A little Saturday road trip.

Before moving last fall, our family owned a duplex in the Milwaukee suburbs. Of which, the space we lived in occupied a mere 784 square feet. It was a beautiful house, full of 100-year-old wood work and charm, but we'd had enough of the Tetris-storage game.

When we bought our new, 2200 square foot current home, I joked that we would be living like hobos. We didn't own enough furniture to even come close to filling it. The first six weeks we lived here we had a TV on the wall of the family room and only the floor to sit on. We had only recently acquired our new king-sized bedroom set, or the guest room would have been empty, too.

We're still acquiring "stuff", like any family does, though we probably have more empty spaces than most people would allow. I, on the other hand, don't really care. Its nice to have room to breathe and the rooms will look lived in soon enough. But it occurred to me awhile ago that I might just want to make some effort at adorning my home before it gets overrun with bean bag chairs and deer mounts.

So when I tweeted

I had a grand idea. What could a family do together that would be adventurous and fun and might address my "too-little-furniture" problem?

Why, drive to IKEA of course!

There's not a store within 100 miles, the nearest being in Schaumburg, IL. It was perfect for a Saturday road trip, to be followed up with a stop at the Lego Store in the Woodfield Mall as a treat to the boys for being good in the Mommy store.

I'd never been there before, and though I'd been warned...I just had no idea. That place is freakin' HUGE. As in three stories of inexpensive home furnishings including escalators for your cart huge.

And on Saturdays? Oh my dear Lord in heaven save my sanity. That place is BUSY.

We had a short list of items we wanted to look for. (Actually, very short. We meant to measure the boys' closets before we left so as to buy some sort of organizer thingie, but we forgot.) In case you've never been, (riiiight - I'm probably the last person on the face of the planet to have never been inside an Ikea) you don't actually have to need anything. They have crap upon crap that's just right for, well, anyone who cares to go looking for it.


I put it together myself, yos.
And I swear mine looks
exactly like this.



I'll have to go back sometime when I'm more prepared, and more in the mindset to actually do some hard core purchasing. But I got some much needed oranization for my office and that counter in the kitchen that seems to be a magnet for papers and stuff. We got a step stool for the bathroom and a night stand and bedside lamp for the guest room. We found this wire thing that has clips on it - I can't find it on their site for the freakin' life of me - but you essentially hang it on the wall and clip kids' artwork to it, thus eliminating the chaos that can easily become the front of the refrigerator when you have young school-aged children.

Long story short, we survived Saturday IKEA hell and made it to the Lego Store just slightly before the time that my children would have begun to melt down from being overshopped and underfed.

They each (Hubster included) got to make their own Lego person, and took turns gazing into the displays of stuff made out of Legos. I was utterly surprised that they both didn't beg and plead to buy more, but we did decide on going to Red Robin for burgers, so that's probably what saved us. Next time, we'll have to plan better and take them to the Legoland Discovery Centre.

They'd be like, well, kids in a Legoland Discovery Centre.

Overheard at dinner

The Hubster surprised us yesterday by taking the afternoon off from work. It was supposed to be his 'short day', when he normally works a double, so it was nice to have him home for dinner. The kids celebrated the best way they know - by talking non-stop and asking 32,000 questions. File this one under "I've just gotta write this stuff down!"

"Mom, what's six plus five plus four plus twenty-hundred?"

"Prince Fielder's at bat...he does a practice swing -- now William, you pitch to me, OK? You be Dave Bush."

"I'm not eating my vegables. I don't like vegables." [Five minutes later] "Why I not get any salad? I want salad!"

"Nicholas, stop adding and eat your dinner. NOW."

"Mom, how old will you be when I'm 100?"

"So if I'm good and eat all my dinner we can have rootbeer fizzies?"

Which of course, naturally transitioned to 'beer':

"Mom likes beer. Right Mom? And you go to the bar. With your friends. And drink beer."

Oh Lord. I can hear the kindergarten teacher calling now.

So I try to change the topic. "Sometimes. You know Mommy's friends, right?" They name a few. Then Will says, "And that lady? That got locked out? Behind the bars? She's your friend, too, right Mommy?"

"If I could write you a song, and make you fall in love, I would already have you under my arm." (x 412)

Followed by "NICHOLAS! Stop singing and EAT.YOUR.DINNER."

"Here comes Ryan Braun at bat...and it looks like...ITS A HOME RUN!!! WOO HOO!"

"Stop pretend-pitching to your brother and eat your dinner."

"Mom. What's five plus five? You don't know, do you? I know. Shhh...William, don't tell her."

"William, don't you dare throw that up. Don't you dare! Don't you -- DAMN."*

*Its a consistency thing with him. If he chews something too long he gags and sometimes pukes. Totally gross, but totally not a real sickness.

From the top of the TMI file

So this trip that Hubster and I took last month...it was the first adult vacation we'd taken together in SEVEN YEARS. We realized as much when we were booking our trip for the week after our wedding anniversary, and I began to let the enormity of that statement sink in.

Seven years ago I was a tall, thin, blonde young thing of twenty-five. I had no sagging parts what-so-ever and no c-section scars. I had no crow's feet and my arse was quite a bit smaller. Like many brides-to-be, in preparation for my Big Day, I got highlights in my hair, visited the tanning booth and had my teeth whitened. I stuck to a rather strict diet for months on end, wanting to look good in my big poofy white dress and the bikini I'd purchased for our honeymoon in Acapulco.

A far cry from where I was sitting this past March when we booked our trip. FAR.

It was pretty depressing to think about -- how much of my body and myself I've given up to have a family. Don't get me wrong - I wouldn't trade them for the world or have done anything any differently. Its just...WOW.

Now, I did have going for me the fact that some months prior I kicked myself in the pants and decided I needed to lose some weight. I was a size 12 - not big by any means - but quite a bit larger than I had been. My baby was THREE...there was no longer any excuse to be carrying any "baby weight", and "toddler weight" was just a load of bull. For months I'd been cutting the calories, making a point to get in more exercise and doing a little free-weight and yoga at home.

By March? I was back in a 10. (Halelujah, angels sang!) This was just enough motivation, as we planned our vacation details, to keep going.

What if I went the extra mile and "spruced myself up" a bit for the Hubster, the way I did back in 2003? I mean, its sad to think that us gals only get one day to dress up like a pretty pretty princess, with our hair perfect and skin perfect and prettied up beyond belief, right? ONE DAY in our entire lives...when we're so young...why couldn't we have just one more?

