spring!

i took this photo on my drive home from work yesterday. and when alex bounced home from school announcing, 'it's the first day of spring mom. which means we just never know if it's going to be sunny or rainy or cold or warm or cloudy or if there will be a rainbow or not.' she pretty much nailed it.

ian said he had a fact to share too. 'wait for it........', he taunted.

and then he proceeded to TOOT, loudly followed by laughter. i, of course did not find that amusing and excused myself from the table for a minute to pull my of course i was amused but totally horrified self together. when i returned 'straight faced' i asked him where he heard such a thing. this 'wait for it'.

'i made it up mom, i just thought it would be funny. you know, you say 'wait for it' and someone thinks something good is going to happen and BAM, it's a toot' giggles, laughter, and falling out of his chair at the dinner table ensues.

i then explained that this was not appropriate (not the wait for it, but the part that came next) and whichever 5th grade boys mouth he learned this trick from, his mother should be ashamed. just like i was.

but then i got to thinking how our conversation was quite profound. come march & april, when you live in the pacific northwest, you just CANNOT wait for spring to start. you throw yourself into the outdoors all pale, with dark circles under your eyes. your tired and vitamin D deficient. you shed you sherpa coats, knee high rain boots and snuggies and turn the thermostat in your house down 2 degrees to a comfortable 68.

you are so tired of the cold and rain, a tiny tulip bud poking threw your leaf strewn, over-grown, and soggy yard can bring tears to your eyes. the happy kind.

you feel hope, because you've waited for it. a-l-l w-i-n-t-e-r long.

and then the inevitable happens. what comes next is 3-4 months of just never knowing if it's going to be sunny or rainy or cold or warm or cloudy or if there will be a rainbow or not and you dream of summer.

and you wait for it.

fumian

each year, the kids school celebrates the 100th day of school. they usually have a celebration and everyone has to bring in 100 of the same object to count and/or share. the teacher's usually bring in 100 cheerios, or marshmallows, or chocolate chips for all the kids to count and then eat. 

for us parents, it's usually just another tuesday but for the kids it's something special.

today, ian brought home his 100th day of school learning packet and after opening and reading, it had sean and i practically on the floor in tears.

from laughing.

ian's teacher applied for a grant last year that allowed each child to have their own personal iPad in class. they do a lot of work on the iPad and email the teacher. they write, draw, and do math. occasionally, i'll randomly get an email from ian while at work with his special work of the day. this packet was done from the iPad.

first, the 'i wish i had 100...'

anyone know what njogo's are?

and then, 'i'm glad i do not have 100...'

'thblu's?'

and finally 'if i had $100...'

'i gir a bed' because we currently make him sleep on the hard cement floor. with only a placemat for comfort.

also included in his backpack paper stash this week was a valentines love letter from my boy. 

i'm thinking it is supposed to say 'mommy, hope you have a happy valentines, from ian'

and with that, sean and i have decided to start calling him 'fumian'

fridays

friday nights are party time. i mean, it's all about staying up late, letting loose, hanging out with friends, and shaking off the stresses of the week.

lies.

maybe 8 years ago we counted down the days of the work week to make it to friday. we'd meet up with friends at about the time we go to bed now. we'd bar hop around, and come home after midnight. but we are old now and need extra rest and take vitamins in the masses.

See? I've traded in friday night purple hooter consumption for this wrinkle reducing, hair volumizing, immune system boosting, skin rejuvenating, fatigue battling, anemia fighting nightly regime. 

typically, i'm asleep at 8:45 after watching half a movie. sean stays up later because he has a concerning addiction to the 'west wing' right now and is on episode 115 of 160 some. 

these days, we pick up dinner and a redbox and get home as quickly as we can.  We all change into jammies before the clock strikes 6:30 because it's friday and it's a PARTY AT THE KOLMERS, bring your skivvies and pink socks.

