Spongebob says, "I'm Ready, I'm Ready"

I hope everyone is having a wonderful Halloween weekend. I ate all of the roasted pumpkin seeds out of this pumpkin. For the first time in history I took the boys trick or treating with friends while Hubs stayed home. And no one came to our house (not many kids on our street and so the kids go to another 'hood) so no one but us and y'all got to see Spongebob on a pumpkin.

But more candy for me. Oh, and I purposely waited until today to buy candy and bought 5 bags from Target along with my usual week's worth of stuff. Then saw an accident in the Target parking lot in the pouring rain. No one hurt, but a big crash at the end of my aisle with a car plowing into the side of a van.

Due to the rain tonight I couldn't see the almost full moon--did anyone see it? It is officially the full moon on Monday night. And a full extra hour of sleep tomorrow. Yes!(mine are the escaped convict, the werewolf and the Gator Fan).

Time and Tide of the Hormones

Except for bad weather, on Sunday mornings my husband and I walk alone together about 1.5 miles to a gas station and buy the Sunday paper. Once back home I make coffee, cook a big breakfast, throw the kids the sports section, Best Buy and Sports Authority and Target flyers and shoo them out of the kitchen so that we can have some quiet time and not hear the oldest two constantly contradicting each other.

This past Sunday it felt too cold and Hubs said he would drive to get the paper (we only get the Sunday paper and no longer subscribe to it thinking it would be some exercise we could do together). That was fine with me and I lounged around with coffee, folding laundry, picking up messes, the usual.

After about 25 MINUTES it suddenly occurred to me that driving 1.5 miles and back would have taken a lot less time than this and where was he? Of course he left his cell phone on the counter at home. I waited 5 minutes with my heart beating faster. I stood in the garage and looked up the street. He had taken our 3rd vehicle: a very small, older truck that replaced the bigger truck that combusted last year. I then heard sirens possibly several blocks away and panicked. I imagined that a bigger vehicle collided with him in an intersection. I ran in the house and up to the bedroom to fling off my pink and purple fuzzy socks, change out of my flannel pajama bottoms and threw on a sweatshirt over my t-shirt to cover up my breastesses because I was convinced that I would need to look halfway presentable as I was going to surely come upon a wreck and then have to get out of my car.

In just a couple of minutes I had all these thoughts: I cannot possibly deal with life without him—I cannot raise these 3 boys alone—I cannot cope with my upper-generational family without his rational support—I cannot possibly have this happen to us. I think years ago once at night I got scared like this. But this was not a usual feeling, definitely not a routine for me to freak out like this. Truth be told, I recall a couple years ago being so mad at him that I wished he’d go away. What a roller-coaster marriage can be. Anyway, one out of three boys was awake but down in the basement so I just yelled something about being back shortly.

I backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. Here comes Hubs in the little, old truck. We both slow down. We stop and lower our windows. He has a puzzled smile such as, “Were you really looking for me, but maybe you have some other reason to be flying down the road with your hair still in last night’s ponytail and no lip gloss.”

I told him I thought he was smooshed in an intersection because surely it didn’t take this long to get the Sunday paper. Well he had decided to go to Home Depot as well and beat the weekend traffic. So we both pulled our cars back into the driveway and continued on with our Sunday routine.

So you know what’s going on with me? It’s hormones. They are a-changin. For a month now, especially in the mornings and evenings, I will get a flush of heat across my back and arms. I’ll wake up in the a.m. and not even care that Hubs has all the covers pulled off of me because I don’t need them at all. I have a sister-in-law (SIL) who is about 8 years older than I am. Well I have several of them—I am sure we’ll have lots of conversations on this at Thanksgiving. Anyway I remember a few years back (before I could relate) that she was insane with worries. She had a new licensed daughter driving and when my SIL would hear sirens she’d freak and with her hospital job would hear of a young driver accident victim arriving in the ER and panic.