And so it began. It wasn't easy...I practically had to steal time to get my eyebrows threaded (I was late to meet my extended family one night because it was the only night I could get to the mall to have them done and that my hubby was off work to be with the boys). Hubby had to stay up after working an overnight shift so that I could go get my hair done one Saturday morning. My Dad babysat another day so that I could shop for a few new vacation outfits after I made it back to a size eight. (I haven't been a size eight since HIGH SCHOOL.)

We're busy people. I squeezed time out of every place I could think to find it.

And then I had one more thought...

There was just one more thing I'd never done before...

It was a little gutsier...

Quite a bit more "adult"...

And a hell of a lot more painful.

That's right -- I decided that the Hubster deserved a bikini wax.

Now, as I write this, I realize that is such twisted logic. But at the time I thought he'd look at his hot piece of wife who looked pretty darn good for poppin' out two heifer-sized children -- who also happened to be hair free -- and feel like he was 18 again, and that I would be instantly irrisistible. Heh. Heh heh heh. Ha ha!!!

I'm such a girl.

Anyway...by the time I'd worked up the nerve, the only appointment I could get was the Friday before we left for our trip, after work. The problem? Hubster had training that evening. Four hours on the shooting range.

So I told the sitter that I had an "appointment" and asked if she could watch the boys a little later than usual.

Did I mention I was going to keep this little gem a surprise?!?

And like a good broad, I was teasing him with hints of this "great surprise" that he was going to "really really love" and that I was going to give him on Friday?!?

Which is why, when I picked the boys up on Thursday, I was a bit shocked to hear he had decided to share his excitement for said surprise with the FREAKING BABYSITTER. (I believe the conversation went a little something like this: HER: "So, someone's excited about his anniversary gift!" ME: "Whuh?" HER: "Yeah, Jay says you've got some big surprise planned for your anniversary." ME, THINKING QUICKLY: "Uh...I don't have any surprise. I don't know what he's talking about. That's so weird that he'd think I had a surprise..." HER, CLEARLY SENSING HOW FULL OF CRAP I WAS: "Oh! Guys... They get the details for EVERYTHING wrong!")

So Friday...the big day. The Day of the Wax. I'm nervous but not overly so. I finish up work and drive to the spa. While pulling into the parking lot, I get a text from a friend. I go inside, check in, and the receptionist leads me back to a very dark, very zen waiting room. There are teensie little twinkly lights in the ceiling, new age music playing low on the stereo, and very comfy reclining chairs to ooze down into and relax.

And then my cell phone goes off again.

What an ass, hey? I mean, GOSH -- some people's kids!

So I turn the ringer off on my phone and sit in the tranquility of the Zen room to wait for my "procedure" and send text messages.

To multiple friends who now realize I am getting a bikini wax and are texting me to jeer and berate me about it and basically make me want to pee my pants about the whole ordeal.

Eventually, the Waxing Chick comes to retreive me and I'm lead to another equally dark room with equally New Agish music where I am told to put on disposable mesh panties. No, I take that back. "Panties" would imply that they covered the "pantal-region" and these did not. These were like a 4"x8" rectangle of see-through mesh attached to a 1/4" wide elastic band that circled the waist loosly. They didn't really cover anything.

But I'm a Mom, and people have seen my "parts" and "parts" were what this woman waxed all day long. I was sure there wasn't anything she hadn't seen before.

So when I'm done changing into the Nearly Invisible Want-to-be Panties, Waxing Chick comes back and we get started. I'm not going to lie to you. It was probably the worst experience of my life. It hurt like hell and at the end there wasn't even a freakin' BABY to show for my pain.

We get like, two strips in and I hear my phone vibrate in my purse. I silently curse my bastard friends for continuing to be assholes. Three strips later and its buzzing again. I start to make mental plans as to how I'm going to get them back. A few strips later and I hear a second, noticably different buzzing sound. Ahhh...my work Blackberry. Great. Now I'm lying on this table in this zen-like new-age-ish room getting my pubes ripped out by the roots and I'm getting texts from friends AND emails from work.

Lovely.

The buzzing continues, and as she continues to torture my downstairs lady bid-ness with her Strips of Death, the Waxing Chick actually comments on how busy of a person I must be. Not quite able to form enough intelligible words so as to make conversation with her, and not wanting to distract her from a job that needs her very close attention, I just nod and smile and pray my session is nearly done.

Only I start to think: What if something happened to my kids at the sitter's and she's the one calling me because my husband is busy on the freakin' gun range and can't hear his cell phone to know there's trouble?

I start to picture kids holding fractured arms who've fallen out of trees. Kids with scraped and bloodied knees who've crashed their bikes. Kids who ran with scissors and got them lodged in their eyeballs.

I start to wonder if Waxing Chick would mind handing me my phone.

Nah...that would be silly...

UNLESS...what if the reason that Hubster couldn't answer the phone when the sitter called him was because there was some horrible incident on the GUN RANGE wherein he was accidentally shot in the FACE or some other necessary organ? And what if at JUST THAT VERY MOMENT he was lying in a hospital bed BLEEDING and the incessant buzzing was the Captain of the Sheriff's Department trying to tell me to COME QUICK because he's FADING FAST...

I half wanted to get up and grab the damned thing myself, but I told myself I was being silly. I mean, I might get my waxy crotch-parts stuck to my shirt. And THEN what would I say to the sitter?

Instead, I waited patiently, trying to keep breathing like they teach you to do in those pre-baby classes, telling myself no one was really dying and only half believing myself.

FINALLY finally finally, Waxing Chick is done and she leaves me alone to change and admire her torture/handiwork. I, of course, sprint across the room to grab my phone instead.

I find it in my purse, hit a button to bypass my texts and to get the "missed calls" list and see who's called three times. Not the sitter. Not some Sheriff's Deputy from the hospital. MY MOTHER.

And before you can wonder, I immediately knew there wasn't anything wrong with her. She just knows exactly the right moment to reach out and touch someone.

Camping: nature's way of promoting the motel industry.

~ Dave Barry

I have great memories of camping as I was growing up. Sleeping in a tent was always fun, even if it meant there'd be a stick imprint in your shoulder when you crawled out of your tent early the next morning. Your exit always coming just about the time that the temperature of said tent went from 70° to 130,000°F when the sun hit it.

