Xanthe Montanthe

Xanthe had more gigs this week than Miley Cyrus. Tuesday it was a trip to the fire station. Wednesday a preschool program, in which 13 costumed kids assaulted the audience with wildly enthusiastic songs. Tolly was crying out of sheer terror the whole time, but you couldn't hear him above the kids' performance. Xanthe told me that her teachers told them to sing loud, and boy were they obedient. Her teachers are wonderful, and the performance was adorable. Today was the other preschool's program. This performance was almost the polar opposite of the first one, probably due to the fact that most of the kids were having heat stroke inside their costumes. They were mostly catatonic for the duration, but they still managed to be incredibly cute. Izzy came to support Xanthe's career on the preschool performance circuit. Afterwards, they lunched at the Bun Basket where Xanthe had to fight off adoring fans who recognized her from her performance of "I'm a Mean Old Witch With a Hat." OK, that last part isn't true, of course, but Xanthe takes her singing very seriously. Soon she'll be practicing for her Christmas performances. First, though, we have to get through the mountain of candy the kids have accumulated. And it's not even Halloween yet!

The Great Pumpkin

Three blog posts in one day? I must be having some sort of manic episode. Freestone wanted to see the pictures of his trip to the pumpkin patch with his favorite brother, so why not? Freestone has been anxious to select his pumpkin, so we made it a boys' outing by calling Big Tolly to meet us at the patch. When we arrived, Free put on the special kindergarten-teacher-voice that he uses with Ptolemy and counseled, "Now, Tolly, you can pick out any pumpkin you want, okaaaay? As long as it's not a hundred dollars."
Eventually, Free took Tolly's noncommittal head bobbing for apathy and picked a baby-sized pumpkin for him and a giant one for himself. When we got home, Freestone shouldered the manly responsibility of rolling his giant pumpkin out of the car, across the driveway, up the stairs and into the house. He didn't want any help, didn't want Ptolemy to think he was weak. The way Free takes care of Tolly, I don't think that will ever be a problem.

Forget Bookworms

Worms aren't the only insects who can enjoy books. There was a ladybug and a bumblebee, not to mention a Jedi, at the library today. The crowds went wild over the collective cuteness of my little charges. Because public restrooms are so fascinating, all the kids had to go. How do you get three pre-schoolers out of their costumes while holding a baby? Well, the Jedi's costume had a zipper fly (which he demonstrated in the children's reading area), but the bugs had all kinds of leotards and flouncy skirts and leggings. To expedite things, I put Esmae's antennae on my own head so they wouldn't fall in. Since my attention span is about as long as a ladybug's, I forgot all about the glittery gold antennae and sported them for the rest of the library visit. Maybe the people weren't laughing at how cute the kids were. Maybe they were laughing at the Mother Insect with the springy gold balls on her head.

The POD

These are rare photos of Ptolemy outside of his natural habitat, his natural habitat being in someone's arms. Once at a family party, Tolly fell asleep and I put him in his crib. A few minutes later, Freestone came in the kitchen lugging the baby. He sounded alarmed when he said, "Tolly was all alone in there!" Imagine! A baby all alone in his crib...asleep. The horrors!

Ptolemy loves to interact with a big smile and happy gurgly noises that sound like an underwater conversation. I think he really thinks he's talking, and he's very sincere. If he could talk, would it be something mundane, like "Hey, Mom, are you ever going to change my diaper?" Or would it be secrets of the universe? Maybe he remembers things that the rest of us have forgotten. I'm OK with his babbling being unintelligible. He communicates his joy and contentment more than words could do justice to when his arms fling and he catches his breath with a big grin.

He also communicates his love for his mama by crying inconsolably when I'm gone. First he looks around, worried, straining to hear my voice. Then when it's confirmed that I'm not there, he wails until I get back. When I come home and he hears my voice, he looks up with his little red tear-stained face and puffy eyes. I hold him and he heaves a big, gusty sigh, mumbles something about missing me and falls asleep. I love it. Someday I won't be the center of Ptolemy's world anymore, so I'm enjoying my rock star status now. Eleven pounds of pure admiration. I'll take it!

Squash Your Appetite

I was in charge of making the home made root beer at the ward party on Saturday. I was proud of myself for whipping it together so fast, since I knew just what to do from last year. It has four ingredients. Easy, right? Well, I forgot the sugar. Have you ever tasted root beer flavored Alka-Seltzer? There's a reason it doesn't exist. I was able to add the sugar before the crowds arrived, but I thought it would be safe to stick to three-ingredient recipes for awhile.

