December Recap

Okay, so I did it again. Why am I only able to write one measly blog every December? It's as if my time is completely consumed by Christmas shopping, crafting, and planning Marc's birthday or something. Weird. Anyway, here are some of things I planned to write about this month but just never got around to it:

Dear Santa
We took the boys early in the month to a fun breakfast with Santa hosted by one of the community churches. The boys enjoyed the free food, cookie decorating, ornament making, chance to see Elmo and, of course, the chance to tell Santa what they wanted for Christmas.
This is the first year any of them has expressed a desire for a specific Christmas gift. In the line to see Santa were tables with little printed wish lists that you could fill out for Santa to give to his elves. The boys dictated, and I wrote down what they wanted. David John asked for an Abby Cadabby doll, Elijah asked for cookies and slippers and Gabriel asked for slippers, cookies, milk, juice and water. I wondered what Santa might think about these sparse requests. Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't refer our family to social services. Any child who has to ask for water for Christmas must be deprived. I was tempted to write a disclaimer stating that I really did provide adequate nutrition and thirst-quenching drinks on a daily basis. Despite being a little embarrassed, I did feel grateful that my boys were not greedy and didn't want anything terribly expensive. My gratitude deepened when I heard the little girl in front of us telling her sister what to write on her list. "I want a smart phone, a Coach purse and some serious bling." Maybe having four boys is not such a bad thing...

Party Like it's 1985
Marc went to our friend Kevin's birthday party with an 80's theme. I put together this gnarly outfit for him last minute. We also provided a very 80's gift of some He-Man coasters that I made. We couldn't find a babysitter (all of our friends were out of town or at the party) so I stayed home but Kevin got a kick out of his gift and Marc's get-up got 2 votes for best 80's ensemble so all-in-all a good night. :) (For the record, Marc offered to stay home and let me go to the party. He's a totally radical husband.)

Sock it to Me
Benjamin is crawling, cruising and scooting everywhere. One of his favorite things to do is locate a sock of any variety (dirty, clean, tube, ankle- he's not picky) and then chew on it until it is a disgusting sodden mess. While he is chewing, he searches for other socks until he has gathered a little collection of the toddler socks that are perpetually strewn about the house. Since he doesn't want to put any of his socks down, he gets around by keeping his torso and arms still while propelling himself forward across our wood floors using only his toes. The result is quite hilarious and just cannot be communicated with a picture. We invite you to come over any evening and witness the sock-eating ritual. Then you, too, can enjoy watching Benjamin who looks like a baby-shaped vacuum being moved about by some unseen force and picking up socks in its wake.
We have learned recently that not only are socks good for chewing on, but they are also quite handy for effectively stopping large pieces of machinery. One of Benjamin's Halloween socks, aware that October was over and knowing that it was destined for a long wait in a storage container, chose to wriggle its way under the washing machine instead of going into the washing machine. As a cry for attention, perhaps, this sock managed to scoot all the way to the back of the washing machine where it was sucked post-haste into the engine causing a loud "pop" sound and the immediate cessation of the washing of laundry. We were not aware of the emotional distress of the sock or its misguided plot. All we knew was that we could not do laundry and that David John had chosen the very same day to have a record number of potty-training related accidents. We attempted to discover the cause of the sudden breakdown over a couple of days while a wonderfully odiferous collection of pants and underwear accrued in our basement sink. Finally, we called a repair man who charged us $150 to fish the baby sock out of the gear box. I think sock therapy would have been cheaper.

A Christmas Miracle
As most of you know, Marc was born on Christmas Eve (I won't say how many years ago) in Jerusalem. However, his birth by his patient mother who had to be carried up the stairs (whose idea was it to put the maternity ward on the second floor?) and try to communicate with an Arab woman who could only say "Bush!" instead of "push" is not the miracle I am talking about. No, this was the miracle of the ice cream cake. Each year, I get Marc an ice cream cake for his birthday. This year, we had a party on December 22nd so I went out to get the cake the night of the 21st. I took Benjamin with me. When we arrived home, I was bringing in both the baby and the cake when the cake slipped out of my hands and tumbled through the air. The big plastic dome top came off as did the plastic bottom, but somehow the cake stayed with the cardboard liner. The miracle was that the cake landed right side up with only one barely noticeable nick in the frosting.
The birthday party was very fun with homemade pizza, popcorn, candy, fruit and root beer (Marc's favorite things). We also played chimes and had a Marc trivia game. His friends learned that Marc can do an awesome velociraptor imitation. They also learned he will not do it at parties.

Christmas
Here are the four boys and me in our new Christmas pajamas at my parent's house. We had a great time while Marc, as usual, worked. I am happy to report that Santa did bring David John an Abby Cadabby doll as well as Elmo slippers. Gabriel and Elijah received Lightening McQueen slippers and special cookies from the North Pole. Santa decided to let us provide the milk, juice, and water. It was Benjamin's first Christmas and he enjoyed the paper and boxes as well as the new binkies and binky clips that Santa brought.We opened presents at home with Daddy today. Our boys are very fun to give to because they express extreme satisfaction with everything from new socks and pants to awesome new toys. I am always filled with gratitude for my little family and sweet husband at Christmas time. This year, when I arrived home after the drive from Fairborn, Marc had this beautiful vase of lilies waiting for me. Each time I walk into the kitchen I breathe in the sweet smell. They make me think of the new year, a new start, a new chance to love and live and grow.

Elusive Essay Espied

Members of the blog community have confirmed reports of a sighting of the rare ohioricks blog. Those tracking the blog's mating habits, migratory patterns and habitat were relieved at the news.
"It had been almost a whole month without so much as a word or hint of its whereabouts," explained blog expert Lucius Loquacious, "We were beginning to wonder if the ohioricks blog had survived the Thanksgiving season. Its appearance today is definitely heartening."

