Animals for Sale

My very good friends from college, Mo and Andy, were in town this weekend, looking for a pet.  Mo and I lived together in college, and she is, by far, the most sensible person I know.  Andy was like a brother to all the Farley girls, and he is, by far, the second most sensible person I know.  I miss them dearly.

They drove up from Chicago, and, like I said, they were looking for a pet.  So, before they came over, I cleaned up all my animals and put them in the back yard so Andy and Mo could "shop."

Here's the first one.  He's not potty-trained, but he is learning new tricks by the day.

The second one is kinda wild, but really good at fetch.

The third one is the prettiest of the crew.

The last one is the oldest and wisest of the bunch, very set in his ways.  No new tricks for this guy.  But he does cook.

Andy and Mo are leaving today with a yellow lab.

Oh well, I'm stuck with my animals, and they're stuck with me.  I wouldn't ACTUALLY trade them or sell them or anything.  I dreamed a dream of peace and quiet for a few minutes, and then I got lonely for them.

Love,


Momma T.

Why I don't like Easter and why I love it...

Easter has never been one of my favorite holidays.  I could never get past the deprivation of Lent and the solemnity of Christ's death and then the oddity of a bunny that drops off gifts in celebration of Christ's resurrection.  Don't get me wrong - I love the idea of celebrating the afterlife and I totally get the celebration of the rebirth of spring.  But I so much prefer to celebrate the birth of Christ than the death.  I can't get my arms around his mother watching him die like that.  It's always shaken me to the core, even when I was a kid.

Over the past half dozen years or so, though, I have started to LOVE Easter.  Easter means Spring Break with the DeFosses.  My sister and her husband, Jesse, have three fabulous children and a fourth on the way.  For the past six or so years, we've spent Easter vacationing with them.  It is perfection.  It's made me long for the days of old when families lived under the same roof or on the same block, when a mom to one was a mom to all, and when you learned to navigate the world by watching the bigger kids who went before you and who shared all their secrets.  

Easter has become the one time of year when my sister and I share the same roof  - even if it's the roof of a giant condo complex.  We are nuclear family once again.  

It's the time of year when there is always an extra adult hand for a little kid to hold.  

It's the time of year when Uncle Ryan taught Gus to "scuba swim" and Gannon jumped off the side of the pool and touched the bottom and Maguire did her first cannonball and swam the length of the pool without help.  

It's growing up and independence and all those things kids want so much and we so want to keep from them.

Spring Break is when Poj got his first taste of the good life....

And Aunt Tt told Francie that her mother lied when she said the world did not revolve around her...

And I saw through new eyes how much my son looks like Daddy...

And Grandma D snuggled each kid like she'd birthed them herself...

And Poj got words of wisdom, like "don't eat sand," from his godfather...

                                      

And everyone found out that sandcastles are best built by many hands...

                          

And we all realized that Maddie is not a kid anymore, but a beautiful and graceful young lady...

Happy Easter to all of you from all of us - - my family.

Love,

Momma T.

MURPHY FOR SENATE - 2042!

My Gan will be 36 years old in 2042 - just the right age to run for U.S. Senate.  He has a special gift that makes him perfect for the job.

We discovered the gift last summer when we started a special project in the Murphy house.  The goal was to get everyone to stop interrupting each other.  I am probably the most frequent abuser of this social faux pas, but I knew we all needed a little practice.  

I got the idea for the special project on the drive home after picking Magoo up from school one day.  As usual, Maguire and Gannon both started talking about their day at the same time, without pause.  I'd be listening to two full-on monologues, and it started to make me feel crazy in my head.  Hence, the special project.

Almost immediately, Gan figured out a way around the special project.  He fillibusts in the tradition of a great U.S. Senator of old.  He starts talking as soon as Magoo gets in the car, and he doesn't stop, not even to take a breath, until we get home.  He also manages to weave in gentle reminders that we are not to interrupt him.  It's truly remarkable.  I'd make him stop, but we all tend to get mesmerized by the constant chatter.  