It may have been getting to eat those tiny little single-serving boxes of cereal. Or pancakes made outdoors, on a griddle perched at the end of a picnic table.

It may have been that there were usually playgrounds nearby, with new kids to play with, and paved paths that curved intricately around other campsites, just begging you to ride your bike and explore.

I'm not a girlie girl - I can set up a tent or build a fire like no one's business. But back when I was three months pregnant with Nick and Hubs and I made our usual Memorial Day trip to camp with my brothers and my Dad in Buckhorn State Park, where you park in a lot and then load up all your gear into carts to walk a mile into the woods and camp on the shores of the Wisconsin River?

I decided I no longer wanted to camp. May in Wisconsin is as unpredictable as it sounds, and that weekend we had 40mph winds coming straight off the water, driving rain and river water into the seams of our old tent. Getting up in the middle of the night to pee in a porta potty in the middle of the woods as often as a pregnant woman needs to? I was soaked to the bone and cold and smelt like campfire and the nearest shower was a very long walk and a car ride away. It was miserable.

We cut our weekend short, apologizing to no one for our quick departure. When the zipper ripped out of the fabric while taking our tent down? We threw the damn thing into the garbage.

With two little kids at home, the thought of camping never crossed our minds. Our typical vacations were at indoor-waterpark resorts or rented cabins with indoor plumbing and satellite TV.

But last year, some damn show introduced to Nick the idea of camping and convinced him that sleeping outside was everything a four-year-old needs in life. How could we deny him when (as kids) Hubs and I loved to camp as well?

So we decided we'd take them to the Yogi Bear Campground in the Dells (as family friendly as you can get) for a few nights. We'd swim in the lake and make s'mores and possibly even catch a few fireflies.

I wish I could tell you it didn't suck.

But when we checked in and got our site assignment, we found we had paid for a site that was separate from the rest of the entire campground. We? Were across the road in an open field. Nowhere near the water park or playground or even the nice indoor bathrooms with flush toilets. We were in an area as big as a football stadium with only a half-dozen other suckers campers with no shade and a porta potty.

Poo. (Literally.)

Our first night there? Temps dipped into the low 40s. Our kids slept in winter PJs, sweatshirts, and sleeping bags, with an extra blanket over the top. Some friends joined us our second day (wisely staying in a hotel down the street, btw) and we had a good day riding the Ducks and going out for ice cream.

The kid falls asleep EVERY time he's on a boat.
He lasted 10 minutes into the Duck ride.

The weekend had begun to look promising - until that night when Nick tripped over a stick and we thought he broke his hand.

Its a good thing that at 9pm we had to load him into the car and drive 20 minutes into Baraboo to the nearest hospital, because we were literally pulling into the parking lot when he exclaimed, "MOM! I CAN MOVE MY HAND! LOOK!"

We must have looked insane in the middle of the little country street, dome light on, twisted around in our seats barking orders at a small boy: "Now lift your arm up and touch your head. OK - now, can you give me thumbs up? How 'bout the pointer? Now twist it around like this!"

Long story short, it was a long night and no one got any s'mores.

The next morning we decided our camping adventure was OVER and decided we'd spend the next evening in a hotel. (Thankfully Carrie got us a great rate!) I happily drove down the street to get coffee, parking the car sideways and leaving the radio on while we packed and had breakfast. At some point I walked down the street to take a shower.

It never occurred to me when I got back that the radio was no longer on.

A short while later, Jay hit the button on the tailgate to open the glass partition, then shook his head. "Did the kids lock the doors?"

"I don't think so, why?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew what had happened.

DEAD BATTERY.

Shit.

Enter the World's Greatest Friends to come save us. AGAIN.

Our day in the hotel/waterpark was fun and uneventful, but next time?

We'll just skip the tent camping, thankyouverymuch.

Tempting fate.

She's my oldest friend. We should be able to talk about anything, but somehow there's this THING between us that makes some of the more intimate things uncomfortable -- and some that really aren't that intimate seem to be.

So we sat, at dinner, staring mostly at our food. To say we'd grown apart would not be true...we just never were that close in some ways.

We have both been struggling lately with our own dilemmas, both of which are par for the course for our own lives...more of the same all over again. We purged our hearts to each other, cautiously, over enchiladas and tequila-laced drinks, shedding tears and offering support. Neither of us knew the right thing to say to the other.

I admitted to her that the news of a friend finding she was pregnant was like a punch to the gut. I was really going out on a limb to admit this to her.

We had an argument once, in the car on the way home from work. Years ago, we'd spent a few months carpooling when we worked together, heading home in the dark of the early evening in the dead cold of winter. It wasn't an intentional fight...she had admitted to me that she may want to have a child some day, but only one. I pushed her, asking if she didn't value the relationship, the lessons, the comraderie she learned from her sister. What seemed to me such a "given" (why wouldn't you WANT to have two?) was obviously a feeling she didn't share, and I was treading on what I didn't realize to be thin ice. She was very sensitive about the topic entirely.

I'm an oaf that way sometimes.

So we don't talk about kids and families all that much. I have one and she doesn't, and while I think she likes mine more than OK, we have never much discussed it after that afternoon in the car.

I mean, it came up. But we would mention it quickly and then push it aside.

I don't really know why.

But anyway, I told her I was bummed because after months of trying, this other friend was pregnant and I wasn't.

Then she said something to me that was so perfect in its simplicity, here I am writing about it all these weeks later.

"Why do you want to have another baby now? I mean, you're obviously as far stretched as possible. A new baby is not going to fix things, you know."

She was right. Having another baby won't make me any less stressed, won't put us in our new house any sooner, won't magically change my husband's salary to make it easier for me to stay home.

I sort of stammered in response, paused, and admitted, "I know it won't, but I just DO."

And that was that...we sort of moved on, circled back delicately, and then the conversation moved on entirely.

But the fact that I was so moved by the question that I've thought it over for days on end tells me something.

I still want that baby.

I don't think I could put the reason into words...watching my boys giggle together on a mini-roller coaster at the fair was all it took for me to know, in my gut, that I have that family I've always wanted. And at the same time, I know that my family isn't yet complete.

I've asked myself if I'm tempting fate to so desperately want something that some days seems so far out of reach...especially when my current family is so GOOD. I've come to the conclusion that there has never been anything else in my life that I've really wanted with this conviction, and therefore I will continue to fight for it.

But why not now? As much as I shouldn't use another baby as an excuse to change my life or make decisions that are otherwise hard for me to make, I also shouldn't let my fear of the unknown stop me from adding to our family, either.

