Over Eggs-Cited About Easter

I'm just your typical average Mom. I do my best to create traditions. I want my children to have stories when they get older, just like the ones I tell today. With that said, I have to admit, I sometimes over do it during the holidays.

I don't buy a lot of presents. My children have plenty, and I also think it's healthy for them to hear the word "no" once in a while. But as for decorations... I can't help myself.

The meter runs like it's on steroids during Christmas. The unending strings of lights attached to the windows, the porch, the trees, the children. They're everywhere.

Valentines Day is fabulous. Everything turns pink. I mean everything. Love is in the air.

As for St. Patty's Day. Well, our last name is Brennan. Need I say more.

So now it's Easter. And what do you think I did? Well, I rushed to the grocery store of course, and bought four dozen eggs.

Did I mention I only have 2 children?

That's right. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I believed that my two boys had the patience to spend their Easter searching for 48 eggs.

The sadder part. I almost bought more.

I can't help myself. I just love the holidays. I can't wait till Memorial Day!

When I grow Up I Want to be a Rock Star!

Did you ever have one of those days where you're watching your children play, and you begin to fantasize about what they will become when they grow up? It's as if they give clues.

Take for instance this morning. My boys insisted on putting on a rock band show for me before school. They each held two play bowling pins in their hands which acted as their drum sticks. Two Matchbox Car collector boxes were used as drums.

I sat in awe as the boys banged away. Suddenly my mind drifted, and both boys were wearing "Kiss" makeup. I pictured the older one in a suit of armor yelling into a microphone. While the younger one sat behind a drum set. A "Mom" tattoo strategically drawn on his upper arm.

Oh Dear!

Back to reality. I realized my boys were still banging away at their toys. No makeup, no high hair, no bright lights. Just the sweetness of two boys trying to entertain their Mommy.

I took that opportunity to ask the burning question: "What do you boys want to be when you grow up?"

"We want to be rock stars." They replied.

Just when you think you dodged a bullet; those wonderful beings of yours learn to reload.

No More Character Sneakers

It's official. My boys are growing up.

How do I know you ask? Well, it's like this.

This past weekend we took the boys sneaker shopping. As usual, I pointed out the cool Spider Man sneakers. But then I saw the Toy Story sneakers and just fell in love. How cute would they look on Scooter?

It was then that I was informed that the boys wanted "Daddy Sneakers."

What are Daddy Sneakers, I thought. Daddy doesn't have Buzz Lightyear or Woody the Cowboy on his sneakers. He just wears those same plain jane sneaks with the race stripe down the side.

"My friends don't wear character sneakers anymore." Potter said.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He is only six years old. And to make matters worse, his little brother was following suit.

I remember those days not so long ago when Mommy got to make the decisions: Cute outfits, cute hats, and of course, cute shoes.

I was outnumbered 3 to 1.

I knew they were going to grow. That's just a given. But I just wasn't ready for how fast they would be doing it.

Well At Least There's Not Bullets In That Thing!

Raising two boys is never boring. In fact, it has become quite an adventure.

There was a time when I thought I couldn't do it. I understood nothing beyond the realms of skirts and bows. But like everyone advised; things would eventually kick in.

I'm no longer surprised when after I mop to find patches of muddy footprints running from the door to the kitchen.

The familiar clunking sound when I turn on the drier still sends me running to the laundry room. I quickly open the door in an effort to save a pet rock collection.

I've come accustomed to carrying Wet Ones everywhere. Despite the absence of jelly, marshmallow or glue; I've learned that boys are eternally sticky characters.

But the one thing I'm still trying to wrap my brain around is the AIM. I'm referring to that yellow stream that squirts out of my children but fails to accurately hit the bulls eye.

Try as they may in the last year they have taken out a toilet brush (5 points), a plunger (10 points), and a tissue box (20 points- extra points since this sits above the toilet).

In my dreams my children pee Scrubbing Bubbles. (Imagine never having to clean the bathroom again!)

This is the one area where leading by example is not going to work.

"Oh, Hubby? You're needed upstairs. It's time for target practice!"

Suggestions Anyone?

My morning routine generally consist of the same few things. I get ready, then I get breakfast ready for everyone, throw a load of wash in the machine, then read email until it's time to wake the kids up.

Today was a little different.

I received a most disturbing email. One that I can only foresee was written by a very disgruntled person. It went on not only tearing apart something I wrote (almost 2 years ago), but also speaking of something he would like to do with me.

I welcome comments as much as the next person.

Like everyone else I too fall upon a post that I don't always agree with. I don't waste my time berating someone. I don't expect everyone to think like me. How boring the world would be. Sometimes I offer a comment, and sometimes I don't. Either way, I appreciate the time someone has put into their blog.

I have decided the best way to handle this, is to simply not handle it at all.

I will continue to accept comments. The truth is, the majority of my readership come from some of the kindest people. And despite whether or not we agree with each other, we are still respectful of each others opinions.

