rub a dub dub

almost every night, for the period of time between dinner and stories, liam and susanna can be found in the tub. what used to last five minutes can now, quite literally, last an hour. chris has taken on the role of bath giver, while i, selfishly, usually stay downstairs, under the ruse of cleaning up the kitchen (but actually, watching e! news and checking e-mail.) not only does it allow me a small break, but it gives chris some time to catch up with the kids after he's been gone from them all day. tonight, however, bath duty fell to me. the splashing began, laughter ensued, and i was instantly transported back to the days when bathing wasn't just a necessity in order to wake up in the morning, but instead a fun-filled way to end the day. and it reminded me that the kitchen dishes (and e-mail and television) could -- and should -- wait. this is the kind of photo that i want to keep. this is what's so indicative of our lives right now. i'm glad we have pictures of the kids frolicking in the snow, or sitting on santa's lap, or opening birthday gifts. but this is a day-in, day-out snapshot of our world with our children. the simple joy, the pure pleasure, the magic ... of taking a bath.

in the pink

pink eye has reared its ugly head in the mann household. liam came down with it for the first time ever a few weeks ago, and then, in typical sibling fashion, he passed it on to his sister. (we have been encouraging them to share -- but this isn't quite what we had in mind.) our kids love them some medicine. amoxicyllin, tylenol, motrin ... these drug manufacturers know what they're doing when they make it all neon-colored and gooey and delicious. but i guess no one at the eye drop labs has gotten the memo, because their product is vile. one glimpse of that bottle with its burning, stinging contents sends my kids running in the opposite direction. literally. although i dreaded having to inflict pain, i knew it was unavoidable. i lured my unsuspecting daughter to the bathroom by calling, "susanna! medicine time!", and immediately heard the patter of little feet, eager for a dose of whatever sticky sweet stuff she thought i was selling. but as soon as she saw me wielding the little bottle of vigamox, she froze in her tracks. with her hands on her hips, she glared at me from behind red, crusty, oozy eyelids and declared, "no! i do NOT want this medicine. my eyes are FINE!" poor little girl. she'll learn, soon enough, what we adults already know: the eyes never lie.

political aspirations

liam reads the newspaper every morning as he eats his breakfast with chris. we have learned to hide the more hard-hitting sections, since there's usually very little in them that's appropriate for a four-year old, but he does love the sports and weather. he then reports to me the forecast, sounding like a mini meteorologist: "mommy, the afternoon high is 56 degrees. it will be partly cloudy today." it's actually quite helpful as i decide what we all will wear. today, however, there was no weather report. instead, he came bounding upstairs, bursting with excitement. "i saw him, mommy! he was in the paper!" "who?" i asked, thinking it must have been a blown-up picture of charlie brown or some athlete whose name i don't know. "the president!" he said, breathlessly. "obama!" i love the fact that my preschooler not only can recognize the president from his picture, but also knows his name. (it helps that "obama" rolls off the tongue of a small child; it's easy to say.) we had watched part of the inauguration on tuesday morning after we returned from sledding and shed our snowy clothes. the kids curled up in their new chairs with cups of hot chocolate (see picture), and witnessed history in the making. we talked about how anything is possible in this country. which brings me to my final aspect of this morning's story. after liam had shared his obama sighting, he asked, "do you think i can marry his daughter?" hmm. a little boy from north carolina with a republican stay-at-home mom, and a daughter of one of the most powerful men on earth. if the distance between raleigh and d.c. weren't a factor, age certainly could be, as they're both at least three years his senior. (i'm not sure if he has his sights on sasha or malia, since he's smitten with both.) but no matter. "sure," i replied, "but you'll have to wait until you're a little older." for as obama has taught us, in this country, anything is possible.

snow wonder

we got snow today. a lot of snow. more snow than the total we had in the five years we lived in the mountains. the kids were abuzz with excitement last night as we said our prayers, and i knew they'd be up earlier than normal this morning, rushing to their windows to see what the world had in store. it's amazing how some white precipitation can transform the outside into a magical wonderland.

