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He scowls at me and then rolls his eyes. I’ve interrupted his Lego building. 

He opens his mouth and I begin jamming the flosser between his teeth.

“You know Seth, some parents don’t give a darn about their kids’ teeth. They’d just as soon let them rot right out of their heads. I don’t appreciate the attitude.”

Riley watches quietly, then says,

“I want to have children, and I want to be a really good mother, but I don’t know if I can deal with saliva and stuff like that.”

Icicles, schmycicles. We spent our afternoon in the rain forest.

Riley got to do something she’s always dreamed of…

She also acquired a new nickname.

Ladies and gentle(M), I give you…Mimosa.

A sensitive name for a sensitive girl.

She’s cool with the nickname. It’s one of dozens she already owns.

Here she is pointing at a hedgehog.

Here is the hedgehog. He’s inspiring. He makes me want to be a better napper. 

Here she is with HT, who had to chisel the car windows before we could even get out the driveway today.  

As he scraped, Riley, and I sat in the car singing “I Will Survive!” During the musical interlude I looked back and told her, “When a man chisels your car out for you, it means he loves you. Don’t ever settle for anything less. You deserve to be treated well.”   

When HT got in the car I thanked him profusely, and in the rearview, I saw Riley’s arm do its happy tic.

Anyway, where was I?

I found out something about my daughter I hadn’t known before. She’s interested in orchids. The Botanical Gardens has a library, and she took out two adult books on the subject. She specifically wants to make it clear she does not have “orchid-mania,” that would be bad. She’s just interested, that’s all. Sorry I didn’t get a picture of an orchid. That would have been appropriate here, but no one is perfect. Here she is with an Orchid book. It will have to do.

I have a feeling we’re going to find out all kinds of things we never knew about our daughter, now that we’re homeschooling.  

Of course, some things about her, I’ll never know. 

I’m just so blessed she shares some of her mystery,with me.

These icicles are currently hanging off the roof of our second story back porch.

Today I chipped ice off my windshield, inch by inch, in order to take the kids to dance class.

That’s right. Rain, snow or ice, on Wednesdays, Seth and Riley get to work on their moves.

The teacher knows Seth’s love of Michael Jackson, so she loads up her ipod with Smooth Criminal and PYT, etc. Riley prefers The Cha Cha slide. It’s a therapeutic dance class. Modified. Just two other kids besides them, and half the time they don’t show up so it is almost private. In the beginning, the wonderful young teacher wanted to know my goals. Balance? Coordination? Depth perception? Stamina, c’mon, what are we working on?

I told her my goal for both of them was joy. She looked stunned for a milisecond, but then raised her eyebrow and grinned. She totally got it.

And boy are they havin’ some fun!

If they feel more confident at dances or weddings or social events that will be a bonus, but the goal is joy.

As I type, I realize none of this has anything to do with icicles. 

Then again, I never promised you a rose garden.

Or a blog post that made sense.

Then again, maybe icicles bring you joy.

It’s very possible I nailed it.

No need to thank me.

He wakes up this happy and stays happy all day.

I’d tell you how much I love this boy, but I don’t see how you could fathom it.

He wouldn’t throw this at his mom. I’m not kidding. He really wouldn’t. He didn’t.

I can’t fathom it. We were sure one was plenty. We hadn’t even ordered this guy. He just showed up.

How would I have ever lived without him?

Jingle jingled.

Seth sneezed.

Todd snored.

Riley tooted.

Twice.

Gave up.

Laughed.

Om.

Looking for a place to celebrate your child’s accomplishments with people who get it?

Looking for a lift on one of those difficult days?

Come see The Community Brag Page Jess Wilson has set up.

Tell us what is great about your kid.  

Feel the community celebrate with you.

Wishing you and your amazing children many victories in 2010!

Love.

So off we go into a new year. It feels like a big one.

HT is changing. He’s kind of stepping into himself. Figuring some things out. I won’t go into detail, because it is his stuff, but it’s good. A little frightening at times, but good.

