Not so adventures of the St. Clair clan...

I feel like a poser.  I'm working hard at doing this whole "adult" thing, but I'm pretty sure I'm over-aged to be this under qualified. I wonder why they teach Geometry, World Lit., Biology, Global Studies, and Physical Education in school, but they don't offer a class called Real Life.  I know a lot of 'real life' is integrated into these other classes, and you're supposed to glean life lessons alongside right angles, but I think I needed Captain Obvious Real Life as a core class in high school.  And because we are all idiots in high school, it needed to be offered again in college.  Maybe you weren't an idiot, but I certainly was, and I feel like some of that never wore off. As a kid, I thought adults had it all figured out.  They were beyond the insecurities and self consciousness of youth, they knew exactly what to do in any situation, and how to handle themselves.  Small talk wasn't a problem.  Matching clothing came naturally.  Pa...

I used to think I was a morning person.  I don't always enjoy waking up, but I do enjoy being  up, especially when the majority of the world (or at least our house) is still asleep.  That has happened all of never  times since our first born arrived on the scene five and a half years ago.  It's not entirely his fault.  I may or may not have trained him to be an early riser.  In order to run with friends, we had to get an early (read 4:45 am) start.  Eventually, that time moved back to 5:00 and then 5:30, but our boy really enjoyed the 5:00 am or before time frame because it took us four years to get him sleeping until something remotely close to 6:00 am.  He wakes up full throttle.  There is no easing into a state of wakefulness.  It could be singing or dancing or kickboxing, but if you are the sad sap that happens to still be in bed when he greets the day, you better protect your soft tissue.  For his sake, I hope he alw...

I'll let you in on a little secret: the happiest place on earth is NOT Disneyland.  When the booing and hissing subsides, I'll tell you what is the happiest place.  Wait for it.  Waaaait for it...Okay.  It's this place we affectionately call the "broken down house."  It might be a similar place for you.  Basically, it's the outdoors with no traffic, no screens, no play structures except those that occur naturally - you know, like trees and mud puddles.  It's magical.  We are going to live in this magical place soon and I hope the fascination and excitement stays with us long after the newness wears off.  The boys are free to dig, cut, climb, build, and imagine all sorts of creative schemes.  They've dug oceans, built spaceships, made monster truck tracks, and become very efficient loggers (with handsaws) since we started visiting this property.  They aren't the only one with imaginations at full tilt either.  Ross has his...

I love our kids.  I love them in a way I never knew was possible until I had them in my arms for the, well, like the tenth time.  The first few times I was pretty exhausted and a little delirious.  But since then it has been total and unconditional love - not to the "moon and back" because that line has been pretty well over done, but in Sawyer's words and the ultimate compliment, "as much as garbage trucks!"  I love them.  But sometimes, sometimes...I don't like them.  Today is one of those days. Oh, they are hard today.  We've all been there.  I hope.  They woke up looking for a fight, and despite my best intentions I gave them exactly  what they were looking for.  They are mouthy to me and ornery to each other.  Every activity they choose is either dangerous or destructive and everything is loud.  The fighting is loud.  The whining is loud.  The play is loud.  And I'm loud right along side them. ...

I may have mentioned somewhere that I'm a little overtired.  Naturally, that led me to try something new.  I recruited our boys to pick dinner recipes and cook with me once a week.  Because cooking with a three and five-year-old takes no patience whatsoever. The truth is, so long as I can handle a little extra mess and the fact that it may take a bit longer, the boys are pretty capable.  They look through their cookbook (I highly recommend the Sesame Street books - simple, healthy and actually pretty tasty recipes) and pick out the recipe they want to cook with me.  Then I set them up with tasks that are appropriate. Our first round Fischer picked salad with hard boiled eggs and Sawyer picked a simple chicken Parmesan recipe.  It turns out that Fischer doesn't like salad and Sawyer doesn't like chicken Parmesan.  Go figure.  Round two was a little more successful.  Fischer picked banana pancakes and Sawyer picked sloppy joes and cream of ...

