bookcases

I read this book over the summer called Bird by Bird, written by Anne Lemott. I'm not a big fan of her, which is why as soon as I saw the book sitting on my sister's table I picked it up and decided to read it. I figured it would give me something to complain about. The last time I read something by her I spent most of my time trying hard not to throw the book across my bedroom. But alas, Anne surprised me this time because once I started reading Bird by Bird I realized I loved it. In fact, I couldn't put it down and went about ignoring everyone for a full day just so I could get through it.

The book was about writing and all the reasons we should write as much as we can. I was inspired to come home and write everyday, but obviously not that inspired because I've barely managed to get out one blog post a week since I read that book.

Since the truth is that there is no chance of me writing everyday, or even once a week, I decided to write a really long post about everything that has been going on over here. Back when I was writing daily I would have taken each one of these things and stretched them out into their own little post, thereby boring you on a daily basis (and really, who is "you"? Does anyone read blogs anymore? They seem so passe, don't they?), but now I have done you the favor of reducing it all down into one long post. This saves everyone time. Here goes.

I finally bought some bookcases. They were cheap and not at all easy to put together. I had been wanting to get some for quite a while, as our books were just stacked precariously all over the place. Maggie spent everyday kicking and throwing them around and I spent everyday picking them up, until finally one day a couple of weeks ago I just decided not to pick them up and they were left all over the living room floor for everyone to trip over, and there they sat, not seeming to bother anyone. I kept telling my children that we should apply for a spot on Hoarders, that's how bad it looked in here. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would be shaking her head disapprovingly and yelling out, "she's a Loatman." (Loatman is my dad's surname.)

When I opened the bookcase boxes I found that there were close to one million screws and nails and other things that need to be put into the bookcases in order for them to stand upright. It was very disappointing. The first one took over two hours to put together. I wisely sent the kids over to a neighbor's house because I sensed I may drop one or two f bombs in the whole process. I was dripping with sweat and maybe even some tears, but when I finally saw the first one put together I was so proud of myself that I forgot all the bad stuff that transpired beforehand. It was just like childbirth. Caught in the emotion of it all I wanted to rush into opening that second box.

And then I looked at the one I had just put together and realized that part of it was put on backwards. It's hard to describe but the unfinished parts of the wood were facing out. I was reminded of the motto I made up for myself months and months ago - "Ann Marie - doing things half-assed since 1969." Thankfully I buy paint on an almost daily basis, due to my love of painting and repainting everything in my house every other week, perhaps in an effort to get high off of paint fumes. I found some black paint and hurried up and painted the area that needed it and hoped Greg wouldn't notice, which he didn't.

The second one was put together much quicker and with much less sweat and tears. Jane was even allowed inside to help me, but three minutes into it she claimed to be very ill and ran in her room, only to come out when the phone rang and saw it was a friend of hers. I reminded her that she probably shouldn't talk on the phone, what with her feeling so ill, but she told me it just turned out to be gas. I know I shouldn't tell everyone that embarrassing tidbit about her, but in this case I think she deserves it. I'm vindictive and proudly so. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would smile and say, "She's a Michele." (her maiden name)

Now my house is lovely and organized and I just know it will stay that way forever, because if there is one thing I know about my family it's that when I work hard at doing something around here they completely respect me and do their best to keep things tidy. Well, maybe not their best, but they will talk about how nice the house looked for that one week when we decided to be organized.

My plan to recap all the events of my recent days into one post has proved futile. No matter how you slice it, I have a knack for taking what could have been a two sentence remark and turning into a long winded, pointless post so now I am forced to finish this post and not relay any of the other things I was going to tell you about.

Please endure the picture post.

Pedro say, "Please stop." How could I resist taking a picture of the South of the Border theme park. I don't know what the theme is - something like "Hi, our mascot is a short, fat, buck toothed Mexican, but hopefully no one will notice that it's slightly offensive, what with our awesome fireworks store."

Greg's brother, Paul, and Maggie in Philadelphia. This was our first stop. Paul doesn't have children, but he was mighty impressed that we do. He thinks we deserve medals for raising children (actually he thinks mostly I do, forget about Greg). Try to surround yourself with people like this. It does wonders for the self esteem.