Then there is the fact that we will begin homeschooling Riley in, oh, four days. Seth is seriously leaning in the direction of joining us. At first he wanted no part of it. He loves recess and his friends at school. But as we’ve been making plans, preparing curriculum, he’s been walking around with a wrinkled forehead, fretting about not wanting to miss any of the fun we’ll be having at home. He’s a wreck. We finally had to tell him, “Mommy and Daddy will decide.” He seemed relieved not to have to make such a heavy decision. But now we have to! Part of me thinks it would be great to start with just Riley, one on two (Todd is home ’til 12:30 each day to help). Kind of get our rhythm. The other part feels like if we’re going to homeschool, we’d better be a homeschooling family and get our feet firmly planted in one world and not go back and forth between the two. It will be an easier transition for Riley if she doesn’t have to pick Seth up at school everyday. But Seth has a lovely teacher this year, and he’s doing really well.

As parents, do we ever know anything for sure?

Some feel they do. 

I know one woman who with absolute conviction, “beats her kid’s ass” for serious transgressions.

She’s not wondering if it’s okay. Or if there is a better way. Or worried about what people think of her. Or terrified about the effects of her parenting on her child’s future.

How does she do that?

I worry about everything. Not just the kids either. I worry about telling the truth. Is it okay to say what I think? Even if others don’t agree? Even if it pisses someone off? Is it brave or is it just asking for trouble? Is it attracting more of what I don’t want? I’ve had experiences of saying or writing what I thought only to face painful backlashes. Sometimes later the person thanks me, but not always. I’ve taken a whole lot of heat in the truth telling process in my life. Sometimes I just stay quiet, but that feels suffocating and cowardly. I hope to get more clear on this in the new year. When do you speak up? When do you walk away. Who gives a rip what I think anyway? When are things just none of my business? Then, isn’t that the point of relationship and of writing? To toss ideas around and say what you think, and learn from the interactions?

I need to seriously lighten up.

Who cares if I make mistakes?

Who cares if I piss people off?

Who cares if I beat my kid’s ass? KIDDING!

I’m not going to beat my kid’s ass.

Aha! Finally, something, I know for sure!

It’s a start.

Happy New Year to all of you who ponder with me. 

Lovingly yours, 

MO’N

HT and I have this thing we do with the kids. It’s a bit of a kissing match. We each take one side of a kid’s head, plant one on them, and then see who can kiss them the longest.

It looks like this…a kid in between us, and we’re kissing the kid, say, around the area of the child’s temple, and then we just hold it. 

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm………………………………………………….”

I tend to win. I attribute it to chorus. Lots of breath control.

Once in a great while, HT will beat me. He’ll kiss the kid longest. I hate when that happens. I feel like I’ve let the kid down.

Sometimes, the kid who isn’t being kissed will join in from behind, so the kid being kissed will have a parent on each temple, and a sibling in the occipital region.

It must feel quite strange, the vibration.

Three family voices, Mmmmmmming into your head.

Oh come on. Like you’ve never done it.

If you haven’t tried it, you should.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmawh!

Jingle and I have some good walks together. These pics are from last week in upstate NY. 

This is the Struble Dam. No matter the season it is beautiful up there.

 Beyond this snow covered soccer field there is water. 

 This is the top of the dam.

 In the fall those trees are bright red and gold.

We had our cross country races up here in high school. I’m one of those people who loved practice, hated meets. I’ve got endurance, but no speed. I don’t like competition. I prefer to just mosey along at my own pace, and be left alone with my thoughts, and the clouds. 

This place is just two seconds away from Todd’s parent’s house or my sister’s. It isn’t planned, but I usually find my way here with each visit to my hometown. Meditation. Walks. The Struble Dam is the place to be.  If I just get a half hour to myself there, I’m a better person. 

Just ask Jingle.

Visit me over at Hopeful Parents today. I’ve got Butt Paste if anyone needs it.

We don’t drink soda. There, I said it.

HT used to drink it like water, but several years ago he heard something about if you just give up soft drink, if you do that one thing, you will be taking a big step for your health. Something about 17 teaspoons of sugar in every can, etc. So he quit. He didn’t feel it was a big sacrifice. He didn’t miss it and never looked back.

