A Non-Outnumbered Weekend

Every year, my mom tries to take my boys on a special night or weekend trip without John and me. Jack and Luke think this is great fun, getting to do things they wouldn’t normally get to do - like stay up until 2 am watching movies.

She took them to the Lake of the Ozarks to stay at Tan-Tar-A for the weekend. They left first thing Friday morning and returned Sunday afternoon. This is one of those areas where a mother’s emotions are in conflict. On one hand, I was excited by the prospect of a relaxing weekend without the boys. On the other hand, I was saddened by the prospect of a lonely weekend without the boys. Knowing that the boys would have a terrific time tipped the scale from saddened to excited.

I was also excited at the prospect of spending a weekend in a house in which I was not outnumbered by boys. Just me and my husband! Mano y womano! I pictured lazy hours around the house, sleeping in, reading the newspaper in bed, perusing the wares at the Best of Missouri Market, eating out at a fabulous restaurant, seeing a movie of my choice and so on. Basically, the weekend had the makings of a woman’s (at least my) dream.

So, how did I spend my weekend? In Columbia, Missouri at the Mizzou-Nebraska football game. How is it that, even when I’m not outnumbered, I end up doing decidedly male activities? No offense to the alums of Mizzou or to the women who love to watch football. I just happen to be neither of those things.

When our neighbors invited us, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go. But, I had never done the whole tailgate/college football thing, so I was curious. And our neighbors are great fun, so I knew it would be a fun time. We could leave for Columbia early on Saturday, tailgate, watch the game, drive back to St. Louis, and I’d still have plenty of time to cram in some relaxing. But, when I found out that the day game was changed to a night game that started at 8:15 pm, I saw my relaxing weekend slipping away.

So how was it? Magnificent. The energy at this game, from the tailgating crowd (some of which started before 10 am so I’d say their revelry may have been fueled more by beverage than the upcoming game) to the crowd at the game was palpable. It was hard not to be taken in and caught up by the experience of it all.

There were over 70,000 people in attendance at the stadium. Busch Stadium, home of the St. Louis Cardinals, seats less than 50,000. This may be the norm in other college towns, but where I went to college (University of Missouri-Rolla), sports just weren’t that important and the football facilities were slightly larger than that of a football town's high school. And, it was a “Gold Rush” game, so everyone but Nebraska fans wore gold.

One of my favorite parts of the game was when the crowd started doing the wave. I normally don’t care much about the wave, but to watch it progress around a stadium filled with gold was irresistible. There was one small section filled with red shirts, the Nebraska fans, who didn’t much feel like doing the wave. Whenever the wave reached this section, all of the fans in gold stopped cheering and yelled “Boooo,” until the next section of gold started the wave again and the crowd switched from booing to cheering. It was hilarious! I tried to take video of it to post, but only seeing it live could do it justice.

To top it all off, Mizzou creamed Nebraska 41 to 6 (sorry Nebraska fans). It was an unforgettable night.

Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow. Had I done what I wanted to do on my non-outnumbered weekend, I would have missed out on an experience bursting with such exuberance and exhilaration that it captivated me, a non-football fan, so completely that I had to write about it on my blog.

Glossary of Terms

The people at Merriam-Webster know that new words and terms are created daily in the English language. A lot of these start out as slang, but some spring up from advancement in science or technology or from growing trends. The dictionary is regularly updated to include these new words that are used so often in our vernacular they are deemed appropriate additions to the dictionary. For example , the 2007 copyright version of the best-selling Merriam-Webster's Collegiate® Dictionary, Eleventh Edition - available this fall in bookstores everywhere – added the word ginormous. Are you telling me that this word is used enough that it needs to be added to the dictionary? People can’t just say really big or humongous anymore? I guess we can chalk that up to the age of the super size, where even words about size have to be super sized.

The point I am trying to make here is that new words are created every day. It is important that there is a resource for learning these new words so people can avoid making ginormous mistakes, such as ordering ravioli when you meant to order agnolotti.

I have my own contenders for additions to future revisions of the Merriam-Webster dictionary, some of which are listed here for your reference when reading my blog. Be warned - some of them are gross, but I live in a house full of boys so you should expect that. Here they are in no particular order.

Male-dominated household (MDH) – a household in which the female member(s) is/are outnumbered by the male members. In my household, the ratio is 1 female to 3 males (two females if you count my dog).

Male-dominated household ailments (MDHA) – The illnesses or ailments that a female may suffer from or contract while living in a MDH, or that may manifest in the males living within the MDH. Examples include Selective Hearing and all of its subsets, Questionitis and Wrestlemania.

