On corn mazes, 5 o'clock shadows, and spooky buddies.

Ohhh man.  I know.  Long time.  Seems I say that at the top of most posts lately.  Unfortunately, it's true.

Fact is, it's so tough to just get home from work, and dig up the energy to a play for a couple of hours with the kids before bedtime.  Weekends are for cleaning, shopping, potty training (please remind me to tell you about that one!), and for possibly having an adult conversation with my husband if we manage to be in the same room for 30 minutes together.

Many times I've thought of you.  But an episode of Hoarders and a glass of wine just seemed like the right thing to do. 

So let's start with some updates and hopefully we can get back where we left off. 

The kids are big.  And when I say big, what I really mean, is that they both say words I understand, and that I'm not always proud they are saying in public.  Cole has asked me why "that lady is so much bigger than you" in the grocery checkout line, and Till has yelled "poop" in church.  I'm way more worried about Till stringing words together.  I can already tell that little apple is not so far from her tree.

I'm home with the kids alone most weekends because Bill works, so we've needed to be creative with our activities. 

Even Buzz is up for a good tea party every now and then.  And he's lovely company.

The kids and I met up with our old neighbors at the local pumpkin festival a few weeks back.  To think that I used to be terrified to take these children out to events by myself is hysterical now.  I strapped the Tills to my back, pushed Cole in the stroller, and we had a grand time.  Cole rode a pony, Till had her face painted and we all slept well that night.

Cutest pumpkin. . .ever?  It's okay, you don't have to state the obvious.

We did get lost in the corn maze, though, and ended up walking out the entrance.  Which, for those of you wondering, was indeed right next to the exit.  Who knew?

Miss Matilda had a blast running away from me.  And seeing as the corn rows were planted about a Till's width from each other, I'm shocked she didn't just run straight through the corn to the other side!

It was about 85 degrees that day and the maze smelled like a wet dog.  The heat was so bad that I barely minded when Till ate watermelon on my neck.

It kind of felt nice.  At first.  Before it was sticky and attracted bees.

Bill's imagination is always better than my own and he made cardboard cut-outs of the kids one day while I was at work.  When I got home, the kids were lying on their selves, watching a movie.

Creepy, right?

They call them their "spooky buddies" and I agree.  Funny how they need to be lying right on them to play with them.  And why are their legs so wavy?!?

What's creepier to me is Till's 5 o'clock chocolate shadow:

The number of pictures I have of this kid apparently filthy, is ridiculous. 

But what's the neatest, besides their blossoming vocabularies ("Mommy, is that a moustache?"  Thanks Cole, thanks.) Is that they are really starting to be each other's friends.  They play together at school, and at home.  They play with the same toys, say the same things, eat the same food.  They hide on me in the same places.  They giggle together at nap time even though I tell them to ignore each other 100 times.  They're friends.  That's so neat.

The other night, they were watching a movie together and made a fort.  A fort in our house is when you drape a throw blanket over a little folding table.  Our definition of fort is going to stay the same for as long as I can possibly make it.  If I make forts anything like I build Legos, it won't be pretty.

They were sharing a bowl of popcorn, a blanket, a fort, and a movie.  It. was. precious.

Almost worth having another. 

No it isn't.  That was a test. I'm not sure you passed.

Anyway, I'll post more often.  I've got pictures of my recent canning efforts, and some fantastic homemade finger paints we made the other day.  Oh, and tomorrow is Halloween.  I can't possibly leave you hanging on that.  I will, however, try to behave a little better than I did last year.  No promises.

Speech Therapists and Cracked Tomatoes



We started speech therapy a few weeks ago.  I finally couldn't put it off any longer.  And it was terrifying.

It was terrifying because no matter how common it is, or how quickly it's overcome, or how much everyone (and I do mean everyone) reassures you. . .the point is, there's a problem. . .

. . .with your child.

Or maybe with you.  Because if you had just made sure to work on those "f's" or "l's" or "t's" a little more seriously. . .maybe we wouldn't be here.  Maybe if I'd really pressed him to eat his vegetables, went to bed earlier, brushed three times a day, read more books. . .

. . .maybe?

It was one of the most emotional things I've done yet as a parent.  Watching him work with a therapist because he needs a little help doing what most kids do effortlessly.  It was humbling. The therapist is great and Cole calls his time with her his "word game time." He likes going.  He likes the therapist.  He likes his "f's", but only at the beginning of a word.

And I know he's a smart kid and this is no big deal.  He'll catch on and that we're lucky.  But it still bothered me.

When we met with our new pediatrician, the first thing she asked me was if I understood what Cole said.  And no, for the record, not all the time. . .but do I want to?  It was enough for me to ask for a new doctor.  That one clearly has no clue.  That was a year ago.

His language never really got better.  I think we understood more, because we'd been hearing it longer and had longer to piece it together.  He doesn't need to say much to get me running.  He knows that.

See what I'm saying about this being my problem?

Anyway, we've been going awhile and he's just about mastered his "f's".  Next week we tackle the "l's".  And it's one more person in this giant support system we've cultivated that helps us raise Cole.  It's truly amazing when you think about it.  All the people that teach our kids, whether we realize it or not.  Whether we realize we need their help, or not. 

And week after week, I sit in the corner of the room and watch their session intently. . . I'm practicing so I'll know what to say or do with Tills. . .so we won't end up back here.  I keep my hands on my lap and pump a little fist when Cole says the word right.  I pretend I'm not paying attention when he gets it wrong. 

I struggle over what the therapist calls "modeling instead of correcting."  I don't think I have that down, yet.  How often should I be going through his flash cards?  Where's that fine line between supporting and insane?  Prepared and pressured?

We'll figure it out. I'm pretty sure Cole already has! We'll probably be done with this in no time and I'll look back and think this was pretty silly.  But if I didn't share it with you. . .I'd  forget it.  And then how would we make fun of me years from now?

What I could use is a vegetable therapist!  I've been meaning to show you the fruits of my gardening labors this summer.  It's not pretty.

Here's what I got from the tomato plants. . .

Guess I'll stick to speech pathologists and farmers markets.  Oy!

Mom, mom, ma, mom, take a picture. . mom, ma, mom, a picture mom. . .

. . .a picture mom, of me, and car, and growl, and mom, ma, mom, take a picture. . .

OKAY COLE!  FINE!

NOW TAKE A NAP. 

Sunday, funday!

Here's proof. . .Matilda can smile!

But then she does something like this. . .

At least they played nicely. . .for a brief time. . .