The other day I said out loud at home, “Oh my gosh I’m so hotttt!!!” and my 13 yr old turned around and said, “What?” And I said, “You know how your hormones are changing because you are going through puberty and so your systems are revving up and trying to figure out the right chemical balance for your growing body???? Well mine did too once but now 35 years later my hormones are all changing again which happens when you get older!!!”” (I really need to pick my audience better).

And this is going to take years, people. I think I am going to be pre-menopausal for years. And guess who will be a new driver in the house in about 2.5 years? And then another son will be driving 20 months after that. And then another 2.8 years after him. I'd better keep my gas tank full and my tennis shoes ready for all the panic-driven stunts I have yet to do. (photo found under Google Images under "premenopausal woman)

The Yard Crew

As I mentioned this past spring my husband loves working in the yard. But not so much that he won’t share in the tasks. Tradition has developed that when our sons are in 5^th grade they are taught how to mow the lawn. And then in 6^th grade you get taught how to edge the lawn. When I say "you get taught" I mean that the Hubs provides the lessons because I have never mowed a lawn in my life. The two oldest boys are now in 8^th and 6^th grade so now we have two lawn-mowing yard boys.

Hubs says he really enjoys the yard work but teaching the boys to do the lawn mowing frees him up for flowers and projects. He says he would have taught our daughters the same chore if we had girls. And we don't have tall or beefy boys--in 5th grade they are 4'8" or less. My now 8th grader is still under 5 feet.

In his summer before 6^th grade we suggested to my oldest son that since he had many months experience in mowing our front and back lawn and since he would love to have money for new video games, that he should go door-to-door and talk to the neighbors about his providing lawn services for them. Our neighbors within “walking-with-the-lawnmower distance” consist of a variety of ages and include older professionals with no kids at home. At the time, we lived in the neighborhood for 18 months and didn’t know many of the neighbors. My husband helped him make up some large sized business cards and I set him up with a clipboard and paper. He put on a Polo shirt and went door to door and I stood back a yard or two inconspicuously as he talked to the neighbors at their door. He probably only talked to less than 10 neighbors and proceeded to gain two customers. One is a couple about age 50 who are busy professionals, and the other is a single lady also about age 50.

He “mows and blows” at one visit and then edges at alternates visits. He has finished his third summer since then and still has these same two customers. It is pretty tough juggling school (gets home at 5:00 p.m. off school bus), sports and lawn work (and responsibilities at home!) and frankly sometimes we are compelled to remind him how to manage his time with his customers’ expectations.

One morning a few months ago I was in the yard and another neighbor approached me asking about the boys. She had a college son home for the summer but would need yard help starting in August. Our oldest son is pretty much at his limit and what has worked out is oldest son and middle son work on this yard together two times a month. Sometimes the oldest son will ask the youngest son (3^rd grade) to help blow off a driveway or pick up pine cones—and pays him a few dollars. Around here the grass needs cutting through October and then starts again in April.

So the two oldest boys have both been making money since we pay $10 to mow our front and back lawn (that’s less than the rate on the street but it’s the family rate!), which has been the middle son’s “job” for over a year now .

It's a fairly common event that when the Hubs and I have to run somewhere and need cash we ask if we can take a loan from the “Bank of the Boys”.

It's the Everyday Things, and the Rest of the Story

Last night in bed I said to my husband that I felt like a really bad mom because there is a lot of childhood info about my boys that I have not recorded.

“Like what,” he asked?

“Like their height and weight each year. I didn’t write it anywhere else. When I have taken them to the doctor I know they grow, and they know they grow, but I don’t come home and write it anywhere. And I don’t take them to Well Visits much anymore anyway. And I don’t have much of a baby book for them,” I answered.

“So what, my mom didn’t either,” he said (he's brief, albeit sympathetic).