Ryan experienced the filibusting phenomenon a few weekends ago when we took a little day trip.  He, too, was amazed.  

What can I say - the kid's got skills.

MURPHY FOR SENATE 2042!!

For my Republican friends and relatives, I'm sorry to say that Gan seems to favor his mom's leftist leanings so he'll probably be a Democrat.  But I can guarantee that a vote for him will not be a wasted vote.  He'll earn his salary in word count alone.  Look out C-Span closed captioners.  

Love,

Momma T.  

Spring- let me count the ways I love you.

I love Spring.  This is the understatement of the century.  I love it to infinity and back.  I love it for many, many reasons.

One reason I love Spring is this...

They're cute and all, but, more importantly, THEY'RE OUTSIDE!!!  I am no longer feeling guilty about cartoons, hearing incessant whining about being bored, worrying about the effects of vitamin D deficiency on brain development and sad moods, and breaking up fights resulting solely from cabin fever.  My kids love outside.  They'll play out there for hours and hours during Spring and Summer.  It's a new kind of mommydom, that's for sure.  

But, importantly for me, Spring marks the beginning of bathroom privacy.  I have not used the bathroom alone since November 22, 2009.  I'm not joking.  It's like clockwork.  I get everyone settled with a snack or a cartoon or a coloring book or whatever it is that's designed to distract them for 4.2 minutes so I can use the bathroom and collect my thoughts for 4.2 minutes.  About 0.6 minutes into my bathroom visit, I hear, "MOOOOMMMMMM.  ARE YOU IN THERE??!?"  Although I do not open the door, I know these are the faces on the other side:

   

They're waiting for me...to interrupt me...while I'm in the bathroom.  I often get asked if they can just come in and talk to me while I'm in there.  Really?  Seriously?  

Now I gotta admit, sometimes I use the 4.2 minutes of bathroom time for something other than the bathroom.  Ryan has busted me on occasion.  He'll accuse me of just sitting in there, pretending to use the bathroom so I can be alone or read a book.   I always respond, indignantly, "Who would do such a thing?!?"  I tell him that I just want to be ready for my next go-around.  If you hold it now, you won't be able to hold it later.  He doesn't read this blog so I'm not worried about ratting myself out.  

But most of the time, I just want to go alone.  I don't want to answer questions about my anatomy or about their anatomies or why I can't go standing up or why we don't have a toilet on the wall (aka urinal) or why the tiles are pink or where the toilet paper goes after it flushes or why pee is a certain color or...you get the picture. 

Did I say I was glad Spring is here?  

Love,

Momma T.

Bringin' back fat back

You know that Justin Timberlake song about bringin' sexy back?  Well, it gave me an idea.

You see...once upon a time...back fat was hot.  So sayeth Renoir.

Then somewhere at sometime some one (all evidence points to a back-fatless man) decided that back fat was not that hot.  This would not matter to me except for the fact that I now have back fat.  And I got sad about having back fat.  I mean, I pilates my little heart out, and I still have back fat.  There is only one answer to me losing my back fat  - - no chocolate, no wine, no fun in eating anything.  This is not a real answer; this is hell.  

So, I've decided that I need a new solution.  I'm "bringin' back fat back."

Come on, how is this not HOT?!?

Poj has loads of back fat, and he is totally, utterly handsome.  I mean seriously.  He's also completely comfortable with his back fat.  I love his self-confidence.  He loves to rock his back fat in his diaper.

So, be prepared for random photos of back fat on this blog.  I need to get the word out that back fat is IN.  It's HOT.  It's what everyone wants to have for themselves!  Who needs six pack abs when you've got back fat?!?

Get the word out bloggers.  Back fat is in.  You heard it here first.

Love.

Momma T.

As the song is sung, so sing it...

One of my closest friends, my college roommate, has a lovely family tradition whereby everyone in the family gets a song - - some song that is morphed to include that person's name.  It's truly a great tradition, and I wanted to replicate it with my kids.  Funny thing about my kids, though, was they would not let me pick the song.  I tried; I chose a song for each of them when I was pregnant.  But by the time the little buggers were six months old, they had their own ideas about what they liked and what they wanted for their songs.  