it's also amazing how woefully unprepared we were, although understandable, given recent history. chris hit a few stores yesterday in search of sleds -- none to be found. (thankfully, my parents came through, and brought us a few. not quite sure what a couple of 60-year olds are doing with a supply of sleds in their basement, but hey, it helped us out.) then we realized we lacked any waterproof pants. we found a pair at target for liam last night, but nothing in susanna's size. she frolicked today wearing a pair of hot pink leggings under a pair of black knit leggings under a pair of liam's sweatpants, and didn't seem to mind a bit.

sledding, snowballs, a sorry attempt at a snowman, snow angels ... snow wonder they loved it!

the power of suggestion

liam's been battling chapped lips off and on ever since winter hit. this bout is particularly bad, as he's somehow managed to cut his bottom lip as well. he licks his lips, which, of course, exacerbates the problem, and then mealtime only makes them worse as salt or juice settles into the cut. in the grand scheme of things (well, even in the tiny scheme of things), chapped lips are pretty far down on the totem pole of health problems. i promised him a good coat of vaseline before bedtime tonight, thinking that would placate him for another hour or so. but i guess i didn't empathize enough, or fully understand how painful his bright red, puffy, cracked lips were. as i was telling him and susanna about our plans to meet up with friends at the children's museum in the morning, the poor little guy began to cry. "but i need to go to the doctor!" he wailed. "please call him now and get an appointment! MY LIPS ARE SICK!" so i did what moms do best: i lied. i told him i had some special medicine in the fridge for this exact condition, and gave him a teaspoon of the same amoxicyllin that he was prescribed ten days ago for a mild ear infection that it turned out he didn't have. he licked the teaspoon clean, smiled, and thanked me. "wow, mommy. my lips are all better! now we can go to the museum tomorrow." the power of suggestion to a four year old ... there's nothing quite like it. tomorrow, i'm going to tell him that if he's a good boy and eats all his dinner, he might just be lucky enough to get spinach for dessert.

breakfast of champions

i am not a morning person. after decades of attempting to correct this about myself through new year's resolutions of waking early, working out, reading the bible, etc. before breakfast, which always petered out oh, about the second week of january, i've come to terms with the fact that i am just not wired that way. it was unfortunate that the nine years of my professional career required me being at my place of work often by 7 a.m. -- an insane hour to be fully mentally prepared to educate 13-14 year olds in the ways of trigonometric functions and quadratic equations. so, i figure that this brief period in my life that i currently enjoy is long overdue. nowadays when i hear the alarm ring and chris start the shower, i can blissfully roll over in bed and return to dreamland, convinced that this is just payback. or the universe righting itself. or whatever. susanna, as with most things we're finding, takes after me -- she, too, loves her beauty sleep. i often have to wake her up at around 8:30 am to get her fed and dressed for preschool. (and yes, she goes to bed by 8 pm each night, and sleeps soundly.) i hear tales of her little friends who are up and at 'em every morning before the sun rises. that sends shivers down my spine. i haven't seen a 6 on the clock in years, and have absolutely zero interest in doing so anytime in the near future. but while the girls in the mann household slumber, the boys are beginning their day. chris tells me that as soon as he's taken super outside and has retrieved the newspaper, like clockwork, liam comes skipping down the stairs, bright-eyed and eager to share his morning meal with his daddy. i think it's a really special time for both of them -- when it's just father and son, eating together and talking about their upcoming day. i don't know how much project management discussion they have regarding chris's job, but i'm sure there's a fair amount of conversation regarding liam's schedule of school, playdates, and activities. they say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but i daresay it's not just the food you eat. i know firsthand how upbeat and excited liam is after spending such quality time with the closest man in his life. and i'd wager a guess that chris, backing out of the driveway to see his son waving goodbye to him from the family room window, is ready to face his day with that special extra tad of enthusiasm only a preschooler can provide.

