Backseat (underage) Drivers!

Boys have a thing for cars. I get it. Sort of.

I don't actually understand the thing, just that there is one. The Tovsky guys all have it...even down to the youngest generation.

When I was 16 I loved to drive. Twenty years later I drive only because I have to. I could do without it. A chauffeur would be fantastic, in fact! Please inquire within if interested.

Since, none of you have volunteered I continue to drive everywhere I go. Unless Todd is with me. Then I get to ride as a car sick passenger.

I hate driving with Todd in the car. He is a backseat driver. Maybe its because my driving is not up to his standards. Maybe it is just him. I am not sure. Either way he's a backseat driver with me. Especially when he is drunk. Which is usually the reason I am driving.

Most often I am just driving the boys. But, as of late, they are all backseat drivers as well. All of them!!! If that's not enough to make you want to give up motor vehicles forever then I am not sure what is.
The fact that the boys don't know how to drive a car does not play a factor in this. Under-aged, under-sized, they each play their role in telling me how to drive. And where. And how fast.

Chase will tell me the speed limit on every road after every sign we pass. "35 mommy, don't drive any faster!" Sure wish there was a "quiet please" sign for him to read!!! He will also tell me, on a multi-lane road, which lane he wants me in, regardless of any circumstances that may determine the lane for me!

Ryder is constantly telling me to the catch up to the car in the other lane and a few feet ahead of me and considers it a race won if I pass them. "Pass that blue car, mommy!". And, once I do, if I do, he cheers only to say "pass that yellow car mommy!"

Turner just wants me to go, go, go! Should I stop at a red light or, even worse, behind a stopped car, a relentless "GOGOGOGOGOGO" will ensue until I start driving again.

Turning left out of my development, especially at rush hour, has proven difficult. I could sit there for several minutes before an opening appears. Each tock on the clock passes like nails on the chalkboard as I have the peanut gallery telling me to "go," "turn," "hurry, they're winning," all at once. It' almost like singing row, row, row your boat in a nightmarish and repeated round as they each shout their line. It"s nearly enough to pull out amidst traffic and hope for the best just to get them to shut up!!

So, driving has lost its luster, its thrill. The free feeling that was present in my late teens blew away in the wind (or wore out with age?).

Really, is anyone interested in chauffeuring me and my backseat drivers everywhere we go? You can help yourself, free of charge, to the endless supply of goldfish crushed into the car rug and buried in their car seats.

Castles in the Sand!

Every castle wants to house a Princess. Particularly, they dream of being home to a lonely princess protected by a fire-breathing dragon. Only to have her rescued by the Prince of all Charming. What castle wouldn't dream of that?

I have built a thousand castles today.  None with such a fairy tale future. I've Dumped bucket full of packed sand after bucket full of packed sand. Building an entire fortress? Not a chance. It seems it is every two year olds rite of passage to stomp on said castle even before the bucket has fully cleared. And so, I've packed the sand, banged on the bucket, flattened the land, flipped the bucket, tapped tapped tapped, and lifted only for the castle's inevitable fate of Turner's stomp!

Either this, or he crushes the bucket mounds castles of his brothers, much to their dismay.  Turner did seem to get a kick out of that, but the referee in me had enough of the screaming!

No princesses here, definitely no dragons (though this story does have a trifecta of charming prince's) just a castle in the sand destined to be crushed!!!

No Costume is Complete without the Shoes!

Ryder is imaginative. I have mentioned that. Since he has been two and a half years old he has spent the majority of his free time in costume. First, it was costumes of Halloween's Past but it quickly evolved into a much more serious and committed quest for becoming a character. It began with Benny from the movie Sandlot which had him insisting he needed a pair of black Chuck Taylors to complete the outfit. Then he moved on to the Peter Parker/Spiderman combination. When we bought him both the red and the black Spidey costumes I hadn't realized that even though I bought the gloves, as a separarte purchase, I was still giving him an incomplete gift. "Where are the boots Mommy? Spiderman has boots?" As a result I was out buying red socks every time I saw an apple-y pair. He said, "they will do!"
In the recent past he has moved on to Spiderman/Clark Kent giving him an extra excuse (not that he needs one) to wear his shirt, tie, and vest regularly!