YOUR 5 YEAR OLD, TELLING LIES.

since i found out i was 'with child' which is nearly 93 months ago i have been getting monthly emails from babycenter.com. i get little notes, tidbits, and things to think about regarding your '7 year old' or your '5 year old'. this month's was, 'your 5-year old-telling lies'.

i barely read these emails anymore. i mean, i totally have this parenting thing down now (i lie). but i've since gone back and read the article. because, apparently i have a sneaky little liar on my hands. and really, if there is a whole article about 5 year olds lying, it must mean that a) my kid is normal and b) i'm not failing as a parent being the mom of a liar lair pants on fire, amiright?

ian has been having trouble concentrating in school. he has trouble focusing and staying on task. the teacher has emailed me with her plan of placing a sticky note on his desk and if he is asked more than once to 'settle down' or 'pay attention' or 'please stop bouncing and throwing your pencils across the room' or is told to 'keep your hands to yourself and stop saying poop'. he get's a check that he then has to bring home.

last week i challenged him and said if he came home without any check marks, i'd take him out for ice-cream.

and on FRIDAY when i picked up the kids from school ian proclaimed 'MOM  I DON'T HAVE A STICKY NOTE! I GOT NO CHECKS TODAY!'

yay! cheers! alex and i praise him. i tell him how proud i am of him we are going for ice cream! of course it's friday and i'm brain-dead and tired and want to be home in my sweat pants. the kids on the other hand, are full of boundless energy and want to spend the next hour at the yogurt place. but, i'm the boss and i win so i say 'let's go to safeway for a giant tub of mint chocolate chip and a red box!'

alex whines, complains and pitches her 7 year old tween fit. ian obliges, happily. 'sounds good to me mom'.

no complaints, i should have seen the signs.

last night at bedtime, in the middle of story hour ian confesses.

I: 'mom, so. on friday, i had a substitute teacher'

M: 'oh really (i say not putting 2:2 together)'

I: 'yes, mrs. kolb was sick'

M: 'alright buddy, want to finish your book?'

I: 'well (he stammers) the thing is substitute teacher didn't know about the sticky notes. but i still didn't get any checks or be silly'

M: 'did the teacher ever have to ask you to pay attention or settle down?'

I: 'nope'

I: 'maybe only one time.'

I: 'in the morning, but twice after lunch'.

M: 'thanks for telling me buddy, it seems like you should have told me friday when i took you for ice-cream'. by telling me the truth, i may have rewarded you anyway. it's always best to tell the truth'.

I: 'i also didn't brush my teeth this morning like i said, can i have a reward?'

dear 5 year old Ian,

i'm writing this to you now when your 5 because, i think it's my favorite age. now, i'm pretty sure i said that when you were 1, and 2, and 3 and 4. well maybe not 3, but definitely the others. it's the age i find myself staring at you just as i did alex at 5...with wonder, with hope, with happiness. sometimes with frustration. your little personality is shining through. you're 'figuring it out'. you need me, but not as much. you're not a baby, but you constantly remind us we aren't done parenting. not by a long shot. you challenge us, you make us laugh, and at least once a day cause your dad and i too look at each other with a mutual look of acknowledgement of just how much we love you. 

i figure, someday when you are reading more than just long vowels you'll read this and wonder what you were like at 5. so here goes.

yesterday was a really super day for mommy. you've been having a lot of anger and frustration lately and it's left me nervous that we are doing something wrong. we've been talking with your teacher and your after school daycare counselor about your crazy energy and silliness. focusing in class is not super easy for you at 5. sometimes i feel guilty that i chose to put you in full day kindergarten before you were ready. sometimes i feel guilty that i can't be home after school for you to come home to after school. when you and alex tell me you're sad i have to work. i feel guilty.

i know your tired. i know that school is a big transition and creates a lot of expectations. your dad and i have been working on ways to keep your attention and reward you positively. we've been trying to build your confidence at school so you enjoy it more. yesterday, your teacher sent me an email that you've asked me to read to you over and over again. 

it said,

Ian is a rockstar reader!  He read long vowel words to me today!  He said that he was trying hard in all of his work - and he is right!  

He has also been a good listener and not being silly.  I am so impressed with his work.

