It Takes Two....

....to dismantle the diaper bag down to the crumbs embedded in the liner. If only they were as skilled at putting things away.

Pile In, Pile On

There is no substitute for a big old pile of leave. Harry and our buddy Pearl yesterday lost themselves, literally and figuratively, in the joy that is a huge mound of crunchy dead foliage.

BFF

We don't see Lucy very much these days, but any mention of our sweet girlfriend elicits delight from Harry. While Harry isn't much of a hugger, he was happy to get a squeeze from his best girl. I'm sorry but you can't fake a smile like that.

Lucy and her sister Hannah and the rest of our playgroup contingent of toddlers joined us in the backyard Friday for not one but two jumping sessions -- to make sure the moon bounce was still in working order. Despite a sea of elbows and feet, it seemed the more kids we threw in the more fun they had.

El Diablo

Tonight, after I tuck in my 2-year-old cherub, I am going to pull back the covers and check for a small mark on his neck in the form of a "666." I know people think over-zealous moms write blogs to brag about their kids. I do a goodly amount of cooing over my all-too precious offspring. But this week, with Paul away, Harry has tested my patience in so many way that I would be a big fat liar to leave it out of the digital dialogue.

Yes, he's 2-and-a-half. But sometimes it seems like my otherwise bubbly, friendly boy goes out of his way to channel positively the worst habits of a 2-year-old, most notably when it comes to his sister. To a stranger, a friend in the park, or a preschool teacher it would seem like he is the model of good behavior. But boy, put him in the living room with his baby sissy and, like last night, out of nowhere he will tackle her to the ground, squashing her little body into a heap until she cries. Seriously, call the NFL. Sometimes he acts like she's the best playmate around. Other times he very sneakily will ask to be hefted up to look into her crib and then POW! smack her in the head. I honestly think he likes to make her cry!

These days any admonition is like a personal challenge to my toddler. "No" means do it more, make it worse, whatever "it" is. Sometimes I am totally powerless. Scolding, timeouts, walking away, they just make no dent. And I feel like absolutely the WORST mother on the Earth. Especially when I see other kids Harry's age acting so loving toward their siblings. Is it just my kids? I so want them to like each other, to be those children who grow up the best of friends. But soon I fear you may see us on one of those Nanny 911 shows. It's enough to make a mother, who wants nothing more than to brag about her kids, cry.

Halloween For Beginners

It may technically been Harry's third Halloween, but really it was his first foray into the realm of door-to-door candy grubbing. We put the kids into the wagon and off we went. Harry hopped out at each stop (if it was a spooky, dark doorway, he needed mom to pick him up, but otherwise he knocked on each door) and with some prodding said "trick or treat!" He made sure to follow-up with a hearty "thank you" or "happy Halloweeeeeen." If he received two piece of candy he offered up both.

Charlotte and Harry were both super well-behaved, which was a shocker after receiving their H1N1 shots earlier in the day. Many thanks to Eliza for line-sitting for three hours in the drizzle while the kids attended a holiday party. She's a good grandmother, that one. If you're looking for scary on Halloween, mass inoculation clinics is it.

Charlotte complained not once as we rattled down the sidewalks in the dark, her brother smooshing her toes every time he climbed back into the wagon.

Despite the on-and-off rain we had a lot of visitors, including some guests -- Cynthia came to see-off the would-be trick-or-treaters (she sewed my matchy-matchy skirt to twin Charlotte's pumpkin fairy costume) and Annie, dressed as a bear, was on our stoop waiting for us when we got home. Harry very happily settled on the steps, candy bag wedged between his legs, and gorged on chocolate and lollipops until it was time to for bed. I was sure he'd wake up Sunday and demand his many leftovers, but he's not mentioned them once. I hear the trash bin calling.

Cheerio, pip pip

Paul left for a week-long work trip this morning. I haven't been too concerned. Single-parenting is tiring but do-able. But perhaps I have not been worried enough. Moments ago the nanny summoned me to the kitchen where a very teary-eyed Harry confessed to having stuffed a Cheerio up his nose. He did not like my idea of using the tweezers to extract it. Fortunately a few blows into a tissue and there it was. (While the offending cereal would have eventually dissolved, he did not seem eager to wait it out). I can only wonder what other delights await me this week.

Pardon Me, Have You Seen My Head?

Among my father's talents was his ability to make wicked-scary scarecrows. I recall one Halloween party, I was perhaps 9 or 10, when he hung a dead guy from the shower head in the guest bathroom. I watched him put it up and yet I was terrified to go inside the creepy, green-lit powder room. (I'm pretty sure I didn't pee until that thing was taken down).

Every year we put up our own, far-less scary version on the front steps. He's always clad in my oldest, most well-loved USC sweatshirt. Sometimes he's battling it out with a UCLA scarecrow, crushing him under his boot (as it should be).

This year the crows are arranged to pick lovingly from the cavity that should otherwise house his head, hay pours forth from his belly and gnarled hands pat the pumpkin near his feet. Harry helped me stuff him, pretty baffled by this activity, I think. As soon as the kids are old enough I'll get them to add their own embellishments....maybe we'll make some kiddie scarecrows out of their jeans. Our own little family of zombies, right here in Rosemont.