The post to be named later....

I was taking the kids to tennis today when Gan suddenly said, "Hey Mom.  Wheeeeeere's Titty-Toes?!?"  I asked him what he said, and he repeated it, in the same voice, like some game show host.  I asked him where he heard that word, and he said he just used his "noggin'" to think it up.  

I laughed my pants off, and then I had a little talk with him about how "titty" is not a nice word.  We clarified that it's not actually a swear word, but that it's not a nice word and he's not allowed to use it.  He asked me what it meant, and I told him it was a crass word for breasts.  He said, "When you say 'breasts,' you mean boobies right?"  I could tell I was really reaching him on the "don't use crass language" speech.  Maguire drove it home by saying, "It's really insulting to women."  Gan gave her the blank stare.  

Maguire then asked me if she could say it just once, considering Gan got to say it once.  (I guess her feminist ideals went out the window when the chance to use a pseudo-swear word popped up.)  I told her to go for it, and she used the same game-show-host voice and belted it out.  

The talk died down as we approached tennis lessons.  I told the big kids that I was going to miss them when they stay with Grandma and Grandpa for two nights because they make me laugh so much.  Gan said, "Mom.  Dad will still be home.  He can make you laugh."  I told Gan that Dad's not as funny as they are.  His face totally lit up and he said, "Mom.  I can teach Dad how to say 'Wheeeeeeere's Titty-Toes' and that'll make you laugh while we're gone."

Awesome.

Love,

Momma T and the Mighty Murphys

P.S.  Here's a pic of the only child I have who does not enjoy using crass language.

Man Time

Since Gan was born, I have been the center of his universe.  As a baby, he'd cry if anyone else tried to hold him.  I was, somewhat unfortunately, his favorite servant.  We still joke about how, whether it was tying his shoes or wiping his butt or getting him a snack or whatever, whenever someone would offer to do it for him, he'd respond, "Mommy do it." 

The upshot of all of this is that I was also his most trusted confidante, his favorite playmate, and his first choice for snuggles and hugs.  He'd never turn down a trip to anywhere with me or helping me make dinner or even cleaning toilets with me.  Whatever I was doing, he wanted to be doing it.

My Gan is quickly approaching age 5, which he told me the other day is getting "pwetty gwown up, almost as old as a dad."  During the past month or so, I've noticed him seeking out time with Ryan more and more.  The other night, he turned down reading "My Father's Dragon" with me for watching hockey with Ryan.  Two nights ago, he told me he didn't want to run to the store with me because he was watching basketball with Dad and then they were going to wrestle.  Last night, when Maguire was practicing her storytelling for the big Second Grade Storytelling Night, Gan chose to sit on Dad's lap.  

As I was looking through some old pictures the other day, I noticed these.  

Man time.  It's hunting me with a vengeance.  Next thing I know, we'll be buying a house with a man cave for these guys.  

I would feel a little sad about losing a part of my Gan, but truth is, that guy's got a huge heart.  There's always room for more.  Well, that, and he told me the other day that he didn't feel like going to school because he loves me as much as his blanket and just wants to hang out with me.  That's devotion.  

Love, 

Momma T.  

Dear Old Man Winter

Dear Old Man Winter,

We have done our best to enjoy you this year.  We applauded when you arrived before Thanksgiving, ensuring that we had a white Christmas; we celebrated you at the holidays, decorating homes and churches and streets; we rejoiced as we went sledding more times than I can count; we wore crazy hats inside and outside; we retreated to the playroom in the basement when you threatened us with frostbite.

BUT NOW IT'S TIME TO STEP ASIDE. SERIOUSLY.  

The baby is getting really, really bitter about having to wear a coat all the time.  

His face could get stuck like that.

I've gotten to the point where I can barely even drag myself outside, even to go to the mall, even when Gan promises me he'll win me a prize, which he always does.

We've done it all.  We've done winter up right.  So why, oh why, are you dumping feet, yes FEET, of snow on us today?  Last week, Spring tried to kick you out with her 45 degree temperatures.  But you are not going quietly into that good night.  You are seriously pissing me off.  I cursed you as I was shoveling out our driveway after the snowplows plowed us in.  