Mrs. Kolb

when you came running through the door after school screaming, 'did you get the email mom? did you get the email?' my heart melted. you may have been more proud than your dad and i. and that's saying a lot and maybe even impossible.

i love 5. i love that you sneak into our bed at 4 am so we can snuggle. i love that your dad pretends to be annoyed, but really isn't. i love how you're so good at angry birds and mariokart. i love that you are learning to read. i love that you'll go shoot hoops underhand for hours and always say 'good job' when someone else makes a shot. i love that you compliment our neighbors on their 'cool christmas lights'. i love how you bop your head to music in the car and pretend to sing along but not so loud than anyone can hear. i love how you always get mixed up on your favorite sports teams which are really your dad's favorite sports teams and say your favorite baseball team is the bears. i love how your dad always smiles and follows up with, 'red sox buddy'. 

i don't like that your getting too big for me to hold. i try anyway, and it usually results in a sore back or pinched neck. i don't like that i have to shop in the big boys clothes for you now, and that your starting to have an opinion on what you wear. i don't like that your dad cut your hair too short and look even older than you are. i don't like that most days i only have 2 short hours to spend with you. i don't like that each day that passes, you'll only get older than the last. 

love you my ian bian.
mommy

funnies.

it's been awhile since i've posted some funnies. and maybe they aren't really funny, and i'm just a sleep deprived hag that would laugh if your 5 year old spilled a gallon of orange juice all over your just cleaned kitchen floor.

oh wait, that really happened.

most of what happens in our house these days, is not funny. the mornings are spent frantically rushing around to get us all out the door with all the right things. mom and dad need their coffee, kids need their lunches and camp gear, and sunscreen on their faces. dog needs food, water, and his bed drug into the laundry room where he resides when we are gone to prevent the chomping of alex's last remaining barbies that actually still have heads and arms. 

then we go to work. and we do what we do there.

then i get home at 6, and start the drill sergeant routine of bossing the kids around to drag the dog's bed to where it belongs, feed him once again, put their shoes and backpacks away, and throw their lunches in the sink. dinner's made, baths are had, stories are read and we all dump ourselves into bed.

not a lot of time for funny. so maybe i hold on to the funny that happens at inopportune times when you aren't expecting the funny. maybe i make funny out of the not so funny. 

luckily or unluckily, i have a nice long commute that a) gives me 45 minutes of 'me time' before i pick up the kids and then another 30 of 'quality time' jibber jabbing with them on the way home about their day and answering ian's 1 trillion questions that he's apparently been harboring all. day. long.

'mom, i'd like to talk about god. is she pretty as you? and was she the first human alive in the universe?'

before i have a chance to answer, he's moved on to the next...

'mom, if the sun fell down would it always be the night?'

'mom, do you think bee's are scary? do they know they sting you or is it an accident? what if we had a bee for a pet? can we get a turtle?'

and as we pass mcdonald's each day, and I come up with yet another excuse WHY WE CANNOT STOP (albeit the quick and easy option) conversations as follows occur:

Ian: 'Can we go to McDonalds?'
Me: (silence)
Ian: 'I want a new mom'
Me: 'we can go to Safeway and get you a new one'
Ian: 'I guess I'll just keep you'
Alex: 'AWKWARD'

or

Ian: 'Mom, is Sunriver in India and can I take my water gun on the airplane?'

(Sunriver is a three hour drive from our house)

and sometimes it's laughter as opposed to crying as the two fight over their respective art projects, ask for snacks i do not have, proclaiming out of fatigue and car boredom that they 'hate their lives' or 'are proud of nobody'. Or, when I almost get run off the road by an impaired driver, get sprayed by a sprinkler (while inside my car), and spill a large diet coke on my lap on a day i cave at the mcdonald's request.

ian, since he was 2, and we made that impeccably irresponsible decision to move him from his crib to a 'big boy bed', has been teetering on the edge of either cracking us up at bedtime, or driving us madly insane. 

one night, rather than sleeping he came to the top of the stairs to tell us the following in an effort to stay up:

1. Dad, you smell like rotting tomatoes
2. Mom, my wall broke
3. It smells like dog food in my room
4. My blankets are too heavy on my bruise

other complaints arise regarding non-existent slivers, dying of thirst, and being concerned that he hasn't yet read all the books on his bookshelf. between these stairway visits, we hear sounds that have sean and i wondering if there are 12 construction men upstairs tearing down walls. he tears his room apart, has pillow fights with himself, and talks and sings until ultimately, he ends up falling asleep (rarely on his own bed) and can be found most often on his floor on a pile of blankets and toys, or in our bed. 