I mean, if everyone waited to have children until the time was absolutely perfectly right, well, there probably wouldn't be ANY babies, would there?

Whirling around at the fair from Mommy Wins on Vimeo.

The party.

So, the other thing that's kept me from posting lately was the party I mentioned yesterday. My younger brother turns 30 this week, and his girlfriend approached me almost a year ago, asking if I, the family party planner, would help her throw him a surprise party.

How could say no? (Its a sickness, really.)

We planned for months, laughing and joking as we IM'd each other and sent messages via Facebook. We got to know each other better as we took secret trips to the party outlet store, and bonded while we shopped the aisles of the dollar store for items to put into our "man-yata". (Its like a piñata, but for men. Filled with things that, um, men like.)

This past Saturday was D-Day. D Day to pray for nice weather.

We reserved a picnic area at a local park, so I was in a state of near panic when the forecast called for afternoon thunderstorms. We had only two small tents, so my Dad came prepared with a large canvas and plenty of rope, but that didn't really put my mind at ease. It was so windy when we got there to set up that the first tent literally blew away, rolling end over end toward the street before we could stake it down.

Because my brother Al rents the upper of our duplex, we needed not only a plan to get him to his own party, but one to get him out of the way so we could load up our mass amounts of party supplies as well. The idea? Take him fishing!

So my dear Hubs, forever making sacrifices to help his crazy wife, came home from working an overnight shift and packed up to head out fishing. He, my brother Jeff, Al and Nick headed out for the lake around 9.

Now, it was necessary to bring my boys along on some of the party planning trips - they were with us the day we picked up Jorge (that's "Hor-hey" for you non-Spanish speakers) from the party supply store. By this time last week, Nick was excitedly counting down the days until the party, riling up his brother, chanting "PAR-TEE, PAR-TEE, PAR-TEE!" and talking about the "pinana" while I nervously glanced around to quickly make sure Al wasn't just outside the window.

In an effort to make my day-of workload a bit lighter, Jay suggested he take Nick fishing with him.

I thought he was nuts. Surely the fishing crew would barely be out of the driveway before the secret was given away. But Jay spent all day Friday coaching his four-year-old.

"What're we doing tomorrow?" he'd ask.

"FISHING!" Nick would shout. "And then the party!"

We'd shake our heads and roll our eyes and try again, until finally, this process repeated enough times, we finally got the results we were looking for.

"What're we doing tomorrow?"

"FISHING!!!! And then nothing else."

Close enough.

Saturday morning, Nick leaps out of bed to say, "MOM! Its going to be so much fun - I can't wait to go fishing. And nothing else!"

Heaven help us.

ANYWAY...the boys headed off to fish. I'm pleased to report that the secret was kept (good boy!) and they got Al to the park without him suspecting a thing.

It was a loooong day, but a great time. The weather even cooperated.

My brother Al & our Dad


Duck Farts
"Fam-ly tradition..."


Tomato thief


Al & our Grandpa

“If you don't know your family's history, then you don't know anything. You are a leaf that doesn't know it is part of a tree.”

-- Michael Crichton

Dad & Grandma Ebert, June 2002

The most powerful woman I've ever met is the tiny, softly wrinkled old woman in this photo.

It was taken on her 101st birthday.

Anna Ebert was my great-Grandmother. When she celebrated her 100th birthday in June of 2001, hundreds of family members came from all over the country to southwest Wisconsin to celebrate.

We're one of those rare extended families that know each other - and like each other.

One of my second cousins teaches at the school two blocks down the street from my house. I'm friends on Facebook and MySpace with several third cousins. If I were to randomly run into a great-Aunt or -Uncle on the street or in the grocery store, they'd know me by name and give me a hug. (And I'm sure that Uncle Harv would probably still tease me and threaten to cut off my tongue...long story.)

It was the sheer number of those well-known relatives that really struck me, back on that hot summer day seven years ago. Doctors, farmers, teachers, parents...five generations of God-fearing, slightly rowdy and fun-loving individuals...were all there simply because she had lived.

Even today when I begin to question myself as a parent, and wonder if I'm really making a difference in the lives of my children I try and stop and remember Grandma Ebert. Such a small person made such a big impact on all of our lives.

If only I'm so lucky as to live another seventy years to see what kind of impact I might make.

For more photo memories, check out Marcy, Jen and Carrie's places!

And check out today's Mommy Confessional - you could win a prize for your "Mommy fail"!

Perfect imperfections.

Several years ago, I was at a family gathering on a hot summer day. I had been sitting on a porch railing, laughing and talking with my Aunt. When I jumped down from my perch, I landed with a slight "OOF!" and noticing that my jean shorts were just a wee bit too short and a wee bit too snug around my middle, I pulled at them uncomfortably, trying to stretch them back into position.

"Did something shrink in the dryer?" she asked with a smile and a wink.

I smiled back. "No, just gained a few pounds, that's all."

"I was just trying to give you an --"

I cut her off. "I know, I know." I smiled and walked away.

I don't sugarcoat things. I tell it like it is.

I don't see any reason to apologize for things that nearly everybody does.

This includes admitting that I'm not a perfect parent.

I sometimes lose my patience when really maybe I should be noticing just how smart my kids are in their quest to ask eleventy-two questions about an ambulance (that passed 10 minutes ago), and that, yes, they're right -- its siren sounds JUST LIKE a car alarm. I just wish they didn't feel the need to provide just so many examples of that siren.

If they're wearing sweats and a t-shirt for the day, I sometimes happily suggest that they're already in "cozies" and maybe they just might want to sleep in those clothes, too.

Some Saturday mornings I hype the kids up about from-the-can cinnamon rolls while I make them and that's all I serve for breakfast. Its good for you cuz I baked it, dammit.

Other nights we have PB&J for dinner. And I don't apologize for it.

Oprah dedicated an entire show a week or so ago (the "Dooce" episode) to the embracing the real truths of motherhood. Moms from across the country admitted to all sorts of things, from peeing in a diaper while on a long road trip (I so would have blogged that) to the amount of time it took them to love their babies after they were born.

I know this it may not come so easily to everyone, but why are we so afraid to admit these things?

NO ONE is perfect.

NO ONE has all the answers.

Why can't we just laugh about our downfalls along the way?

Cuz you know what? When my kids are making irritating noises in the backseat, I know that I can "out-siren" them both. It makes them stop dead in their tracks and giggle.