While the sighting today is certainly news to celebrate, experts are still concerned about the rapid disappearance of the blog's natural habitat, a region known as "Sarah's Free Time." If the flashy line graphs are to be believed, the size of Sarah's Free Time has an inverse relationship to the number of alien species introduced into the environment. Non-native life forms have been encroaching for years. Specialist Peter Punditry made the following observation in his recent book The Cleveland Chronicles: an examination of it's habits from awful alliteration to down-write dreadful puns, "The erosion of Sarah's Free Time, habitat of The Cleveland Chronicles or ohioricks blog, began in 2002 with the accidental introduction of the organism known as Marc. Marc was carried into Sarah's Free Time by an unsuspecting college student. The ecosystem seemed able to incorporate this new species, but with some environmental losses. The real devastation started in 2007 with the twin invaders Gabriel and Elijah. David John was discovered in the habitat in 2009 and a fifth alien took root just this year. It is unclear whether stability will be maintained with the addition of the species Benjamin, yet another hour-avore. "

While the outlook for the Cleveland Chronicles may be grim, blog lovers and tree huggers alike can do something to save this endangered specious writing. Vera Verbosity suggested some ways you can help:
1. Offer to help relocate alien species to other, less fragile environments. These species would probably thrive in locations such as Time With Babysitters, Time at Other People's Houses, Nap Time, and Bed Time Without Complaining, Crying, Getting-up or Refusing to Sleep
2. Contribute to a charity or research institution developing programs and technology to help perpetuate the ohioricks blog. The following organizations would make good use of your time or money: Invent a Pill so Sarah Doesn't Need any Sleep Group, People for Ending Toddler Anarchy and the Mommy Liberation Front
3. Write your local congressman and demand that well being of the Cleveland Chronicles and the maintenance of the integrity of Sarah's Free Time be made a top priority. Currently, 0 government dollars are being given to this cause and only 3 subcommittees are working on the issue. Your voice could change that.

In the time it took you to read this article, 30 more minutes of Sarah's Free Time has disappeared. Let us hope that with the combined efforts of concerned citizens and blog specialists, this most recent sighting of The Cleveland Chronicles won't be the last.

A Wrench in the Plans

This is a plumbing update: Neither my main water valve nor my sink have been repaired yet. As you may remember from my lovely ditty last month, we are waiting for my plumber and the city water department to coordinate and show up at my house on the same day at the same time. We have had two dates when this was theoretically possible but neither worked out. The first time, the city backed out because of a water main break that took first priority. On the second date, which was Wednesday, everything was good to go when- I am not making this up- my plumber called to say his truck had broken down on the freeway on the way to my house and that it was currently being towed to a dealership.
Either my plumber is a pathological liar, or I have the worst luck with plumbing in the history of indoor water-usage. So once again, I am waiting for another magical day in which both the water department and the plumber are available. I am pretty sure this involves complicated astrology charts in which the plumber's zodiac sign (aquarius maybe?) must be in the twelfth house, the dwarf-planet Pluto must be closer to the sun than Neptune and these events must fall during a blue moon cycle. My best guess is that my sink will get fixed sometime in the year 2019.

Plumb Crazy

My downstairs bathroom has issues. It's always a risk to use that bathroom anyway since it the bathroom used and abused by the boys. Last week I foolishly decided to use the downstairs toilet instead of hiking upstairs to my own bathroom. I almost screamed when I lifted the lid because a sodden Buzz Lightyear doll along with two plush puppies came flying out. That's just not what you expect to happen. David John apparently decided that several of his brothers' stuffed toys wanted to go swimming. I may never be able to watch Toy Story again without having nightmares about Buzz's evil twin that lurks in my plumbing.
Surprisingly, this is not my main problem with that bathroom. No, the main problem is that the sink is leaking copious amounts of water and the tub and shower are also developing a nasty drip. My water bill is not happy about this arrangement and I've been dealing with this problem for over a month now without it being fixed. So, I did what any rational person would do when faced with a frustrating problem- I wrote a song about it to the tune of "Gilligan's Island". Here is a link to the Gilligan's Island theme song on You Tube so you can sing along.

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale

A tale of a fateful drip

And what's been done to stop the leak

That would be nada- zip

Our landlord is the nicest kind of guy

But he's been out of town

Vacationing in Michigan

No cell towers around- No cell towers around

By the time we talked about the sink

The drip was a mighty stream

The whole sink would have to be replaced

It was a plumber's dream- It was a plumber's dream

Our plumber, Paul said he would come on Thursday in the e'en

Before Gabriel

Elijah too

The two-year-old David John

Li'l Benjamin

And of course Sarah Jean

All left to drive to Fairborn

Of course the plumber didn't come

And wouldn't for a long, long time

'Cause even when we got back home

We had to wait in line

Each day there was some new excuse

A different emergency

“There's a toilet falling through a roof!

I'll be in tomorrow, maybe.”