recently, while on vacation he told his pop that he must be 'really really really really old' and asked his gramma if she really retired, or was she just fired? the brutally honest observations of a 5 year old....

in other news, his pathological lying has somewhat waned and we believe that all the google searches of 'everything my 5 year old says is a lie' were correct in that it is a normal stage of development and ensures our youngster has an incredible imagination and that we should feel confident he's maturing normally. 

if nothing else he's extremely modest like his father, and would never go outside in his skivvies wearing nothing but a bike helmet and tennis shoes.

oh wait...

five.

i thought i was going un-noticed. that my lack of blogging would just disappear into cyber land and nobody would know I had left. but when i traveled east last week to see sean's amazing family, i realized that i was wrong. i have a few loyal followers who even though months have passed, check for updates each day and in a very nice and not pushy way, called me out.


so, i figure there is some catching up to do. and i have many stories to tell, but first there is an important person to discuss...

ian.


my ian turned 5 last month, and even still i have to look at the ceiling and blink a few times to avoid tearing up. my baby. discussing the fact he's going to kindergarten this year, cannot even be a topic of discussion in our house. and the fact that i found so much joy in holding his giant, long body in the airport last night while he slept in my throbbing arms is a topic better suited for a therapist I suppose. 


there is something about 5. you come to terms when your kids turn 2, that they aren't a baby anymore. then 3 and 4, they are still so little. at 5, something changes. they have ideas and thoughts, and big questions. they don't need you as much in the ways that have become so normal over the years. they get dressed and brush their teeth on their own, and can open the fridge and help themselves to a snack. there is no surprise that society deemed this the age kids can go off to school and leave the arms of their mommies to learn and become smart, and grown-ups. sigh.


the last 5 years have flown by. i think about alex the day he was born. how much she has changed. i think about the week following his birth which held so much fear and uncertainty. i think about how much he's grown and how much he has stayed the same. and i think about what our life would be without him. we were a family when we had alex, but now we are so much more.


this week, we were at an amusement park and the kids had just finished a ride. upon getting off they couldn't find me right away. alex grabbed ian's hand and pulled him close looking frantically all around for me. i saw her turn to him, and assure him that mom was close and to stick with her. he looked at her with the most genuine look of trust and smiled. and the tears well up again...


as we were waiting for our flight home last night (trip posts to follow), and i held him as he slept, a family of 7 came and sat near us. i watched the siblings fighting over a bag of cheetos from the vending machine. i saw the mother struggling with bags and looking exhausted. it's these moments where my heart splits in two in my want for a larger family and the fear of what that would mean for us. i saw her pull out a giant bag of pill bottles and rest them on her lap, she slouched back in her chair and let out a deep sigh. i glanced to the father also looking exhausted while trying to care for all the kids and that's when i saw their middle son.


he was bald from chemotherapy, and had a 'make a wish foundation' necklace around his neck. he carried his many souvenirs from disney world with a giant smile on his face. he sat next to his mother and put his hand on her back and he smiled and said, 'tired mom?' 

at that moment, i thanked god for the health of my kids. parents talk about the struggles of parenthood, and the fatigue of sleep deprivation. they talk about the balance of work and home life. they discuss the best diet for their children, and the trendy toys of the year, they want the best for their children. the best schools, the best life, the best programs and activities and i'm guilty of all of this. but in that one moment, all i wanted was for the continued health of these two amazing kids in my life.


like those mornings after one too many glasses of wine when you proclaim, 'i'm never drinking again!' i vowed, (as i have before) to never take the health of my family for granted again. not ever.


so on ian's 5th birthday, i'm so thankful for the last 5 years and i'm so hopeful that he'll have 100 more. he is a bright, caring, LOUD AND BOISTEROUS love who cares immensely for his sister and LOVE LOVE LOVES his momma (and dad) and has the best one liners!


this year, despite the struggle to get everyone together on his birthday (the 4th of july holiday sends so many out of town) i decided, it was his year for a smashing party and he chose superhero theme (i'll post pics of the party shortly) i made him part of the planning, asking his opinion on 'this and that', showing him pictures on pinterest on possible cake ideas. he looked forward to this day for weeks.

