Through A Childs Eyes

Children have a unique way of seeing things in a different light.

Here's my son Hayden, on Thanksgiving.


Superman, The Video. from emily hartley on Vimeo.

I think this video sums it all up for me. This is the way I want to remember this time in our lives, this is the way I want my life to be, and obviously my son has a bright future in videography.

Sitting with Scissors

I was going to write a thrilling entry today about my budget Halloween. Which probably isn't so much based on budget as it is on mooching, oops! I mean, on the genuine generosity of others...

But then yesterday happened. It was an exciting and busy day, with votes to be cast, pumpkins to be carved and homework to be finished. It was a day with a story, and that story must be shared.

The boys and I were seated around our kitchen table hard at work on this week's cut & sort worksheet. After a few minutes of gleeful participation, things had started to go a little sour. I could see the grand tradition of procrastination [passed on through many generations] starting to rear its ugly head. Glue was being thrown, scissors were being launched, and my children were quickly disappearing under the table,

Just when I was about to give up, things had gone eerily silent.

As a mom, you can pretend all you want that silence is a good thing, but when you live with two five-year olds, you know better; the sound of silence might as well be a siren of destruction.

And that's when I heard it....

"Mommmmmmy?" A two syllable word stretched into six? Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

"Um, I accidentally cut my hair." Ah, yes, a statement that will go down in history, forever destined to be repeated and bronzed in a baby book. 'I accidentally cut my hair.'

I took a minute to inhale, then exhale, inhale again and then let out one big sigh. I counted to ten or twenty, maybe even thirty, and I stared at the table for a minute, not sure I really wanted to look up.

If you know me at all, or if you've been reading my ramblings for a while, you know my biggest fear [besides martians] is the fear of a buzz-cut. The last thing I wanted to do was to look up and make eye contact with a snafu so horrid that it could only remedied with clippers.

Eventually, I summoned up enough courage to direct my eyes upward. I first saw the pile of hair on the kitchen table which Hayden was already starting to throw away. Kind of big, yes, but under the realm of positive thinking, could have been worse. So I bit the bullet and prepared to face Cash, the culprit, face to face.

This is what I saw:



Just see if you can spot the missing chunk.

I could tell the boys were nervously waiting for my response, probably expecting a blow-up, but the look on Cash's face was so classic, his eyes looking up, trying to focus on that spot where hair once was, that the only thing I could do was laugh.

Cash started to giggle too, in high-pitched relief, and Hayden followed suit. I manage to eek out one or two 'You need to be more careful' scoldings but what was the use? It was a moment so humorously endearing it was devoid of all punishment or discipline.

It really wasn't that bad, anyway. My painstaking devotion to their hairstyle had finally paid off, as the rest of his bangs are long enough that with the right part and maybe the right product you can barely tell that something is missing.

Truthfully, I have to admit I'm a little bit surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

After all, a good day in our house is one when we manage to make it to the end of the day with the house leaning, but standing and most everyone's appendages still intact.

Maybe My Grossest Blog Yet...

**you have been warned: this blog contains pictures of real live fake rodents and one real dead one**

You may have heard me mention before the surplus of artificial life forms we have laying around our house.

I'm talking fake spiders, rats, snakes, centipedes, flies...you name it, we probably having a plastic replica of it.

More often than not one of these little dummies has scared the poo out of me when I wasn't expecting it.

Like our mouse friend here, who startled me while I was on a lego-excavating mission in the playroom:


Or this spider who I was sure was on the attack:


Or how about this terrifying piglet who jumped out at me while I was on dustbuster duty:

And with it being Halloween and all, the likelihood of these happenings has greatly increased, what with all the extra spiders and mice showing up for the celebration:

So yesterday, while I was taking out the trash, I wasn't surprised at all to find another little rodent friend hanging out on the driveway. I figured he'd been joy-riding with the boys on their big wheels the afternoon before and must have gotten left behind when it was time to go inside.

Then I leaned over to pick him up, and that's when I began to second-guess my better judgement.

It was a mole.

And, um, he wasn't Made in China.


You just can't get more festive than that.

Cheerio...Cheerios

My dear Cheerios,

I'm so over you.

I just can't take it anymore.

I loathe seeing you sitting around on the couch.

I abhor the way you manage to always adhere to the butt of all my pants.

I detest the sound of you hitting the floor and I despise the crunch of you under my feet.

I hate the way I think you're gone, and then there you are again, hanging out under the couch, behind the bookcase, in the bathroom, or driving a dump truck in the playroom.

You know what's coming. I'm kicking you out again. Banning you from breakfast.

The dust buster and I? We've had it. It's high time we took a break from your bran.

*sigh*

I try to act so tough, but you know in the end [or in a few weeks when we've had our fill of waffles] I'll always take you back. I just can't resist those honey nuts or those fruity tendencies [but the yogurt? gross] . Lucky for you I'm fickle, I tend to forget your irritating crunch under my feet and only remember your sweet aftertaste when faced with the prospect of getting a free race car in return.

O, my little o's, how I love to hate...

...and hate to love.

look

i'm downstairs.

my kids are usptairs, 'napping' trading this phrase back and forth:

"booty, booty, booty, look at my booty"

great.

all my hard work training them to use 'bunditos" when discussing their bottoms has just vanished, like poop down the toilet.

the magical mystery tour is waiting to take you away.......

wednesday.
naptime.

my children figured its time to ditch the cribs. i found cash standing on the book case getting all the "breakables (as they say, did i really use that word that much that they picked it up? god, i'm such a grandma.)" off the top and handing them down to hayden. a little tikes choo-choo mountain was propped against the drawers for use as a step, i assume. never mind that everything from the drawers, closet, or any storage spot in the room, was now carpeting the floor. i mean, is their room even carpeted? i can't remember, its been a week since i actually SAW the floor. and just so you know, it hurts like hell when you step on little plastic cows.

so standing there at the door, trying to decide whether to go get the camera or get cash down before he hurts himself, i thought - we really need a vacation, so thats where we'll be all this week starting tomorrow. laying on the beach in destin, probably eating sand, peeing in the pool, figthing over pool toys with 100 people asking 'are they twins? ", reminding me i have my hands full (duh i know, people) or calling them girls (hello we are wearing swim trunks, not bikinis you tards).....i will miss all of you dearly, and while i'm completely bummed about missing Apollo Up's cd release party and pre-party at the freys, i can't pass up a free trip to the beach.....

(by the way Apollo Up's Chariots of Fire is beyond awesome and rocking out to it live is where you should be on saturday, because thats where i'd be if i wasn't going to be living it up with britney spears and sean preston federline on the emerald coast)

so i'll call you when i get back because i'm sick of being out of town and we really need to hang out.

love, me

your toilet certainly has an even complexion

i just found my dear, sweet, loving children rubbing my beloved (and a bit expensive) tarte foundation (purchased thoughtfully from sephora by one awesome husband) all over the --place favorite expletive here-- toilet.

this comes a day after they helped me wash my car only to wipe chunks mud all over it afterwards.

no words can describe my pride as a mother.