Summer is making me crazy

Vincenzo’s last day of school was one week ago yesterday.  Since then we have hit the swimming pool, met friends at Red Robin, been to Chuck E. Cheese, caught a kids’ concert/human circus, organized a play date at a water park, remembered speech therapy at the last minute, went to the dentist, sent Vincenzo to his Grammy/Poppy’s, welcomed Kevin’s family to town, went to a birthday party, tested out the neighborhood’s newest babysitters, saw Kevin off on a business trip, shopped with McStreamy and Spawn at a Farmer’s Market, met up with friends for donuts at the park, then hit the swimming pool, met friends at Red Robin, and lather, rinse, repeat

And those are just the scheduled things.  They don’t include walks on the train tracks, painting bird houses, riding bikes in the neighborhood, making bead necklaces, coloring, reading, gardening, making star art, shopping, destroying the living room carpet with blue food dye, etc.  (They also don’t include bathing because it wasn’t on our summer list.)

I have found that the more children I have, the fewer things I want to do.  I am a huge fan of just hanging out at home, which is something I’ve never before been a fan of.  But once summer hit I started going a little crazy (okay, crazy-er) and we are sometimes only home to sleep.

It’s not good.  I took a shower today and went to brush my hair yesterday only to find that my hairbrush was still in the swimming bag.  We went swimming seven days ago.

Leo has not loved being schlepped around so much, as his perfect summer vacation involves a swaddle, a binky, and his own crib.  The baby who never cries—well, he’s cried a bit lately.

But I can’t let up on the gas just yet.  We haven’t ridden the bus!  Or hit the kangaroo farm!  Or toured the waste treatment plant!  These are seriously things on our to-do list! 

I don’t have any tidy way to wrap this up.  Just wanted to let y’all know why I’ve been a little absent here lately.

Owl child

I ordered this sweet owl hat for baby Leo off of Etsy when I found out I was having a boy:


I ordered it in size “newborn” but unfortunately whoever made it must have meant it was for newborn gorillas or something because the hat fits my older boys.  I’m bummed out that I won’t get pictures of my little baby in the sweet hat, but on the other hand…




I think I like these ones even better.  😉

MrsMouthy Waxes Poetic

This is not a vampire flashing a gang sign.


It’s a kindergartener flashing a “k” on his last day of school for the year.

From this…


To this…


In nine months flat.

I used to write a poem every day in a spiral notebook titled “Really Bad Poems.”  It’s been awhile, but I thought I’d give it a go.  Here’s my poem to you, Vincenzo, my kindergarten grad.

KAY (by Mom)

Let’s toast to a year
of goodbye kisses
and bus stop hugs
To A’s saying “ah”
and potato bugs

Adieu, Superhero recesses
and Girls Chase Boys
or Boys Chase Girls
if that’s your thing

Cheers to you, Itsy Bitsy
going up it again
and the old woman
who swallowed that fly
Oh my

Goodbye, first crush
Her name was Pokemon
(though she’s hardly gone)

A toast to you, Kindergarten
to all those lost teeth
and that one winter coat
To the knees of his jeans
he lost those too
You can keep them all–
He’s moving on
my Little Boy Blue

Here’s to you number one!
The letter kay
is so yesterday

This Morning

I’m always telling my kids not to tattle, but I just needed to get this out. ROCCO IS BEING A JERK.

I was woken up at 6:30 by an underwear-clad Rocco saying, “Can you go outside to play with me?”  With a baby and boy still sleeping and myself just barely awake, I had to tell him we’d go out later.  He yelled at me.

He asked for Kix for breakfast.  As I was getting him a bowl he asked if I could play cars with him and when I explained I was getting the breakfast he asked for so I’d have to play later, he yelled at me.

As soon as Rocco sat down at the table and saw his bowl of Kix, he asked for a waffle.  I told him he had to eat his Kix first and yup, he yelled at me.

I nursed Leo to the tune of “I HAVE TO GO TO THE BAFROOM!  I HAVE TO GO TO THE BAFROOM!  I HAVE TO GO TO THE BAFROOM!”  Rocco wanted my help.  As soon as I finished nursing, I helped Rocco and he yelled at me for helping him.

He wanted me to read a book to him so I read for half an hour until it was time to change clothes and go to the bus stop.  I got yelled at for being done reading.

When I changed Leo’s diaper the boys got in a fight over a toy, so the few minutes I had to actually interact with the baby were stifled by the sounds of yelling and feet-stamping until I was able to break it up.

On the way to the bus stop Rocco realized he left his train book at home and had a temper tantrum and I had to carry him up the super steep hill while also pushing the stroller (Vincenzo helped a little, but he’s kind of a wimp.)

After the bus came Rocco picked up a green pine cone and got his hands covered in sap, then wanted to hold my hand on the way back home so we both were covered in sap.  He yelled at me when I said we needed to wash up.

Leo needed to be rocked to sleep but he couldn’t fall asleep because Rocco started yelling from the other room, “OPE THE PLAY DOUGH!” over and over again, practicing with various tones of voice such as mad, pissed, raging, self-righteous, despairing, and hateful.

I spent the next two hours building puzzles with him, playing trains, and helping him bake a cake.  He only yelled a little during most of that.

As I type this Rocco back to eating his Kix and asking for waffles, as well as asking me to sing the mountain song over and over again and asking if I’ll go downstairs to play with him.

He turns three in a month.  I am sooooo hoping that he’ll put these twos behind him!