I have just a wee bit less laundry some days -- it makes up for the days they insist on taking pair after pair of socks off their feet and stuffing them God knows where (probably so that they can be "found" later while playing Dirty Jobs), but, eh...whatever. The laundry will never be caught up anyhow.

I can tell by the way they fight over who gets to stand on the kitchen stool that making those sweet rolls with Momma is pretty much the highlight of their week. (Whoever doesn't get the stool gets to sit directly in front of the stove and watch them cook. I am a genius, no?)

And if you give them raisins (which you've somehow convinced them are really candy and that they only get if they're really really good) and milk with PB&J, then dude, you hit like all the food groups and you didn't have to cook a damn thing.

I sometimes sit and think about all the ways my parents screwed up as I was growing up -- some of them were pretty darn major ways, in fact -- and I still turned out to be a fully functioning member of society. I own a home, I have a job, I'm pretty darn near well balanced. (Most days.)

The minor gaffs from day to day will most likely go unnoticed.

There's no way you'll really know until they're fully grown, of course, but I'm sure your kids will notice your attitude along the way.

Some days you've just got to let them dress themselves.

Now - come clean. What did YOU do this week that may not have been perfect?

I promise to only laugh out of love.

Go over to Carrie's place for more wicked awesome photos with a story behind them!

Growing like weeds

The weather was beautiful yesterday, and by that I mean it was about 50 degrees and sunny.

We had a bunch of picking up and little things to do outside, so the fam spent most of the late afternoon/evening hours enjoying the fresh air.

Well, mostly enjoying it anyway.

After dinner, Hubs surprised the boys with a little "campfire". Will is too small to remember fires from last year, and they both loved it. (By loved it I mean they sat pretty still in their chairs and didn't make me nuts worrying about them falling into the fire.)

(We had a bunch of scrap wood from the work we've been doing around the house.)

It struck me - we no longer have babies.

We have two boys. {sniff}

Will, 11 months
January 2008

For more photo memories, check out Marcy Writes, Cheaper than Therapy and Nate and Jake's Mom.

Its Monday. Again.

I did not over-run my kids on Saturday.

We did not drag them to a birthday party and miss nap time, then laugh as Will's poor head bobbed while eating dinner. (That dinner was not at a fast food restaurant.)

I did not forget my camera this morning to share with you the pictures of said child slumped over, sleeping while folded in half in his car seat. (Actually, I'm pretty bummed I can't share that with you. It was pretty cute!)

We did not then take them downtown to the Buck's game so that we could indulge our two-year-old in his favorite sport, basketball.

We did not stay through the entire game, leaving the arena around 10 p.m. That would crazy, what with no naps!

We did not put our kids to bed around 11 p.m., then skip church to let them sleep in.

We did not also skip the evening Mass because said children's heads were beginning to bob toward their dinner plates at 6:30 p.m.

But we did create memories for our kids that they won't soon forget!

(Pictures are forthcoming, I promise! And both kids sat enraptured through the entire game. The only downside to the event was that we got there early to buy a few souvenirs and Will pitched a fit that we wouldn't buy him another basketball. The foam finger just didn't cut it for him, apparently.)

For more Mommy 'not me' confessions, check out My Charming Kids.
(SIDE NOTE: It looks like "MckMama" isn't posting a Not Me post today - her youngest is in the hospital. Pretty scary. Stop by and offer her your comfort!)

Hindsight is 20/20

In the midst of this crazy hectic week, somehow I found myself sitting on the couch late one night, looking for one picture out of hundreds - no - thousands.

I browsed through disc after disc (I'm not trying to fool ANYONE - I haven't printed a picture since my youngest son was a newborn) at first only halfway paying attention.

I wanted this photo for a post, and while I never found it, I suddenly realized I was smiling.

2008 was a rough year for us. Not the way it was horrible for those many many families who lost their jobs or homes, but it was a year heavy on work and light on play - and too light on time together as a family.

When 2009 began, Hubster and I had a conversation about needing to make a change. We were running ourselves ragged. And while we both believe in working hard for things in life, there has to be balance - has to be time to enjoy all that you've worked for - otherwise why work for it?

I was surprised to find that the majority of our photos from last year showed a happy, smiling, active family. A family that was clearly having fun together.

(In case you're new 'round here, hubby and I worked opposite shifts from the time I went back to work when Will was 12 weeks old until he started a new job earlier this month. That means that for two years, Hubs and I saw each other for three minutes a day, five days a week when we switched cars outside my work.)

While I don't hope to go back to those living arrangements any time soon, I'm glad we did it. We have two wonderful sons, and we were the ones spending nearly every minute of every day with them. If it wasn't me, it was Hubby that was around to see Will take his first steps or teach Nick to count. (He's four and he can get to 39 before asking, "What comes next, Mom?")

Amidst the photos of my Grandmother holding my infant son while she still had the strength to hold him and Trick or Treating with Daddy were the silly pictures. Those I capture because I want to remember every aspect of our lives.

The ones that depict the reality of our lives as well as the meaningful ones do. Should I ever get a real photo album, I hope I'll still think its a good idea to include them.

Some children are slow to learn certain things.

You'll see Will is teary in this picture. He'd already been told

42 times not to eat the play-dough.

After time 43.

This one I like to call, "Will learns that chalk doesn't taste good, either."

For more reminiscing, check out Marcy's 'Fro Carnival!

What a bunch of Wii-ners

It was a very Wii Christmas here in the Mommy Wins household. We got Rock Band and Wii Fit and a bunch of other games that are entirely way more fun than they should be.

We got our Wii this past fall when we just happened to be in the right place at the right time to find one. (Which was a near miracle that we were together in that right place, too!)

As I've mentioned, we're planners that talk about something for quite some time - deciding whether or not its something we want to do, if its something we want to spend the money on, etc. - then just all of a sudden up and do it one day when the mood strikes. We like to think we're impulsive that way. (Shh...just let me think that, huh?)

So prior to buying ours, we'd borrowed our friends' Wii over the Easter weekend and played for a few days with our extended families to see if we wanted a game system of our own.

Cuz nothing says "The Lord has risen!" like a little Super Mario Party.

Jay happened to have off on Easter Sunday this past year, and after playing host and hostess all day long to several family members, cleaning up and then tucking our boys in bed (late), we decided we deserved a little Wii time, too.