I know I live in Minnesota, and I know it's only February.  I know I have months, not weeks, left of snow.  But I figured begging couldn't hurt.  

Sending no love to you whatsoever,

Momma T.  

Tech Support

I run a small business out of our home office.  As a result, I am the family tech support person.  It's a dubious honor.  

I am a die-hard Mac user.  If I had my way, I'd never touch another pc again.  1-800-MY-APPLE has been  my go-to number for all of my tech support issues.  Considering I'm not actually a technologically gifted person, I call that number a lot.  If ten or so days go by without me calling them, they call me to make sure I'm okay.  It's sweet.

The other day, my printer stopped working.  The paper feed part would only feed half a sheet of paper, so it'd get all crumpled up and nothing was printing.  I considered calling my APPLE friends but figured I'd better do a little research on my own before asking them to fix a machine manufactured by someone else with a weird little, what appeared to be non-software, glitch.

So, I searched the net and found a few people who recommended turning the printer upside down and banging on the bottom.  I figured what the heck so I gave it a shot.  First time, nothing happened.  It didn't work any better than before - still no paper feed.  Second time, I heard something come loose inside the printer.  I figured that I'd busted it, until I tipped it back over and this fell out:

It's a multi-colored swirl pencil...in my printer...that I need for work...huh?

I hate to point fingers, but I know who's to blame for this.  It's my copy boy.  He can't help himself when it comes to things like printers and dishwashers and the like that make noises when you hit the buttons.

GUILTY AS CHARGED

Here he is trying to dispose of the instrument of destruction.

I may have to fire him.  I'll probably call the APPLE people first and consult with them because it appears to be a tech issue.  Plus, I want them to know that I solved this one on my own.

Love,

Momma T.  

Body Language

Gan came home from preschool today, his first day back after Christmas vacation, and said he had something to ask me.  He said, "Do you know what body language is?"  I answered, "I think so."  

Gan said, "Well, it's like, if I'm a guy who lives in Minnesota and I want to tell a guy who lives in Florida to come here, I can just curl my fingers like this, so he knows, because those guys in Florida don't speak Minnesota.  That's body language."

I'm giggling just thinking about it now.  Still giggling.  

Love, 

Momma T.  

Christmas List

1.  Wish for a White Christmas.  Get wish, over and over and over again.  Watch husband shovel copious amounts of snow.  Shovel some snow yourself.  Send kids with cabin fever outside.  CHECK.

2.  Decorate tree.  Decorate it some more.  Decorate while drinking.  CHECK.

3.  Knit matching Christmas sweaters for the kids.  Listen to husband talk about how dorky matching Christmas sweaters are.  Keep mouth shut so as to avoid having to shovel again.  CHECK.

4.  Watch kids watch non-stop Christmas shows.  CHECK.

5.  Enlist baking elves, some of them pantless elves, to assist with Christmas Eve meal preparations.  CHECK.  

6.  Become totally desperate to end all fighting.  Have elf, Terra, send Maguire and Gannon threatening note about not fighting anymore.  CHECK.

We are officially ready for the Christmas festivities.  Bring it on.  

Merry Christmas!! To those of you who are far away, we miss you.  You are not far from our thoughts and hearts.

Love,

Momma T. and the Mighty Murphys

Sacramental Advice

My baby girl did her first reconciliation this week.  She is officially sin-free.  She took the whole thing very seriously, which made us proud.  She learned her Act of Contrition; she read and re-read her reconciliation pamphlet; she asked lots of questions about sin; she made a beeline to the head Jesuit priest who had come to help hear the dozens of kids' confessions so she could be sure her confession would be heard by the "boss priest;" and, of course, she planned her outfit.  

The morning after the reconciliation service, she was up at about 5:30 am.  She had gotten out her art supplies and was making a card of some sort.  I snooped and saw that the card was titled, "Dear Gannon."  She worked on this card for a while.  Finally, a lightbulb went on for me, and I asked her if this was part of her penance. 

She paused and said, "Yes.  I thought I should finish my penance before Santa comes."

That's good advice, people.  Good advice.  Go forth and finish your penance so you don't get coal.

Love,

Momma T.