 
We got him a Superman costume (which he wore last Halloween) and it once again came boot free!

Why o Why can't they sell all parts of the costume together?

Anyway, the same red socks he wore for Spidey worked for the Man of Steel, "I guess they will do" but he never stopped wanting the Superman boots.
Until one day he got them!
I got the boys Keen sandals for camp. Ryder got red for the third year in a row. Chase wanted green for the same number of years. When they didn't have green he almost got a turquoise color that would have people certainly questioning his future manliness. I was able to talk him out of this "gender neutral" color with the promise of ordering him the green he wanted when we got home.

So I did. From Zappo's.

I was quite impressed when the shoes showed up the very next day! Inside each of the shoes was a cardboard foot. I didn't think twice about these perfectly-sized pieces of cardboard and was about to throw them out when Ryder's eyes popped out of his head and rolled across the floor. "My boots!" He shouted and scooped the shoe insides right from my hands and ran off to be sneaky as he does.
I followed him, intrigued by his excitement.

"Whacha doing, Ry?"
Excitedly, so much so, his words were running into one, he responded, "thesecanbemybootsmommy! Ijusthavetocutthisoffhere," pointing to the back, "thenpaintthemred!".
I understood what he was saying despite his forgetting to breathe.
He grabbed the scissors and cut out around the ankle. Then ran to get his paints. He painted them red.
I watched in amazement as he created his boots from his own mind.
When they were done drying he placed them over his foot, happily. Until he noticed they wouldn't stay in place.
A lightbulb went off in his little head.
"Mommy, we need tape. If we put tape across the bottom and across the back they will stay in place. Where's the tape?"
Continuing to be amazed by his thought process I offered my first piece of consultation on his project.
"What if, instead of tape, we use elastic so that you can re-use them again and again?"
He looked at me. "What's elastic?"
I told him, showed him, in fact, by the band on his shorts.
"YES! " He shouted with a Tiger Woods type fist pump. "Do we have any?". We didn't but Mom-Mom Joan, thrilled by his creativity, was able to provide us with some within 24 hours.
And so, Ryder now has Superman boots of his very own. Created for him, by him. Because they are cardboard, they won't last nearly as long as the passionate boys love for the world's greatest superhero but maybe he is on to something.

Painting the shoes

Letting them dry

Side view

He cut out the back

Since all of the Power Rangers costumes he wants are out of stock maybe he will create his own?
And, if you need a pair of Red or Green Keen hand me downs sized in US9, 10, or 11, we got them!!!

Let me Tell you Sumpin.....I Love you!

Turner was over 16 months old when he started talking.  Even then it was an inconsistent scattering of words that left us guessing what he was saying.  Despite thinking he would be an early talker after his miraculous first word at 9 months, by 14 months we knew we were quite mistaken.  According to my yard stick, which the measurements were previously set by his brothers, Turner was a late talker.  Surprisingly, he was not too far behind his peers.  By the time he was 2, it was hard to realize he had just started talking as he spoke, A LOT, always looking you right in the eye.  Now, not even two and a half, he speaks perfectly clear.  Well, almost  He talks often and loudly and it is easy to forget that he communicated with grunts and points for longer than tolerable.
But, despite his mature vocabulary, he has a few mispronunciations that in addition to reminding me he still wears diaper, are just so adorable.

For one, he pronounces the "J" sound as "G".
We frequent the Gim!  Mom-Mom's are Gill and Goan.  His best buddy is Gagher.  Oren's daddy is Geff.  And, my personal favorite, Delaney and Madden's daddy is Uncle Gay.  I don't correct him.  Is that wrong?

I love these mis-sayings.

He says Sumpin, not something
He calls a yogurt smoothie, one of his favorite things to drink, something I am unable to even write down.

And, no matter how much I told him, no matter how many times a day he heard the words I love you, he would never repeat them.  Not ever.  I got upset about it, all too often.  Again using the unfair measuring stick of Chase and Ryder, who said I love you at 21 months, I was a little bothered.  I wasn't concerned that he couldn't say it, I just wanted to hear it.  Are there really any better words to hear from your kid?

