To Boston to Boston to buy a fat pig.

Last Friday we took advantage of an actual day off for Clark (who are we kidding, he still went in for a couple of hours in the morning...) and headed up to Boston.  We thought we were being smart by going on a weekday but of course we forgot that Boston has the crazy New England "winter break" also. (Pretty much every school district in the area has a week off in February, except for our district...but between the holiday last Monday, teacher work day Tuesday, dentist Wednesday and Clark's ceremony on Thursday, the girls missed most of school anyway.)
We hit up the Boston Science Museum which is awesome.  We went to see Harry Potter, the Exhibition.  Well worth the million dollars that it costs to get in and hear people speak with fake British accents.  Here are all the pictures I took:










Just kidding.  They didn't allow cameras in the exhibit.  They had the real deal costumes and props from the movies.  I'm talkin THE Goblet of Fire, Hermoine's cute clothes and he-who-should-not-be-named's wand.  Everything.  It was very cool and the girls LOVED it.

The girls loved it.  The information in that place overwhelms me...you could spend weeks exploring, touching and learning everything about everything...you could also spend weeks waiting for your turn for something on a crowded day.  You can only give so many dirty looks to parents not teaching their kids a little consideration for other people.  We finally had to leave because I was growing increasingly impatient with rude people not watching their kids.  Let's leave my soapbox at that, big pet peeve.
Even though the girls look totally disgruntled in that picture with the T Rex, they had lots of fun, as did Clark and I (that picture is to document that we were there too)...its because I made them come stand still while I took a picture.  And the Omni theatre? Awesome.  And Haley? She loves rocks, a lot...like, she gets really excited about them and has started identifying them on her own.  We stumbled on this little room of rocks and she was giddy.

 

And by the time we were on our way home, each girl had completed one small meltdown but we still had to eat.  That's when we knew we were parents.  We passed a Cheesecake Factory and PF Changs before stopping at the mall food court (gag) after 8pm...because that's when the most quality of people take their kids to the mall for some grub. 

I really like family outings.

Dude.

Last night I sewed a scrunchy. 
It is neon green. 
And I bought leg warmers. 
I am going to an 80's themed Navy function this weekend...and I cannot wait to let my 80's shine.  Those years spent idolizing my teenage sister and cousins...the blue eye shadow, the big bangs and frosty lipstick. 
You just wait. 
I'm steppin out in my "Goonies never say die t-shirt" and I'm gonna have a good time. 
I may just party like it's 1999.

A snow day where I didn't want to send my children into the storm...

I wrote this post a week and a half ago....so in honor of tomorrow's impending snow, here it is.


We have been up to my apron strings with quality time together.
As long as I am armed with a good attitude, not a lot of things on my to-do list and some snacks, I love a good snow day.  If we're lucky, we may even have another one tomorrow.  And since we had nothing but time today...I decided to document it...don't worry, I left in all the good fluffy stuff while sparing you the brief airs of bickering, poopy diapers and the smell of people that should have used all that spare time to bathe today.  But we didn't.  We enjoyed it to the fullest.  Though Haley and Abby were repeatedly disappointed when I told them a dozen times that "no you cannot go play outside" because it was a real, live, snow storm and they probably would have actually blown away, or been covered in a snow drift.

We stayed in pajamas, played Legos and Little Pet Shops, enjoyed a nutritious breakfast of powdered and waxy donuts (unless you are Haley and prefer dinner leftovers for breakfast), played the Wii, took a nap/watched a movie, read our book, danced, made cookies, played dress ups, ate something with marshmallow fluff, turned in reward tokens for the "fake snow experiment" out of the prize chest (funny since we had tons of real snow outside), painted fingernails and toenails and then ate more donuts.

A whole lot of nothing equals a whole lot of fun, when done in moderation of course.
PS Besides the brownie that I had for breakfast, our normal day doesn't normally ingest so much junk food.  Just sometimes when it is called for.  And typically, a snow day calls for marshmallow fluff to be put into something.

Did you hear he got pinned?

If you read that title and are now singing "What's the story, morning glory? What's the word, hummingbird? Did you hear about Hugo and Kim?" then we might be kindred spirits because I have had that little ditty from Bye Bye Birdie stuck in my head all morning.  Someone did get pinned this morning, but it wasn't Hugo or Kim.