Father’s Day

K: I know what I want for Father’s Day.  I want sugar cookies that spell “DAD.”
Me: You want sugar cookies for Father’s Day?  Really?
K: Yes.  I want seven sugar cookies that spell “DAD.”
Me: Wait—you want me to spell “DAD” using seven cookies?
K: No.  I want seven DADs.
Me: So, like, fourteen DS and seven As?
K: Yes. 
Me: Okaaaayyyy…
K: And the cookies should have poppy seeds.
Me: Poppy seeds?  Why?
K: It’s what I want.
Me: What is this for?  Work?
K: It’s what I want for Father’s Day.
Me, spying a magazine on the back of the toilet: Kevin?  Have you been reading my Martha Stewart magazine?
K: Maybe.


K: So I want those cookies.  Oh, and also a BJ.* 

Me being a dutiful wife and all, I gave him exactly what he asked for.



Note to Kevin: NEVER ask for a BJ on Father’s Day again, as the gifts are supposed to come from your children.  Totally inappropriate.

*Hi Mom.  Just wanted to clarify that  BJ stands for Blueberry Jell-o.

MrsMouthy Gets Crafty

I’ve been on Pinterest a little lately.  I have to limit myself to about five minutes a week because it only takes five minutes to pin about 50 ideas, and I like my boards to be less overwhelming than my grocery lists.  So.  Need a last-minute Father’s Day idea?


It’s as easy as it looks—trace hands, glue down, frame.  Idea stolen from this website.

And here’s a fun way to write your summer to-do list, stolen from this site (hers is much cuter):


Too busy to write more today.

Teacher Appreciation

Our teacher appreciation gift cost less than a Starbucks certificate this year!  Check it out*:


We bought a cheap frame at Goodwill, painted it teal, then bought a big box of crayons that we—okay, let’s be real here, I did this all by myself.  Anyway, I snapped all the heads off of a box of brand-new crayons which, by the way, feels like popping the heads off a fresh batch of fluffy baby chicks.  At least, I imagine.  It felt so wrong that I’m not entirely certain that crayon mutilation isn’t a federal offense.

But still, I love the project and I’m sure we’ll find a use for the crayon bottoms.  Until then, the decapitated crayons are soundly hidden in the basement and I just can’t get this  TICK TOCK TICK TOCK heartbeat sound out of my head…**

*Teacher’s name changed.  It felt like the right thing to do.  IRL, there’s no white box around it, either; it’s printed on the paper.
**That’s an EAP reference, for you non-English majors***
***Pleeeease tell me you know who EAP is

The Poke Post

That’s pok-ay, for any of you who don’t have elementary school boys.

It all started when Vincenzo came home from a play date with a friend, brandishing three worn Pokemon cards.  “Look what B-Dog* gave me today!”  I felt like my kid had just been offered drugs, and that he had said yes.

Pokemon has spread through the class like a peace pipe at Woodstock.  There started out with one main dealer, who generously gave out a few cards to any open hands, and then those small time dealers would give one or to other kids until some of the parents cracked and bought a whole deck for them.

Yes, I am one of those parents.  It’s just that Vincenzo hasn’t been passionate about anything since the fall of the flying, fighting, secret agent shell ninja turtles, and seeing him happy makes me happy.  Plus he will do anything for a Pokemon card, and let me tell you–our toilets have never been cleaner.

Pokemon trading is not allowed at school, so the kids trade madly on the bus.  If you are ever held up behind a bus and it’s taking too long, be assured the Pokemon are involved.  On Wednesday last week Vincenzo got off the bus and announced sadly that the bus driver said they’re no longer allowed to trade Pokemon on board. On Thursday he got off the bus and said that he and his friends are now trading invisible Pokemon cards on the bus.** 

Sometimes the kids return Pokemon for other things like a toy whistle or a flashing keychain toy.  I’d love to see how much Vincenzo can get with one Pokemon…trade it for a whistle, then for a dragon toy, then for a Nerf gun, and eventually he’ll end up with a nice two-bedroom home on the lake.  Or at least a red paperclip that’s worth as much.

It’s not Pokemon themselves that I dislike.  Pokemon is actually a card game, and there is a bit of reading and adding/subtracting involved, and Pikachu is incredibly lovable.  There’s nothing inherently evil in the game (except Team Rocket of course).

What I don’t like is the highly addictive nature of Pokemon.

However, I used to ask Vincenzo how his day at school was and all he could tell me was, “I don’t remember.”  Now I get massive quantities of data about all the Pokemon everyone traded with each other and which cards he’s going to try to get tomorrow and how Unfeasant evolved from Tranquil who evolved from Peadove and how many HP Scullipede has and how Articuno’s weakness is metal and how Gyrarado’s does 50 and 80 damage and how Articuno is a rare holo Pokemon.  So there’s that.

The Pokemon, while banned at school, are still finding their way in.  Here is an art project where kids copied Eric Carle’s method of painting tissue paper and cutting it into shapes.


(Pikachu, in case you can’t tell.)  (And also a kid who is so excited at seeing a real live Pikachu that he pooped his pants.)

And here’s a lovely drawing of two Pokemon trainers throwing Poke balls at one another.


And my personal favorite, a treasure box:


Any guesses what’s inside?  Anyone?  Anyone?!



I really hope those pirates are kindergarteners because if not, there’s going to be a mutiny when they get back on board.


*Name changed to protect privacy and also to sound more gangsta.
**If this works, we might have a breakthrough technique for recovering drug addicts.