Chocolate milk.

How does a 4 year old fix himself a cup of chocolate milk?

Puts chocolate in the gallon of milk and then pours himself some. 

Christmas celebrations

Always lots of parties to attend.  Don't get too excited for me: they usually involve chicken nuggets and cheese puffs.  

I only attended the last 15 minutes of Ally's party.  Something about twenty 3rd graders constructing their own gingerbread houses and twin four year old boys running around just didn't seem to work too well in my mind.  Ally's house looked great.  Her teacher mentioned how meticulous she was in her decorating.   She even had a story line to go with it.

The boys' party was a little more, let's see,  LOUD.  Parents each bring loads of food, they order chicken from Chick-fil-a and the teachers pass out gifts.  After waiting 20 minutes on the chicken to arrive, we loaded our plates, ate a couple of bites, tore in to the gift bags, ran a couple of laps around the party and left.  Well, Nanny, it's our last one at Mt. Zion . . . unless of course we get the urge to crash next year's party.

I wasn't invited to Hayden's party.  Well, I was, but to serve food.  I couldn't find my hairnet, so I left it up to her to party for me.  I think she was a little relieved.

We did a little partying of our own at home this week too.  I bought 2 gingerbread trains and had each girl take a boy.  We ALL felt the love.

Pre-K Homework

It has begun. Homework for everybody which, of course, includes ME! The Pre-K assignment: a book about me. I tried to turn this one over to Ben, but something about him wanting to make one and then copy it for the other, discouraged me.

I like to make a statement. Especially with school projects. So, under my watchful eye, Caleb and Joshua created a masterpiece. Today they presented them to the class. The teacher commented when I picked the boys up from school about how well they had done and the class clapped for them. I was surprised and asked if they actually said anything while "presenting" the books. She said, and I quote: "Oh yes, one of them told the class he had no idea why his Mommy put that spaghetti on his favorite foods page, cause he doesn't even like spaghetti."

Good job, buddy. You get your Dad next time.

It might be his sport, but it's my stroke!

Ben's influence over "our" activities is certainly evident - basketball and swimming. However, few know that I too was a competitive swimmer. I was all over backstroke. And the girls? Yep, they've got skills from their Momma too.

Sometimes it takes 2 coaches "behind" Ally.

Hey Dad, could we just get this IM over with already?

She is big time in the lead!

(she dropped 3 seconds off her 50 free time here)

Here it is - numero uno in backstroke!

And don't forget the lollipop for winning her heat. It's all about the food!

Not really impressed.

Ditto!

Pirate, jumping party.

What happens when Nina's in charge of concession stand purchases.

I guess I can give her a break . . . it was their "real" birthday!

No wonder he likes to stay on the other side of the fence!

What do you and the boys do at swim practice for 2 hours?

A little of this:

and that :

How I get the house cleaned.

The weather outside is frightful . . .

Well, not really. It was so pretty to have a light dusting of snow. The boys were super excited and just had to get outside. They stayed all of 15 minutes.

And where are the girls, you ask?

Still in bed. This all happened at about 6:30 AM on a Saturday morning.

I'm a sucker for . . . my kids!

Upon the boys arrival home from school, they noticed a "new" decoration up on the mantel. Yep, you got it - Ally's beautifully decorated gingerbread house. Of course this must mean it is time for them to make their train. Well, why not?They didn't get to go on a field trip today either.

Santa's Village

After Jackie's birthday dinner, we took the kids to Santa's Village. Hayden and Ben were in Nashville for a basketball game and Robin's family had things to do.

It was a good night to go and I think everybody had a good time. Oh, and I almost forgot, the boys actually stood by Santa . . . but they did not smile about it.

And neither did Santa!

No they don't need a nap.

The living room got really quiet. I walked in to see if everybody was still breathing. Guess I was wrong. Ben, they did need a nap.

Getting passed.

Drop off for preschool just isn't the same. In the olden days, you would pull up to the door and the teachers would unbuckle and drag your child to their classroom. Now, we have to park, unbuckle, gather our gear, wrestle kids out, dodge cars across the parking lot, walk in, maneuver up the stairs, get to the classroom and spend 15 minutes convincing the boys that their teacher can flatten play-doh as well as I can. Nothing really stressful until the convincing part.

Today, the stairwell became another "stress-zone" for me. I get it. The boys are slow, not because they aren't familiar with stairs, they are lingering in the stairwell for extra bonding time with me. I am slow, not because I want to be, but I am following 2 lingering boys and I have 2 backpacks. There was a Momma today that didn't care what my issues were, she wanted up the stairs. After bumping me in the rear with her son's backpack several times, I asked if she wanted to pass. Affirmative. The boys and I huddled against the railing while she hustled her son up the stairs. One of my favorite people at Mt. Zion made a face and I could tell she was thinking the same thing as me. "Take it easy, lady. I know your freedom is minutes away, but really? Really?" Another friend, laughed and joked that I got passed. No kidding. Not like it's my first time.

After delivering the boys to their teacher, I had to show out. It further encouraged my immature behavior that my friends were still laughing and the stairs were empty. At first I hogged the stairs, then I decided to walk as close to the wall as possible. Imagine a mix between Spiderman and spastic Mommy. Everybody thought it was funny until a high school friend's husband entered the stair well. I no longer thought that it was funny, more embarrassing. My friends . . . no longer funny either. Hysterical.

Busted: an explanation.

I was apologizing to my dearest for hitting a curb in his truck. It wouldn't have been so bad if the boys hadn't been the ones to notice the white "scuff" on the tire. Of course, they had to ask him what it was and why it was there. Thus, leading to the interrogation and my need for sarcasm.

WANTED: Toys for Christmas.

My poor children. Nothing to play with except dirty laundry.