In two weeks (at last!) he finally came

But the job still isn't done

The main shut-off valve is broken

And it's the only one

So join us here each week my friends

As we wait for the city crew

To turn off the water to the street

Then we'll get a sink that's new

Weather You Like It or Not

It is May. Is anyone else aware of this? Cleveland seems to be unaware, or at least whatever weather deity is in charge of Cleveland anyway.
A couple of months ago, I heard someone on the radio say that Cleveland has four seasons: Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Road Construction. I thought that was pretty funny, and accurate. All of April was Still Winter, or Monsoon Season (take your pick), but I thought with May we might finally have reached Road Construction. Last week was beautiful. We still had rain but it was warmer and we had some sunny days too. I walked to the library with the boys, we played at a park and had an outdoor picnic during the course of the week. On Thursday, we even had to turn the air conditioner on for a little while to take the edge off the heat but by Sunday, we had to turn the heater back on.
Yep, you read that right. We had to run our furnace... in MAY! If I wanted to run my heater in May, I would move to northern Alaska where there are no state taxes (in fact, I think the government pays you to live there), amazing natural phenomena and wildlife beyond just red squirrels.
I would blame weather.com for our lack of Spring weather, but then I figured that if they actually had any control over the weather their predictions would be right more often. However, I did consider writing them a letter in hopes they might know someone who knows whatever entity does make the weather. I figure their information has to come from somewhere. I imagine they have informants who hang out with the big wigs of the weather world. "Well, Thor was in a real funk at the party last night. You might want to predict a thunder storm for tomorrow."
So who is in charge of Spring weather? In searching for someone to receive my wrath, my mind lit upon Persephone of Greek mythology. I remembered her from my high school education as the goddess of Spring. For those of you don't know or can't remember her story, here's a recap. Persephone is the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest. Persephone was abducted by Hades, god of the underworld. Demeter found out about Hades running off with her kid and somehow Zeus was involved in the whole scheme. Demeter was ticked off so she wouldn't allow anything to grow until Persephone was returned to her. Persephone came back, but because she ate some pomegranate seeds while she was hanging out in the underworld she had to live there for part of every year. (Wow. Why do we teach such weird things to high school students? Does pomegranate still have the power to bind someone to a specific location? I'm thinking we could use this to solve parole issues for starters and possibly solve some major land disputes in Asia and Africa.)
Anyway, the point is that when Persephone returns from her annual sojourn with Hades, Demeter allows it to be Spring. Here's my thought: Maybe Persephone isn't sticking around. Come on, Persephone! Is Cleveland so bad that you would rather go back to H-E-double-hockey-sticks? I mean, I know that we've had our unfair share of serial killers and the Browns have never been to the super-bowl and sometimes the lake is too gross to swim in, but really? Is it worse than schmoozing with the souls of the damned? If you will just hang out in Cleveland for while so winter can really be over, I'll bake you some cookies. Really good ones. No pomegranate seeds.
I hope she changes her mind in the near future so we can finally have our Road Construction season. Goodness knows, the streets need it. And Persephone? If you aren't going to come back could you at least lend us a little fire and brimstone to heat our houses? My feet are cold.

Future Felony

Our neighborhood has a snitch (not the Harry Potter kind). This is the only reason I can think of for the number of petty citations that get handed out on our street. We know neighbors who have been cited for "peeling paint on shutters" when the shutters looked just fine from the street and for "failing to bundle yard waste within the stated acceptable dimensions" when it wasn't even close to trash day yet and they had just recently cut down a tree.* There's also the fact that every single car that parks on our street overnight gets ticketed while I have talked to residents in other neighborhoods in South Euclid who aren't even aware that South Euclid has an ordinance stating you can't park on the street between 2 and 6 AM (there are no signs on the streets). Their relatives come to visit and park on the street overnight for weeks without any problems. Like I said, we have a snitch. So, I was not entirely surprised when Marc handed me a yellow citation envelope that he found on our front door. I opened it to find that we were being warned for "Failure to remove all storage of waste materials at all exterior property areas." This is code for: you need to take your garbage cans off the tree lawn. I admit that in my pregnant state I have not been diligent about carrying the cans back to the garage right after the truck comes- but come on it's not like they are there for a whole week or something. I thought the warning a little harsh and planned to make a big show of waddling out with all three boys in tow just as the garbage truck was driving away on the next trash day and laboriously dragging the cans back up the driveway to the garage for the benefit of our neighborhood watcher. This was before I realized that, in Minority Report fashion, this citation was from the future.
That's right- the warning was dated 8/4/11. Apparently I am going to leave my cans out in August. 8/4/11 is the day after trash day so I must be planning to leave them out overnight but the real kicker is that the demanded compliance date is 8/2/11 one day before trash day. So I guess this is my warning that I am subconsciously planning to be delinquent with my trash cans and if they are, in fact, left out on 8/4/11 I will be charged with this heinous crime. I am writing this information in my personal planner so that I won't forget. I actually like this style of crime fighting although I wonder where they are getting their information. Time machine? Future-seeing mystics? Dice-rolling monkeys? How many of my tax dollars are going to this program? Leave it to the city of South Euclid to use the world's greatest invention to uphold minor housing ordinances. Now, if only the police could send me an advance notice of when I'll be caught in a speed trap... that would be a beautiful thing.

* These warnings reminded me of the $100 fine we got after moving to Cleveland for our unsold house in Baltimore. While we were waiting for the real estate deal to close we had someone go over and trim up the yard a couple of times but apparently not often enough. We were fined for "dangerous shrubbery". At the time it wasn't funny, but now it makes me laugh and imagine some giant Venus fly trap luring in unsuspecting passers-by. Of course, that would actually be doing the city of Baltimore a service since our corner was frequented by drug dealers.

Adventures in Potty Training

As my friend Sarah Smith is fond of saying, "Potty training is a Special Time."
It seems like such a simple concept. When something comes out of the lower half of your body, please go to this room and sit on this special chair. However, there is nothing simple about it unless you happen to be one of those lucky parents whose children just potty train themselves. In other words, you are the parent of only very well-behaved girls.
For us this potty training adventure began shortly after we moved to Cleveland and we are only now seeing success. Let me just say that despite potty books and logic stating that children can be trained at 18 months, despite your desperate want to use all the money you are spending on diapers to vacation in Europe, despite the fact that all of your friends seem to have potty-trained children do not be discouraged if your child is not. It will happen, seemingly by magic. One day your child will just get it and you will step out of the world of diapers and into the world of underwear, accidents, and potty etiquette.
Potty-training is a Special Time. It is a time when all of the subjects you've been taught to politely avoid will be the main focus of your dinner conversation. It is a time when you will ooh and aah over things that are smelly and more than slightly disgusting. It is a time when your children will start conversations with strangers with phrases like, "Hi! Today I made a really big poop in the potty!" It is a time when your children will give each other potty-themed nicknames. "I'm the poop one, you're the pee one and he's the toot one."
It is a time when you will come to dread hearing "Uh-oh." What this phrase really means is "Mom, I left a puddle on the library carpet." It is a time when you might hear "Mom, the whole thing won't go down!" which means that your child has unrolled the entirety of a brand new jumbo roll of toilet paper and attempted to flush it down the toilet. The toilet will be completely clogged while a mound of dry toilet paper is still sticking out the top.
It is a time when "Mom, I made a mistake. I missed." means that there is pee on his underwear, pants, socks, footstool, bathroom floor, trashcan, hand towel and bathmat but none actually in the toilet. It is a time when your child might stand up during his church children's singing time in the very front row and moon everyone so he can scratch his bum. When you hurriedly try to pull his pants back up he will yell, "Stop, Mom! There's something wrong with my underwear!"
Yes, potty training is a Special Time. It's a good thing we are saving so much money on diapers because when all the adventures are over, and I know we're just getting started, I'm really going to need a vacation. If you need me, I'll be somewhere in Europe.

