Jamie is home from the mountains, as crazy as he is, or because he’s as crazy as he is I missed him, the house seemed ultra quiet without him.   Ultra quiet was needed on this occasion, because the plague descended on our house last week.  Charlie and Jim were sick first, then Jamie, then me.   Nine days of pure hell and my lungs are still hacking and my ears are still ringing.    Somewhere in the middle of it, Jamie got bored of watching tv while his mommy fevered away on the couch, so he begged his Grandpa (who is incidentally living with us mon-fri) to take him up to their house for the weekend.   Permission was asked and granted, but it resulted in a little incident where Jamie ran away from home.   Thinking my dad had forgetten him, he frantically packed his backpack with his toothbrush and enough pants to outfit a milipede and he took off for the mountains on foot   Luckily I soon wondered why the house was so quiet, and went searching for him.  My heart started beating a little faster when I couldn’t find him anywhere inside, nor outside.   I tried shouting his name but I had no voice, just a raspy, congested, frantic whisper.   I had no car, Jim took it to get an oil change, so I took off on foot with Charlie tucked under an arm.    I finally found Jamie a 1/8th of a mile or so down the road, just past the main house.  He was barefoot and pantsless, bound and determined to walk the 230 miles to Lake Arrowhead.   When he saw me he ran up screaming bloody murder because although snakes are not terrifying, ants are…at least the kind that chase you (so says Jamie).   I was so relieved to find him, that I forgave him for making me run my aching, shivering bones up the road. 

This was the worst of it I think, imortalized in picture form for posterity.   It’s times like this I really want my mom, I don’t want to instead be a mom.   Instead of laying on cool sheets, sipping gatorade and watching Little House On The Prairie reruns,  I’m stuck with two sick, cranky, crying  kids.   Fun times.

Nine days later however, I finally turned the corner.   And in celebration I actually cooked… pear moos.
Thats right….some sort of mennonite fruit soup, recipe compliments of a friend in Minnesota.  It was yummy.  Charlie was not a very happy camper.

Whoever called two year olds terrible, obviously had never met a three or four year old.   “Emotional whiplash” doesn’t even describe the stage with justice.   One second they’re sharing yogurt with their baby sibling and doling out blueberry flavored kisses after every bite, and the next second they’re demanding a napkin and then freaking out so completely when it doesn’t magically appear, the shrieks and bellows can be heard two counties away.    Consequently one moment, my heart is swelling with motherly emotion, and the next moment I want ear plugs and some duct tape.   After disciplining Jamie for somewhere around the fifteenth time today he wailed at me “mommy, you’re so mean“.  “No babe, if I were a mean mom, I’d make you find your own worms and eat them.”
Then again, he might think that’s fun. 
It’s not just that he fluctuates between St. Valentine and Hagar the Horrible, he also has these weird quirks that just popped out of nowhere.   Like the revenge of the Scary Toilet, where apparently all the toilets in the world have banded together to eat little boys when the handle is flushed.    Sometimes he bravely flushes the toilet and other times he runs shrieking from the stall tryinng to climb up me as if the wold is a safer place when he’s clinging to my ribcage.   In his defence some of those self flushing toilets scare me too and sound more like soul sucking machines. 

Today I decided to do a quick photoshoot with the kids for Mother’s day.   I don’t know why I always do these things last minute.   Jamie thought it would be hysterical to squeeze his eyes shut the entire time.  I went from bribing to threatening, and finally I gave up and caught these.

If your name is Gio or Jeanette then these are for you….Happy Mothers Day.

Yes that is drool on Charlie’s face

Shopping gives me super powers.  
For months now I’ve been driving past the meadow I blogged about back in January.  Summer is nearly here, and my enchanted fairy land is disappearing, slowly turning into a desert wasteland before my eyes because I lack the nerve to journey past the angry “NO TRESPASSING” signs at the gate.   Every time I leave my house I feel a little more spineless and little more disgusted with myself, but apparently not enough to actually do anything about it.     I always come up with an excuse like…the kids are both wailing or I’m too young to die.
  
But today I went lingerie shopping with Heather (she’s one of the few people who would dare attempt such a thing with my two man-babies).    We hit up Nordstroms Rack where Jamie picked out a lovely, fluffy looking pink tanga and excitedly brought it to me  “Mom you need this, it is soo cute”.   He also had opinions on what bras Heather and I ought to try on, although he called them “for charlie’s food”.    He is either going to be royally embarassed by this tale someday, or he’s going to make a fantastic husband with great tastes.   Maybe both?
A mobile Charlie was a twist I hadn’t prepared for.  I had him sitting happily on the floor in the dressing room when suddenly he spied a crusty, stale cheerio three stalls down and he took off like a locamotive.   I was not attired properly to go charging after him, so I resorted to sticking my head out the bottom and yelling for him to come back.   He didn’t.   I got dressed very quickly.    We survived however, and  I scored a $118 piece of french lingerie that was mis marked for $5.97.     I was seriously stoked.   

So stoked, that when I drove past my fading fairy land, and the familiar pangs of guilt hit me, instead of ignoring it and sliding further down my seat, I pulled a u-turn, went back and started up the driveway. *gulp*  It quickly turned into a dirt road  path marked every ten feet or so by signs like “YOU LOOT WE SHOOT”.  I kid you not.   If I could have turned around I would have, finally the trees cleared and I saw a house straight out of a Louis La’Mour novel.   I swear it grew straight out of the ground, complete with an old wrap around porch filled with saddle equipement, rocking chair, and an old sleeping dog.   I left the car running (in case I needed a quick escape) with the kids sleeping in the back seat.   In a last second decision I ditched the Ralph Lauren sunglasses and bluetooth… since I didn’t think they’d win me any points, and I knocked on the door.   And knocked again.   Third time the door finally opened to reveal the man I remembered from 4 years ago.  And he wasn’t any happier or more pleasant.     He was seriously wearing cowboy boots, hat and gun.    My heart was pounding in my throat although in some ways I felt justified.   This was one case where my imagination didn’t exagerate real life.   He demanded with scowly eyebrows if I’d happened to notice the no trespassing signs (um….yeah, all ten of them).    I sputtered something dumb about wanting to introduce myself, being his neighbor and all,  quickly complimented him on his gorgeous property and sign placing skills, and then managed to remember my ace in the hole and hurridedly mentioned that I’m the Deckert’s niece.     He was smiling at that point, apparently he really likes “Vern and Dr. Pat”.  Whew.   He likes them so much, he granted his permission for my photoshoot.   ….providing we don’t pick any flowers.   I assured him we wouldn’t even touch them.  He countered saying we had to take some seeds though.   Ok.
I shook his hand, and thanked him profusely, then willed my wobbly legs back to my waiting car.

I’m so glad that’s over.

Now I actually have to plan a photoshoot.