So we’re at the in-laws last week. Over the years, they have resigned themselves to our various diets (Feingold, GF/CF, Specific Carb for Riley, now we’re doing all organic for Seth). They eye our food suspiciously, but don’t give us much trouble. It was all good, until Todd’s dad came upstairs and offered him a Coke.

“Do you want a Coke?” he asked.

Before Todd could answer Seth asked, 

“What’s a Coke?”  

Silence filled the air. Images of us on a back wood organic homeschooling commune surely ran through my FIL’s mind.

I could see the scene, for years to come, at family gatherings, they’d look at our kids, shake their heads and wring their hands, whispering to each other,

“The poor boy doesn’t even know what a Coke is!”

In our defense, if he had said “soda,” or “pop,” or “soft drink,” Seth probably would have known what he meant.

I’ve laughed myself silly over this several times in the last few days. 

I swear we never set out to be so counter-culture.

About 13-14 years ago I was a hospital pharmacy technician, putting myself through school, getting a second bachelor’s degree, this time in nursing.

I got sick of taking orders from Todd, so I turned the tables and married him. 

When we got engaged, many people warned us about marriage. We worked with a lot of married people, and most of them basically said, it sucks. We would shake our heads, incredulous. How could it suck? We were so happy! We fit perfectly together. We were riding off into the sunset! Nothing they said could kill our buzz.

It has not sucked, but it’s been harder than we expected.

Our lives together have taken very different turns from where we thought we were headed.

Looking back, I did not have a clue about marriage.

Todd did though. The day I walked down the aisle, I could see it in his face. After all my rush, rush, rush to get engaged and get married, he was the one who was steadfast. He was the one who was sure.  

He’s never wavered in his love for me. He has never wavered in his belief in me, or in Riley, or in Seth.

Today is our 12 year anniversary. Over the years, there have been many challenges. Despite his steadfastness, my knight has on occasion fallen off the very high pedestal I had him on while we were dating. Today, I ask him to forgive me for ever putting him up there in the first place.

 He’s human, like he always said he was.

In some ways it feels like we are just getting started. Just getting real. Beginning a new, grown-up kind of love. One where I don’t hold him responsible for my happiness. One where he is safe to express how he really feels. It is exciting.

There is so much of him I still don’t know.

I do know this, you are my family Todd O’Neil. 

We’re in this together.

I love you, and I’m very glad to have married you.

Thank you for loving me.

Happy anniversary.

We are back from upstate NY, (not the city), and it is good to be home. The house isn’t as messy as I envisioned. I mean, it isn’t in dying order, but it isn’t horrible. We stayed with Todd’s parents, who gave Riley and Seth the things they wanted most in life, Nintendo DSIs. Kept them busy for hours on the ride home. We likey. I want to show you some photos of the holiday decorations at the O’Neils. They are too beautiful not to share. I couldn’t capture all of them, but these are some that I loved. The one above. How could you not love it if your last name is O’Neil? The one below, that belly. Enough said.

There is something about an Irish Santa.

2000 was a good year. Riley was born.

The one below on the right looks like he’s been going a little heavy on the egg nog if you know what I mean.

Next we have the nativity set.

Look at the detail!

What does this wise man’s expression say to you?

To me he’s saying, How is this baby, born in Bethlehem, lily white? Not bloody likely!

Keep the guy on the right in mind. We’ll get to him later.

The reason for the season.

I rode a camel once. At the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Baily Circus when I was a child. It was scary and thrilling. Not that it has anything to do with Christmas.

Look at his pipes. He’s been working out. I thought it shouldn’t go unnoticed.

And now we’ve reached the end of our holiday tour. We had a lovely time. We’re home safe. The little ones will wake up tomorrow in their own beds, eager to see what Santa brought them. I’m going to stay up and spy to see if he’s really Irish. I’ll keep you posted.

Happy holidays.