A Tale of Two Vans

Our van was dead to begin with..... dead as a doornail.

Okay, not really and I know that line is from A Christmas Carol and not A Tale of Two Cities- but remember last winter when our van had "irritable bowel syndrome"? We never did figure out the source of the IBS until it was too late. Apparently, in vans anyway, IBS can be deadly.
The estimated repair cost for a procedure that may or may not work was a minimum of $1500. At that point, the van was still running albeit in a scary vibratory kind of way. However, as I drove my little van home I had pretty much decided that we were in the market for a new vehicle. It was at that very moment that the van died for the first time. My van with the fatal IBS also had ESP.
Marc and I went to work at finding a replacement and located a 2009 Toyota Sienna for a good price. On the big day when we were to go trade our sickly van for a shiny newish one, Mr. Minivan refused to start at all- it clearly knew our plans- and had to be jumped. As we drove to the dealership, Marc made some comment about how this van only had to make it 2 more miles and then it would be out of our lives forever.
It promptly died.
After getting it started again, we finally made it to the dealership. Now, I am no expert on vehicles but I knew that this van we were trading in was something special. I mean, it wasn't going to work for us to keep it because we needed a vehicle that would, you know, go. However, I was sure that this van could be of use to someone since it clearly understood human speech and could even read minds. At the very least it should have been a valuable collector's item.
Would you believe that after we presented the dealership with all of anecdotal evidence pointing to our van's ESP abilities they actually lessened the trade-in value from the blue book price?
Anyway, for better or worse we traded it in and drove home in what the boys are still calling "the new van" even though it has been more than two weeks now. I love our new van, but kind of miss the red color and character of our old one. Oh, and the boys are definitely missing the built in VHS player. Our VHS tapes are missing it too since that was the only use we had for them. *Sigh.
It was the best of vans, it was the worst of vans.

Are You Toddler Tough?

Sometime I feel like a pro when it comes to being the mother of three under 3, and other times I feel like I need to go back to basic training. I often think about all of the crazy things that toddlers do (at least mine) that I just wasn't really prepared for. As a result, I've prepared this little quiz for those of you who are planning on having children, those who have a baby but haven't experienced toddlers yet, or for those empty-nesters to see if you've still got it. If you pass this written test, but would like some practical training I have three toddlers that I am prepared to let you babysit. Just let me know. :)
All test questions are based on actual events- some questions may have more than one correct answer. For answers, please see the comments section.

1. You are missing some sippy cups and bowls last used by your toddlers. You are most likely to find them
A. in the kitchen sink
B. on a shelf
C. in the dirty diaper pail after which they will need to be bleached and run through the dishwasher three times

2. You had a great day- mostly. You took the kids to the zoo and the library, but lost your temper in the afternoon when they wouldn't stop fighting for 45 minutes straight and refused to take a nap. You raised your voice, but then had a good evening and even let them watch a movie. When asked what they did today, your toddler will respond
A. I went to the zoo
B. I got a book at the library
C. Mommy yelled at me
D. I watched a movie

3. Your toddler may wake you up in the middle of the night because
A. he developed a sudden and urgent fear that a light bulb in his room could burn out at any moment and leave him in the dark
B. one of his stuffed animals is not properly tucked in
C. he needs a hug
D. he decided this would be a prime moment to have a dirty diaper
E. he's sad
F. he wants to know if it is too early to get up

4. You take your toddler to a religious service at a historic building. You toddler spends his time
A. whispering questions in your ear the entire time
B. sitting quietly on the bench and attending to the speaker
C. cramming the crayons you brought to keep him busy in between the historic floorboards which are wide enough to allow crayons to enter but not to fish them out
D. dropping the books you brought him to read so that the bang sound echoes repeatedly in the acoustically amazing building

5. Your toddler will find the following things amusing
A. knock-knock jokes
B. bodily function sounds
C. locking himself in his room so that you have to use your skills from your former career as a thief to get him out

6. If you need to use the bathroom while watching a toddler you should
A. put up gates up in every stairway
B. lock all of the doors
C. tip chairs and other climbable objects over (unless your toddler has already mastered righting chairs, or climbing on tipped chairs)
D. secure all valuable and dangerous objects

7. If you fail to take appropriate precautionary measures, when you exit the bathroom you may find that your toddler has
A. climbed on the counter and taken all of the knives out of the knife block
B. emptied drawers of their contents
C. played independently without making a mess
D. used your cell phone to make a number of calls- you'll be getting "return" calls all day from numbers you don't remember dialing

8. You say a lot of things to your toddler during the day. He is most likely to repeat
A. Dang it!
B. I sure love you.
C. High fives for you!
D. You're making me crazy!

9. Toddlers seem to have a behavioral code all their own. Which of the following activities, which are not accepted by society as a whole, might be labeled by a toddler as "acceptable"?
A. attempting to shut a brother or playmate in the closet
B. painting the walls with a non-paint substance such as lotion, peanut butter or lipstick
C. tearing up books and shoving the pieces of paper into the heating vent
D. dangerous couch acrobatics
E. talking about controversial politics

10. You will love your toddler because
A. despite all the naughtiness (or maybe because of it) he makes you laugh until your sides hurt
B. he does go to sleep sometimes and then he is the most adorable, angelic little person you have ever seen
C. he loves you unconditionally (except when he's in time-out)
D. you can't help it, there is just something about those little hands, little face and winning smile
E. there is nothing like a toddler hug

So- how did you do?
9-10 correct = Toddler Tough
7-8 correct = Wee-one Wily
5-6 correct = You'll Survive
3-4 correct = Need a Nanny
1-2 correct = You Want to Go Home and Rethink Your Life (at least about having kids)

*Bonus Question in honor of our recent babysitter*
You give a toddler a glass milk. He asks for a refill. You should
A. tell him you'll give him 1/2 glass more but that's all
B. tell him to ask his parents when they get home
C. believe him when he says that mom and dad let him have as much as he wants right before bedtime and give him 5 refills causing him to flood his room overnight