this year, he's so big, and SO OLD we got him a set of golf clubs so that one day, he can buy his momma a great big house and an Audi TT from winning the PGA tour. this kid has a swing that will blow your mind and a smile that will melt your heart.

all in one day

last night was alex's first grade conference. it's a goal setting conference to discuss progress and goals for the rest of the year. alex and i sat down with her teacher and discussed very important first grade things. first her teacher laughed and said, 'wow, don't you two look alike'. i told her how i was the spitting image of her at that age. i told her that my grandparents often call alex 'carrie' by mistake as even after 27 20 years they still see me as that curly haired 6 year old. we also discussed things like what her teacher loves most about alex. 'she always follows the rules', she said. 'she always listens, pays attention, and that is the best thing a student can do for her teacher'. I beamed.

i also kind of smiled and shook my head. this child is me. i always followed the rules in school. i always listened, and i never wanted to disappoint or be in trouble. i mean, a few times the social butterfly in me earned me a seat outside the classroom for 'chatting' and a passed note was read in front of the class. but otherwise, ANGEL.

i wished sean was there to hear. he was doing something equally important (talking to important people about important things) i also wished i wasn't tearing up and acting like a total emotional wreck. i apologized and dabbed at my eyes, 'sorry, i'm just exhausted.' she smiled, 'you should be proud, she's a great kid'.

we then discussed her schoolwork, how she is in the top reading class and according to her teacher, 'I can't really come up with any necessary goals as she's doing great'. she then assigned her some extra projects to keep her challenged which included a book report, and the challenge of over-coming some of her 'shyness' by raising her hand and speaking up in class more often. also, something she acquired from yours truly.

alex can be challenging at times. she is emotional and stubborn. she is not the most independent child and she has a bit of a temper. but, she is also very smart like her dad and i'm convinced has his photographic memory and mixed with her mom's desire to be a 'people pleaser' she makes a great little student. i'm so proud of my little 6 year old.

now let's rewind an hour to where i picked up ian from school. i was approached by his teachers on tuesday with another issue. whenever ian's sign out sheet has a note 'see teacher', i never know what to expect. for instance on friday, sean picked him up and was told that he was running around the playground with his pants down chasing girls. i have never been so thankful to have asked sean to grab him that day. oh the embarrassment. but on this tuesday, the problem was this: 'ian, after 4-5 helpings of lunch is complaining of a stomach ache. we want to know how you'd like us to handle that.'

i'm not gonna lie. i laughed.

my sweet, caring, emotional, empathetic little boy is also a bruiser, a human wrecking ball, and he can eat like a grown man. he is most recently known for running into his room and super man flying onto his bed. when he hurts himself (which happens 90% of the time) he responds with, 'when am i ever gonna learn' crying through tears the phrase we say to him a million times in one week. also this week, during the hectic 30 minutes before we all leave the house was something that went a bit like this:

(immediately following a series of crashes and bangs and an overall sound of what can only be compared to an earthquake)

sean: ian, i just don't understand you. i cannot keep you safe.

ian: i wasn't even being crazy

(another serious of loud noises)

sean: ian, you are going to hurt yourself!

ian: no, i'm not

(tears and wails from ian as he apparently crashed into some cupboards)

sean (mumbling): i cannot keep you safe from yourself. sit on the stairs until it's time to go, i don't know what else to do to keep you alive.

anyway, back to the school sitch. i suggested they cut his helpings down to just 2nds or 3rds and if after a half an hour he is ethiopian style STARVING they could give him something else to eat but chances are, he will have long forgotten about food and be more interested in throwing large objects towards the ceiling, running in circles, and folding paper airplanes. sure enough it worked.

and today? 'Carrie, we did as you said and he's been doing much better'.

i love this preschool so much. for loving my crazy son for the good, the bad, and the weird he brings each day.

all in one day i find myself just so swollen with pride over alex's school report and at the same time oddly proud that ian is no longer eating himself sick at lunchtime.