For dinner, Spaghetti (Squash) Marinara. Cut the spaghetti squash in half, bake it, scoop it out over spaghetti sauce. It's fun because it looks just like spaghetti, but it's a lot tastier than noodles. I served it with a side of banana squash, which is my favorite. Of course, you can add all kinds of cheese or veggies, etc. If you can handle the pressure.

For dessert, I made pumpkin cookies from a friend's blog. Two spice cake mixes, a large can of pumpkin and...I can't remember the third ingredient. Oh yeah, the chocolate chips. Throw globs of it on a cookie sheet and bake at 350 for 17 minutes. There you have a good, healthy amount of squash for dinner. And some to share with friends, too.

Take Three

This is a birthday gift from Golda, a paper cut of our family. Thanks, Golda! I love it! You are very creative and thoughtful.

Millions of people in the world probably had a fantastic day on Saturday, which was my birthday. I had a good day. My ballet students danced their best as a gift to me. I had a picnic lunch with my kids. I ran girls to lessons. I spent five hours at the church setting up, executing and cleaning up a ward party for 250 people. That was fun, but by the time it was over, I felt like I needed just one more day of celebration, on my terms.

So, even though I had already claimed Friday and Saturday, I staked out Sunday, too, as part of my birthday. Araceli had a cough, so I stayed home from church with her in a quiet house and sipped hot chocolate while I read my book. I wore sweats and slippers and tried not to clean up. I finished up fun stuff for the Halloween party. I cooked for enjoyment, not as a task, and I relished the scent of my new Scentsy candle from Sarah that filled the peaceful house with the smell of cinnamon. Everything I did was for fun. I ordered a book from Amazon that I've been looking for since 4th grade, and I read The Mouse and the Motorcycle to the kids. Later, the Kings came over for pumpkin pie. Scott put everyone to bed and I read for three solid hours, until the words swimming in front of me told me it was time to end my three-day tribute to selfishness.
So today it's back to the real world, which I love almost as much as my birthday world.

Imagine, Dream, Create

Love this short video clip.Talk about thinking on a macro level.

Where the Wild Things Aren't

I don't know about Maurice Sendak's crew, but all afternoon and evening, the only wild thing around here was Ptolemy. The rest of the wild things went off to a magical kingdom called Scheuller-topia, while Scott and I celebrated the eve of my 38th birthday. During their journey, the littles played and laughed and went to a movie. Meanwhile, Scott and I shopped and wandered and wondered at the lack of chaos. Wondered if we liked it, if we could get used to it. Just as things were getting too still and lonely, the wild things returned from their movie, happy little monsters. (Thank you, Scheu's!)

Having long since worked through our wild streaks, Scott and I opted for Christmas shopping and Panda Express as opposed to revelry and debauchery on my birthday eve. Now that I'm getting older, I have to be more dignified, though I did buy a whole tub of chocolate-covered almonds at Costco. That just screams "38" the way a fifth of Bombay Sapphire says "21," doesn't it? Things could get a little crazy!...In a suburban mom kind of way.

The Magic Flute

When Golda started playing the flute six years ago, I began looking forward to the day she would discover the joy of playing in an orchestra. When she would complain about practicing, I'd tell her, just wait! Someday you'll play in a group and all your friends will play too, and it will open up all kinds of doors for you. You'll love it. From the moment I first played in the orchestra in 5th grade, I fell in love. I had a wonderful teacher, and I sat on the edge of my seat in the very front, taking in every word he said, watching his baton and following. By the time I was a senior in high school, I played in four orchestras and went to concerts and recitals every Friday and Saturday night. In college, majoring in violin performance, I had even more opportunities. With hundreds of music majors, there were recitals every 75 minutes in the recital hall, not to mention a full season of ballet, opera and orchestra performances, many of which I got to take part in.

That was my passion, a love that I was certain my children would share. Last night was Golda's first band concert. Up until the concert, there had been no inkling that Golda did anything but tolerate her participation in the Symphonic Band. During the performance, though, I saw her share glances with fellow flute players, I saw her smile and I noticed her watching the conductor, understanding the music. She looked gorgeous! Aha! She was enjoying it, I know she was. Truth be told, hardly anything resembling music came out of all the noise being produced. The acrobatic "performance art" my kids were executing with their folding chairs as props was more akin to an artistic endeavor than what was happening onstage. Nevertheless, there was a Gershwin piece that was good and there was promise of future greatness. Afterwards, no complaint from the little flutist. I think maybe, she might get what I've been talking about. She's twelve, so this could be the last time that happens for awhile!

