson Sons Challenge." So, Saturday evening after Cole had gracefully recovered from running his 1:50:35 half-marathon and I had puked my guts out and then "slept it off" for 2 1/2 hours in an attempt to recover from my 1:17 10K, we headed to Toys 'R Us in order to buy a replacement battery and charger for the purple, yes purple, Jeep Wrangler that was soon to become the boys' primary transportation.

All I could think was how lucky we were to have a Power Wheels for FREE! These are expensive toys for most people, but ours didn't cost a penny! All we had to buy was the battery and charger. I glanced at the prices of the various vehicles. Some were as low as $150, but some were as high as $350! Holy cow! I thought it would be great for the boys to have a Power Wheels, but I quickly realized I was WAY too cheap to actually buy one brand new and my gratitude to the previous home owners swelled in my wallet. Cole grabbed the battery and charger while I checked that one battery was all we needed. Cole said, "Man, this crap is expensive.", but I didn't think much of it. I know we are both pretty frugral; we think everything is expensive. We made our way to the register while I smugly thought how my kids had a Power Wheels and all it cost me was a battery and charger. In my head I was basically Dave Ramsey's Mom-of-the-Year. I was already mentally writing the answers to the interview questions I would answer on the air the day I was named Mom-of-the-Year. "Well, Dave, it seems many parents think they have to spend, spend, spend to instantly give their children what they want. My husband and I have always taken a much different approach......"

"Ninety-seven, Eight-five." What? Who is she talking to? Wait a minute, she's talking to us? What the hell did she just say? $97.85!!!!!! The battery and charger were how much?!?!?! What is Cole doing? He's just paying her? He didn't even ask for a price check! She isn't even questioning the register! What is wrong with this woman? She clearly doesn't care that we are being overcharged! I should complain about her. Am I sweating? Oh, my gosh, I am! I can't remember my own name! I have to sit down; no I had better lie down and elevate my feet. Does anybody have a paper bag I can breathe in?!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we paid 67% of the 2011 model price just to replace the battery and charger of an eight or nine-year-old Power Wheels. I felt like I had just lost my mind when we walked to the car with our purchases. But, we had still saved 33% on a toy that is just as nice, even though it is in fact covered in address labels.

We both carefully read the battery charging instructions. There is NO way we were screwing up this thing that cost a small fortune. I also saved the receipt just in case the darn thing didn't work due to issues with the Jeep itself. I was definitely going to get my $97.85 back! The battery charged for the full 18 hours, and I couldn't wait for the boys to get to drive their Jeep.

Tuesday I decided the time had come for the boys to discover the need for speed. Both of the boys had runny noses and coughs, but their bad moods had filled the house to the point the walls were bowing. We HAD to get out so they could cleanse their auras before I went insane. I put the child gate across the basement stairs and went to recover the treasure that was to become Ian's and Eli's. I realized Cole had stashed the Jeep in a very small closet in the basement with an even smaller doorway. I twisted, turned, pivoted, rotated, shimmied, shifted, lifted, and ultimately shoved the Jeep through the doorway in a mere 18 minutes. I would have given up sooner, but the boys had never left the top of the stairs and had been encouraging me the entire time. By "encouraging" I obviously mean fighting like cats and dogs which just confirmed that we HAD to get outside and get some air before someone ended up being committed.

Once the Jeep was freed of the closet's snare, it was time to drag it up the stairs. The Jeep is approximately 30 inches wide and the width of the staircase was a generous 30.0001 inches. In other words, plenty of room to maneuver freely. It took about another 10 minutes to get up the stairs, all the while Ian and Eli were "encouraging" my decision to go outside. I have no idea how this Jeep made it into our basement in the first place unless Fisher Price had a manufacturing facility down there that was promptly torn down after ONE vehicle rolled off the assembly line.

When I finally pulled the Jeep out of the stairwell into the laundry room I felt like I had just climbed Mt. Everest. I even considered planting an American flag in the top stair. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of two little boys getting their first car, and I had to soak in the moment. Ian LOVED it! It was a Jeep Wrangler just like future Uncle Jeremy's! And, let's be honest here, future Uncle Jeremy is a policeman so he is obviously the coolest, most admirable man on the planet. Who was I to argue with that? I took a small break to let my lumbago recover from the 30 minute Jeep vs. Mom Submission Wrestling Match and let the boys climb inside. Instantly, a fight broke out over who was most worthy of driving the Jeep first, so I quickly decided break time was over. Besides, I only had to make it through two more doorways before we would finally be outside.

The doorway out of the laundry room and into the side entryway of the house was a tight squeeze, and it definitely didn't help to have children hanging from the wheels as I tried to carry it sideways through the jamb. Only one door to go! Getting through the exterior door and into the yard was a nightmare. First of all, it's a big step down onto the concrete landing, and the storm door will not prop open on its own. And, not only was I trying my best to not throw myself to the ground and end up pinned under a Power Wheels, I was also trying to prevent Ian, Eli, and the dog from darting out into the yard before me.