Therapy by Mail

I get a lot of misdirected mail at my house. I mean a lot. This kind of concerns me. I wonder if there are pieces of my mail floating around the neighborhood in other people's mailboxes. I guess this could be a good thing- maybe they don't read carefully and will pay my bills. On the other hand, they may be receiving that letter stating that I have won a million dollars, in which case, I'd like it delivered to my house, please.
At first, the misplaced mail was innocent enough: a stray circular here, an occasional bill or a customer survey. However, the last several months I have only been receiving misdirected magazines and catalogs. Sometimes they are addressed to my house number but on any number of different streets, sometimes they are addressed to our street but one number off, and sometimes it seems that they have arrived at my house completely at random sharing neither my house number nor my street name. How, I wondered to myself, could the South Euclid post office be so completely inept? Were they hiring blind persons to sort the mail, because it is not brailled, nor are the addresses in large print. Do they have an inadequate number of sorting bins so that, when postal employees run out of places to put mail they just match it with the closest address already utilizing a bin? I just could not think of a logical scenario which would produce so much wayward mail.
Then, I remembered that the post office is, in fact, a government organization. I started thinking along the lines of conspiracy theory. Maybe, this misguided mail was no accident. I began noticing patterns. My lawn was in desperate need of mowing. The dandelions were threatening to take over- when lo, and behold, what should arrive in my mailbox? A seemingly innocent copy of Better Homes and Gardens that belonged three houses down. The cover? A pristine yard.
My mail carrier has decided that I need some direction and that she is the person to give it to me.
She has delivered copies of Newsweek, these seem to come on weeks when I am feeling especially unintellectual and disconnected from the world- how does she know? I have received a copy of Woman's Day whose cover features indicated I needed to improve the menu in my house and decorate for the new season. Has she been talking to Marc? Health magazines, movie magazines, book catalogs, and jewelry order forms have all made their way to my house with very suspicious timing.
This week, I have not been dressing especially nice due largely to the fact that my clothes are slowly refusing to fit correctly. As a result, I even went walking with the boys, in, I am ashamed to admit it, sweat pants. So yesterday I got The Week in my mailbox featuring a large elephant on the cover, and today I found waiting for me an L.L. Bean women's catalog with a large caption "chase away the chill with our Fitness Fleece". Apparently, our mail carrier appreciated neither the sweatpants nor the bump now evident on my middle.
There is still one magazine, however, whose purpose in my mailbox I have been unable to decipher. Last month, I got a copy of National Geographic (I was actually excited thinking maybe someone gave us a gift subscription, but no- just more therapy mail). It had something very similar to this picture on the cover:My question to you is- what does this mean? Any suggestions? Do I need to get a facial with "light tweezing"? Do I have wrinkle lines? Should I dye my hair red? I'm just not sure what my therapist is getting at and until I figure it out I am guessing that the barrage of magazines will continue finding their way to my door.
Oh- and to some residents over on Lawnway- I have your magazines. I will walk them over at my earliest convenience, as soon as my L.L. Bean fitness fleece arrives.... by mail.

Fame Isn't Everything

I was on my way to an appointment in Euclid when I noticed this little gem:

You are reading it correctly. It is the combined Polka and Softball Hall of Fame. I tried to go inside but they weren't open yet at 10:45 on a Monday. As it turns out, their hours of operation are limited and somewhat confusing. The two Halls of Fame, although sharing a building, have different hours and aren't even always open on the same days of the week. The hours posted on the door and the hours listed on their websites are also different. I'm pretty sure to figure it out you have to understand the phases of the moon and the Mayan calendar. The websites were also unclear about whether or not they charge admission.
Anyway, it occurred to me that the Cleveland area seems to have a Hall of Fame "thing". The well-known Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is in Cleveland proper, the Pro Football Hall of Fame is in nearby Canton, apparently Euclid is home to the National Polka Hall of Fame and the Cleveland Area Softball Hall of Fame and, oh yes, Akron is now the home of the National Inventors Hall of Fame.
If we widen our search to all of Ohio we find that our great state is also the location for the National Classical Music Hall Fame (Cincinnati) and the American Motorcycle Hall of Fame (Colombus).Why are we so obsessed with fame? I think I have it figured out. Our state is suffering from low self-esteem. We're like the middle child of the country. We get good grades, don't cause any trouble but never get any attention. I remember being frustrated when I went to college that many westerners didn't know much about Ohio or where it was. Many people frequently confused Ohio and Iowa. I always felt a little jealous of the Texans with their state pride and flags plastered all over their dorm rooms. Everyone knows where Texas is. Texas is like the good-looking rebellious child in America's family. They are big, rich and cause problems. I mean, hello, they tried to secede! Yet, they get all the love. As it turns out, Ohio is a pretty interesting place. In researching the Hall's of Fame I discovered that the Cleveland area really does have a rich musical history including having it's own style of Polka music (who knew there were different Polka styles?) and being crucial in the Rock and Roll movement of the 1950s. Apparently the very first Rock and Roll concert was right here in Cleveland. Oh, and NFL was founded in Ohio with the Canton Bulldogs being in the original league. Ohio is the birthplace of no less than eight presidents not to mention Thomas Edison, Wilbur and Orville Wright, Neil Armstrong and John Glenn. Doris Day, Clarke Gable, Hugh Downs and Steven Spielberg also hail from our little state. Ohio currently ranks 7th for total population and 9th for population per square mile. My point is, we deserve the fame, we just aren't getting it. So, I have put together a set of proposals to help boost our self-esteem and national image.
1. A makeover is always good to improve self-image. I recommend we start with our state flag. Let's be honest- it's a little weird and the shape makes it almost impossible to hang straight.
2. Maybe we could get some more stirring state songs. Our official state song started out as a love ballad and then they changed the words but the music still sounds like a love ballad. Our state rock song is cool- "Hang On Sloopy" but I'm not sure if it's sending the right message. Sloopy lives in a "bad part of town"- are we suggesting that Ohio has bad parts?
3. People who are cool never look like they are trying too hard. Maybe we need to back off of this Hall of Fame thing and start erecting buildings that don't sound so desperate like "The Place of Normalcy".
4. We all know that athletes are more popular than non-athletes. The Cleveland Cavs are pulling their weight, but could we do something about our football teams? Maybe we should rename the Browns. I don't know if I'd feel like blitzing if my mascot was a tiny elf either.
5. If all else fails, we should try to secede. We might make some enemies, but hey at least we'll get some attention.

