Forever the Optimist

Despite a strategically placed headband, Abby's hair looked quite patchy when she went to school yesterday. I soon gave up on the headband because it didn't hide anything (it drew attention to it really) and because she chose to wear it like an aerobics teacher in an '80s workout video.

Nearly everyone we passed on our way into school commented on her hair. From far away, you'd hear, "Abby, did you get a haircut?" and then as you got closer, the inevitable, "Oooh, you DID get a haircut!"

By the time I got her settled in her classroom, no fewer than 6 teachers had seen her hair, and she was delighted with the attention.

"Everyone LOVES my haircut, Momma!"

I hope that doesn't mean she'll try it again.

Cute While It Lasted

So remember that boy cut I wanted to get Abby a few weeks back? Apparently she wanted a boy cut, too, because this morning she got out the scissors and cut it herself.


Although it can be covered up with a headband ...



... I'm sure she will tire of the headband and she cut A LOT off. It will be awhile before this grows out. I suppose there's no use in getting upset about it (I am a little sad), but I do check it every 5 minutes hoping it's grown at least a little bit.

Armed

In my experience it is true that even if you don't give a boy a toy weapon, he will make one out of something, anything. Cardboard tubes, tree branches, a rubber band and pencil, for example.

Today Sam and I were walking across the UTD campus after his last day of chess camp when he stopped beneath a large tree filled with immature seed pods.

"Wow! These are cool!" he said, referring to the spiky seed pods overhead. And I thought, "How sensitive. How perceptive and appreciative."

Until he said, "I can tear these off and use them as a mace!"

Junk In the Trunk

I was getting Abby dressed this morning when she turned and flashed me her bare bottom. "Look at my big back porch!" she said proudly.

Waste Not

So Sam did go on his field trip Thursday, the one to the waste management/recycling center/landfill. He said it was better than he thought it would be, they didn't see anything gross and did I know that you could make paper out of elephant poop? No. I did not.

Jake, on the other hand, didn't enjoy his day as much. His group was too young for the landfill visit. They, instead, went to the Dallas Arboretum. Most people would prefer a visit to the lovely, fragrant arboretum over a visit to a landfill, but Jake hated it. "All we did was walk around and look at FLOWERS!" he groaned. And I'm sure he did hate it. I can picture him, slugging along, listening to a lecture about seasonal flowers, grumping and eye rolling and sighing.

Maybe I'll let him take out the garbage and recycling today. That'll lift his spirits.

Surprise

Our neighbor took Ferb to the vet yesterday to get him neutered and guess what, Ferbie was a girl. That might explain all the canoodling with Phineas.

Wants and Needs

Most weeks this summer Sam and Jake are at a nearby YMCA. They play sports, swim, take field trips. They've gone to Hawaiian Falls, the Trinity River Audubon Center, the Dallas Zoo, the Dallas Arboretum ... and today, a recycling and waste management facility east of Dallas. Wait. What?

On one hand a trip to a recycling center might be interesting and educational, but the disclaimer we had to fill out (as we do for all field trips - this one doesn't pose any additional danger) consistently referred to the facility as "the landfill."

Needless to say Sam didn't want to go. It probably didn't help that in my knee-jerk reaction to the field trip newsletter, I happened to mention that a waste management facility was where they treated household waste. "You mean it's where they make poop?" Jake asked. No. Better!

But back to Sam. I waffled between feeling really sorry for him and being aggravated with him. I mean, I wouldn't want to go to a landfill on a 105-degree day, no matter how interesting or educational it might be. But on the other hand, buck up, man. Without sounding like an old grouch, there are dozens of things I do every day that I don't want to do. Granted, none of them requires visiting a landfill. But a pap smear, scooping Tag the Dog's poop, hosing out a garbage can full of maggots, fishing a sour rag out of the garbage disposal ... those come close.