Love,

The O’Neils

The kids are having a ball on the way to Grammy and Grampy’s. They are watching Woody Woodpecker, a DVD from the library. They’ve never seen Mr. Woodpecker, and Seth, for one, thinks he’s hysterical.

 Uh-oh. I’ve been spotted.

Fine. I’ll take a pic of HT. This is his, “What is wrong with you? Why do you have to take my picture while I’m driving?” expression.   

Oh HT. Lighten up. I showed him this next one, and mentioned the chin situation.   

You know what he said?

I’m not going to tell you but it wasn’t nice. He’s a mean, mean man.   

There, that’s better. 

Jingle was oblivious to all our shenanigans. Here she is, tuning us out. Hoping she’s not going to yet another home. We are the fifth in her short life. 

Off to Endicott, NY.

Now, between you and me, because we’re so close, I have a confession to make. When we tell people we are going to NY for the holidays, they automatically assume NYC. Endicott is more rural than all of that. It is three hours north of the city. It is a small town. But when people assume we’re off to NYC, they get a little reverent. Like we’ve just jumped a notch in sophistication in their eyes. NYC is not my favorite city. It overwhelms me. It intimidates me. It is big, and loud. And intimidating, did I mention intimidating? Anyway, when people assume we are going to NYC for the holidays, and they get that sincere look in their eye, I just go ahead and let them think it. I’m all about appearing sophisticated. 

Love.

In the rush of preparing to leave for a few days, to visit family for the holidays, I look around. The house is a mess. I hate leaving it like this. I hate, hate, hate it. I’m not the world’s best housekeeper anyway, but with all the holiday prep, and packing, and on and on, the dust bunnies have become overpopulated.

As Todd loads the car, I fret about. Wiping off the counter. Attempting to get a spot of the kitchen floor. Wiping the bathroom sink. The tub is too far gone to tackle. Ick.  

“C’MON,” he yells. Kids already in the car.

On the road, he says, “I don’t know why you care so much. The only way anyone is going to see the house is if we die while we’re away, and who cares? We’ll be dead!” He smiles.

I stare straight ahead. Still a little unsettled. The student staying with the cats will see it and he knows it. Apparently, she doesn’t count.

After a time, I ask,

“What if we’re just incapacitated?”

Hands on the wheel, he doesn’t miss a beat, “Well, if we’re incapacitated, they should be filled with compassion for us and not judge. Walk a day in our shoes.”

Then he adds, “And if they really want to help, they can clean up a little.”

*Dying order. A term I learned while living in Virginia, meaning the house should look how you would want it to if you died, and people would be going through it to settle your affairs.

We baked yesterday. I’d offer you some cookies, but you’d have to sign a disclaimer first. You’d have to not mind how the knife used for frosting was licked in between each cookie. You’d have to be cool that someone who wiped their nose on the back of their hand, also rolled the dough.

But enough about me.

The kids had a riot. By 9PM (they are usually in bed by 8:00) I thought maybe I should feed them some dinner. Some real food. I prepared a simple meal, and when I went to put Annie’s Goddess Dressing on Riley’s spinach, I unscrewed the lid, and the contents of the bottle spurt forth, all over the trays of the meticulously decorated cookies on the kitchen table. I could not believe it. Never before had Annie’s exploded. Why now? Why Annie? Had we offended the Goddess in some way? So many cookies had to be tossed. That dressing really flew. I thought I’d thouroughly cleaned up, but this morning I found splatters of it on the wall, on the water cooler, and on the floor. Who knows where else I’ll find it. 

Luckily we were able to salvage many cookies.  The cuts outs are Christmas shapes but the decorations are a bit unconventional since they are all organic/non-GMO (can’t vouch for the marshmallows or the Sun Drops, so Seth isn’t eating those).  

Here is Seth, making some wrapping paper for the gift he gave to his teacher. I was in a bind, and did not have time to run out to the store for gift wrap. He rose to the occassion. I can always count on my boy. He specializes in skinny legged Santas.  

He is literally bouncing off the walls, and climbing up them, happily anticipating Christmas. Riley too.

The air is filled with joy. Christmas carols play. Our kids are young and innocent.

These are the good old days.