Turner does things at his own pace.  He doesn't like feeling pressured to do anything so I backed off for a bit.  Then one day, he said it.  I am not exactly sure of when.  I am not quite sure it matters because now when I say "Turner, I love you!"  He follows up with an "I love you, too!"

Turner, I love you!!

I'm thinking...Mojitos...with Muddled Fresh Mint all Summer!

I've said, on occasion, that I wish I lived on a farm, ate from my crops and lived a simple life. Entertainment would be hikes, and swims, and time in a boat. It is comments like these that make my mom say "who the hell raised you?"

Although I do mean it when I say, it I know it will likely not happen. I would be lying if I said I didn't love city life, too.

But, for a long time now I have been wanting to start a vegetable garden. A mere compromise of my extreme lifestyle desires.  Since I have a bit of a black thumb and very little free time, the idea of a garden seemed most ideal in my head. In my head my veggies were fresh, my salads were tasty, and my herbs were fragrant.

Then I met a friend who's Nebraska farm upbringing makes her a bit of a know-how when it comes to gardening. She offered her assistance and her knowledge.  I offered my credit card and my husbands brawn.  And, 6 hours later we have a 6' x 6' vegetable garden in our backyard.

Todd was happy I bought arugula plants for him (I don't love it) since we did make him dig up our fresh and beautiful grass with nothing but a pointed shovel.  I also bought three different types of tomatoes, 4 different types of peppers, romaine, broccoli, strawberries, zucchini, snap peas, green beans, and a bunch of herbs, amongst them, mint.

I bought this mint for no other reason but one sniff of the fragrance and in my mind's eye I was drinking mojitos with muddled fresh mint (ALL SUMMER LONG) and I was ready to leave the nursery for the state store to purchase a case of Bacardi.  I didn't.  Instead I stayed focused on the task at hand.

The garden is planted.  It rained, consistently, for ten straight days afterwards so I am just now needing to start the daily hose down.  Let's see if my black thumb can at least change purple on its way to being green.

As of this posting the herbs are doing fantastic, and are ready for mojito making.  Or, mint juleps.   The arugula is in critical condition and I am hoping it didn't take offense by my earlier, I DON'T LOVE IT comment, and one of the romaines may have died before it even got started.  But...so far, so good.   Harvest is in several weeks, and we will be serving up some fine veggies.  And, mojito's, of course!

GEE instead of JAY

At two and a half years old Turner speaks as many toddlers do.  Some words are clear and articulate and others are totally butchered.  Such as anything with the letter J.  Both of his mom-mom's, to of his uncles, one of his favorite activities, and his best buddy are all humorously butchered as followed:

Mom-Mom Goan
Mom-Mom Gill
Uncle Gay (my favorite)
The Gim
and his best buddy Gagher.

I Deserve a Cash Bonus!

There are very many accomplished people in this world. Doctors, Lawyers, CEO's, Published writers, inventors...I could go on. I have friends, I have family, all who are very accomplished. I find it admirable, respectable, enviable even. Sometimes I wish my resumé was, well, I wish I even had a resumé.

I have set my bar much lower. Especially these days. I was never much of pole vaulter, nor much of a flexible limbo-er, so I have set my bar at a level that I can crawl under, or more like slither like a snake, and clear it without touching.

Monday I had a very accomplished day. I say this proudly knowing that WOHM's, executives, people with an actual job, may laugh at me.  I hear their snicker.

Monday, with one kid home sick and a toddler on the loose. I did 7 loads of laundry and put 4 of them away in proper drawers and closets. Let me repeat that. I DID 7 LOADS OF LAUNDRY.  Sorry, had my day ended there I would have felt accomplished.  But, believe it or not, it did not end there.  Instead, I made 2 very important phone calls, and dosed out medicine, accurately, every four hours.
What happens when Benadryl is more expired than my children are old?  This is what I wondered on my PhD earning day as I Cleaned out our medicine cabinet (and made a huge trash bag,) got dinner prepared, ordered Chase's shoes, and even played with my sons.

Seriously, this was a monumental day. I did all of that and my house was still standing at the days end. I never even dropped anything or misplaced anything nor did I ask my kids to fend for themselves while playing in traffic.

 I deserve some sort of reward. A cash bonus, perhaps!