__enis – The way I have to refer to a certain member of the male anatomy within this blog or be faced with less than stellar advertisements appearing. I don’t think that the blank will outsmart any of them though, so bear with me as I catch them and filter them out.

__agina – The female version of the above.

Down in China – According to my son Luke, the location of the above mentioned female part, as in “Girls have a __agina because it’s down by China.” Thanks to my sister Shannon for teaching him that one. I don’t think it will make the Merriam-Webster dictionary.

Wenis __enis – The cute nickname by which my boys refer to their anatomy. If they’re saying the clinical term anyway, why not just leave it at that? I guess it sounds funnier in a rhyme.

Number 3 – What the boys call it when they have to poop. There is no Number 2, because according to them you always pee when you poop. So, Number 1 plus Number 2 is Number 3. Who knew using the bathroom could incorporate math lessons?

Mercy flush – The habit of flushing in the middle of Number 3 to clear out some of the odor.

Wet farts – I cannot even believe I am typing this. According to my son Jack, this is gas that leaves a stain in your underwear. Please forgive me.

Hate schedule – Apparently, this is the schedule that my son Luke keeps in his head of all the people and things that have made him mad that day. He informed me of this schedule very casually the other day. Out of the blue in the middle of a very pleasant evening, he said, “Hey, mom. I put my whole family on my hate schedule today. Even you and daddy.” It's not a list, it's a schedule, as if he is sitting around planning a calendar on who he is going to hate that day and how much he will hate them and for how long. The lower the score, the better, but it looks like you can never make it off the schedule. My sister, who Luke loves more than anyone, is on the schedule but she is at zero. I am at 132.

Ninja Kitty – Luke’s alter ego, the one he uses when he tricks you by acting all cute and sweet and purring like a kitty, and then sending a Ninja Kick at your body when you try to cuddle with him.

Fermp – This word has broad uses to cover many nonspecific situations. It can be used to fill a silence. It can be used to make someone laugh. It can be used when you are poking someone in the belly. It can be used when you are doing something silly or when you drop something or make a mistake. It can be used as a filler when you don't want to say something bad in front of the kids. Like when you stub your toe and scream out, "Fermp!"

I hope to update this glossary often. If you have any words you would like to include, send them along and I’ll add them to the next update. We'll see if we can get in the next dictionary update.

Are You a Monkey or a Boy?

Is there a surface in the world that a boy will not climb on? If there is, please tell me because I would like to build my house and all of my furniture out of it.

My boys are drawn to any surface or structure that has even a miniscule chance of being climbable (Is that a word? It is in a male-dominated household (MDH)). The need to climb intensifies when: 1. I am in a hurry, 2. We are running late, and 3. We are in the middle of the most crowded event in history with cars zooming by at 45 miles per hour (the more dangerous the situation, the better the climb apparently.) Most days, I have to add an extra 15 minutes to our schedule to ensure that we arrive at our destination on time. If I forget to do that and we are running behind, I have learned to use my body as a shield, blocking the boys’ view of any potentially climbable apparatus.

I understand the joy of climbing on certain things at certain times, and often participate in the predictable climbing extravaganzas. When we go hiking, we climb over and across fallen logs, we use fallen trees as bridges, we climb up and slide down big boulders, and we hop over rocks to cross creeks. This climbing I can understand. Why else go for a hike, if not to be adventurous and climb on whatever you can find?

Then there is the nonstandard climbing that my boys partake in. When we went to the balloon race a few weeks ago, the boys couldn’t go 10 feet without stopping to climb on something. We almost missed the race, even though we started heading that way an hour before it was scheduled to begin. They climbed on retaining walls. The climbed on stair rails (What’s wrong with just using the stairs? They’re right there!). They climbed on street curbs. They climbed on benches. They climbed on bike racks, from which Jack almost had to be rescued. Jack even tried to climb a lamppost. I think he was surprised that he couldn’t make it to the top. He must think he’s part monkey. Thanks a lot, Darwin!

When Jack was a baby, his love of climbing was a terrifying proposition for me. He had no fear, and there was nothing in front of him that he would not attempt to climb. This was a startling introduction into motherhood for me, and started my hair down the path to gray. Until, one day almost by accident, we came up with the brilliant game we called “Playing Couch.” This game consisted of John sitting on one side of the couch and me on the other. Jack would climb back and forth between us, on the top, front, back, and sides of the couch. Jack thought this was a great climbing game, but it really was a way for John and I to get a little rest.

