Life Imitates Art...

I couldn't resist snapping this picture of our dog, Finn, napping on our bed. Above him is the Andrew Wyeth print Master Bedroom.

Finally!!

After weeks of bleak, cold, rainy April weather we finally had a beautiful Spring weekend!

In true New England fashion, we went right from jeans and fleece sweatshirts one day into shorts and tee shirts the next. Of course, who knows how long it will last...

116 Beanie Babies and he knows exactly which one is missing

Ty Beanie Babies. Remember those? The craze that spread throughout the US (the World even?) about 12 years ago. Everyone scampering to get the newest, "rarest" Beanie because, you know, someday they are going to be worth a pretty penny. Well, here is what happened to all my Beanie Babies:
Ever since Gavin was an infant he liked the tags of blankets, stuffed animals and the like. But, not just any tag. It had to be the kind that was silky, the kind that when rubbed for long periods of time would get even silkier. Gavin never had one special "lovey" but rather a whole bunch of them as long as they had the right tag. This made it easier on us because at least if we left one behind somewhere, we didn't have to search high and low for an exact replica.

Back to the Beanie Babies. When Gavin was about 18 months old, he discovered my collection of precious Beanie Babies in a box in the closet of the boys' playroom. He took a couple out, rubbed their tags to test them out and that was that. His addiction was born. Every so often, he would go to the box to get a couple more Beanies when the tags wore out on the old ones. Then he started taking a few out even though the old tags weren't worn out. He liked to have variety and every few days would switch to a new favorite. Eventually, every single Beanie Baby wound up on his bed and no one was allowed to clean them up. They had to remain there and if one attempted to tidy them up, he would know exactly which ones were missing and demand them back.

So now we are to the point where he wants to choose his own Beanie Babies to buy. However, the "new" Beanies have tags made of a different material than the "old" Beanies. They do not get soft and silky with age. They remain stiff and not pleasant to rub. Luckily (or unluckily depending on how you look at it), a local craft store chain carries the "old" Beanies. Every other week--at least--we go to this store to buy yet another Beanie. I cringe as we approach the bin because inevitably we are going to see Beanies in there that I paid top dollar for back in the day which are now $2.88. Yes, $2.88. The Princess Diana Beanie Baby that I had to have and bought for $25 is now in the bin for $2.88.Not only is my beloved Princess Bear in a bin for just $2.88. She now has a new home on Gavin's bed.

Who ya gonna call?

I can't believe I am putting this in writing and it will probably sound way worse in words than it is in real life but...

Sometimes, when the boys are acting up I tell them I am going to call the gypsies* to come get them. There I said it. Am I a horrible mother? If I told you that it is said more in a joking/exasperated voice rather than an angry one does that make it better? No? Oh well...

So, Gavin is the one that was most bothered by this. He asked who the gypsies were and what they would do to him. I said they would make him clean and sweep their houses all day long. (I figured it is no worse than Cinderella, right?). Aidan seemed to pay me no mind from the beginning, almost as if he knew I was only bluffing and was just acting like a child. Maybe he has a point there. But, the first few times I did it were hilarious (to me, anyway) with Gavin shouting "No! No! Don't call the gypsies!" It would stop whatever behavior he was doing dead in its tracks at which point I would give him a squeeze and tell him that "No, of course I wasn't going to call the gypsies because what would I do without you?".

Now he is wise to me and if he is doing some horribly annoying thing and I say "Ga-vin" in a huge sigh he asks "Who are you going to call?" with a wicked grin on his face.

Ever the one to torment my children, I now respond with "Ghostbusters!" simply because I just couldn't resist when he says "Who are you gonna call?". He obviously has no idea why I think that is funny. He just hears the word "ghost" and it is enough to send him into hysterics just as when I first told him about the gypsies. This will also probably get old quick and I will have to think of a new way to emotionally scar my almost-4 year old. I am sure there are dozens of things I could do.


*absolutely no offense to any gypsies that may read my blog ;)

Please....help...me....

After cleaning up the aftermath of Easter morning, I walked into the living room to find Gavin's little monkey helplessly laying under his now-empty Easter basket. Something about the way the monkey was positioned,just laying there gazing at me with his arm outstretched, struck me as funny.

Sometimes I crack myself up.