I thought about that for a second. He’s right—she didn’t. He doesn’t have a baby book at all. And he turned out OK. Not to mention he and I both have about zero baby pictures of ourselves. But he does have congrats cards saved from his parents’ well-wishers, and a card from the hospital nursery listing his weight, date and time of birth. I have that too and the only growth measurements my mom wrote down are up till age two (I kept track of my stats starting at age 10). My mom wrote down how old I was when my baby teeth grew in, but I don’t think that I have for my kids. Oh I have tons of their baby teeth. Just have no clue what day they were lost or from whose mouth.

I do have the hospital bracelets of my first two boys. I even saved baby #3’s placenta (whole ‘nother story), made a belly cast that was later lost and then found, and have their births recorded on obsolete 8mm tape. I have a set of hand prints in plaster! I have photos! (not nearly as many as I could have though). There are boxes of cards they’ve made for me. Stories written and drawings are in plastic bins. We have vacations memories and photos.

Like I said in my post the other day I don’t think my boys will be too sad when they are grown up that they may not know exactly what height they were in 2005 to 2009. And I just realized that I can call up a certain pediatrician’s office and ask for copies of their files, which should have dates and heights and weights (not too many from past two years, but enough).

I may be able to salvage a few of their height markings from the garage door molding that has had the paint scraped off now. It’s really hard to read but I may be able to decipher some of it. It looks like this now:

So here’s the rest of the contractor story. After work on Tuesday we met with the contractor owner, who told us he was a man of his word and wanted to make things right and wanted to compensate us for the horrific mistake and he said he even got teary eyed over it. I said we hadn’t thought of a price—we’re just not that way, although I was very angry this past Friday (and then I got teary because perimenopause is pulsing through my veins these days).

My husband told him that when the work and touch ups get completed, he wants to be able to say he’s glad he hired them, and that he wants to be able to recommend him to the neighbors when they come asking, and that we’ve had other occurrences in our life that actually put into perspective of what is truly important. Hubs mentioned my blog again and how I reported that even though it was 7:00 on a Friday the foreman was trying to fix it. The owner really wanted us to name a price. We didn’t speak first. He really wanted to compensate us financially. We told him we couldn’t think of one. So he named

a price to take off the total cost and we shook on it.

Monday night was raining again and I had a craving all day for this cream cheese frosting recipe. So on the fly I suggested to Youngest son that we make cupcakes. Having a box of cake mix cut down on time and to “make it mine” I added a little scoop of powdered sugar, two tablespoons of cocoa, and a squirt of Hershey’s syrup. He was so happy, happy, happy to lick the beaters and next we made the frosting. I was going to keep the frosting off-white colored but he wanted blue, so why not. For the first time ever I spooned it into a zip lock bag, snipped off a corner and piped on the frosting. I do this with deviled eggs and it looks so much better. They really turned out pretty and were very tasty. I won’t make any other kind of frosting again, it was perfect.

So why mention the cupcakes? They made the boys really happy, just like reading at night makes the Youngest happy and the other things I do with the other two make them happy. There are many things that will be more memorable to them (I hope!) than the growth chart.

The Boys' Measurements I Posted About -- THEY'RE GONE!!!!!!

I sit here with the mascara still running down my face.

We still have contractors at our house who needed to do some touch up paint on one side of the garage where some extra caulking had to be done. We went with this professional contractor business as opposed to a one-man company (we've been there before). In my previous post I told the story of how Hubs showed the contractor the molding at the end of our garage where I've measured the boys for the past FOUR YEARS. The contractor acknowledged that it was special stuff and he instructed the crew not to paint over the whole section. Here is the photo again from my last post:
Today I get home from work and I park in the driveway (usually I pull into the garage). The Hubs comes out to greet me and glances to the left at the molding in the garage and says, "Holy Shit (first time I've sweared on my blog) I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!! "

The new, darker colored paint for the molding on our house now covers the FOUR YEARS OF GROWTH measurements of our three sons. Here it is NOW:


I could not believe it.