A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Looking at a neighbor's wedding invitation, Araceli said, "Mom? When I get married, I'm not going to kiss the boy until the wedding."

I said, "Don't you want to try it out first before you decide to get married?"

Right away she answered, "OK. I'll kiss him at the rehearsal."

My dear little Araceli, I wish I could get a promise in writing that it would all play out like that. I know you will handle all that life throws at you with the resolve you show at seven years old, even if your ideas change between now and that first kiss. Choose wisely the where, when and who!

Naughty and Nice

Wouldn't it be sad if holidays were just one-day events? The preparation is most of the fun! Araceli and Freestone helped me fill goodie bags for the Halloween party until they both went into sugar comas and passed out on the floor. Just kidding. They actually started spinning in circles on their knees, barreling around the room like whirling dervishes. If only sugar would make them pass out!

The Costume Queen delivered Golda's Alice in Wonderland costume, and it is fabulous. Fabulous! Michelle never ceases to amaze. Thank you!

Xanthe is already having serious reservations about Halloween. She is absolutely terrified of masks, like the dog in Marley and Me was terrified of thunder. Pathological fear. Tranquilizer-worthy. Scott put on this mask and scared the living daylights out of Xanthe. At bedtime, she asked me where the mask was.
"Where is that mask?"
"I put it away where nobody could find it."
"Far, far away in the whole world?"
"Yes."
"Daddy scared me with that mask."
"I know. Daddies can be silly and they like to tease."
"How about if we get a NEW daddy?"

In the end, we decided to keep Scott if he promised to use the mask only to scare Uncle Ryan. Nobody else. Xanthe got a little smirk on her face when Scott suggested scaring Uncle Ryan. Maybe Halloween will be fun for her after all.

This Little Piggy Went to the Health Department

If I were at a job interview and someone asked me what my worst quality is, I would immediately answer, "Impatience." Immediately, because I don't like to waste time.

Driving the junior high carpool today, I said to Xanthe, "I'm going to count to two, and I want your seatbelt on." One of the junior high boys said, "Uh, don't people usually count to three?"

I said, "I don't have time."

I'm in a car, we're on the road, and I don't have time to count to three? I have got to get a hold of myself. Recently, I overheard Xanthe in the back seat of the car saying, "What is this guy doing? Why doesn't he get out of my way?!" We were at a red light. I looked up from my book (What. Red lights are long enough to read a page or two.) and Xanthe was glaring angrily out the window.

So imagine how much agony I was in yesterday at the thought of going to Salt Lake to get the Swine Flu vaccine. The journey was comprised of four elements that are guaranteed to send an inpatient person over the edge. A government agency, long lines, six kids in a car and rush-hour traffic. Just one of those components is enough to make my head explode.

Once we got there, I was surprised at how quickly the line moved, how efficient the workers were, how easy the vaccine was and how smooth the traffic was coming back. Before I had a chance to rant about slow drivers in the fast lane, we were home and theoretically protected from the Swine Flu. (I'm not going to say H1N1. It's boring.) Thanks to Emily for giving me the heads-up on the flu clinic. Here's hoping our piglets are protected. I just wish there were a nasal mist that could make me more patient. I'll have to cure that ill on my own.

What You Wear from Ear to Ear

Help wanted!

I need somebody to come over here and smile at Ptolemy. He's remarkably spoiled and my facial muscles are tired from cooing at him. I would love to play peek-a-boo all day long, but there are moments when it's not feasible. Like when I have a razor-sharp chisel aimed at my hand or when I'm measuring millimeters. Like Humpty Dumpty, this poor violin will never be put back together if someone doesn't smile at this baby for me! Come on, give my tired face a break and save me from slicing off my fingers. Multitasking and sharp tools don't mix. If you could hear his sad, neglected whimpers, you wouldn't be able to resist!

Da Bears

Golda went crazy at the San Diego zoo with her wildlife photography. She wants to make a wildlife calendar. Between Yellowstone and the zoo, I think she has enough great shots for her project. Don't you just love digital photography? It's a far cry from the old days, when Ryan (Scott's brother) "wasted" a whole roll of film taking 36 pictures of Old Faithful. Ryan was ahead of his time! Now you can take 500 pictures of a sleeping koala and still have memory space. All these bears are adorable, but I have my favorite.