The Wii was new to us and was not ours, so we followed the instructions to the letter. If the little message on the screen said to fasten the wrist strap, or play with the cushy remote cover on, well, then we did. We were very careful to mark out our safety circles before going on to pitch, bat and bowl.

My hubby and I are pretty competitive. I'll just tell you there was a little smack talk goin' on.

OK, there was a LOT of smack talk, and, um, there may or may not have been wagers as to who would owe whom what if he or she lost.

A-hem.

ANYWAY...lots of Wii was played and I had had the foresight to take the following Monday off, so it was early in the morning hours when we decided we were just going to play one more game of bowling. Cuz I think we were both reeeely close to bowling 100 point games. (OK, don't remind me that my four year old now regularly bowls 200+ point games. But I digress.)

The one warning that Wii doesn't give you, though?

During the course of your game (or 20) you may just move from your original spot a bit.

And when you do? Your safety circle may no longer be safe.

So picture this. Its 1:30 in the morning and two big dumb idiot adults are very tired and giggling like a bunch of 12-year-olds in a middle school health class. We were beyond ridiculous, laughing at things that really weren't funny and our scores were nearly tied.

Its the tenth frame of our 312th game of bowling and hubby's up first. He spouts off something along the lines of, "Dude, you are SO going to OWE ME..." when CRASH!

My arms fly up to cover my head and I drop down onto the couch.

A moment later, I look up to see the Hubster looking around to see what's happened.

"What in the he--" is all he gets out before he loses himself laughing.

I split second later I see it, too, and laugh so hard I nearly wet my pants.

His near-empty glass of soda, that had been sitting in the middle of the coffee table, was now 2" nearer to the far edge than it had been.

All that remained was the bottom inch of the cup, peaks of ragged glass pointing up and shards of glass ALL OVER THE LIVING ROOM.

Glass is on the floor, the chair, the entertainment center. Shards have flown into the magazine rack, the heat register and some has even made it off to the left onto the dining room floor.

But the soda? Didn't spill.

My lovely hubby hula hooping his arse off on Wii fit.

Oh, and by the way? If you give your technically inept Mother and four-year-old son the microphone so that you and your brother can rock out to Mississippi Queen on Rock Band he'll attempt to sing along to lyrics that aren't completely appropriate for a preschooler to know.

But trust me...he'll remember them!

Not quite swinging, yet.

I had meant to take my laptop with me on our trip this weekend but when it came time to load up the car, well, one more thing may have just put us over the weight limit.

We had planned to be on the road to visit hubby's Dad & family by 9 a.m on Saturday. When we left the driveway at 10:30, well, all I cared about was getting the little TVs on in the backseat and making it through the drive-thru to get my coffee. Quiet boys + yummy coffee + hubby driving = bliss.

After weeks and weeks of snow and freezing temps, it hit 52° in southeastern Wisconsin on Saturday. This is what I saw when we stopped at the ATM:

See the steam rising off the mountains of snow?

Hm. View from the road later:

There's a car in there - really.

Got lots of eerie/cool pictures from the road, like the good dork I am.

Once we got there, we had a great time, visiting and opening gifts with the in-laws. We had lots of this:

And this:

But they're cousins...

And plenty of this:

I think the boys nearly wore a groove in the floor they made so many
laps around the kitchen table!

OOOOH! And one more thing!!!

Hubby surprised me with a Nikon D60 for Christmas!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEE! I'm a little excited, can you tell? (Did you see that? A super girlie "EEEE" scream. I never do that.)

I attempted a few shots last night, but they were truly horrible and I need to check it out in more light. In fact, I can't believe I haven't spent the entire morning ignoring my family and puttering around with the thing. Well, actually, I can believe it - if I sat down and did nothing but play with the new camera I'd still be under a mountain of cardboard and twist ties with two overtired children who haven't eaten anything.

So, off to play I go...here's hopin' the boys are actually napping and getting back into their regular routine!

Unprecedented

A few completely unheard of things happened this weekend.

1) Jay went out of town to visit a friend and dropped the boys off at his Dad's, leaving me at home a l o n e for 24 hours.

2) I spent a lot of that time with my mother.

I've gone out of town for business several times since having children, but that's really not the same. The real honest and goodness first time I spent any good length of time by myself since having kids was when I went to Blissdom in October.

The conference was great (and I mean that in the most literal and sincere of ways) but still, there was an agenda and I had to get up all early and stuff. So my plans for this past Saturday night and Sunday?

NOTHING.

I had absolutely NO PLANS.

And it was glorious.

That? Was the best gift my hubby could have gotten me for Christmas.

I headed out to my Grandpa's house on Saturday night where there ended up being an impromptu family gathering. Lots of food, cookies, beer and conversation. Funny stories I'd never heard that reminded me good ol' Papa was once young and did crazy things with his friends, and that he was once where I am now...feeling overwhelmed by kids and work.

I didn't have to dish up food for my boys and beg them to eat. I didn't have to wash faces and hands and try and keep them from running laps around the crowd and worry about them crashing into the fireplace. I didn't have to beg them to stop wrestling or whining and find a book or a toy or crayons to keep them busy time and time again.

I had time to talk and laugh...and to listen. And for that small opportunity, I am grateful.

That night? I put on cozy pajamas and slipped into bed between flannel sheets.

ALONE.

I slept like a rock.

There were no little people sleeping sideways with their feet in my face. No snoring hubby trying to cuddle to me in the middle of the night. (Uh, I'm sleepin' here. Get outta my space.) And if it weren't for a moronic accidental wrong number call from hubby's Mom's boyfriend (follow that?) at 6:45 a.m., I would have slept for 10 hours straight.

I rolled outta bed when I was ready, then had coffee and checked email without feeling guilty because some little one wanted to read a book on my "ap". My only plan for the day included heading out to one store to play a little catch-up on my Christmas shopping.

Now, my Mom and I don't often see eye to eye. We're just completely different people - I'm practical, she's...floofy. Flighty. Emotional. I'm tell it to me like it is, don't sugar coat it, be real. She cried when I told her my cousin's wife had her baby. (A cousin from my Dad's side of the family. They've been divorced 20 years and she probably hasn't seen this cousin of mine in, uh, 25? But I digress.)

So when she called Sunday morning and asked if I wanted company while shopping? Well, I normally would have said "No thanks." But it must have been the extra rest, cuz I said "Sure" and before I knew it we were on our way out the door.

