Little, Little Bird

This little hummingbird in Eric's hand is not (thankfully) dead. It is just stunned. I went out to the garage to take care of some recycling and heard this strange buzzing noise. Looking up I noticed these two things flying around and at first I thought they were bats since it was dusk. But bats flap more and looking closer I discovered they were actually hummingbirds. Eric was mowing the lawn so I waved him down and warned him to be quiet and come see this. We watched the two birds for a while and suddenly this one just dropped onto the cement. Of course we thought it was dead but nope, it's little heart was beating super fast and it was still breathing. See how it's holding its beak in its little claw? So cute. We went and got all the kids out of bed to come see the little hummingbird and in a few minutes it woke up, looked around (I ran for the camera again but...too late) and flew away. We see it once in a while, sipping nectar from our iris flowers. Now how many kids can say they have a pet hummingbird?

Stars and Stripes

Hello, poor neglected blog! Here's a story for you:

Sunday, May 31 was the first annual "Hope of America" concert here in VT. When the directors were recruiting singers I asked W if he wanted to be in it. "Nope," was the firm reply so I didn't pursue it much. Then, the night before the concert, he realized that all of his friends and most of his cub scout den were singing in it and therefore he MUST be part of it. I whipped out the cd for him to listen to that night only he fell asleep after the third song. Well, I figured, he's just a little guy and no one will expect the little ones to do much singing anyway. Rehearsal started at 5 p.m. sharp and they were so adorable (I don't have pictures yet but will soon). All the kids had matching T-shirts and a few of them even knew the songs! The directors put in a lot of work and it was a very professional show with a slideshow during the song "Thank You, Military" which touched even the heart of an unpatriotic Canadian. There were many vets in attendance and they were each presented with a certificate of thanks. The only negative aspect of the concert was the weather. Yes, we all prayed that it wouldn't rain but no one thought to pray that it wouldn't snow! You would think, on May 31st, that the weather would be summery and beautiful. Wrong. It was so, so cold. We had frost overnight. The poor little kids, after being outside for 3 hours, were just little frozen popsicles. But on the way home in the van, heat blasting his face, W proclaimed himself "tired, happy, and proud." I asked why he felt that way. "Because, I got to be one of the 4 most important people there. I got to be the "O" (in the song V-O-T-E)" He was the best "O" I've ever seen, I must say. Possibly the only "O" I've ever seen, but still, his timing was impeccable. Those piano lessons must be paying off.

P.S. When the color guard presented the flag and we all stood for the national anthem (W with his left hand over his right chest since the poor kid is left handed and probably doesn't realize his heart is on the left). I was singing along with my hands in my pockets (remember: COLD!) when A turned to me and tugged on my arm. "Mommy," he whispered, "you have to put your hand on your heart." "Oh, sweetie," I replied, "I just can't do that. It feels too weird to me." "But mommy, everyone puts their hands on their hearts during the song!" Daddy intervened, "A, this isn't mommy's country and it's not really her flag so she doesn't have to put her hand on her heart." Now, just to emphasize, I'm happy to be living in this country and I support and thank the military for their service and have very good friends in the air force. I've learned the pledge of allegience, I sing "The Star Spangled Banner" and I have an American flag-type thing on my front door this time of year. But for some reason I just cannot put my hand over my heart when I see the flag (or whatever the protocol is). I don't know why, I just can't do it. Someone asked me , don't Canadians do that, too? And I think my mouth gaped open in horror. No! I exclaimed, and if we did that would make doing it here even worse! So, anyway, happy Memorial Day from a flag waving Canadian.

Our Easter Tradition

I'm not a big fan of the Easter Bunny stuff. I think it's too confusing to kids when you try to mix a religious holiday with Wal-mart. Fortunately we live so far away from stores like Wal-mart that my kids haven't really seen the huge extravagant Easter baskets out there. We start our day with a breakfast of "Eggs in a Nest", which is whipped egg whites baked with the yolk in the middle.
They also got these really cute sugar cookies made by a lady here in Vermont. A had a hard time eating his baby chick's eye which reminded me that I always hated to eat the eye from my own chocolate Easter bunnies. He really wanted to keep the cookie as a pet, but soon learned that some pets are just too delicious to save.
This our annual tradition. I make baskets out of chocolate and then fill it with "Nature's Candy": strawberries, blackblerries, raspberries and blueberries. And a few chocolate eggs for fun. The kids love their chocolate baskets and fruit and I think it keeps them from bouncing off the walls too much...yeah, you're right, probably just wishful thinking on my part.

A Rite of Passage

They grow up too fast.

Yesterday, W, after taking a shower in my bathroom, came downstairs with his hand over his chin. "Mom, I need a band-aid." Yep, the chin was bleeding from a little cut. "What happened? How did you cut your chin?" "I was trying to shave with Daddy's razor."

He's entering waters where mommies dare not tread....