P.S. For those of you you are geographically challenged and don't know where Ohio is, we're that blob close to the mitten state and just below Canada.
P.P.S. I realize I sound like the father on "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and feel the need to educate non-Ohioans about Ohio. I am seeing a therapist to overcome my state insecurity issues.
P.P.P.S. Ironically, Grover Cleveland was NOT one of the presidents born in Ohio.

Blogophobia

On Friday, I did not blog. Instead, I did something crazy- I tried out for a part in a musical.
This may not seem like crazy behavior except for the fact that I am terrified of singing in public. As long as I am in a group, I'm fine but singing alone is scary. In fact, the only things that are more terrifying are playing an instrument in public and anthrax.
The familiar butterflies and trepidation as I considered this bold act got me thinking about fears in general. I used to be afraid of far more things like swimming under water and the Wicked Witch of the west. Maybe those two are connected....
Anyway, I think everyone has irrational fears. For my son Elijah, his list currently includes ants and large dogs- having already conquered his mortal fear of balloons. Gabriel is scared of people in costumes, the mean diesel engine with the pincher on Thomas and the Magic Railroad and lambs. Marc will probably deny this, but I am convinced that he has a fear of breakfast. My evidence is thus: 1. Marc never eats breakfast. 2. If we ever have breakfast foods for dinner, Marc complains and finds alternative foods to eat.
I've also noticed fears in the community. Many young men seem to fear belts as evidenced by the issues they seem to have with keeping their pants on, or maybe they have a form of claustrophobia in which they fear tight clothing instead of tight spaces. Drivers in the area have a fear of using their blinkers and appropriately using turn lanes. The governments of Cleveland and the surrounding suburbs fear speeds in excess of 25 mph even on four lane business-zoned roads.
So- what should we do about our fears? I think we have two options. The first is to keep being afraid but to learn the latin name for your fear so you don't seem so ridiculous. "I have ovinophobia" sounds much better than "I am afraid of sheep". The second option is to face your fear and cross it off your list. The only way out is through. This thinking is what led me to spend a week talking myself into auditioning for the This Is Kirtland musical. Not only did I get to face my fear by singing solo for my audition, but I am happy to report that I will be facing my fear repeatedly since they assigned me the role of Thankful Pratt in which I must speak and sometimes sing alone. I am hoping to be able to cross it off my list of fears by the end of the production. Oh, and in honor of facing fears, we will be having breakfast for dinner.

Related Information
Here is a list of the latin names for the fears mentioned in this blog:
sonophobia- fear of singing
aquaphobia- fear of swimming
lamiaphobia- fear of witches
formicaphobia- fear of ants
caniphobia- fear of dogs
balloonophobia- sorry no latin for balloons
sumptuphobia- fear of costumes
siderodromophobia- fear of trains
ientaculumophobia- fear of breakfast

This is Kirtland! is free with performances running from July 1st- 17th. Detailed information can be found here:
http://thisiskirt.squarespace.com/

Springtime

I arrived home from my trip to Fairborn (the reason for missing my blog post last week) to find that Spring had finally arrived in Cleveland. I was thrilled to see our tree and daffodils in full bloom and couldn't resist sharing them. I hope everyone is soaking up the newly returned sunshine and enjoying Spring as much as I am.

Hold the Phone

Our phone is possessed by a mischievous spirit. There is no other explanation for the number and variety of wrong number calls we receive at our house. In addition to randomly redirecting wrong calls to our house, our phone also frequently chooses not to ring when people really are trying to reach us. We have had several reports of this phenomenon when people cannot reach us on our home phone and then call us on our cell phones saying "Why didn't you pick up?"
Since we got our land line, I have received calls asking if I am hiring, if I would like to advertise my business in the yellow pages, if I deliver and what my hours are. I have been mistaken for a Ruth, a Whitney and a Bathsheba. I have received phone calls in Spanish. I have even been called by a congresswoman. However, the two most amazing phone calls came from teenage girls. Their calls have convinced me that in the world of caller ID and cell phones the younger generation (I realize this makes me sound like I'm 60) has failed to learn old fashioned phone skills like introducing yourself. I understand that when you are using cell phones, you know exactly who will pick up and you expect them to know exactly who is calling, but certainly when an unfamiliar voice answers you should politely introduce yourself. Obviously, this was beyond the ability of the girls who called me. The first was a sulky sounding girl asking, "Is Jason there? Who is this?" She was unconvinced by my explanation that this was a wrong number. Clearly, she suspected her boyfriend of being with another woman. When I hung up, I imagined poor Jason getting dumped in soap opera fashion:
Sulky Girl: "So, a woman picked up when I tried to call you yesterday. Who was it?"
Jason: "What are you talking about?"
Sulky Girl: "Don't lie to me Jason. I know there's someone else. We're through!"
The second teenager who called me sounded so ditsy that at first I thought it must be a prank call... until I realized that I couldn't think of anyone who would prank call me. Our conversation went as follows:
Me: "Hello?"
Valley Girl: "Hello!!!" (she was very enthusiastic)
Me: "Hi. May I ask.."
Valley Girl: (interrupting me) "Hiiiiiiiiiiiii!" (this was drawn out for a good ten seconds)
Me: "Who is this?"
Valley Girl: "You don't know who this is?!?!"
Me: "No, I'm sorry, I don't."
Valley Girl: "OMG! It's Kimberly! DUH!"
Me: "I think you must have a wrong number."
Valley Girl: "No way!" *click*
This conversation made me very concerned for our future. Can you imagine the damage this girl could do if she was, say, Secretary of State? Maybe I shouldn't worry. Maybe she wouldn't even be able to reach the leaders of other nations. Maybe she only dials wrong numbers. There seems to be a lot of that going around.