Now that the boys are older, John doesn’t care to play the safe and restful climbing games anymore, not that the boys would participate. John has actually helped and encouraged them on their path to becoming climbing legends. He started small, with furniture. Then he advanced them to the tops of playground equipment, like jungle gyms or monkey bars.



Then he moved them onto trees. Then, the top of the car.



Then, they advanced to rock walls. And not the small rock walls. I'm talking the big ones that trained climbers practice on. What does that leave?



And I am powerless to stop it. I know that I'm about to see something scary whenever John yells, "Heather, bring the camera!"

Luckily, we live in St. Louis where there is a wonderful place called City Museum. I am both terrified and thrilled by this place. It is an explosion of an adult boy's imagination, and offers plenty of safe opportunities for climbing. I highly recommend it.

http://www.citymuseum.org/

Big, Bigger, Biggest

I just read a news story about one of the families that was featured on The Supernanny. I never watched this reality television show, but was familiar with its premise of sending the Supernanny into homes with overly rambunctious children (I’m being kind) to try to tame them. In 2005, the show was in the UK helping a woman with her five children, I think all of them boys under the age of eleven. Talk about your male-dominated households (MDH)! I do feel for the mother of this MDH. I have two boys and find it hard to channel their energy into something safe and non-destructive. I can’t imagine trying to do this with five boys, with dad making six. Anyway, I guess being on Supernanny didn’t work because TMZ reported that the three-year old in the family just burned the house down. He reportedly started the fire in the kitchen, and when the mom was trying to put it out he ran into the dining room and set the curtains on fire. The family is now staying in a hotel. Who can guess the only thing worse than living in a house with five boys? Living in a hotel with five boys. Well, that’s not true. The worst thing would be having your three-year old burn your house down and being forced to live in a hotel. I’m very thankful that no one was hurt. At least the mom will have a hotel maid service for awhile. Read the story here:
http://www.tmz.com/2007/10/02/supernanny-kid-sets-fire-to-home

My kids, as far as I know, have never ever played with matches, or lighters, or candles, or anything else that might start a fire. In fact, Jack brought a fire extinguisher that he made home from school and had me set it by the stove in case of a grease fire. I think my boys are afraid of fire, which is a good thing as far as I’m concerned because they don’t seem to be afraid of anything else. The more dangerous something is, the bigger the attraction. In physics, magnetism is one of the phenomena by which materials exert attractive or repulsive forces on other materials. Some well known materials that exhibit easily detectable magnetic properties are nickel, iron and their alloys. In motherhood, magnetism is one of the phenomena by which dangerous situations exert attractive forces on my sons. Some well known situations that exhibit easily detectable magnetic properties are any structures that are accessible for climbing, ledges dangling over death drops, and poisonous or rabid critters and their relatives.

Is danger a game to all boys, or just in my house? Or, I should say the game is, “Let’s do something that will scare the pants off of mom and see how she reacts.” If I don’t react sufficiently, because the older they get the more it takes to freak me out, they escalate the level of danger. They do this until they hit my breaking point, or until someone cries. With John’s help (as in, “Hey boys, come jump off of the bunk bed onto the other bed!”), they build up my resistance to their antics and I let things go on and on until someone gets hurt. An injury lowers my resistance and they have to build it up again by starting slow and working to bigger things. It goes something like this:

Big: Jump off of the couch onto the bean bag chair placed across the room.
Bigger: Jump off of the couch onto the bean bag chair placed across the room with a mouth full of apple.
Biggest: Throw your brother off of the couch onto the bean bag chair placed across the room.

Big: Point out the snake in the grass.
Bigger: Point out the snake in the grass while poking it with a stick.
Biggest: Pick up the snake (my kids are too scared for this one, but not my husband).



Big: Jump from the lowest bunk bed ladder rung onto the bottom bed.
Bigger: Jump from the highest bunk bed ladder rung onto the bottom bed.
Biggest: Jump from the top of the bunk bed to the twin bed on the other side of the room.

Big: Stand at the edge of the cliff that drops 1,000 feet to the water fall.
Bigger: Stand at the edge of the cliff that drops 1,000 feet to the water fall and throw rocks in.
Biggest: Climb over the edge of the cliff that drops 1,000 feet to the water fall (my didn't get away with this one, but my uncle and his son did.)


My uncle and cousin standing on the ledge above the waterfall. Doesn't look too bad, right?









