In case my cousins in Canada are still checking in, C has been boning up on his metric system in preparation for this year's visit.
Today he told me he figured he was about a meter tall.
Yesterday he came out on the deck and dramatically announced, "Phew! It must be at least 25!"
More often than not I am forced to wake S and N from their naps in order to make it to preschool pick up and then on to meet the elementary school bus at the end of our street.
Sometimes they throw all their bedding on the floor before falling asleep and lately they've been removing outer layers of clothing.
Not wanting to break the spell of a good nap, I wait until the last possible moment, then mount the stairs, grab the twins, and run. I don't have time to redress them so I take them as is, in nothing but onsies.
They are still groggy, which makes them easier to wrangle into their car seats. After they are strapped in I hand them each cups of goldfish crackers which keeps them from crying half way to preschool when they finally wake up and realize they are in their car seats half naked.
Last week I was rushing them from crib to car seat when I realized mid-seat belt buckle that N had taken his shorts off and put them back on but that he'd put both his legs through one pant leg. Typical rookie mistake I chuckled. Then I took another look and had a Sharon Stone transvestite moment when I noticed that not only had he taken off his shorts, he'd also taken off his diaper - and this article of clothing - he had not bothered to put back on.
To be a seven-year old (make that seven and a half) and to have never lost a tooth is akin to being a 40-year-old virgin.
The magnitude of this event (or lack thereof) should not be underestimated by adults. Ask any preschooler and they will tell you, with longing in their voice, which of their friends have lost teeth.
There are days when C is convinced that he's destined to be the only elementary school student ever to be cursed with retaining all their baby teeth. Having his mother say things like, "don't worry Honey, you'll lose a tooth soon enough," is like having your mother tell you what a great catch you are and how "you'll meet the right girl soon enough."
Children talk about tooth loss amongst themselves in the same way adults casually discuss the weather. It's one of those universal subjects everyone seems to have a vested interest in.
"How 'bout them Sox?" translates in kid speak to "How 'bout them central incisors?"
Seated next to C at the school's Paint-your-Own-Pottery Night, I overheard one of C's friends announce he'd lost another tooth, as if it were old news.
"I haven't lost any teeth," C admitted, which is more than the 40-year-old virgin would be likely to divulge.
Of course it's not as if you can hide the facts. High school students can always brag about a fabricated love interest at summer camp, although they should remember not to get carried away with it. My high school boyfriend told me a yarn about two bridesmaids at his sister's wedding which I never swallowed. Years later he confessed and seemed sincerely bewildered when I said I knew it was a lie all along.
However when it comes to teeth there's no way to fake a big gaping hole in your smile.
Sometimes C will tell me that he's got a loose tooth and I have to go so far as to wiggle (or try to wiggle) the tooth to which he's referring, only to announce, "sorry Honey, I don't think she's the girl for you."
I'm confident that when he does finally lose a tooth I'll be alerted to the accomplishment.
I'm less confident that I'll be confided in regarding that other milestone.
I just hope it happens soon. Think of how demoralizing it would be if his five-year old brother loses one first.
The other day I had N on the changing table and he was this big poopy mess so I'm fumbling with a new diaper and he backs himself up against the wall leaving this big brown butt-shaped smear. Peed on the wall has been, poop smeared was a first. It reminded me of people sitting on copy machines and xeroxing their butts.
Yesterday I read about Amy Wilson, mother of three, who has a new memoir out titled "When Did I Get Like This?" in which she chastises herself for bad parenting practices such as feeding her children dinosaur chicken nuggets three times a week.
What gives? I'm a crappy, insecure parent. Where's my book deal?
Today I read that Caitlin Gallagher has been wearing her Diane von Furstenberg wrap around dress for 30 days in a row and blogging about it.
Since when is wearing the same clothes every day news? I do this all the time. I'm on day three of the outfit I have on right now. Wait - no - it's after midnight - make that day four.
Seems as if we're scraping the bottom of the idea barrel if wearing the same clothes for a month straight is the best gimmick we can come up with.
At least Ms. Gallagher could have made it an interesting outfit. A prom dress, a maid of honor frock, a halloween costume - with mask.
When I was taking children's literature at the community college I showed up one day to find that the classmate in the seat to my right was sporting a lion's tail.
"Production of The Wiz?" I asked.
He explained that the tail was the barometer by which he judged people. Those who crossed to the other side of the hall and avoided eye contact with him failed the test.
The article goes on to say that Ms. Gallagher posted a link to her blog on Diane von Furstenburg's Facebook page and when she heard that Ms. DvF had read the blog, said she, "never, never would have dreamed that she would read it."
This seems disingenuous. Why post to someone's FB page if you don't expect or at least hope the other person will read it? Isn't that the whole point?
If not then why the blog? Why the article in the Globe?
I'm not faulting Ms. Gallagher, merely pointing out that she wanted to get caught.
No blog, no glory, as the saying goes.
So go ahead, wear the same dress every day for a month, feed your kid chicken nuggets repeatedly for lunch - but don't think you're original.
C brought home this little piece of propaganda from the school library last week. It's about a happy go lucky pool of crude who goes from a boring existence beneath the ocean to being something useful - like a plastic water bottle! And then - tah dah! He's fleece pull over! I'm looking forward to the sequel, The Adventures of a Dirty Oil Slick.
It's too bad people aren't still having 8 to 12 kids any more. Given how slowly I learn from my mistakes, by the time a hit my 12th, I might have some idea of what I'm doing. This week it finally occurred to me that I shouldn't bother to put shoes (or socks) on my two year olds when leaving for an outing. Since they are going to take them off anyway, why not just stick the shoes (and socks) in the front seat of the car and put them on the children upon arrival. It's far easier then searching the middle row of the mini van trying to find them. Just today I learned that you should never ever put five candles in your son's stack of french toast, birthday or no birthday, until said toast has cooled off.
It's really hard to buy a present for your almost five year old when his two current obsessions are Moby Dick and maps. Today he showed me this drawing. It's of Moby Dick and Captain Ahab. You'll note that Captain Ahab has been drawn with anatomical correctness - he only has one leg.