Greg and Jane eating at some restaurant in Philadelphia. Could you just die over her happy expression? She was nervous because she wanted a Po' Boy sandwich but couldn't pronounce it and was worried we were going to make her try and tell the waiter what she wanted.

St. Bridget Roman Catholic Church in Philly. I should have taken a picture of the inside. It was gorgeous and my kids were in awe. We don't really have anything like that here where we are now.

Greg's mom. She scored points when I heard her tell Paul ,"I didn't realize that was Greg's wife, she looks like one of the kids." Come on, like I could let that one go untold. But really, don't I look divine in that dress?

New York State now. Route 23, on the way up to the Catskills for the day. According to some people you can see five states from this view. I'm really bad at geography, so I am not sure what those states would be, but I'm pretty sure one of them is New York.

Windham, New York - a lovely little town.

The Post Office next to the house where we lived when I was pregnant with Jane*. I used to go in everyday and talked with the woman working there. She stills works there. We went in to say hi and told her we lived next door 14 years ago and she said, "Oh, I remember you, you were really pregnant." I really was huge. People would routinely ask ,"Are you having twins?" It never bothered me because I'm not at all concerned about what people think of me. Totally secure.

The view when you stepped out our front door of the house we lived in, the one where I was obesely pregnant.

Another view, just down the street from where we lived. Talk about life in the boonies. Is there any wonder I got pregnant? And obese?

Again, about a mile down our street. Gorgeous. We were blessed to have lived there. Seriously - although at the time I thought it was awful.

Another blessing - my Nana who is 100. The girls are laughing because she had just asked them, "So, are you girls married?" And when they said no she said, "GOOD!" She was happy that day.

In Burlington now, Anthony with huge fish he caught.

I know, she really belongs in a magazine. I mean look at that hair! Trust me, she blended in Burlington where people are so concerned about the environment they've taken to not showering so as to conserve water. Sorry Burlington, you deserve that. Please, go take a collective bath. Please?

Sunset over Lake Champlain. Nope, as pretty as it is, I still haven't recovered from the general lack of cleanliness we saw there. We lived there for four years. I have no idea how I got used to it.

Token shot of Vermont and cows. This is what we saw when we woke everyday.

Back to see my family one last time. My sister's kids and mine.

Eighteen days of fun and I just realized that I didn't take any pictures of my sister, brothers, mother, father, best friend. That's a good thing. I was too busy laughing, eating, having fun, not cooking a single meal, not washing a single dish,not shopping for single ounce of food, not driving a single child to a single activity.What more could a mom ask for? It was good times, trust me.

* I had to go back and edit this. I originally wrote that I was pregnant with Maggie, but had to correct and say I was pregnant with Jane. What can I say, I've lost my mind. It happens.

Anthony and the grasshopper - and the window

I know, I'm always writing about Anthony. It's obnoxious, isn't it? It's just that he's so darn full of material and I know if I don't jot it all down it will get lost in my mind, and someday I won't be able to regale Anthony's own kids with stories about what a nice mom I was for putting up with him. Here is a close approximation of the events that took place on one recent spring afternoon.

Nurse Gail : "Hi Ann Marie, it's Gail. I have your son in here. He just ate a grasshopper."

Me: "Nope, that doesn't sound anything like Anthony. Are you sure it's him?"

Gail : "Yes, it looks like Anthony."

Me : waiting for her to tell me why she called me over this, I finally decide to say -"So, what's the deal, why are you calling?"

Gail : " We think you should pick him up. He may get sick."

Me: (What I wanted to say, but elected not to )- "Are you kidding me? It's noon. Me and the girls are eating lunch and then we're going to finish our math work and then we're going to relax and read, and if I have to pick up Anthony none of those things will happen. And I mean really, it was a grasshopper. He'll live, trust me. Have you ever seen Man vs. Wild, because Anthony has, he watches every chance he gets and I'm pretty sure this is where he got the idea from. That guy eats grasshoppers all the time and he's still alive. "

Me: what I really said - "Okay, that's probably a good idea, I'll be over in a minute."

Then I called Greg and told him Anthony ate a grasshopper and I had to go pick him up. He asked why and I told him they thought he would get sick and Greg said " You gotta be kidding me? I guess they never saw Man vs. Wild." I tell you, that show is a big hit in this house.