Have a White Day

W's school has implemented a new disciplinary system (good luck, I say). It goes like this. Each child starts the day with a "White" card. If they get one verbal warning for misbehavior they have to change the White card to Green. After Green comes Yellow with a 2 minute in-class time out. Then Red. Ooooh, Red is bad. With a Red card comes a note home written by the student explaining their "poor behavior choices" that must be read and signed and returned by a parent. And then, the very worst: Blue. Blue means "you blew it". It also means all the other warnings plus the worst punishment a second grader could have: you must stay in for recess and do extra homework!!! Dun Dun! So the teachers explained the concept to the kids and then they had a practice week. W proudly told me he "only made it to Blue twice". Umm, good for you? So on the real week we cheered him on and wrote notes in his lunch box: "Have a White Day today" and "You can get a White card today, I know it!" Day One: White Card=success! Day 2: Red Card=sad boy and sad mommy (I also made him write a note of apology to the teacher for his "disrepect" which is what came home in the note). So let's up the ante. Every day you get a White card, I will pay you $1. This works. Really well. Because now, at home, if he starts to misbehave, I threaten to take away the $1 he earned for his White card. And I'm noticing a lot less arguing about things. I think I like this card system! Of course, I had to add some really dire consequences for Red and Blue cards, like an extra page of writing homework (shudder!) and cleaning up for 1 hour (the horror!). So last week, after the Red card, he got White for the rest of the week and we were so proud of him. I asked him how he did it and this was the response: "You know mommy, it's actually pretty easy to get a white card. I just have to do what they tell me." Smack the forehead. Duh! He just figured that out, can you believe it? How has this kid gotten through 8 years in life and 3 years of school not knowing that you're supposed to do what adults tell you? I can tell I'm in for a fun time with this one.....

A Story: Kind of Gross, Mostly Hilarious

Okay, in full honesty I have to say that Eric hates this story and will not be happy that I'm repeating it. However, it was such a memorable incident that the kids still remember it years later. And since I seem to be in this "write it for posterity" mode, I thought I'd post it. It's for history, right?

It all started at the Big Lake Half Marathon in New Hampshire.

May 7, 2005.

What is significant about that date, you ask? Well, let's see. In exactly 4 weeks my third baby would be born. Two weeks after that we'd be moving to a new state and starting a new job. What kind of crazy person at 8 months pregnant packs two kids up in the car at 6 a.m. (gotta get there in time for registration) to drive an hour to then "watch" the husband/father figure run a half marathon? Which, by the way, takes an hour and a half to run. It was cold. Really, really cold. And very windy. Also? Raining. I couldn't exactly take the kids outside and let them run around and play since I couldn't keep up with them at that point. So we decided to meet Eric at the finish line. He took off and honestly, I can't remember what I did for the next two hours except wait in the car which was getting very muggy and hot with humidity and 3 (and a half) people sitting inside it. Then comes the inevitable.

"Mommy," says W. "I have to go to the bathroom." A was only 17 months old at this point and still in diapers but W was another story, of course. I sighed. Do I even know where the bathroom is? Do I actually have the energy to unseatbelt these kids and drag them around in the freezing rain looking for a bathroom? No, I do not. I spied an empty water bottle on the floor of the car and handed it to W. "Can you just pee in this bottle?" "Sure, Mommy." And he did a great job. Of course, not wanting it to spill, I screwed the lid back on and LEFT IT IN THE CUP HOLDER of the car. Shortly after this the race was winding up so we headed out to the finish line, just in time to cheer Eric on as he won his division. Hooray for daddy! Now can we get back in the car and go home because we're tired and freezing? He was a very good sport and agreed that we could leave right away, but not without first waiting for the official results to be posted so he could collect his prize: a bottle of maple syrup with "Winner, etc." etched on it. Very nice. Still looks delicious. Does maple syrup get better as it ages? Anyway, we piled into the car and the first thing I said was, "Oh, see that water bottle, there? Don't drink it," and explained W's predicament. Unfortunately, my husband has the WORST memory ever and a few minutes later, while I was enjoying the scenery out the window, he unscrewed the lid of the bottle and took a big swig. C'mon! He'd just run a half-marathon and was very, very thirsty. You see a water bottle sitting in a cup holder...what else are you going to do? I cannot imagine the disgustingness. Of course he spit it all out immediately and stopped the car right then and there to pour out the contents and throw away the bottle. He was so mad! And I can't blame him for that. But W and I could not stop laughing and to this day when we're taking a road trip, every time Eric opens a bottle of water W will say, "Hey, Daddy, do you remember that time..." Yes," snaps Eric, "don't talk about it." It is definitely not one of his favorite stories. But it still makes me laugh.


And also, I wonder: Why did I ever leave it in the cup holder to begin with?

For Posterity

This one just has to go down in the history books. W had an assignment at school: Create a dinosaur. Draw a picture of it, describe it, and write a short story about it. Here it is, word for word (Although I tried to scan the picture and it didn't turn out. You'll have to use your imagination)

"My dinosaur's name is Calvenasurus. PS Calven for short"
"It lives in Sharon"
"It likes to eat schools"

"Calvenasurus is part dinosaur and part robot. He has wings and robot claws. One day Calven ate my school. the end. by W"

It must be every 8 year old boy's dream to have his school eaten by a part-robot dinosaur.