Please forgive me while I skip around literar-ily and figuratively speaking....
The girls and I went and braved the brisk chill on the river this afternoon to stand on the pier and show Clark how proud we are of him.

Meet the newest Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy.  I am so proud of Clark, he works so hard and absolutely deserves the recognition for it.  Clark has been a hard worker his whole life.  I have never known him to shirk a job or a challenge, ever.  And I have seen him endure some doozies.  But he does it and he does it well. 

And although I am more of a "silver" person, don't those gold oak leaves look lovely on his lapel?
Congratulations Clark!!!

And now tonight I sit here with said Hubby, sewing patches onto his uniform.  Who says I will never experience the joys of boy scouts (you know, because I have no sons, yet) because I sure have sewn on my share of patches...although I am pretty sure there isn't a merit badge for the kinds of things they do...then again, having just gone through the scout closet at church and seen all the merit badge handbooks, there just might be.  There seems to be one for just about everything else.  Anyway, I digress.  I love my big boy scout.

Could I have been any more conspicuous in my red coat?  And on a totally unrelated note, I kind of love the Cryp/Blood color thing that Walmart and Target have going on...very rival-y.
If we ever get out of the Navy, we might just have to hang on to the uniforms.  Who knew I was such a sucker for a man in uniform...blue digi camos to be more specific...even with the lycra mock turtle neck that he wears underneath it in the winter. (Our first real fight/conflict as a dating couple was over a mock turtleneck.)

We went and met up with Clark before the ceremony and I laughed when we walked into the little food court of the Navy Exchange.  There before us was a sea (heh heh, I said "sea" and they are all sailors) of blue camouflage.  I found it funny that I was going to have to find him in all that camo.  He was camouflaged in the camouflage, if you will.  He was kind enough to pick up his hat and give us a little wave.  I love that he is not embarrassed by his troop of girls that meet him in public and come to his boat.  We love meeting him for dinner on nights that he doesn't get to come home.  I hope that the girls always remember that.

You wanna know something else that I love? I love being on the base when they do revelry, or colors...OK, I didn't love living on base when they did revelry at 6 in the morning before we were getting up, but I love colors in the evening when they are retiring the flags all around base.  They play it on loudspeakers throughout the base.  Cars stop in the middle of the street and no matter where you are or what you are doing, you stop and stand still.  Men in uniform stand at attention and face the nearest flag.  It is kind of an eery twilight zonish moment where time freezes.  But I like being forced to stop and appreciate my country and show a little respect for it, at least twice a day.  My favorite was when we were living on this base (no, that is definitely not my favorite part but I'm getting there) for six months a couple of years ago.  We lived in what was called "the fish bowl" because it was a string of townhome type units surrounding a common area with a playground.  It was summer and almost all of our husbands were attending the same school on base.  Late afternoon, the uniforms would start trickling into the common area, walking home from work, to the wives and kids playing and socializing outside.  I loved seeing those uniforms starting to appear because it meant we could start watching for our own uniform.  Then, shortly after they arrived home and everyone resumed playing, colors would start and suddenly kids were ignored (kind of), babies dropped (not really) and husbands focus suddenly turned and faced the river.  Very proud and patriotic and kind of funny at the same time.

And while we're on the subject of pride, let me share with you my most favorite parenting moment of the week.  As part of our newly instituted incentives program, the house is broken up into zones that we rotate every couple of weeks.  Each girl is in charge of keeping their zone clean each day, multiple times a day if necessary.  From the kitchen a couple of days ago I heard a small nagging voice, pleading with her sisters to keep her zone clean because she had just picked it up.  'Sigh', the joyful sounds of a second nagger in the house to give me a break.  (And can I just add another plug for the zone concept?  It is working wonderfully!  They feel more responsibility and ownership of the house that they live in AND I am finding myself bored many days because I have nothing to do.  Imagine that! Bored, I tell you.)

And can I just tell you how happy this sky made me today?  Very.  Happy.

Calgon take me away.