I'm ranting and raving in the driveway, the boys come outside, and as the shock wears off the tears are spilling and I got so angry. Hubs called the contractor and got the secretary and told her the upsetting news and I'm yelling in the background. Then I went to the computer and emailed the contractor the photo that shows how nicely they had originally left it, letting them have a visual of the 4 years of memories that I could have saved another way and let them know I was working on a compensation figure.

A few minutes later Hubs found the contractor's cell phone number and called him at home--he'd already heard. Hubs says, "You've got kids, right? Well, you don't even want to talk to Michele right now. In fact she was so thrilled how it was originally handled that she even took a photo and she has a blog and wrote about it."

Contractor told Hubs whatever they need to do to fix it, to make it right....they'll do.....and that the leader guy would come over to try and remove the paint for starters. I don't think so--the markings were in pencil. It blows my mind that someone took the time to mark this off and now someone else on the crew paints over it.

Of course in the scheme of things I am happy to have healthy boys who can stand and be measured every couple months for the PAST FOUR YEARS, and I am so happy to have a blog to make it all feel better. The boys have just now tried to make me feel better by saying they will all get measured tonight on an actual board.

I am so upset. I should get the Nobel Peace Prize if I can refrain from assaulting the painter who did this. What was he thinking???!!!

I loved all of your comments so much about the sentimentality and the family rituals of marking the kids' growth.

One day they will be grown up and live somewhere else and they'll be the heights they end up being and they will live their lives not knowing and not caring too much about how tall they were in 4th grade or 6th grade or how the Youngest was the same height in 3rd grade as the Oldest was at end of 4th grade, etc. It won't really matter in the big, big scheme of things. But I am very upset. And now I am going to seriously market a shiny, painted white, tall board for families to use to chart the kids' growth so that moving homes and painting over walls will not break hearts, amongst all the growing pains.

Will keep you posted.
Update: It has now been an hour since the phone calls and the foreman leader guy is over here at 7:00 p.m. getting the paint off. Too bad I didn't use a permanent Sharpie pen for my markings.

When Will I learn to Not Write on Walls?

This past week we have had the exterior of our house painted. Before the work began, a walk through was done between the painters and my husband.

He is not the sentimental sort—any of the boys’ schoolwork or treasured baby clothes, our love letters and cards and basically any collection of special things exist due to my documentation.

However, this past week he did point out to the painters that this section of the garage trim was not to be touched. The painting is complete and here is what we have on the trim of our garage door:

Why did I not realize that four years ago when we moved here that one day we would repaint? I am so glad I did not have to trace over the past four years of boys’ growth onto a scrap of paper.

UPDATE: I meant to note on this post that I wrote on July 6th about an idea on how to document kids' growth the smart way in case you ever move or as in the case of some friends whose 13 year old is now bumping up against some shelves on their wall. It never even occurred to me that the house exterior painting we'd do in the future could put our growth chart in jeopardy. So, as mentioned in that post--for those of you with little ones--start now with a 2 x4 that can be mounted vertically and then removed. I should paint some and market them!

Wax on Full Harvest Moon

The harvest moon is the full moon that appears closest to the autumn equinox which was Sept. 22. It will look fullest on Saturday night. I say we all need to do something special to celebrate!

I always thought that the harvest moon looked bigger, brighter and even oranger than all others, but my research says this is not true. Here is what's scientific, from the Earthsky site:

Like any full moon, the Harvest Moon rises at sunset and shines all night long. So what’s special about the Harvest Moon? On the average, the moon rises 50 minutes later every night. But not the Harvest Moon! At mid-northern latitudes, the Harvest Moon rises 25 to 30 minutes later for several evenings in a row. And at far northern latitudes, the Harvest Moon rises 5 to 10 minutes later for several evenings in a row.

In the days before electricity, farmers counted on the lamp of the Harvest Moon to gather their crops. Making up for the autumn season’s waning daylight, the Harvest Moon faithfully provides several nights of dusk-till-dawn moonlight. This bonanza of moonlight remains the legacy of the Harvest Moon!

Let me know how it looked in your part of the world.