Enough "Tiger" Already!

Is it just me, or is anyone else fed up with this Tiger story?

Honestly. What type of society are we living in when a husband gets to cheat on his wife and then is rewarded with a podium to present his apology during a Special Report?

Best part: His Mom sat front and center to support her son.

Wow! What else can you say but, "Wow"?

I remember a time when we tried to teach our children values. I remember a time when we dared to wander off the path, and the swift kick of a boot was felt on our backside. I felt that boot a few times. I remember a time when it wasn't acceptable to bring so much hurt to another person, and despite our excuses, the last person on earth who would understand was our Mothers.

I don't condone going after anyone with a golf club. But if indeed all the allegations are true, I think I too may have found a new use for a nine iron.

Despite the vows we take, sometimes forever is just not meant to be. For that reason alone we must rely on respect. Do we not owe each other at least that much?

As for the "Big Comeback." Well let's just say, I'm going to pass. I can't speak for Tiger, but some people keep on bandages for longer than this little "break."

If he thinks the hurt he's caused is even close to being healed; he should think about allowing Elin to take another swing. Maybe this time she'll knock a little sense into him!

FORE!

Tushy Massage?

For the first time in a long while, I had a weekend off. Aside from the threats of a Nor Easter, I was not letting anything stop me from getting a massage.

See, for my birthday (back in October) Hubby and the kids gave me the best gift ever... a gift certificate to the Spa. As luck would have it, I have been busy since then. So I vowed that even if I had to build an Ark, I would row my way to a massage.

And there I was sitting in my bath towel, paging through some design magazine and enjoying a glass of lemon water. I definitely needed this moment to regroup. I'm unfortunately not wealthy enough to enjoy this luxury every month, but I'm smart enough to recognize when my body is ready to shut down from pure neglect.

A happy woman with burgundy highlights (Oh yes she did) came out to greet me. She asked me a few questions about health problems, stress, etc. as we headed to the room. Before long, she began.

The massage was scheduled for 45 minutes. Now keep in mind, I've had massages before. There are all types of massages, but for the most part, you dress down to your undies with no bra. A warm sheet is over you, but is pulled down to your undies when they are working on your back.

Well, apparently I signed up for something just a little different yesterday. Yes my friends, I received a tushy massage.

Do I feel violated? Well, I have to admit, at first I was a little confused since this extra feature was never included in past massages. But then, I had an epiphany, or should I say, a funny memory.

Do you remember that episode of Friends when Phoebe was asked to massage her clients sciatic nerve? Well if you don't, or you never got a chance to see it, I provided a clip. I hope it makes you laugh just as hard as it made me laugh. Sometimes humor is in the strangest of places.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWxL6wrZfuw

Men Down!

What a week!

There's nothing worse than a blogger who can not get to their computer for an entire week. I'm not exaggerating folks. It all began last Tuesday night.

As were getting ready to head out to Karate practice, Scooter decided to inform me that he had to throw up. Was it my cooking I thought? Surely that was a possibility. But why wasn't the other one vomiting yet?

And then, it happened again. And again. And again. Oh heavens, the mess. Needless to say, we never made it to Karate that night. And of course, Scooter stayed home from school on Wednesday.

By Thursday morning, I wasn't feeling so well. I decided to keep Scooter home another day since he still had that pasty look about him. As we were headed out the door, Potter told me he had pains in his tummy. He said he was OK though, so I brought him to school. (Bad Idea). Within an hour I received a call from his school informing me that my child puked all over the bathroom floor. (Right room, wrong place). By this time I was getting worse, so I called in the troops...Daddy. Hubby unfortunately works over an hour from home, so I still needed to retrieve Potter from school myself.

Upon arrival, I find Potter hunched over a trash can in the nurses office. The puke however was everywhere but in the trashcan. This is the point where my son insist that I need to buy him new sneakers since one of his puke bombs exploded on his feet. (Nice try Potter. It's called soap and water).

So I get both boys home. Luckily my husband heard the urgency in my voice and his car turned into a rocket on the way home. Nothing like love. I ran upstairs and began praying to the porcelain Gods for Mercy. My husband stayed downstairs and helped the children.

I reemerged around dinner time for a little toast. One child looked pale, the other was beginning to get some color back, and poor Hubby looked overwhelmed.

By Friday afternoon, the illness had found Hubby as well. Poor guy went out cold on the couch. By Saturday we were making a go at bouncing back. We were still so exhausted. Sunday was the same way.

Apparently, this flu thing wants to stick around a bit longer. It's now Monday. I'm down 5 pounds (that I won't miss...thank you Dunkin Donuts). And I have to confess; I forced myself into a gym today. I couldn't help myself. I made a promise to be healthier, and I'm sticking to it. Although I feel the need to take a nap today, I may actually take a walk.

The weather is beautiful for the first time in a while. Please God, no more snow!