Truffle Shuffle

Please forgive my missed post last week and my slightly late post this week. We will blame a fatal combination of dinner guests, a family injury, the resulting road trip and the Olympics. Here is the post that I started last week but didn’t have time to finish until today:

Yesterday we had guests over for dinner. Being truly exceptional guests, they brought with them a box of Godiva chocolates. As I was savoring a delicious dark chocolate truffle, Marc asked me who Godiva was. I explained about the legend of the woman who rode nude through town in order to get her husband to lower the taxes on his overburdened subjects. Marc then wanted to know what this story had do with chocolate. “Did Lady Godiva even like chocolate?”
After extensive research on wikipedia, the answer to this question is clearly “no” since chocolate, even as a beverage, did not reach Europe until around 500 years after Lady Godiva’s time. It was even longer before chocolate was available in its solid form. This, then, begs the questions, “Why IS a chocolate company named Godiva?” and “Would Lady Godiva’s strategy work on the IRS?”
I think that the point of the name Godiva is to remind consumers what could happen when a woman has far too much stress and far too little chocolate. Lady Godiva was married to a tyrant and felt guilty about the starving populace. Clearly, this woman needed chocolate. If she had only had a reasonable supply of truffles she would never have felt the need to go on a ride without adequate clothing- also she would have been too fat. Perhaps the real goal of the chocolatiers at Godiva is to combat public indecency by expanding Americans' waist lines. Regardless, one fact is clear: women really do need chocolate.
Indeed, science is only now discovering what women have known for centuries: chocolate is the answer. Chocolate seems to speed the healing of emotional wounds and, according to a recent reliable source, even physical wounds including partially-severed fingers. Recent studies show that chocolate may also improve mood, reduce your risk for cancer, lower blood pressure and reduce risk for heart attack. This is why a woman with enough chocolate in her system can walk into a room and discover that her child has drawn all over the furniture with a permanent marker without keeling over and dying on the spot.
Please don’t think me a chocoholic. I really don’t think I eat that much of it but I do think our guests were inspired to bring chocolate that evening. David John chose to scream for several hours before finally falling into a fitful sleep and I certainly needed a little treat that night. It was as if eating that small piece of something lovely and delicious negated some of the frustration and stress I had experienced and nudged me towards complete sanity. On some days, perhaps chocolate is the only thing keeping me from losing it like Lady Godiva… besides the fact that I don’t own a horse.

P.S. My fabulous friend Holly introduced me to Godiva Rewards which gives you free chocolate! Details are here: https://www.godiva.com/member/rewardlogin.aspx

An Epistle to the House of Marc and Sarah

I think our house is undergoing its own apocalypse. The number of repairs it has needed since we moved in has reached biblical proportions. Here is a brief synopsis of our housing woes:

1 And verily I say wo wo wo unto the House of Marc and Sarah! For in that day that thou wilt give unto them shelter thy ceilings shall fail thee. For the plaster shalt say unto the lathe “I have no need of thee,” and in that day shalt the plaster fall and great shall be the fall of it. Yea, and in thy basement and thy bathroom shalt thou also find corruption and thy guests shall say, “Verily we did sleep and behold the ceiling did fall upon us.” In thy bathroom shalt thou hear the rushing of many waters and it shall be as it was in the days of Noah.
2 Behold the day cometh that shall burn like unto an oven, but before that day cometh the day that shall freeze like unto a freezer for even as the love of men shall wax cold so shall thy furnace and hot water heater wax cold. For the furnace shall cease to blow, yea and there shall be no heat found in all thy house.
3 And thy pipes shall weep and the weeping thereof will fill all thy basement, yea and even thy clean laundry will not be found dry in that day. And many buckets of water shall be filled and emptied before the weeping shall cease. And other pipes will not weep but will become as dust in thy hands or ash in thy mouth. But behold, of these pipes thou shalt not eat for they are of lead and are not good for the belly of man. And the dust of the pipes shall allow the waters of thy sink to leak through and great shall be the leaking thereof.
4 Yea, and even thy toilets shall leak, the one onto the other and the other into the laundry chute. And so it shall continue for forty days and forty nights or until thy plumber shalt finally arrive- but no man knows the time of his coming. Yea, and the night soon cometh in which no man can work and the plumber is not yet come. Verily I say unto thee that thou must hope with all thine heart that he comes on the morrow. For behold, thy company approacheth and thou hast but one working toilet.

Poison Control? Can You Hear Me?

*
My boys have been eating Vaseline again. The latest escapade happened on Wednesday. Maybe this Vaseline habit is a form of pica and they ingest petroleum jelly whenever their bodies need a lube job.
I discovered their dastardly deed while I was talking to my brother on the phone. Upon realizing that I had heard no noise from the twins for more than 60 seconds, I rushed upstairs to find that, once again, they had outsmarted my attempts at toddler-proofing. Due to some Vaseline-eating incidents the previous week, I was now keeping it on a high shelf near David John's crib. Gabe and Elijah had climbed up into the crib and were able to reach the Vaseline on the shelf. Having already made a pile of individually separated wet wipes and emptied David John's dirty diapers on the floor they were now alternately licking Vaseline off of their fingers and smearing it on the walls, furniture, etc. I probably said a reactive word like "shoot" (let's give myself the benefit of the doubt here people) and Joe asked me what was wrong. I described the scene and he asked "Shouldn't you call poison control?"
I have nothing against poison control. I'm sure they are very useful in real emergencies. However, I suspect that the vast majority of products that say "if ingested, call poison control" are overreacting. In fact, I remember seeing this warning on a container of NaCl in the genetics lab I used to work in. For those not up on their chemistry- that's table salt.
Anyway, long ago in a far away land when my children were newly toddlers I did call poison control anytime my kids ate something that said "if ingested, call poison control." The call center employees probably know my phone number. They were always very polite on the phone but I'm sure they were just holding their laughter until I hung up. It turns out that petroleum jelly, lotion, diaper rash cream and baby oil all have to be eaten in large quantities to have any ill effects. Poison control always wanted know how my children came to be eating a non-food substance. I'm sure they thought I was careless and left open containers on the floor complete with plastic spoons for fast consumption. What they, and indeed many individuals are not aware of is the fact that toddlers, like ants, are capable of lifting objects 100 times their weight. At our previous house, I kept potentially dangerous products in a closed container on a window ledge set high in the wall. Gabriel and Elijah moved a heavy box of games, stacked a chair on top of it and moved the couch so that they could climb from the couch to the chair to the ledge. They figured out that if they dropped the container from such a height, it might burst open upon contact with the floor and give them the opportunity to sample many wonderful inedibles.
You might wonder where I was when all of this mayhem was occuring. If you are a mother you already know the answer- all bad things happen when you are in the bathroom or on the phone. Maybe I was talking to poison control.