The trials and tribulations of home ownership and a human wrecking ball.

there are days that i'd like to sell all i own, and move to an 800 square foot loft in the pearl district. i want cement floors throughout that I can sweep with a push broom in a giant drain into the center of the room. If they are really dirty, I'll hose them down. i want a couch, a chair and a television mounted on the wall AND NOTHING ELSE. we won't have toys, or tiny metal cars to puncture the bottom of our foot on. we'll live the simple, non-cluttered, minimalist lifestyle that does not coincide with child rearing.

so for fun, we'll go to the park and roam the streets of downtown. we'll live the city life and we'll have time to do this because we won't be raking up 9 giant bags of leaves, or replacing the floors in our bathrooms.

one can dream.

3 weeks ago, we wanted to do the responsible thing and upgrade our downstairs toilet to a more energy efficient model. that, and it couldn't handle our son. or, anything for that matter that required more than one square sheet of tissue paper. basically it was worthless. so on a saturday family outing to home depot we picked up a beautiful kohler thrown and left the store shaking our heads at the things you get excited about in your 30's.

sean is now a pro at replacing toilets and this being his 3rd installation thought it would be a 20 minute job and he'd be watching football by noon. hahahahaha.

ahem.

basically it went like this:

1. sean removes toilet

2. sean begins swearing

3. i run into the bathroom and find him scraping the wood floor beneath the toilet WITH A SPOON. that stuff was coming up like chocolate pudding.

so after a brief assessment we realize the entire floor is not just dry rot, but wet rot. so we do what any responsible home-owner does and spent the next few days ignoring the problem. we thanked our lucky stars the floor did not give way while grandma was visiting and we shut the door and weighed our options. put the house up for sale? no. hire someone to come and charge us a million dollars? uh, no.

so we called my dad who over the course of the last three weeks has once again saved our bank account from a significant casualty. so now for steps 4-10

4. sean and dad tear out the floor. FUN!

5. it becomes clear special order wood is needed. YAY.

6. 2 weeks later we locate 'special wood' at parr lumber in albany for $8. SCORE.

7. sean barrels down I-5 with a 12 foot board sticking out the back of his pimp honda accord. TOTALLY SAFE.

8. sean and dad install new floor, replace tiles, and install toilet base. WE ARE ALMOST HOME FREE.

9. somehow during #8 (explanation vague) a hole was put into the sheet rock.

10. i arrive home after a few hours of errands hoping to find the project done, but instead come home to a cracked toilet tank in the middle of the garage floor and a very guilty looking 4 year old who apparently was 'helping'. SUPER.

so although i'm sleeping better knowing raccoons can no longer crawl into my house at will, we still have a hole in the wall and half a toilet which SURPRISE SURPRISE requires a special order replacement tank for a mere $80 extra dollars. here's the crime scene. I took the opportunity to draw a tank and the line below the toilet use to be the raccoon and opossum's entry site. I KNOW THEY LIVED IN THERE FOR A WHILE. with the spiders.

thanks to my dad for getting us through this disaster and thanks to sean for remaining relatively calm and patient during this difficult time.

the sick is back.

it's that glorious time of year again. the time of year that northwester's prepare for their 9 month hibernation by retreating into their homes clutching their bottles of vitamin d (and other drugs) their backs into the corner crouched on their hind legs in the fetal position, rocking back and forth waiting to live again. or wait, maybe that's just me. i am reminded that for those optimistic types this time of year brings that crisp cold air, crackling fires, beautiful fall foliage, homemade soups and fall tv premiers. for 'others' it brings sadness, a deep desire to sell all you own and buy a one way ticket to somewhere, silent fights over the thermostat and last but not least, it brings the sick.

each year, like clockwork as the kids return to school (which i'm not positive is really school but a giant, airless room where kids hold hands, cough in each others faces, and smear snot on every germ adhering surface) i wait 7-10 days for the symptoms to start.

and sure enough. they came.

september thru may we spend the weekends seeking indoor activity for the kids, we take them to children's museums, omsi (a hands on, snot science establishment), and any enclosed plastic padded jungle gym we can find. we travel to grocery stores with antibacterial wipes to swipe the shopping carts down in hopes of eliminating just half of the microscopic vermin waiting to pounce. then, monday thru friday we juggle sick kids and work and sit at our desks waiting for the phone to ring and wonder if fever, cold, flu, pink eye, or the swine will be the culprit this time.

i love this time of year.