When I walked into the nurse's office to get Anthony I noticed he had been crying. I asked him what was wrong. That was when Nurse Gail informed me she told him how bad it was to eat a grasshopper, it could have been poisonous, and it was so wrong to kill an innocent animal. I have no idea when grasshoppers turned into animals, but anyway, it was at this point that I realized the school actually thought this was pretty serious and if I wanted to get out of there alive I was going to have to put on my fake face and pretend I thought it was serious, too. Many times I have a hard time being fake and I sensed this was going to be one of those times, so I said a quick prayer and tried to be as compliant as I could. And guess who walked in just after I said my prayer? His teacher and then the vice principle.

They were also flabbergasted over the fact that a nine year old boy ate a grasshopper and let's be fair, the kid didn't eat it, he bit it's head off and spit it out because it didn't taste very good. They asked him what was next, they told him killing innocent grasshoppers was wrong and mean, and then they asked my most favorite question of all - "why did you do this, what is going on in your life that would make you do something like this?" I think they were hoping this is when Anthony would turn on me and finally tell them all about the ritualistic killing we do on various insects in our backyard, but I train my kids well and he just looked at them with his gigantic, brown, tear filled eyes and said, "I did it because I'm a boy and boys do stuff like this."

I wanted to go over and do that whole fist pump thing and give him a big hug, but instead I stepped in and said, "well, I think it's time to go home, we don't want him getting sick right here in the office, that wouldn't be good", even though I was secretly thinking it would be a little good, considering they were making him feel like a sh*t heel over biting the head off a grasshopper.

We got in the car and Anthony was quite nervous. He thought he was in big trouble. He asked what his punishment was going to be. This is where parenting can sometimes be tricky. I teach my kids to respect authority, to do what adults tell them, to not answer back. I didn't want Anthony to know that I thought the school handled this wrong. Yes, it was foolish to eat a grasshopper, but some of the things they said to Anthony were even more foolish than what he did. I knew if I let him know I disagreed with the school it would lead down a slippery slope, one he would promptly tell his teacher about the next day. So I looked at him and asked him what he thought his punishment should be. He thought about it and said, "No computer for the week?" which I thought was perfect. Really, they did me a favor and I should have run back in and thanked them.

I wrote this post last night but never posted it. I got busy and forgot to hit publish. I turned the computer off and went into the kitchen to get Maggie something. I heard a smash, a sound like glass breaking. I turned around and looked out my kitchen window and there was Anthony, peering inside, looking at me with an expression that led me to believe he may have been the person responsible for that noise. And then I saw a golf club on the front lawn. Yes, he hit a golf ball through his bedroom window and he must have hit it pretty hard judging from the size of the hole that is now there. Well, there isn't a hole there now, there is a large amount of packing tape covering the hole, a lovely reminder that Anthony does always provide us with excitement and laughs galore.

Day before the trip

We're leaving tomorrow for our big summer adventure. As you can tell from this picture, Maggie started her big summer adventure a few weeks ago. Despite spending the entire week getting ready, nothing seems to have gotten done. In an effort to keep the house clean I thought about forcing my kids to eat over the kitchen sink, free of utensils, and dishes, and glasses. It's the way I eat on many days and it really does reduce the mess, but I wasn't sure they would go for it, so in the end I've just been trying to convince them they really don't need to eat more than once a day. I really want to come home to clean house and am willing to do just about anything to make it happen.

Yesterday the kids and I drove to Lakeland to drop our beloved dog, Buster, at our friend's house. I typically don't call Buster my "beloved" dog, but he did get hit by a car last week and so I feel the need to at least pretend I care about him. The car that hit him was going about 25 and slammed right into him. It was not the driver's fault. It was Buster's fault. Well, honestly it was Buster's owner's fault, and by Buster's owner I mean Greg. He's the one who agreed to get this dog one week after I gave birth to my last child. Have I ever mentioned that? Probably just once or twice.