By the time I got the damn Jeep (yes, by this time, in my head, it was no longer "the Jeep" it was "the damn Jeep") into the yard I was ready to put it by the road with a big FREE sign on it. I was going to take the battery out first, of course, and get my $97.85 back. But, I couldn't do that to the boys. They were both way too excited for me to ruin the fun. So, I grabbed their little hands and led them into the yard. I was excited to see them delight in the freedom of the open, well yard, not road. Ian was SO pumped! He jumped right in, and I scooped up Eli, unsure of Ian's steering abilities. He stomped on the accelerator and.................nothing.

What the heck?!?! I walked over to make sure that he was fully pushing the pedal, making sure to stand to the side so I didn't get run over once he actually pushed the accelerator. While I carefully assisted, I had Ian push the accelerator. Still nothing. I pushed the forward/backward buttons in the floorboard. Still nothing. I had Ian crawl out of the Jeep and into the yard to wait while I ran my eyes over every square inch of that thing looking for ANYTHING out of the ordinary that would indicate a problem. After a VERY thorough examination that left me no closer to a solution than I was before Ian got out, I was ready to fly into a Clark Griswold rage! You know, at the end of "Christmas Vacation" when Clark finds out he has been enrolled in the Jelly of the Month Club instead of receiving a bonus to pay for the in-ground pool. It took every ounce of energy I had to not unleash a very animated and colorful verbal assault on the, once again, "damn Jeep."

I sent Cole a text, complete with a sad face, that the Jeep didn't work. While waiting for a sympathetic response, I pulled every outside toy out of the garage and into the driveway. Ian was still pretty bummed about not getting to drive, but Eli couldn't have cared less about the dead Power Wheels. Within a few minutes my phone was ringing, and it was Cole. I didn't even say, "Hello."; I just answered the phone with, "The Jeep doesn't work." Cole told me it did. He knew it did. As it turned out, I had accidentally swapped the new battery with the old battery. I was EXTREMELY glad it was a simple fix.

So, I quickly switched batteries and the Jeep came to life! Ian leaped into the driver seat and off he went. I figured that he might not be the greatest at steering since he was still a novice, but I was really surprised by how the maiden voyage went. I stood, with Eli on my hip, watching my little Ian boy drive off into the great blue yonder. He headed west through the side yard toward the driveway. Last summer we dug some stepping stones out of the yard, but we didn't have enough top-soil to fill all of the holes so there are still some significant dips in the yard. Ian hit the craters at full speed. The Jeep's shocks were put to the test as well as Ian's bony little heiny on the hard plastic seat. He held the wheel nice and steady and never lost control of the machine. As soon as he had reached smooth terrain again, he was already flying down a small hill and into the driveway. He started screaming like a maniac, and not because he was having fun but because he was terrified. I started sprinting through the yard as fast as my flip-flop clad feet would allow while yelling, "Take your foot off of the pedal! Take your foot off of the pedal!!!!"

Then Ian had his first automotive collision. First he hit his metal, police cruiser pedal car. The police car got caught on the front wheel of the Jeep and was now along for the ride, too. Next, he got hung up on two bubble lawn mowers. One was stuck to the Jeep, while the other had attached itself to the police car. I was fairly confident that the power of the sound waves leaving his mouth would knock the unwanted passengers free of the Jeep. They didn't. They weren't even powerful enough to get the lawn chair out of the way before he was dragging it in circles through the driveway as well, screaming the entire time. He just went round and round and round while I stood watching, laughing way too hard to be of any help.

The whole mess of events happened so incredibly fast I couldn't believe it. One second I was watching Ian's blonde head, glistening in the sun, bob across the yard in his Power Wheels, and the next I was laughing so hard I was afraid I was going to drop Eli. I ultimately sat Eli on the ground and ran in circles around Ian, who was stongly resembling Pig Pen but with a cloud of toys instead of dirt. Eventually, I was able to rush the Jeep and knock his foot off of the accelerator and the Power Wheels was powerful no more. I must say I'm very impressed with the power of that little 6-volt battery. It was able to power a Jeep hauling a 32 lb little boy, a 40 lb. metal police car, 2 bubble mowers, and a lawn chair.

It took quite a while before I was composed enough to pull all of the toys free of the Jeep's grasp. The accident didn't phase Ian at all. As soon as I gave him the green flag, he was back to driving. And his driving didn't get any better. He ran into the house more than once and generally had NO ability to steer in any direction other than the wrong direction. But, he had a blast and so did I just watching him.

The summer is still young, and hopefully, by the time the summer is over he will be an old pro. It's hard to believe that in 13 years we will be teaching him to drive an actual car. My hope for the future includes avoiding police cruisers, lawn mowers, and lawn chairs. I just don't see that I will find these things nearly as funny once he's behind the wheel for real.