I make lists and head into stores prepared - she browses every isle, buys things she already has and tends to wrap Christmas gifts without putting tags on them. (I tease her every year about it - I can't tell you how many times my brothers have opened gifts only to have them quickly snatched away with an, "Oops. That one's not for you.")

First store? I let her do her wandering - I mean, shopping - while I headed my own way, straight for the items I knew two of my brothers would like and actually needed. Later, when she flipped through racks of sweatshirts, unable to decide if she actually wanted to buy some, or for whom, I walked away, my list for that store complete. Thinking I was just killing time, I looked up and did a double take.

THE MOST PERFECT GIFT FOR MY HUBBY.

I had had no idea what to get him and there it was. I scooped it up, giddy, and all but rubbing my hands together at my own cleverness for finding it.

Having had good luck in that store, we went to another. More people crossed off the shopping list. We stopped for a late lunch. And it was nice. After that, a third store for a return and then I had a crazy idea.

"We should have a wrapping party. We need wine."

My family was on their way home, but we had time. We stopped at the liquor store, she headed home to pick up gifts she'd previously bought and I had the dining room ready for wrapville when she got back. Wine was uncorked, Christmas tunes were a blarin' and tags made it onto her gifts. (I made sure of it. In fact, the issue of my Mom wrapping gifts so last minute so as to cause the entire family stress and anger has been such an issue in past years I don't know why we didn't start having 'wrap parties' long ago. Gifts are wrapped ahead of time and we HAD FUN DOING IT!)

So. That's my "My Weekend" in not-so-much of a nutshell. I feel more rested, the Christmas shopping list is nearly done and on top of it? ALL MY GIFTS ARE WRAPPED.

{{exhale}}

Thankful.

There are some images
I see and wish
I could sear into my memory forever.

B is for boogers...and beer

The boys and I went to my Grandpa's house for dinner tonight and it was easy to see how much he enjoyed them. He said to me, "This is what its all about, right here. Not every person gets to live long enough to see their great-grandchildren play."

Just after he said that, I seized the opportunity to sit back and watch while the boys wrestled with my cousin. I saw the happy little smiles on their faces as they jumped and rolled. Sure, it was a bit on the wild and noisy side, but they were thoroughly enjoying themselves, giggling and whooping and running in circles. The energy they had was exhausting, but everyone watching them was laughing and smiling, too.

I had the rare opportunity to see them as an outsider might - someone who knows how smart and funny and cute they are but who isn't so deep in the quicksand of it all so as to miss the absolute...joy they are, too.

So when the conversation on the way home went AGAIN to sounding out words that start with particular letters (a very common game for us since Nick's started preschool), I didn't tell Nick it was quiet time. (The game Mommy tries to get them to play when they're already in PJs and we're in the car after 8 p.m.)

"Mom! What words start with T?" T was the letter of the week last week. I know he knows words that start with T off the top of his head, but I played along.

"Uh, truck?"

"Yep! You're right. What else, Momma?"

"Um, tent?"

"Yep! Good job Mom! My turn!"

"Let's do B!" I exclaimed. B was the letter of the week two or three weeks ago. I thought I'd be really testing him. "What words start with B?"

"Hmmm...boogers start with B."

"Uh, yeah, honey. Boogers start with B. What else?"

"Oh, I know!!! BEER! Beer starts with B, Mommy!"

I could hear his smile in the dark, proud that he came up with two B words so quickly, and thoughts of future parent-teacher conferences immediately sprang to mind. But instead of redirecting his attention to a more kid-friendly word that started with B, I just smiled back and said, "Yes, honey...yes, it does."

To think...they may reproduce...

Today (Wednesday night as I write this) is my younger brother Jeff's birthday.

You may remember Jeff...he was in the pictures from our fishing trip this past spring.

Jeff had a big announcement for us at dinner this evening.

He and his beautiful, sweet, cute, charming, who puts up with all his crap girlfriend have gotten ENGAGED!!! (C'mon now, we all have "crap". The trick, as I've told Jeff for years, is to find one who's crap you can handle.)

See how pretty she is? How'd he get so freakin' lucky as to land HER?

Anywhoo...I'm excited as a pig in poo to have another sister-in-law, and one who lives a bit closer. They're already talking about a date next fall (c'mon, I know you wanna awwww...) and all evening I've been a little lighter on my feet, a bit more patient with my kids...just a wee bit excited.

Then, sitting here, it hit me.

This is what their KIDS might look like.

Get yours! http://www.babymamamaker.com

Ha...just kiddin' guys. CONGRATULATIONS to you both. I love you!!!

Happy Halloween!

This year, pumpkin carving was the complete opposite of last year. In October of 2007, Will was about eight months old, and he loved the feel of the gooshy insides.

This year, notsomuch...

You want me to stick my hand WHERE?!?

Last year, this was as far as Nick was willing to go:

Oh my god - look at how SKINNY he is!!!

This year? GUNG. HO.

"DAD! I want a SCARY pumpkin!"

The hubby did a good job, eh?

Have you written a recent flash back post? Link up! But use your permalink or I'll send a goblin after you!

Gettin' back in the swing

Its weird. I had no one to take care of for 25 years of my life but myself and did a darned good job of it. Since having kids, you take me away from them for a few days and its as if I forget how to function.

Hubs and I had a great time on Friday night...it was just really cool to be part of such a big gathering (check out this post and this one for story and pics of Harley's 105th Anniversary in town this past weekend). The sheer number of people and motorcycles was truly awe inspiring.

And for those of you who asked, yes, hubs did take me back to our youth together while we were out that night. No, I didn't drink one too many, didn't start a debate with a drunk, didn't ride the mechanical bull...but I had to help him push start his bike. I claimed years ago that I was old enough to never have to push a vehicle ever again, and this time I was in boots with heels. But you know what? It was funny as hell. I laughed silly while running across that parking lot in the dark, remembering how I used to have to do that to his '76 Celica. We just parked uphill for the rest of the night. You have kids, you don't go out riding often enough and your danged battery goes. Isn't that true of life?

The rest of the weekend I just felt "off". I'm actually caught up with the laundry (shocking, I know) and had a few restful days hanging out with the fam and cooking out on the grill...enjoying the last hurrah of summer. But as I look around as I write this Sunday night, my living room is a MESS! I'm still exhausted and I just can't seem to turn off this danged computer. I wish I had a little more to show for my nice, relaxing five-day weekend. (I know, I know...I'll shut up.) Nothing on the agenda for tomorrow, which is nice, but then why do I feel like I should be doing something?!? It feels like a waste to let it pass by, even though I know we'll enjoy the day, no matter what we do.