Tonight I had a moment.  Let me set the stage.
Earlier today I had urged Mia to stop tapping me frantically on the arm when she needs my attention (a conversation I vaguely remember my own Mother having with me when I was young.) I think I am actually getting bruises from her "attention-getting-tapping".  It hurts.  My upper arms are tender.  I asked her, ever so kindly, to maybe just place her hand on my arm, or heck, even give it a little rub when she needs me to look at her.
So back to tonight.
I was standing at the sink doing dishes after dinner, Mia was violently rubbing my forearm waiting to tell me something, Haley and Abby were seeing how many verses of "Down By The Bay" they could come up with and the almost 2 year old was playing the recorder like an injured wood nymph as she stumbled around the kitchen in her completely unsnapped overalls.  I was successfully numbing my mind and concentrating really hard on ignoring it all.  Right about the time that Mia rubbed a hole in  my shirt I snapped out of it and suggested that they hop upstairs and get ready for bed.  Usually when I am making a conscious effort to stay patient I end up sounding more like a seriously repressed hippie on Valium, talking in a delicately hushed voice while squatting down and stroking their hair..."OK, darling, that is a lovely song, but maybe you could run along and get your pajamas on.  That's a good girl" while waving at their backs and quietly calling after them to "be sweet!" But I did it.  I feel so accomplished when I can make it through a circus like tonight without losing it.  So maybe I read a couple of extra stories to Hazel when putting her to bed...how could I not?  I was sitting in a quiet room with an overly comatose-like tired baby willing to cuddle on my lap while the other girls did something relatively quiet someplace else.  I milked that moment for all it's worth.
It was funny though.  As I was staring blankly through the dark window over the sink, wasting all sorts of water, I was telling myself to go to my happy place.  Ironically enough, my happy place was precisely where I was, only quieter, and a little cleaner (and about 20 feet over from where I was standing at the sink, to a nice comfy couch...maybe with a book, or a warm body to heat up my cold feet.) Heck, my happy place could even include my kids as long as they were doing something quiet-ish  and not slowly rubbing the hair off my forearm.  I had that reminder earlier today when driving my brother and his wife to the airport after spending a fun weekend with them.  I remember a family that we were friends with way back before we had kids.  They had four kids, totally energetic, fun and adorable.  We loved hanging out with them and babysitting but their house was nuts, loud and constantly moving.  When we would leave their house we would get into the car, shut the doors and sigh at the stillness.  My brother pointed out that even though our house is equally crazy and actively loud, it only takes a day before they are missing the girls again (I know, a whole day? Shame on them.)  I realized that it is the exact same with our situation now and with just about everything else that is difficult or challenging in my life.  The things that are the most difficult are also the most worth it.  The things that push me the hardest are the things that I want the most...and I wouldn't be capable of doing them if I didn't have a desire to be where I was.  So at least I know that I am where I want to be.  It's a reassuring thought because let's face it, the nitty gritty of the day to day can be awfully distracting sometimes.  So even though I have had a horribly unproductive week of mismanaged time and funky schedules, I will keep at it.  Because at the end of the day, the week, the month and the year I will regret nothing more than not taking advantage of every waking moment of my life.
So eventually they did get into their pajamas and possibly even got all those teeth brushed.  Then after they maxed out their "Olympic watching time" for the evening I listened to Haley's newly composed song "You're my wiggly tooth of happiness" with choreographed dance steps by Abby and loved them all over again.

 

  

 

Dang this New England winter...be Spring already.

I have cold feet, all the time.  I usually get a yelp out of Clark when I climb into bed and tuck my feet in between his to quickly warm them up...or else I sweetly ask him to get on my side of the bed and run in place for a minute to warm up my sheets.  And he does.  So what's my problem? Not enough foot fat? Poor circulation? Thin socks? What?
I got a pair of slippers for Christmas and they were delightful...like slipping my toe-sicles into an inside-out lamb, warm and fuzzy.  But now they are matted and a little scratchy, and really stinky.  So since they were only $10 can I just go replace them?
Seriously, people.  They are cold!
Sincerely,
Frigid Digits

Crafts can be a frightening thing...AKA The scariest thing I ever made.