So I told him it was his decision. On any given field trip, a few kids stay back because they forgot permission slips or the required t-shirt. So, I told him, "I'm letting you be the grown up. You decide."

I think he'll go. He'll grin and bear it and probably end up enjoying it. That's one of the great things about that kid. He truly sees something good in just about every situation. He could teach me a thing or two.

Rainy Days

Nearly the minute Bryon pulled in the driveway tonight with all 3 kids it started to pour. Rain so hard everything looked foggy. I thought I would help out by waiting on the porch with our largest umbrella, ready to usher everyone in. But Tag the Dog thought it would be a good time for a jog. You see, he's afraid of the rain. But in an amusing, annoying twist, it's during the hardest rainstorms that he decides to run, like a bat out of hell.

At first I thought I'd let him go. Surely in rain like this he wouldn't go far and he'd soon be home, literally wagging his tail behind him. But the rain didn't stop him. Soon enough he was 2 blocks away, crisscrossing the street, peeing at every opportunity.

Rather than get upset I kicked off my shoes, pulled off Abby's shoes and socks, grabbed Tag's leash and went after him. We caught up with him and once he saw the leash he was happy to come to me. We shoved him in the house, dried him off and went back outside.

This turned out to be the best time of my week. Soon Sam joined us and we walked the street, racing leaves in the rivulets of rain, counting the emerging snails, jumping in puddles.

After awhile we got chilly (in Texas ... in July ....) and came in for warm baths, pizza, popcorn and a movie. If I could get rid of that wet dog smell, it would be perfect.

Romine Family Jug Band

This is Jake and his new drum set. When Bryon brought it home on Saturday I asked him if it was a youth-size drum set. It is not. Tommy Lee himself could walk into the boys room and jam.

Together Jake and Sam can play the first few chords of We Will Rock You and Iron Man.

I am simultaneously proud and terrified.

Stages

The day after Sam turned 2 we took away his nighttime bottle. Looking back, I'm not sure why because the minute you gave him that bottle - the minute - he would fall asleep. It was easy to ween Jake off his bottle, but he replaced it with a nightly glass of chocolate milk. And that lasted until he was 4.

But with Abby, we didn't bother to take her nightly bottle away. It was obviously very soothing to her. If she was tired or irritable, she would ask for it by name. But a couple of months back we were down to one bottle and one nipple. And that last nipple cracked wide open in the dishwasher. When I threw it away, we replaced her bottle with a sippy cup. The thing I will miss the most about her nightly bottle is the way she would curve into your lap and twist her arm up so she could palm your face while she drank.

All this to say that with that bottle, all remnants of babyhood are gone from our house. Baby clothes and toys have been donated. No more bottles, baby food, diapers, wipes. I mistakenly turned down the baby aisle at the grocery store the other day while looking for juice boxes, and by the time I reached the end, I realize I didn't need a single from that aisle.

The baby stage is so fleeting. All the baby showers and books and advice and worry and late nights and it is over so quickly. And then you're on to different battles that sometimes make you pine for the days when they were tiny. Days when they still sat in your lap and stroked your face.

A Different Kind of Role Model

We have one of those DVD players in our minivan. Although we originally vowed to use it only on long trips, we use it all the time. As it happens we typically leave the same movie in for a long time - at least until Bryon and I tire of hearing it and change it out. But we've been lucky, I think, because the kids' choices in movies are bearable. The Disney classics, the Pixar catalog, Scooby Doo, Schoolhouse Rock, even old episodes of the Muppet Show.

But recently in a moment of weakness I bought Abby a Strawberry Shortcake movie. I don't have a problem with Strawberry Shortcake and her buffet of fragrant friends - I even had Strawberry Shortcake dolls when I was younger - but Strawberry Shortcake the DVD personality is snarky, melodramatic, haughty and bossy.

But I feel somewhat vindicated. You see "Strawberry Shortcake" is quite a mouthful for a 3-year-old like Abby.

Instead she calls her Strawberry Hor-cake.