having a ball

chris and i attended the north carolina inaugural ball last night. this might surprise you, but it's not every day that he dusts off his tux and i wear a floor-length gown. it was an amazing evening, full of pomp, celebrity sightings (i was two feet away from miss north carolina! in her crown! oh, and a bunch of political people), great music, dancing, food, mingling ... topped off by a stop at the downtown krispy kreme with good friends as we headed home close to midnight. we had a wonderful time.

there's just one complaint i had. try to imagine, ladies, being on a marble floor for three hours as you're dressed to the nines, with no chair in sight. i'm betting your feet hurt just thinking of it. could there be anything worse than standing on an unforgiving, non-cushioned surface while wearing three-inch heels? why, yes there is. let's throw clip-on earrings in the mix! the kind that pinch your earlobes so tight that the NEXT DAY the red impressions still linger! (i have sworn i will never get my ears pierced ... but after ten minutes of those things, i'm starting to see the allure ...) i was radiating pain, literally from my head to my toes.

but wait! there's more! towards the end of the evening, i temporarily shed my shoes and let my throbbing feet massage each other from underneath the hem of my gown. (any sense of decorum at that point was overshadowed by my intense desire to amputate below my ankles.) so i was kind of swaying from side to side, while also rubbing my left ear mainly to convince myself that i did still indeed have an earlobe, when chris turned to me. "jeez," he sighed, fiddling with his cuff links. "did you know that tuxes aren't all that comfortable?"

my Grand Idea

every once in a while, i have a Grand Idea. an idea that i feel certain could make me millions -- if i could just turn it into reality. the woman who came up with those jibbitz things (you know, that go into the holes of crocs) must have felt the same way. i guess the slight difference is that she actually did make millions. but no matter. my newest Grand Idea is the declining bowling lane. with a push of a button, the front part of the lane, starting at the foul line, would rise to a predetermined angle, in effect causing the lane as a whole to slowly decline from start to finish. this would ensure that even the most gingerly tapped ball would actually reach the pins. i came up with my Grand Idea as i was being reprimanded by the shift manager at the local bowling alley on sunday. susanna had, for the second time, rolled (and i use this term loosely) her ball with such little force that it ... just ... ever ... so ... slowly ... stopped. it got a little momentum from bumping against the rails that i'm sure some other mother, decades ago, came up with as her Grand Idea to prevent gutter balls -- but it just wasn't enough. chris and i had assisted the kids as much as humanly possible to get their balls to their destination (see pictures), but there's really only so much you can do when you're working with a two-year old. so we four watched susanna's ball come to a stop, and then contemplated our options. we were too embarrassed to bother the staff again, so chris suggested i just send another ball down the lane to bump into susanna's ball. problem solved. anyone with half a brain can figure out the outcome of this ingenious solution. susanna's ball, having been knocked, reached the pindeck and triggered the sweeping mechanism to begin to clear the pins. my ball, a few seconds behind, then ricocheted off the sweeper with a large metal THUD and came careening back towards us. ironically, it came to rest in the exact same spot where all the trouble began in the first place. presentation is key with all Grand Ideas, so i'm still working out the kinks of my declining bowling lane. it needs a catchy name, and i figure there's probably some science involved in the design -- my sister's PhD in physics might be useful. recognizing that it needs more development, i did not share with the shift manager my Grand Idea, and just meekly apologized to him instead as he marched down to retrieve my ball for the second time. i figure i can head back sometime next week with the pitch. i'm telling you, i'm going to make millions.

rain on the brain

rain, rain, please do stay,
for our children love to play
in their new slickers and boots,
which were among their christmas loot.
when we awoke on this sunday
the sky outside was wet and gray.
interest in church there was none --
til they thought of raincoat fun.
so while others go back to bed
because of rain, for us instead
when we want to worship our Creator ...
rain is quite the motivator.  

note: susanna is holding the crown liam made in sunday school in honor of the three kings. kind of random without an explanation. or, should i say, a raining explaining. (is that a bad rhyme? please, no complaining.)