Now, from a distance, you can see where my uncle and cousin are standing on the ledge above the waterfall. See the blue and red specks in the middle of the photo? That is them.



When I try to quash something that looks particularly dangerous, I get the “Boys will be boys” speech. Sometimes this works on me, but only when I can leave the room and compel my husband to take the blame when someone gets hurt (although, as you read under my “You Should’ve…” post, I get the blame anyway). Other times, I use the “Better safe than sorry speech” and force the activity to stop. I’m trying to find the balance between letting my boys be boys, and protecting them from hurt. If the boys wear themselves out during the day and fall asleep easily at bedtime, and the worst thing that happened that day was some shed tears and a band-aid or two, I figure that I succeeded in finding the balance for that day. Then I thank God for letting us survive another day, and pray for balance the next day.

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

I know that all kids love to hide, but I think the motive behind hiding is different between boys and girls. When I was a girl playing hide-and-seek, I recall wanting to find the best hiding spot so that no one would be able to find me. One time at a birthday party I hid so well that everyone forgot about me until I walked into the house many minutes after the game had ended and the cake had been cut.

Boys, in my experience in my male-dominated household (MDH), are a different story. It seems to me that boys like to hide for two reasons: 1. To sneak attack you as you walk by and 2. To cause you to have a heart attack from fear that they have gone missing.

The last time I took the boys to the mall with me, which I have not done again without reinforcements, they hid in the middle of one of those round, rotating clothes racks. They are smart and picked one displaying pants so I couldn’t even see their feet. As I ran around calling their names and threatening all manners of punishment if they did not come out, the giggling finally gave them away. It was a sale weekend so it took me a very, very long time to find them. They didn’t understand why I was so mad and why we left without buying anything.

Luke in particular can find the smallest of secret places and squeeze his body into them. We were shopping at Target one day, and I was keeping him close by my side because I really needed things and couldn’t leave without buying those things as I had done at the mall. I looked up to reach an item on the shelf, and when I looked down he was gone. He had managed to squeeze himself onto the bottom shelf behind the cleaning supplies without moving any of them an inch or making a sound. I was too impressed to be mad.

The time I lost him at Monkey Joe’s was another story. I don’t know if you have heard of Monkey Joe’s, but it is a fabulous place with huge inflatables. And the inflatables are not just your average bounce houses; there are enormous slides and obstacle courses. If you have one of these where you live and have a house full of boy energy, I highly recommend it.

Anyway, one of the inflatables has a giant monkey, the legs of which make the entrance to the obstacle course. Luke was heading into the obstacle course, and I told him I’d meet him on the other side at the bottom of the slide. When he never came down the slide, I went back to the front. He wasn’t at the front, so I figured he had made it to the back so I went back to the slide. On and on it went until I figured out he wasn’t coming through. I sent Jack in to look for him. Jack informed me that Luke was not in the obstacle course. Thus began the manhunt, with me running around in a panic and sending Jack into every obstacle course and bounce house to look for Luke (because if you’re an adult, especially one that suffers from claustrophobia, there is just no way you’re getting into every nook and cranny). Jack thought it was a game, but I was panic-stricken. John had gone to the car to get a water bottle, and when he came back he set off to look as well. I told the management to lock the place down, which they wouldn’t because they said no one could get out the front door without them noticing (I wanted to ask if they had ever witnessed the stealth with which boys operate, but didn’t want to waste time on that argument). Some nice father eventually found Luke hiding behind and underneath the giant monkey’s shoe. I gave Luke a big hug and then went immediately to the bathroom and cried.

Given my boys’ history of hiding, I should have known better. But, as a product of the Kirby bloodline, I began to think and imagine the worst possible scenario. I think I learned my lesson. I know my boys, and my boys love to hide. I just have to improve my seeking skills so I will save myself a lot of premature gray hairs and wrinkles when they hide in crowded public places in the future.

Now that I fully understand their penchant for hiding, I have learned to embrace it and use it to my advantage. For example, I needed to buy a new desk for my office over the weekend. When John and I were looking at desks and trying to decide what we could get and what would fit in the car, the boys were being their usual cooperative selves by running around the store like maniacs. I spotted a nice little cranny under a desk and pointed it out to them. While we paid and got the desk loaded, they sat in their secret hiding spot feeling as if they were getting away with something.


Luke can almost completely disappear when he wants to.

Fun at Monkey Joe's, before the incident.

More fun, after the incident.