*The photo shows my boys imitating the "Mr. Yuk" face. The funny thing is that whenever I have found my boys eating something "poisonous" they usually have a maniacal happy expression. The faces in the photos are more likely to be seen during a meal- you know, with edible items like potatoes. My Mr. Yuk icon was borrowed from the following website: http://www.asmalldoseof.org/historyoftox/1970-2006/Mr.YUK2.jpg

A Toddler Tribute

So I'm feeling a little sappy today. Maybe it's this head cold. One of the advantages of being married to a resident in pediatric medicine is that I get to sample all of the upper respiratory infections that the Cleveland area has to offer. I can't think of a winter in which I've gotten to experience so many small but irritating illnesses. I was telling this to a friend who said, "Why not collect them all?" Maybe I should keep a log of the various combinations of symptoms and give them all names like "Phlegm's Disease" or for a multi-symptom illness "The Royal Sampler". At any rate, the last few days I've been taking things a little slower and have come to the realization that my toddlers are really wonderful people. There has been a lot more snuggling on the couch, book reading and general silliness since mommy hasn't felt like doing laundry. It struck me as we were dancing in the kitchen after dinner this evening that someday I will long to see this version of Gabriel and Elijah again. They might be wiggly and loud and naughty. They might paint eachother with vaseline, go surfing on the dishwasher door and empty whole cartons of raw eggs onto the kitchen floor. They might throw tantrums at two in the morning culminating in Gabe banging his head on the heating vent so that it looks like his forehead has been grilled. They might empty the entire contents of their dresser, pull all of the wipes out of the box one by one or build a pyramid out of dirty diapers they retrieved from the diaper pail if there is a five minute delay between waking up and mommy arriving at their bedroom door. But they also might dance in the clumsy, adorable, uninhibited way that only a toddler can. They might run, each only pumping one arm so that they can hold hands. They might say "thank you" for the smallest acts of service or give a high-five. They might sing songs and reenact the time mommy screamed in surprise when she caught them in the kitchen playing in a mountain of rice cereal. They might say "please" and hug you with chubby little arms. They might, at the end of a long day call out "lub loo mommy" just as you are about to shut their bedroom door. They might never grow up- some days I could wish to be so lucky.

Snow Business

When we moved to Cleveland we heard about a phenomenon the locals call "lake effect snow". Having grown up in Ohio, I was unafraid of snow and had survived my share of nasty winters. However, I am now experiencing my very first Cleveland winter and am beginning to understand this "lake effect" thing. What happens is that all of the water in Lake Erie evaporates at once, becomes snowflakes and relocates itself on your driveway. If you drive to Lake Erie right now, all you will find is a mountain of salt... unless they've already used it all on the roads. In this first week and a half of January we have had no less than 2 feet of snow and Marc has shoveled the driveway more than 20 times.
All of this snow means cloudy skies and while the human population may be suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder, it seems that this "lake effect" business also has an impact on vehicles and major appliances. Last Sunday our heater decided that our house did not need to be heated above around 50 degrees. The general opinion was that the heater was having a problem with a fan limit switch. The limit switch senses when the temperature drops too low and then tells the fan to turn on and blow warm air into the house. The limit switch can also turn off the fans and burners if it senses the furnace overheating. Our furnace seemed to believe that it was overheating and kept turning itself off. In other words- our furnace was having delusions. We looked for a good furnace psychologist, but they are hard to come by on a Sunday night. Marc was working nights at the hospital all week, so I decided to take the boys and bail on our delusional furnace in favor of my parents' house whose furnace is mentally sound. We drove late at night going 30 miles per hour on the freeway for the first third of the trip. Around Columbus, the van's heater also decided to malfunction. Not only did it not heat, but blew blasts of icy cold air while the temperature gauge alternately spiked and lowered. Apparently all of this drama was caused by a bubble in the coolant system. My van had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. We eventually arrived safely at my parents' house and our amazing landlord had the furnace replaced with a more stable individual by Tuesday. The Furnace Repair Guy interviewed the water heater while he was at our house and discovered that it too was about to go off the deep end so Mister Water Heater was replaced on Wednesday.
Lest you think the Cleveland winters are all bad, we are enjoying playing in the snow and sledding. We also have some amazing icicles. We'd love to have visitors to enjoy the snow with us and our new furnace has even agreed to start heating the guest room. You won't even need an electric blanket.

Penske in Peril

On Monday evening after we moved in it was at last time to return our pretty Penske truck. Marc called and confirmed the nearest Penske drop off site which turned out to be on the West side of Cleveland. For those who visited us in Baltimore, the West side of Cleveland would look very familiar. It is a collection of abandoned buildings, sketchy neighborhoods and the occasional sleazy looking business establishment. However, there is an industrial strip of actual functioning businesses so we figured the Penske drop off place would be there.
Marc drove the truck and I followed behind in the car with the boys. We had difficulty locating the address and had to turn around once on our way there. When Marc pulled into the correct address, I kept driving assuming he was just turning around again because there was no way this abandoned looking warehouse was the right place. Here it is- courtesy of Google Maps.Note the windows filled with cinder blocks, the peeling business sign with a logo straight out of the 1950s and, most suspiciously, the lack of any other moving trucks parked on the premises.
After driving around the building, Marc was able to locate a shiny new Penske key drop off box and with a tremendous amount of faith Marc actually put keys in it. Needless to say we were extremely relieved to receive a call from Penske on Tuesday that they had indeed gotten the truck. It is also nice to know that if we are ever feeling nostalgic for Baltimore, the 'hood is just on the other side of Cleveland.