In 2002 I bought my first sewing machine.  Consequently, it was also the day that I went to my first garage sale (not counting the one I went to when I was 6 and I bought a Monkees cassette tape and 5 tiny tubes of lipstick for 10 cents.) I don't typically do garage sales...I figure other people's junk is usually their junk for a reason...though that particular day I hit the mother load.  It was a neighborhood sale so there was lots to see.  I came home with a $20 mountain bike for my husband, a random assortment of VHS tapes for my toddler, a plastic play scape for the back yard and one, very old, very heavy sewing machine.
Since then I have upgraded to the cheapest model sewing machine that Target has to offer.  In recent years I feel I have proved myself talented enough to upgrade once more but let's not get too ahead of ourselves.  This Christmas I may have moved myself a couple notches down on the sewing-talent scale.  I was at a loss for what to get our second daughter...you know, the cute one with dimples.  I picked up things here and there that I knew she would like but I just didn't have that golden one, that gift that she really wanted.  Then, two days before Christmas I remembered that she wanted a "Bed Buddy".  She regularly makes the claim that she "can't sleep unless she is touching someone." You see, she has issues with staying in her bed all night and we had decided that making her a cuddly friend, about her size, would help her to feel more secure.   I know what you are thinking, kinda creepy, right? You would be very right in thinking that, my friend.  Nevertheless, it was the only thing she had asked for, for Christmas (besides a Barbie...and after standing in front of that section at the store I just couldn't bring myself to go there.)  Anyway, being that it was two days before Christmas and I had already reached the limits of the Christmas budget, I dug into my fabric bin.  I was trying to find one fabric that I had enough of to complete this one project, roughly the size of Abby.  I grabbed the next closest body, Mia, and made her lie down on the fabric that I had pieced together like Frankensteins body.  (It involved undoing a pair of ill-constructed maternity pj bottoms I had attempted two years ago.)  I traced Mia's little body and I was off.  Well dear readers, the result wasn't pretty.  It wasn't even cute.  I threw on the red, felt heart thinking that it would give her character, something warm and fuzzy.  Abby said that it was creepy.  All I kept thinking about when I looked at her was the aliens from the Mel Gibson movie "Signs". 
When I first completed her I was scared, and then I couldn't stop giggling...I may have even wet my pants a little.

We named her BB (aka Bed Buddy) and set her out on the couch Christmas morning anyway hoping that Abby would be endeared to her uh,...quirkiness.  I recall her using the word "freaky".
But in my mind, it nearly ruined Christmas...this demented form made of polka dots infecting the otherwise pretty pile of presents by the tree.  How in the world did I arrive at that shape from my dear, sweet Mia? One may never know...short, the skinny limbs, broad and uneven shoulders, elongated head, freakishly tiny bun feet.

The funny thing is, after we all laughed ourselves silly (nervously covering up the real terror we felt in her presence) Abby actually liked her.  She played with her during the day but at night would bring her to our room because she was scary...we thought that maybe that would solve the problem.  You know, set BB up at our door like some kind of sentry that would deter Abby from climbing into bed with us.  But one unfortunate day, a couple of weeks ago, BB was involved in a dancing accident.  Her dancing partner was being too rough and wouldn't you know it, tore her at the armpits.  I decided in the end that corrective surgery should not be the answer to fix this little problem so she retired.
She is now stuffed in the back of my closet until I come across another project that requires salvaged material from an old project gone awry.  I have only had a couple of moments of panic when I reach back to my "little worns" and see her standing alone and squished by my beaded sweater from Mema.  She is in a happier place I believe...as is Abby.

Move over Clark, there's a new love in my life.

I think I am in love.  This was my late Christmas present to myself (and while we're at it, can I just say that this year Clark and I are going to push Christmas back a month so we can take advantage of all the crazy sales out there after the holidays? It just seems like a better idea.)
She needs a name.  I want to stroke her.  She is amazing and I love her.  She has been staying in her box between uses because I don't currently have a proper shrine, er, place to put her.  (My only priorities for our next house will be a bigger, brighter kitchen and a place to call my own...I don't care if the rest of the house only has an outhouse and a hand pumped well, I will have those things.) Since Clark stole my camera, this picture will have to do.

