Caden-4yr: Mommy. When were you ever a boy?Me: Uh… never. Caden-4yr: But when will you get to be a boy? Do you get a turn?Me: Nope. I was created a girl, and always will be.Caden-4yr: Oh. Well. I’m glad. You’re good at it. I could have prolonged this conversation indefinitely just for the entertainment value alone, but he was stalling at naptime. What a cutie.
What a fantastic, Olympian effort y’all made this month! WOW! Excellent! You Club 17ers are wonderful.
There couldn’t just be one winner. The random number generator picked our Gold Medalist as Jen. But seriously, how could the random number generator NOT pick Jen? She wrote a big poem in the comments y’all have to go read!!! So funny! Way to go, Jen!
Silver goes to…. Lauren! Brand new to BSEs. (And didn’t you feel SO proud of yourself?!)
Also atop the podium is Ashley, who probably has a whole family of vigilant BSEers.
So! I’ll be emailing the three of you, asking which prize you’d like. If you’d like a copy of my book and I didn’t already send you one, then that can certainly be arranged.
If you’d like another book, I just so happen to have a few extras this week. Seems I accidentally purchased several extra copies of books the last time I went to Amazon. The first is (friend!) Julie Carobini’s, Truffles by the Sea. I can tell you it is WONDERFUL, and I don’t know how I ended up over-ordering, but I’m pleased to send you the delicious extra.
Also, I over-ordered MatchPoint by Erynn Mangum, and Faking Grace by Tamara Leigh. Those three authors, along with Kristin Billerbeck – are my absolute favorites. If you have a preference about which of these titles you receive, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll pick one for you!
As long as we’re talking about books: The book I wrote, A Love for Larkspur, was published by what used to be called Capstone Fiction. They have since changed their name to Copestone Fiction, and are having to ‘pull’ all the books that bore the Capstone name and re-publish them with the Copestone name. As a result, my book is not currently available for purchase, and may not be for several weeks. (It can still be pre-ordered through Amazon, I think. ) For those of you who emailed and said, “I’m trying to buy it, but i can’t….?” THANK YOU. That was so nice to hear. Sort of. In a frustrated, but yet still reassuring sort of way.
And if any of you Canadians actually received the book I sent you, would you let me know, please? Seems those went out with all the other ones, and extra postage was not affixed. I keep expecting them to all come back one day, stamped “insufficient postage, dummy!” I told Mike this, and he said, “nah. Don’t worry. They probably made it there with “postage due” stamps. That did NOT make me feel better! (If that happened, i am SO sorry!)
So the kids HAVE been inspired and affected with Olympic spirit after all. That’s nice. In theory it’s nice. But actually it means we have to constantly remind them that they may NOT dive in the bathtub in any way. Caden-4yr tries to hold swimming events in the tub, and it results in all the water on the floor. Not to mention the crazy laughter, but I don’t mind that part.
Seth-2yr decided to award Charlo (the cat) an Olympic gold medal. I wish he had held a ceremony, played the Star SPangled Anthem and called all of us to see. Instead, he slipped the medal around the long haired fluffy cat, and it instantly disappeared in dense fur. We didn’t know to get it off him for days. No one has ever been so pleased to be stripped of his gold medal as Charlo was. We still do not know the athletic feat he performed in order to inspire such recognition.
Ethan-8yr has been flexing muscles.
Once a month I write a post like this, encouraging y’all to do a self breast exam. When you do, you’re eligible for a prize that usually takes me awhile to put in the mail (but I always do) and then voila. You are health conscious and sometimes awarded prizes for your efforts. It’s a good deal.
So do your self breast exam. Don’t know how? Click here. Don’t know why? CLick here. Want to know why this matters to me or how to get a button with a cutie in a crown, like in my sidebar? Click here. Then come back, leave a comment on THIS post saying you did, and in a few days I”ll announce a winner.
So the prize…. if you don’t have a copy of my book and you want one, that can be your prize. Or…. it can be a surprise. I’m always buying things that will make cute Club 17 prizes, but they’re all the way in my closet and I’m all the way in here…. so let’s just call them surprises.
How I loooooove the Olympics. Life stops around our house every two years, and we just watch in awe. Or, I do. Mike goes stir crazy, and the kids ask lots of questions which I try to answer during commercial breaks.
And when a child ceases to be amazed, I usually oh so patiently shh them and say, “This is the OLYMPICS. This [pointing to the tv for emphasis] only happens once every FOUR years. And YOU are only four!” [Or eight. Or two. Depending on the kid I"m talking to.]
Caught up in Olympic spirit, I forget that this is not an inspiring thing to say. Not once has one of them said, “Oh! NOW I get it. I should totally stop screaming and pretending that my arm is a light saber and sit and quietly watch women’s water polo. Thanks for the suggestion, Mom!”
But it’s the Olympics, and after all, anything is possible with the right Olympic spirit. So they’ll probably hear that lame line a few more times, because I am way too distracted with counting all those tattoos of the Olympic rings on the athletes’ biceps to possibly come up with a creative, effective way of getting them to watch.
Oh! That’s it! I’ll just have them count those with me!
Seth-2yr is the strong, silent type. As my mom put it earlier, “His style of leadership has his brothers following and behaving in ways he wants them to, without them ever knowing…” And it’s true. He can start activities, or trouble, or projects, and get everyone else in the room in on the action without ever saying a word.
