Neverland Diaries

Somehow, in the last few months, a furry little red monster from the past has crept back into our lives. You know who I'm talking about.  Over the years, I have watched as my sons were drawn like magnets to Elmo during their baby days. From about 18 months old until their 3rd birthday, "Melmo" was #1. It wasn't my first rodeo with the muppet; my baby brother, Barry, born in 1996 during Elmo's heyday, gave me my initiation into the Cult of Elmo. I was admittedly excited to watch "Elmo Saves Christmas" and "Elmo Says Boo" along with my own sons, and enjoyed the brief wave of nostalgia those ancient VHS tapes brought.   I've heard many people express a hatred for Elmo, and I get it; his falsetto voice, screechy laughter and repetitious nature can be grating. A former co-worker of mine had more reason than most to be anti-Elmo; he was trampled by Tickle Me Elmo-hungry customers one Christmas while he was working at a toy store, an...

Growing up, I only had three addresses and three landline phone numbers that I really called home … and I still know them by heart. As a kid, just the idea of pulling up our roots as a family and moving to a new home, even if it was just down the street, was devastating. I can recall probably a dozen or more kids that followed me through school from kindergarten to graduation, whose family also stayed put in the same zip code for decades. Are things still this way? Making the decision to move my kids out of their comfort zones into a new home and new neighborhood was difficult. Lucas seems to be taking the move like me; with a grain of salt and a large dose of sentimentality. He and I are both creatures of comfort; change is the enemy. Our new pool and his new upstairs bedroom that he doesn't have to share seem to be taking the sting out of the situation. Plus, he's already flagged down some new neighbors in an attempt to make friends, forcing me to come out of my sh...

Firework-intensive holidays have never been my favorite, but now as a mother of boys, I loathe them even more.  I have good reason.  There was that one time when a couple of defective mortars shot towards our house and exploded at my feet, leaving my ears ringing and my nerves shaken for the rest of the night. Then this year, one of the members of our household (I'll give you a hint; it wasn't one of the kids) set off a grenade firecracker the wrong way and ended up with a badly burned thumb. And not to mention all the years we were forced to stay at home on the 4th of July with a PTSD-riddled giant of a dog so he wouldn't demolish the bathroom door.  The real worry for me is the pure glee, that Christmas-morning twinkle in the eyes of my boys as we set them loose in the fireworks store. Fireworks packaging features romance names like "Wolf Pack", "Mineshell Mayhem", "Exterminator" and more, the making their selection not unlike a g...

I have a confession to make; I swear. A lot. Maybe not in front of you, usually not at work and hopefully not in public. But I definitely do in front of my kids.  I know, I'm a mom and I shouldn't do that, right? I have to lead by example after all, and calling the jerk that just cut me off in traffic a "dickhole" (fun to say, give it a try sometime), probably isn't adding to my children's development in a positive way. Or maybe it is? Let me back up. I didn't have very sweary parents growing up … if my mom let one slip, you definitely knew she was tired, stressed or truly pissed off. My dad was the same, and usually only cursed if an errant Lego brick or Hot Wheels car found its way underfoot (his swear words even rhymed for added comic effect!). Either way, swearing for them was not a part of their day-to-day lexicon, so I can't blame them for my bad habit.  Maybe Quentin Tarantino is to blame then? As a young teenager I became enthr...

We finally reached a milestone in our house that is inevitable for almost all mothers of boys … my baby is taller than me. By just barely a quarter of an inch. On his 12th birthday, he stood back to back with me and a jury of our family confirmed what we already knew; it wasn't just because of his shoes or standing on weird flooring. He was genuinely and legitimately taller than me.  At 5' 5-1/2", it was only a matter of time before a son would stand taller than me. The other two are sure to follow suit. If the pediatrician is right, he should reach well over 6', at that point, eclipsing even his own dad in height.  As I type this, he is outside painting the exterior of our home with his dad and brother, a home we may not be in for too much longer. It's funny to think how he's grown every quarter of an inch in this home, and he'll finish his growing in another house. The kitchen island that he used to toddle under as a baby now hits him at be...

Here's a short list of items that we have pulled out of Max's nose so far:  Raisins, corn, peas, ground beef, bark from a tree, cookies, cheese, old cheese from under the couch, rice, oatmeal, pieces of crayon and playdough. Basically, if it's the size of a pencil eraser or smaller, Max is going to try and cram it up into his sinus cavity. I'm really terrified of the prospect of pulling a bug or cat food or something worse out his nose one of these days.  This little quirk of his is particularly concerning for us, because, not too long ago, Max underwent ear, nose and throat surgery. Plagued with chronic ear infections and snoring (just like his brothers), we knew he was going to have to get Eustachian tubes and have his adenoid removed, and probably his tonsils eventually too.  This sticking food up the nose thing is all new territory for us. Why on earth is he doing this? It can't feel good; besides he gets mad every time he does it and cries unti...