For Maguire, I chose "My Girl."  I know that it's a little obvious and may be slightly overdone, but I still liked it and knew most of the words.  Magoo never really dug it.  When she was about six months old, she latched on to "Puff the Magic Dragon."  She loved that song.  She used to smile and dance and giggle and drool at me every time I started to sing it.  

MAGUIRE - AGE 1 - ALREADY A PUFFER

One time, Ryan, Maguire and I drove to South Bend, Indiana, from St. Paul, Minnesota, for a wedding.  It's a solid nine-hour drive each way.  Maguire was 11 months old.  With about two hours to go on the trip home, she became so distraught that she just whimpered in the back seat.  I sang "Puff" to her for those last two hours.  She wasn't happy about being in that car seat, but she coped.  "Puff" has carried her through the nervousness of starting a new daycare when she was a year old, every croup episode she's had, starting kindergarten, being sad about her best friend changing schools during first grade, and countless other sadnesses.  In terms of kid hardships, "Puff" has been the equivalent of Neosporin, a Dora band-aid, and a popsicle.  

When I was pregnant with Gannon, Maguire and I chose Elton John's "Levon" for him.  We'd sing, "And his name is Gannon, and he'll be a good man.  And his name is Gannon, in tradition with the family plan.  He shall be Gannon."  It was so very sweet to hear her sing it in her almost three-year-old voice.  

But again, Gan arrived on the scene and he had his own ideas.  Apparently, Levon was not depressing enough for him.  He chose Bob Dylan's "Hard Rain" - the one with the "Where have you gone my blue-eyed son?  Where have you gone my darling young one?"  I love those lines - but then Bob goes on to sing about the baby surrounded by wild wolves and the other freaky stuff.  Wonder what this says about my Gan.   

GANNON - AGE 1.5 - HARD RAINER FOR OVER SIX MONTHS BY NOW

Gan was a horrible sleeper.  He'd be up all hours of the night for the first two years of his life.  He and I would put Dylan's "Hard Rain" on repeat and dance in his room for hours until he fell back to sleep.  I'd sing it along with Bob, and I'd be praying the whole time that the kid had his eyes closed.  But then I'd check, and he'd be staring up at me.  If I stopped singing, he'd start screaming.  No other song would soothe him.  

And so it goes with Ronan.  For him, in honor of my dear college roommate, I chose Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee."  My roommate and I LOVED that song and used to sing our hearts out to it.  I had always hoped that it would catch on with one of my kids, and Ronan was my last hope.  I started singing it to him when he was in the NICU.  I'd change the words so it'd be "Me and Ronan Murphy."  

But, about eight weeks ago, Roj let me know that the song he really liked is "Baby Love" by Diana Ross.  In our house, Gan is the "Big Man," and Roj is the "Baby Man," so I change the words of the song to be "Baby Man."  He laughs his buns off.  

RONAN - 6 MONTHS OLD - THE "BABY MAN"

So, I got my wish.  They all have a song.  It's just not the one I would have chosen.  I like that about them.

Love,

Momma T.

Ronan's first playdate

Ronan had his first playdate today!  Astrid came over while her momma was out working it, selling the fabulous Matilda Jane clothing (see www.matildajaneclothing.com - love it!).  

Roj pulled out all the stops trying to impress the Miss Astrid.

He tried the giggle.  She wasn't that impressed.  She, too, can giggle.

He tried the "Hey look.  There's my mom with that stupid camera."  She still wouldn't give him a look.

He even tried to impress her by eating a ball.  Nothing.

Then, big brother arrived on the scene and stole all the thunder.  

With his big muscles, charming smile, ability to walk, and lack of diapers, Gan's an impressive man.  Plus, Gannon wasn't still in his too-small pajamas and wearing a bib at 10:30 in the morning.  You can almost feel Ronan's shame and rage - "Mom, why do you have to TORTURE me like this?!?!"  I'm sure I'll have to pay for years of therapy.

Momma T.