It cuts out paper, vinyl and fabric.  Give me a month and everything in my house that doesn't move will be properly labeled with adorable vinyl lettering...maybe the stuff that moves too.
Is this Heaven?
Now, I just need a good project...anyone need anything cut out?

And while we're not on the subject, let me share why rag curlers on a baby is not always a good idea.   Naturally with four little girls we like to gussy up from time to time...and since church is even later than it was last year, we have extra time for gussying.  Many times on Saturday night I will put the girls' hair up in sponge or rag curlers after their baths/showers.  And though I don't condone regular infant-primping, we did Hazel's too.
(I would like you to note the line of whispy bangs on her forehead...for posterity's sake I would like to point out how very grateful I am for thick headed daughters...however, the manner in which it grows in, a single layer in front of the other one at a time, not so much.)

Before:

 

After:

 

First I laughed.  Then I panicked trying to figure out exactly what to do with it...then I laughed again.  Two pigtails and a headband later it looked rather cute. 
And then we may have laughed some more. (I especially like Haley's absent stare in this picture while giving the rabbit ears, and Abby's groggy just woke up face in the background...in about 10 more years the experience of getting so many girls ready for church will be quite an event, I'm sure.)

The Smartest 4 year old I know.

Look who read an entire book to me today all. by. herself.

She did.

 

We were pretty darn excited about it...we may even have done a little happy dance.  And then we had pretzels.

I scarred my kids for life...and they liked it!

Clark gave the girls a gift this weekend.  Each was handed a tiny, red, sparkly wrapped box with something special inside...a small, delicate pair of silver hearts...for pierced ears. 
"But we don't have pierced ears!"
They cried.
"You will, by the end of tonight."
We replied.
For one, there was ecstatic excitement immediately.
For another, there was excitement and disbelief followed by immediate caution and concern.  Followed by lots of thinking and a phone call to a more experienced cousin.
For the third (Hazel was not part of this deal, Heck, Mia was barely involved in this deal by the skin of her little, tiny earlobes...only out of sheer parental pity that she would feel sadly left out of the gift.) there was a more oblivious excitement (not realizing of course that a little discomfort may or may not be involved.)  So sorry, I completely lost track of my parenthesis in that little paragraph...it happens sometimes. (((())))) just for good measure.
Haley and Abby have been asking to get their ears pierced for some time.  Clark and I had decided that 12 was a good age.  And then we started planning for his upcoming deployment and what kind of projects, reminders and momentos we would be preparing for the girls.  And immediately I knew that this would be such a gift of wonders to them, they might just up and explode from giddy girly-ness.  He wanted them to have something that they could have with them always to remind them that Dad is thinking of them every moment of the day...and since they lose everything that is not actually attached to their body, this was it!...that or a tattoo.
Immediately after, I have to admit that I felt regret...almost as if I had just done something wrong, disobeyed my mother, scarred my children with something permanent.  I had to be 14 to get my ears pierced.  I am so sorry Mo, I am not undermining your own excellent parenting, I just got a little rash in my need to please my children in their father's impending absence...not altogether healthy in some regards, but it sure makes us feel better about some of it.

We had to give them the ultimate choice of course, knowing that there was no reason at all to force it on them.  If they wanted to, great, if not, there would be other momentos from Dad.  But we knew they wanted it.  We also knew Abby would be first and jump right up into the chair, and she did.  She didn't flinch a bit when they did it then hopped down and said "that was awesome!" In all honesty, we thought Abby would be the only one to go through with it at all but Mia went next, only the slightest hint of hesitation as she climbed into the chair herself.  She held a teddy bear and was unphased by the "pop" of the piercing guns.  Haley however, is our cautious one.  She watched her other two sisters go ahead of her with absolute indecisiveness.  But she knew she would regret it if she didn't do it then so she too climbed into the chair.  As soon as the ladies stepped away she turned her head to the wall and began to cry hesitant, embarassed tears for being afraid.  It wasn't a hurt cry, it was a post traumatic stress cry.  She straightened up real fast when we offered ice cream for their hot lobes. 
And then it was done.
Under my watchful supervision and minimal assistance, they have taken over the care and cleaning of their own ears, three times a day.  The can't wait to wear Clark's special little hearts.
And dressing up, oh the dressing up, just got so much more fancy.