last week, a co-worker PISSED at another co-worker decided to park her sick face at my desk and complain in between sneezes. i mean, how ignorant to come to work infecting those around you right? popping cough drops one by one, she bitched. and today, i thanked her personally for spreading the love and with the turn of my heal left her desk with her leftover bag of hall's mentho-lyptus. in cherry flavor.

to make matters worse, ian has been showing signs of what my grandmother (who wrote a book on parenting and teaches classes on the subject) calls 'indulgent behavior' by claiming he's sick, or his stomach hurts at the drop of a hat. it is usually following a request to brush his teeth, or pick up his toys where he will flail to the ground in a fit of pain and grab his legs and cry, 'MY LEGS'.

the kid knows his mother is a)deathly afraid of 'the sick' and b)is a self admitted (mild) hypochondriac. in other words, he get's attention for this behavior in the form of me kind of flailing to the ground in a fit of 'woe is me' claiming the world may be ending and how will i juggle life and work and the sick. all, while sick. people call me dramatic.

i need to work on that.

so, we deliver him to school each day with stomach aches, headaches, and feelings of near death and hope for the best. we've talked with his teachers and received permission to do so and i've gotten pretty good at driving to work and getting through my day, all with my fingers crossed.

this morning ian stumbled into our room rubbing his eyes and in the sweetest (i'm about to melt your heart) voice said he 'hates mondays and doesn't feel good'. he then crawls into my lap, the lap i just drug out of bed after wavering for 15 minutes between snoozes on whether my cough was bad enough to call in sick and says, 'can't you just stay home with me?'

i have never wanted to indulge him so bad in my life. so, here we go. andy williams sang it's the most miserable wonderful time of the year. we'll see about that. please feel free to disregard all posts until may unless you'd like to join in on what will surely be the diary of a crazed woman.

Ian Patrick Kolmer, NICU, ER, MBA.

so far, these are ian's 'credentials'. he received his 'NICU' when he was a few weeks old and the medical and panda express (ambulance) bills started rolling in. we joked that he wouldn't be getting a college education due to the medical bills in his first week of life and we'd surely be paying off the debt of his 1 week stay at OHSU until he was 34. in addition, the yearly visits to doernbecker for hearing tests and screenings would cut into any contributions we could make into a college fund.

last week, ian furthered his education beyond NICU and received a degree in 'ER'. just one short week after i stupidly proclaimed my shock that ian (our rough and tumble, crazy, can't ever walk boy) had never had stitches or some other serious injury aside from your average goose egg.

i'm now eating my words as 8 stitches slowly dissolve into Ian's head.

thirty five minutes before sean and I were to leave for edgefield to enjoy some golf and a fleet foxes concert with friends, cries from the cul-de-sac caused a change of plans. our neigbor (age 6) who the day before had her training wheels removed from her bike, plowed into ian (on his bike) causing him to hit the pavement. then, she ran over his face.

15 minutes later, we are in the ER.

the aftermath

day 2

day 3

day 4

for his quick recovery and his bravery, I'm awarding him with an honorary 'MBA' (major bad ass) degree. what a sport, what a bruiser.

And we stifle our laughs...

Ian is at this hilarious age. I feel like everything he says or does is funny. Even if it's wrong, naughty or inappropriate. In these instances we deliver the solemn faced punishment, advise him of our disappointment and then run with our hands over our mouths into the other room to laugh in private.

We went through a two month period where each and every day I picked him up from school, I would wait for the teacher to pull me aside. I'd see a note jotted on the sign in sheet. 'SEE TEACHER', it would say. I'd tip my head back, roll my eyes and like a kid in trouble would sulk to the teacher and ask, 'what this time?'

Usually it was in regards to his 'potty words'. What is it about boys and these 'no-no' words? I DO NOT KNOW. We don't talk like that in our house. At least not in front of the kids and from a young age we worked to instill the words we wanted them to use that were of our liking. But of course, there is JUST so much you can control about a 3 year old. The final straw was when Ian received a stronger course of action at school for swatting another boy on the rear in the restroom. Now to me, this is just part of being a boy? I mean, he's just advanced, right? Isn't that what happens in the boys locker room? On the football field? Regardless, he rec'd weeks of solitary bathroom use and could not enter the boys restroom unless alone.