Buster is a runner. That's the reason his old owners pawned him off on us, but we didn't know it at the time. He runs whenever he gets the chance and last week he got yet another chance. It was Anthony's last day of school and there was some chaos going on at the front door and Buster took advantage of it by plowing through Maggie and running like the wind. Then a car hit him and pretty much ended that fun. It was horrible to witness and unfortunately Anthony was with me and saw the whole thing. He cried pretty hard. I don't have any desire to ever hear one of my kids cry that cry again.

But immediately he calmed himself down and asked St. Francis to intercede and lo and behold, Buster was out of the vet's office by 4 pm that afternoon. It should be noted that the vet told us he sees this happen all the time; a dog comes in after being hit, looks okay and then dies within hours. But not Buster. He lives on, so all's well that ends well.

On top of dropping the dog off yesterday, my beloved husband,Greg, gave me a list of other tasks he wanted completed before we leave town. I typically don't call Greg my "beloved husband," but I enjoyed running around doing last minute things all week, so now I am feeling the love for him like never before.

We're headed to North Carolina tomorrow, to spend the night, and then on to Philly for two days to see Greg's brother and mother, then to Albany to see my family for a week, then on to Vermont to see some close friends and then we head back here. It should be fun. We have some big expectations and they better all be met, or I'll have to resort to writing all about it right here on the blog.

See you when we get back!

end of the school year

Anthony finished school last week. He had an awards ceremony on Tuesday, which he forgot to tell me about until the night before. That sums up Anthony's life. He forgets things. He forgets where he put his shoes, his backpack, his lunchbox, his meter, his pump, his clothes, his homework, his library books. He forgets what he did yesterday, or this morning, or ten minutes ago. Most delightfully of all, he forgets everything his dad and me tell him. He takes the phrase "live in the moment" quite literally.

Even though I had many things going on that day, I made sure to squeeze in the awards ceremony, because honestly, there are some things Anthony won't forget, and me missing that would be on the top of the list.The ceremony was interesting. There was a slide show, which was cute, and then the children read poems, which was not as cute as you would expect, because it turns out that 3rd graders do a lot of mumbling and much of what was said couldn't be heard. Anthony's poem was about bacon. If the slide show didn't stir up emotion in everyone then surely Anthony's tribute to the fattiest food on the planet did the trick. I'm sure I saw people wiping tears away when he was done.

What was most interesting about the ceremony was when the teacher, microphone in hand, announced that she would be singing a song to the children. I immediately grew uncomfortable and wanted to shout out, "wait, I didn't bring a blanket, what am I going to hide under when I cringe uncontrollably?" No offense to the teacher, but I can't help it, I'm a cringer. And the classroom was small and crowded and there was just nowhere to turn if things went bad. The one blessing was that my husband wasn't there to witness any of this. The teacher said she would be singing a song called, "I hope you Dance," by Leann Womack. I've heard this song many times. It is sappy in all the right places and perfect for an end of the year celebration.

She turned on the music and started singing and I decided to do the best thing possible, which was to stare at my son, who was sitting in front of me , so all I could really see was his profile, and what appeared to be much blinking. Excessive blinking is what Anthony does when he is either trying to fend off tears, or make someone disappear. I could tell the blinking was of the first kind. I thought to myself , oh my goodness, how is it possible that two of the most emotionally immature people have managed to raise a young man who is touched by his teacher's singing. Case closed, nature takes it over nurture everyday of the week.

After the singing, which I admit was not that bad, we moved onto the awards ceremony. Because this is 3rd grade they have to pretend life is fair, so all the children received one. Anthony got an award for creative writing because of his exceptionally good writing skills. In an attempt to kiss my butt, the teacher prefaced all of this by saying he got his writing skills from his mother. Remember that note I wrote to her way back about the beer cap? Turns out she must have liked it! Anyhow, the butt kissing worked. Who doesn't like to be bragged on in front of a bunch of other parents?

The ceremony ended, I checked Anthony out of school, and when we got in the car I asked him if he was bit choked up at the singing. He said he was, and that his teacher did an awesome job, and he was really proud of her because that must have been hard for her to do. Sometimes Anthony brings me to the brink of madness. This wasn't one of those times. This was one of those times when I just wanted to stop the clock and enjoy him in all his cuteness.

But alas, life does not stop, and since that perfect moment over a week ago, there have been hundreds of others that have left me near the brink. But thankfully blogging is here and helps me remember all the good stuff.