Veni Vidi Vici

It's a statue of Julius Caesar. My mom would know that right off the bat. One of my most vivid memories of my mother is her telling us kids about Julius Caesar. In the Shakespeare version, he was assassinated on the floor of the Roman Senate by a group of his friends. When Mom got to the part where Julius Caesar said, "Et tu, Brute?" she started crying. She said, "Can you imagine? His best friend turned on him!" She broke down, and at that moment my understanding of literature was born. It dawned on me that a story or a play or a piece of music could reach you deep in your heart and cause you to feel compassion or true sorrow or even joy.

At the time, I was a little uncomfortable with my mom crying over something that happened centuries ago. But I got it. Just recently, listening to West Side Story with the kids in the car, I couldn't help but choke up during the Jet song. The Jet song! It's not even sad. I blubbered to the kids about how tragic it was that Tony decided to go to the dance, and how he killed Bernardo, and it ruined his chance for happiness. The kids were perplexed by my breakdown, but maybe a little subdued. I thought of my mom and how her passion taught me so many lessons. Here I am, unwittingly passing on the same lessons to my children. That's what I thought until "Officer Krupke" came on and Golda said, "Mom, can you keep your eyes on the road? We're all going to die because you're doing jazz hands."
Well, Moms aren't perfect. If I aspire to be as great as my mom, I won't do too badly. Happy Birthday, Mom! Thanks for Julius Caesar.

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to the man of my dreams. Scott may not be perfect, but so far I haven't found anything wrong with him, so he must be pretty close. We started celebrating his birthday in Imperial Beach with Seacoast Pizza, the dangerously large pizza. Friday, Scott and I went to dinner at a Brazilian barbeque, where Scott did his proud dad routine, holding Ptolemy up for everyone to admire. Tonight, the kids made cupcakes and Butterfinger spiders. They hosted a surprise party where they called Daddy into the kitchen, hid behind the table and jumped out to say, "Surprise!" Scott was, of course, shocked.

Tomorrow, he'll celebrate by going to work, shuttling girls to ballet and helping the kids with homework while I teach. Par-ty! Even if Scott's actual birthday has a touch of the mundane about it, he makes every day a celebration for those lucky enough to be in his sphere. Everything is fun when Scott is there. He lights up a room, he makes people comfortable, he stirs up trouble, he makes kids happy, he is sarcastic and funny. If you're in the neighborhood, he likes it when people bring sugary treats to his office on his birthday. And he'll be checking the blog to see if anyone has wished him a happy birthday. I'll be the first: Happy birthday, Scott. Go buy yourself a gift, just in case the one your wife comes up with is lame. (Remember the shirt from Guatemala?)

Little Foodie

Here's Xanthe, my little foodie, dining at Mama Testa's in San Diego. (Good food, very rainbow friendly. A family of eight could not be more out of place there, but it was fun.) When Xanthe joined our family, she was 13 months old and all her food had been pureed and served through a bottle. Her bottle had the top of the nipple cut off so that the food or milk would come out very fast. At first, she wouldn't take her bottle from us, until I figured out that she liked the formula scalding hot. I wish I had a video of it; she could gulp down a whole bottle in seconds flat. Five or six seconds to drink eight ounces.

When we got her home, I put her in a high chair and put Cheerios on the tray. She played with them but didn't put them in her mouth. All the other kids demonstrated how to pick one up and eat it, so she mimicked them. The first one, she picked up and aimed for her mouth. She hit her forehead. It was funny, but heartbreaking. She had never eaten solid food!

So she had some struggles. She went hungry, I know she did. All this time later, I could swear she's still making up for it. Spicy food has never bothered her. She likes everything, which is great. Except that if she sees that someone has something she doesn't have, she goes nuts. She gets frantic at a party where there are lots of different choices. She wants all of them. Sometimes, she says, "My tummy hurts. I ate too much. I'll just eat a little more." If she sees a McDonald's billboard, she's suddenly hungry. If there's an empty water bottle in the car, she's desperately thirsty. I realized how intense her eating habits are this summer at the pool. A kid near me opened a little bag of Doritos and it make a whoosh noise. Instantly, I was thinking, "You fool! Put that away! Xanthe is going to be crying for Doritos now." Sure enough, Xanthe got out of the pool and came running to me. "I need chips! I need chips weally bad!" I don't even think she connected why she felt like she needed chips. It was an instinct.

In a way, it's cute, her predictability. Every morning, she has to have two kinds of cereal, not just one. Her idiosyncrasies are adorable. But I also worry that maybe the desperate need for food is indicative of some deeper need that is not being addressed. I don't worry about it too much, but maybe I should. Some of you may have answers on this one. I'm sure some of you have food bills to send me from playdates with Xanthe. It's your own fault for keeping food in your house. You should have known better! It's a good thing she's so darn lovable.