The kid has a quiet, powerful charisma. It’s not something you often see in a two year old, but there it is.
Until now, he hasn’t spoken much. We knew he could if he wanted to. He just didn’t have a need for language.
And now, it seems, he has decided to talk. And talk. And talk some serious smack.
He started calling Caden-4yr ‘The Baby.’ I affectionately call all my kids, “Baby” and it isn’t derogatory even when Seth-2yr says it. He likes to remind us that he is the baby, also. But when you call your OLDER brother The Baby, it creates desired drama.
Seth-2yr will stand in the middle of the room, and look around. Then, pretending not to see Caden-4yr, he’ll say, “Where is The Baby?”
Caden-4yr shrieks and freaks and tells Seth-2yr where he is and asks me if I heard what Seth-2yr called him.
Seth-2yr turns to me, raises an eyebrow and gives me a look that says, “wow! that was fun!”
And then I remind Caden-4yr about not reacting, and then I realize that Seth-2yr has been doing the exact same thing to me. What a sweet little stinker he is.
And I’ve been reacting, and reinforcing the Smack Talking Seth-2yr to keep it up. Which he has.
With a questioning look in his eye, he’ll ask if there is a baby ‘in there.’ He points at my stomach.
His timing happens to coincide with a recent, very brief, lull in my usually frantic workout schedule. I start to wonder if my stomach looks different. Then I talk myself out of it. I assure and reassure Seth-2yr – and myself – that there is no baby (and silently tell myself that my stomach is fiiiine.)
There is certainly no baby. Seth-2yr is it. No more. 4 is all we’re up for.
Especially when the little one give me that look that says, “wow! that was fun!”
Today is one of those inevitable days of motherhood. The not fun, not glamorous, not rewarding, just plain NASTY days of Motherhood. It’s only halfway through the day. It might get better. It can hardly get worse.
Seth-2yr is potty training. He’s the easiest so far, not to any credit of mine. He’s just like that.
The kids and I had a picnic lunch in the backyard, and then afterwards they played while I collapsed on the couch and tried to keep my eyes open. Unusually tired, I was telling myself that all I had to do was wait another 20 minutes, then get them nap-ready and I could really relax. Maybe even sleep.
And then I looked out the window and noticed one of Seth-2yr’s legs looked much darker than the other. Poo color, to be exact. I sent Ethan-8yr and Caden-4yr inside, and decided a preliminary garden hose cleanup was indeed necessary for this particular mess. Off came the shorts, and the undies. Almost.
[Sidenote: why is there always, always the most poo when it occurs in a non-ideal place? At those times it is never a small amount. EVER.]
Seth-2yr is holding on to my arm, trying to step out of the undies, and I’m mouth breathing and visualizing cake frosting. I do that, in order to trick my gag response. Perhaps it’s because I’m distracted with thougthts of faux-chocolate that I make a massive miscalculation and say, “just kick your leg out of it.”
That was not smart.
He DID kick his leg out of it. And a giant poo clod shmacked me straight on the right side of my face. Other smaller clods rained down upon us both. We looked at each other and screamed.
[Sidenote #2: Mouth-breathing and cake frosting visualization can only go so far, and it goes nowhere near the vicinity of this particular nightmare.]
So we’re clean finally. We’ve been hosed down outside, bathed inside, and antibacterial hand washed at numerous points in the process. And I’m not in the least bit sleepy anymore.
The bright side is that the final child is almost completely potty trained, and not a moment too soon.
(That’s just me trying to sound positive. It actually translates to: “If I’d potty trained him already, like I KNOW I SHOULD HAVE, I wouldn’t be sitting here wondering if I still smell like poop.” Yeah. That’s more accurate.)
The whole book thing really freaked me out. For awhile. I didn’t want anyone to actually KNOW I’d written it, or that it was out, and that’s really a ridiculous un-author-y way to be. It’s fading a little.It still feels completely bizarre to sign them. “Enjoy! Blah blah blah. -Kelsey Kilgore”Which actually translates directly to: “OH. MY. GOSH. IF YOU HATE THIS, PLEASE DON’T EVER TELL ME. -Kelsey Kilgore.”I mean, y’all. That’ s not even my name. It’s my Pretend Name. Have you ever tried to sign your Pretend Name? Right. Probably not, because most normal people do not have such things.Anyway, at least I AM making myself sign my Pretend Name and send a few out into the world. If you’d like one, just tell me. If I haven’t already sent one your way, I will. Mike orders them in bulk and proudly passes them out on the street corners, so I figure I could at least give them to y’all. (No blog required.) Leave a comment. Or email me. Include your address. Whatever.You know what’s really strange? Signing a Pretend Name in a book for my mother, who knows FULL WELL who I really am.Clarification: DON’T put your address in a comment. There are crazy people out there just looking for addresses to start loading you up with junk mail catalogs full of faux crocs and other such stuff. Somewhere to the right are the words: Contact Me. That’s how you email me to send your address.Clarification: I’m not a croc snob. I have no preferential views for the ‘real’ crocs vs. their lookalikes. I think they’re all bizarre and do not understand why so many of you love them. Let’s just agree to disagree on this one. (But seriously? They aren’t even real shoes, y’all!)[ Here's the book. ]UPDATE: Okay! I’m out of free copies. If you go HERE you can order (or pre-order, should it be currently unavailable) a copy of your very own!