As I'd buckle him in the car each day and dole out the punishment for the night (usually something taken from him, (the privilege to drive his electric car, his favorite toy, or the after dinner t.v. show) he would pout his lip, cross his arms and one day he exclaimed, 'I hate you'.

I gasped. I retracted from him shaking my head in disappointment. My 3 year old son hated me.

I remember as a kid the word, 'hate' not being allowed in our house. Low and behold, we are fighting the same battles in our 4 and now 6 year old. Alex started it, surely picking up the word from school and when frustrated, mad, or what have you would scream, 'I hate myself!'. This of course was hilarious to us as, I think she really meant to say, 'I hate this' or that or the situation, maybe even 'I hate you'. Regardless, 'I hate myself' would send us sneaking out of the room to hide our grins. It was time for an intervention.

We buckled down alongside the teachers, working together to nip this problem in the bud and I'm happy to say that after a week or two of swift and diligent consequences for his actions he was on the up and up.

One Friday, after 5 whole days without a timeout or 'potty word' at school I buckled Ian in his car seat, I told him how proud I was of him. I said, 'this deserves a reward with a dinner out!' His response, 'Ah Mom. Thanks! I don't hate you anymore!' After dinner, the kids got to choose a 'shot' of dessert of their choice. These are adorable, tiny sized desserts that fit in a double shot glass. Perfect size, perfect price for our perfectly behaved, non potty word saying angel boy.

I watched Ian finish his dessert with pride, and smiled as he put the last bite into his mouth. We did it! We were cocky in our parenting skills as we glanced around at the Mis-behaving kids in our midst. All it takes is consistency and dedication! Ian then dropped the spoon into the empty shot glass and shouted, 'Butt hole!'. And with that, he was whisked from his chair and taken to the car with a full belly of chocolate lava cake and a smile on his face.

He's also smart as a whip. Our bedtime routine usually goes something like this: He'll bat his eyes, snuggle up to me and sing me a little song. He says 'Mom, did you hear that? I sang you a song and I'm giving it to you. Giving it to your heart.'

I thank him, kiss him, snuggled him and can't let go.

Then he says, 'So...Can I have another story?'

Some of you may remember this post. Not much has changed since these early days of getting Ian to sleep in a 'big boy bed'. We have ourselves a night owl with this one and luckily he stays in his room for the most part talking, singing, quietly playing with intermittent shouts that send us cracking up downstairs. Each evening as we head upstairs to bed we each stop into each of the kids room to fix their covers, kiss them goodnight, and most importantly see what predicament Ian fell asleep in.

He is notoriously in a funny position, toys strewn about, bed completely torn apart, and as of late, resting high on a tower of pillows like the 'prince and the pea'. He pulls the backrest from the mini-couch in his room, stacks on that his pillow, on top of that his pillow pet, on top of that HIM like a king on his thrown. All the blankets (and there are many) piled on top of him. With a gentle push, he rolls from his tower and settles nicely on his bed and I have to use all my willpower not to giggle out loud and wake him.

I never know what each day will bring with this child. Whether it's a head injury, a giant kitchen spill, a stern talk with his teacher, or a stifled laugh. I will say (and I'm going to use a forbidden word here), I hate to imagine a day without him. Good behavior or bad behavior if you can laugh through parenthood, and the ups and downs of it I think you're doing alright.

I love Dirt

He looks so sweet and innocent doesn't he? Sitting there all quiet and introspectively on his soccer ball? Pictures can be deceiving.

Getting Ian ready for bed usually takes 39 minutes, the use of muscles I didn't know I had, a Cradle (not the loving & rocking kind, but the wrestling kind), and oftentimes an ice pack...for me.

And that is just to get his pajamas on.

I've taken to starting conversations with him to distract him from flailing, kicking and flip flopping like a fish out of water. Today I said to him, "I love your face", and the following transpired:

Ian: I love you Mommy!

Moi: Who else do you love?

Ian: Daddy.

Moi: Do you love Alex?

Ian: No...(long pause) but I love dirt.

Moi: Well what is your most favorite thing in the whole world?

Ian: Nanna...(long pause) and Hot Dogs.