Hope you've all had relaxing weekends (or action-packed, if that's more your style). I promise to start providing some real quality content one of these days. If I ever get back "with it" again, that is.

Remember that time Uncle Al fell off the roof?

Nick loves to tell crazy stories to random people, and he always starts with "Remember the time blah blah blah blah blah happened?" I'd love to tell him, "Hon, was this random person THERE what that happened? Then no, they wouldn't remember!" but the minds of pre-schoolers defy logic and it would probably just make him cry.

Instead, depending on which story he's telling (cuz you know he has an arsenal of more than a dozen beauties) I either turn a deep shade of red and laugh, trying to explain that we are not REALLY like that to complete strangers or I ignore him.

His favorite?

"Remember that time Uncle Al fell off the roof?"

Here is where I must tell you that these stories are real, every single one of them. Embellishing stories isn't something he's learned to do yet.

And we live in a very tall, 2 1/2 story house. Its a duplex, and my brother, Al, rents the upper flat from us.
This past winter, Will was less than a year old, and I was still fighting battles with putting both boys to bed at the same time. I'd resorted to rocking Will in the living room until he was asleep, then putting him and Nick in bed. (Gimme a break - its extra hard when your hubs isn't home nights to help divide and conquer!)


You may remember that the Midwest got a lot of snow this past winter. Well, one evening, the DirecTV went out as we were getting one heck of a whallop from Mother Nature. Because we lost reception on the dish, I put on a previously recorded show for Nick to keep him quiet because Will was just about out.

The phone rings. Its Al.

"Hey, is your TV out?" I might mention here that he also has DirecTV and that it runs through the same dish, so that's a stupid question.

"Yep. Out."

"Well, then I'm going to go out and see if I can knock some of the snow out of the dish. Just wanted to let you know that it'll be me making any noise you hear out there."

"Really? Al, why don't you wait until this storm passes? Its just going to fill up with snow again."

True to man form, he argues with me, and decides he's going to go out and give it a try anyway. Heaven forbid he be without TV for more than 10 minutes.

About two minutes pass and I hear a huge WHOOMP!!! toward the front of the house. Standing up with a sleeping Will in my arms, I look out the front windows, and see nothing. I went and put the baby in bed, figuring he probably hit the side of the house pretty hard with the ladder. I mean, not enough time had passed for him to get downstairs, get the ladder out of the garage, walk to the front of the house, climb up to the roof...

Just as I'm closing the bedroom door, Nick yells, "HEY! Uncle Al!!!" and goes running toward the kitchen.

Al walks in without greeting, saying, "Uh, you got a paper towel?" on his way to the bathroom.

Uh oh.

I get him the paper towel and see, as he's rinsing it in the bathroom sink, that the pad of his ring finger is cut and bleeding.

"I, uh, sorta fell off the roof," he admitted, wincing as the water hit the cut.

"YOU WHAT?!?"

"Well, don't worry. I'm OK."

A single guy with no roommates, my mind races, worrying for my younger (though obviously dumber) brother. I begin to think of concussions and internal bleeding, freaking out that he'll soon go back upstairs by himself and fall asleep, never to wake up again. "How do you know? Did you hit your head? Does anything else hurt? What if you forgot that you hit your head? You might have blacked out. What the hell happened?!?" I'm launching questions at him as fast as humanly possible.

"No, no, I'm not hurt. I told you." Sighing and shaking his head, he's clearly annoyed that someone's showing compassion.

"Well what the hell, AL!?!"

He wraps his fingertip in the paper towel and turns to face me.

"Well, see, I went out the front window."

"YOU WHAT?!?" Here's where I'll stop and mention that there is a porch off the front of the house, and the dish is installed on its roof, only one story up. His front windows look out over the porch.

"Well, I put on my golf shoes so I'd have more traction."

"OH. MY. GOD. YOU WHAT???" I truly can't believe what he's telling me.

"...and I grabbed my broom. To, you know, sweep the snow out of the dish."

[Insert more unintelligable freaking out from me, and notice the small boy standing in the hallway, eyes wide, scared for his uncle and probably his Mom. I mean, I don't know if my face has been that shade of red before or since. Except when he tells this story to the checkout girl at the grocery store.]

"...and I opened up my front window. I thought I'd just walk out there [never mind that the roof is sloped and icy] and sweep the snow out. No big whoop. But as soon as I let go of the window, *whoop!* my feet slid out from under me [ya think?!!?] and I sorta slid down the roof and fell off."

[Insert the silent sounds of my jaw dropping and hitting the floor. Because at this point I was speechless.]

"Yeah, I kinda fell on the front steps. I'm sorry, but I landed on your planter out there and its kinda broken."

"Who cares about the planter! Come sit down, are you sure you're OK? How'd you cut your finger?"

"Well, see, I was sorta scared, so I twisted around at the edge of the roof and grabbed on to the gutter. It cut my finger, so I let go, but it slowed me down a little bit." Now I'm looking closely at the cut to see if it needs stitches.

His hand is now 2" from my nose and I'm concentrating on it as he continues. "So I landed on your planter and I'm sorry, I'll buy you a new one. Then I heard this sliding sound, so I got out of the way. I thought it was my broom, cuz, you know, I dropped it, and I didn't want to get hit with it - OW! Dammit - don't touch that!!!"

"Sorry," I say, "I think it'll be OK. So did you get hit with your broom?"

"Uh, no. It wasn't my broom."

"Huh?"

"Uh, I left the window open when I came out. It was my dog."

...

...

I'll let that sink in, people. His friggin' dog is so dumb that it followed his master out onto a roof and FELL. OFF. TOO.

He goes on to say, "Yeah, I'm kinda worried about her. She's limping. Do you think I should take her to the vet?"

Are you laughing so hard you're crying yet? I will say, at the time, I was honest and truly still worried for my brother. I was still concerned about any as-yet-undiscovered injuries. I made him promise to call me in half and hour, and I called him half an hour after that, too.

Only later, when explaining to my hubby why he should look to see if our gutters had been damanaged did I completely break down, laughing till I was folded in half, tears streaming down my face.

His dog was OK, by the way. But you know what I found, the next day?

A single swatch of rooftop, as wide as a man's ass, swept clean of snow on our roof.