2015: The summer of boys and baseball

This is the year my boys were introduced to baseball! All three of them. LOL.

Lester took Cary and Dean to their first ever O's game this month!

The Orioles won, which made the boys very happy! But Lester says they were mostly excited about the Gatorade, the popcorn and the cotton candy. Of course.

Funniest moment of the game: A very confused Cary asked Lester, "But when do they hit it off the tee?"

They learned all about tee-ball during their first baseball clinic, which went from April to the end of this month.

Lester was their coach, and there's a funny story behind that. You can read it here.
http://www.baltimoreschild.com/articles/index.cfm?fuse1=detail&ArticleID=2785

The good news is, despite auspicious beginnings, the Purple Dragons had a very successful clinic, finishing up their 2015 season with sno-balls, hot dogs and high-fives!

Cary is more interested in his frozen treat. Of course.

The boys loved playing on a team with their friends Antony and Marcus. And they made lots of new friends too!

Go Purple Dragons!!

Hooray for baseball! And hooray especially for Dads who just jump right in to help out when needed.

Week one for the boys is in the books!

Cary and Dean finished up their first week at their new school, with nary a complaint to register.

No tears, no mishaps, no nothin'...It's amazing.

Here they are when I picked them up on their first day. See something missing on Cary? Yes. My child broke his glasses. Again. But look how happy he is. Dean was happy too. But he was too busy asking me if we were going to the playground to be bothered to smile.

We also had two-plus days of the new sitter, Miss Arlene. And although Clair is still not really feeling her AT ALL, when I get home from work, she is usually happily ignoring the sitter and playing boisterously with her brothers. As long as she isn't sitting in a corner sobbing or shaking in fear, it is all good with me.

I did come home early the first day of her working and was surprised that no one was there. I called through the house, peeked out the back door, checked upstairs. No kids. No Arlene. Her car was outside and her purse was in the living room. She must be here, I thought. The last place I had left to check was the basement. I put my hand on the door knob to go down there and in a split second, my brain conjured up an image of my children with their throats slit and Miss Arlene dead.

That is how crazy I am, y'all. I just knew this new babysitter had murdered my children and committed suicide. My heart was beating out of my chest. I was freaking out.
When I finally gathered the courage (and the common sense: "Get it together, Tanika!") of course, she wasn't downstairs. And neither were my murdered children.

In fact, she had just taken my very happy and safe children for a walk, because Dean had written a "letter" - literally, he wrote the letter "D" on a piece of paper, folded it up and put it in an envelope - to no one in particular and wanted to mail it. So Arlene drew a stamp on his little envelope and walked with them in search of a mailbox. She didn't kill them. She was actually being VERY sweet to them.

I felt like a heel. And a nut.

But I'll get better. We'll all get better. We're all getting adjusted to the new, much more hectic schedule, and by the end of the day every single one of us is pooped. The kids crash at bedtime like they were working in the salt mines all day. Last night I was asleep by 8:50 p.m. 

But I can tell things are going to get easier. Today, Clair still clung to me for far too long, but didn't cry at all when I dropped her off. In fact, when her teacher took her hand, she simply said in a small voice, "Bye, Mommy," and I closed the pre-K 2 door, and walked away.

Of course, I felt a mixture of pride and happiness and sadness.

Our babies are in school. All three of them. They leave us in the morning and we don't see them again all day long. They are learning things that we don't teach them. They are experiencing things that have absolutely nothing to do with us. In fact, most of the things that happen in their day, we won't even know they've seen or heard or done or felt.

This is the natural course of life, I know. And it is good. And sad. And crazy.
And normal.

More sweetness

Yesterday, I came in from work a little late. The kids were already at the dinner table, eating.

Cary says to me, mouth full of pasta, "Mommy! I was worried about you!"

:-)


Later on, as I'm clearing the table, Dean walks over to me and asks, "Mommy, umm, did you have a good day?"

:-)


Love, love, love my sweet boys.

The other half of the photo; the other half of my womb

I felt a smidge bad about cutting my Deanie out of the photo from yesterday (in order to show you a picture of my smiling, silly, non-deaf Cary).

So here's a better picture with both of my sweeties in it.

Awww. Hearts and exes and ohs and unicorns!

These pictures make me smile, because -- somewhat matching attire notwithstanding -- something about the photos makes my boys seem more twin-like than usual. I honestly hardly ever think of them as "twins," because they're so uniquely themselves.

And I hate to glorify the alleged "cuteness" of having two $!@*$* babies at the same time, lest some poor unsuspecting parent-to-be ends up with the absolute WRONG idea.

But on occasion, the twin factor inherent in Cary and Dean screams out loud and clear. And those occasions, if I do say so myself, are pretty darn cute.

Life with boys

Last night at the dinner table, in his highchair, Cary let out a long, sputtering fart.

It was so impressive, it stopped him from talking. (This is quite a feat.)

When it was finally over, he smiled and said, "A motorcyle! There's a motorcycle in my diaper!"

And then he and Dean both CRACKED up.

As a woman who is not a fan of flatulence, bodily fluids, blood, guts, gore or other grossness, I have to say I am not looking forward to the years and YEARS and YEARS I have left of this kind of thing.

(Even though I have to admit, I cracked up too! It really did sound like a motorcycle!)