I Am Not Your Napkin

Some days, I think back on what I was like before I was a wife and a mother. I know that person still resides in me somewhere, but a lot of times I just feel like The Wife or The Mother and not like Heather. As mothers, it’s hard for women to maintain their previous selves. Oftentimes, that person gets pushed aside by the new roles and absorbed within, peeking out occasionally when gathered with friends or when stealing some alone time.

Since becoming a mother, I’ve taken on many roles, none of which I classified myself as prior to the birth of my boys. Some of these are very common with motherhood, such as The Maid, The Cook, and The Chauffeur. These go with the territory. But, I’ve also taken on other roles that I never expected:

The Pack Mule. This is especially true when I am trying to get from the car to the house with the keys, my purse, the mail, the boys’ shoes that they kicked off in the car, the backpacks from school, the Gameboy case, the bags from the store or McDonald’s, and 1,000 other things. Usually, right when I’ve got everything balanced just so and one more item will cause me to tip over like a turtle (this happened to me at the airport once in the middle of the thoroughfare – quite embarrassing), Luke asks me, “Will you carry these toys for me because I only have two hands and already have two things to carry?” Hellllooo? Can’t you see all of the things I’m carrying? Of course he can, but the boys in my male-dominated household (MDH) suffer from Selective Eyesight, a condition that I will talk about another day.

The Tackle Dummy. Have you ever been walking along peacefully, only to be ambushed from behind and dragged to the floor? At my house, we call this pile on, as in “Everyone pile on mommy!” This can be particularly hard on someone that suffers from claustrophobia, especially when you are held on the ground unable to move your limbs. Usually telling my boys that they have until the count of three to let me up will advert any enclosed space-type freak outs. I have to admit that I am sometimes the Tackle Dummy by choice. We have great fun at my house when I place pillows behind me and one in front of me, and let the boys run full-bore at me from across the room, diving into the pillow and knocking me onto the other pillows. This is a game that could only be imagined in a MDH, and I credit my husband John with its invention.

The Punching Bag. This is similar to the Tackle Dummy, but comes more in the form of me being the target for karate practice or simulating the moves of a Power Ranger or TMNT.

The Playground. I am a monkey gym. I am a swing. I am a rock wall. I am a merry-go-round. I am a slide. I am a bouncing pony. I am in pain.

The Gang. When Jack was little, he used to make me talk like members of the Mystery Inc. Gang from Scooby Doo. He’d say, “You be Daphne, and I’ll be Jack.” Then I had to be Fred, then Velma, and sometimes the entire gang at the same time. Jack wouldn’t talk, he’d just sit there and I’d have to simulate conversations between the different members of the Gang. If anyone heard me during those times, they would have believed that I suffered from multiple personality disorder. Nope. Just male-dominated household ailments (MDHA). Whenever Jack watched a new show, I had to learn how to talk like new characters. Think Shrek, Donkey, Nala from the Lion King, Aerial from the Little Mermaid, etc.

The Detective. All of my boys lose things. A lot. And they are not very good at finding things. I ask, “Did you look on your dresser.” And they answer, “Yes, it wasn’t there.” And I go look on the dresser. And there it is. Sometimes, I look for things that one of the boys hid to keep his brother from finding and playing with. This goes like, “Mom, have you seen my silly putty?” “No, where did you have it last?” “I hid it from Luke, but now I can’t remember where.” Fortunately for me, my boys use the same hiding spots over and over again so I can usually find things fairly quickly.

The Napkin. O.K. I know that I will not be winning any fashion awards, and I rarely have occasion to dress in anything nicer than a T-Shirt and jeans, but when did I become the quicker-picker-upper? Am I really dressed that badly, that my boys think my clothes resemble rags? Luke cannot get a drink out of the drinking fountain without water running down his chin. It has become the norm for him to use my shirt as his napkin. Everyday I try to stay far enough away from him that the water dries before he gets to me, but it never works. The other day at his preschool, he wiped his mouth on my shirt so many times that I felt obligated to tell anyone that I passed that I had not drooled on myself or sweat through my shirt, or, as it was a long shirt and he wiped at the bottom, peed in my pants.

The Kleenex. My boys would rather rub their noses on my shirt rather than risk getting snot on their fingers while using a Kleenex. They don’t know that when I was little I used to vomit every time I saw a booger, or had to blow my nose, or my sister pretended to wipe snot on me. Everyone told me that when I had kids I would get over the things that grossed me out, but I didn’t believe them. I guess they were right. I have never once vomited when being used as a Kleenex by the boys. I don’t even think I changed my shirt.