I'm.  So.  Tired.  Not like the 'I've been working hard and am exhausted' kind of tired.  This is the 'I'm an eight to nine hour girl getting four to six non-continuous hours for two months straight and I can't focus on your words or keep my eyes from crossing and definitely shouldn't be driving' kind of tired.  So tired that I can't make simple sentences or remember words, I forgot how to make oatmeal (I've only made it every morning for the last ten years), I mixed up the twins...more than once, and I put lotion on my toothbrush... What I'm saying is, I should be napping right now instead of writing this because all four kids are in bed resting, if not sleeping.  But who has time for that?  Besides, oh there it is, as soon as I even think about sleep, the twins start crying...and just on cue both are letting me know they can hear my thoughts.  Silly me.  (Seriously though, how do they know?!)  I have an appreciation for twin parent...

A friend stopped by the other day with her sons who are about the same age as our boys.  Our boys were on a weekend getaway with the grandparents - they hated every second of it.  Between the bonfires, rock collecting, cutting stuff down, side-by-side rides, BB guns, and trampoline you can see why they didn't want to come home.  Goals.  Anyway, back to my friend.  She brought her boys in the house while ours were gone, and the most incredible thing happened: they didn't say a word. They played with toys in silence  the length of their visit!  I didn't know that was a thing! In contrast, the carpet cleaners came to shampoo our carpet last month.  Our boys talked to them the entire  time.  Carpet shampooers are NOT quiet machines.  Our boys are louder.  Mike from Stanley Steamer (shout out to Stanley Steamer for a great job) now knows everything Sawyer has ever done or wanted to do in his entire life. Mike got a $20 tip for gra...

When does modesty set in for boys?  Or at least the inkling of modesty?  Asking for a friend. This has never been an issue for our boys...at least not when they are sleeping.  The rest of the time it's pretty much a crap-shoot whether or not they are wearing an appropriate amount of clothing. My friend's son is a full year younger than Sawyer and he has started getting dressed in the bathroom for privacy.  I'm hoping he's just advanced for his age because Sawyer just got busted the other night dancing naked in front of our living room window.  When Ross asked him what he was doing he said, "I don't know, Dad.  I'm just a wild man." Touché, son, but maybe we could be a little less public about it.     In the same vein, our boys do their bathroom business naked with the bathroom door wide open.  TMI?  Sorry, not sorry.  I asked Sawyer once why he strips down, and he said it was so that he didn't get his clothes messy.  Lik...

**Disclaimer: this is in no way a nutritional recommendation.  I am not a licensed nutritionist, dietitian, or health care professional.  These observations are purely based on experience.   Our boys are now three and five and they are not the best eaters.  That probably shocks exactly no one.  In fact, I'm pretty sure 99% of parents with preschool aged children just nodded and said "amen."  If you are part of the one percent, you also nodded and said "amen" because you didn't want to find yourself hated and ostracized by parents of preschool aged children everywhere. Our oldest son will generally try at least a bite of something.  If dessert is at stake, he may even force himself to clear his plate of an entire undesirable food thing.  Our youngest, on the other hand, has the superpower of being able to puke on command if he doesn't like something.  It makes it tricky. Their tastes and preferences are totally different.  That...

We try to instill in our kids the virtues and importance of sharing.  We share because we want others to share with us.  It's the right thing to do.  The nice thing to do. We are part of something bigger, and we need each other, so we share... ...but let me be clear, I'm not sharing.  I'm not trying to be a hypocrite here.  It's just that I shared my body with each of these little humans for no less than nine months.  I'm stretchy where I didn't use to be stretchy.  I have scars where I didn't use to have scars.  My legs are now road maps of veins that didn't use to show.  Don't even get me started on what remains of my belly button... So, I'm not sharing. I'm eating an entire ice cream cake by. my. self.  And I'm not sharing one. single. bite. Thank you and Amen.

My parents failed to mention that parenting is hard.  Obviously they had it pretty easy, or this little oversight would never have happened.  They are responsible adults after all.  Five and a half years in to this parenting gig, and the reality that it is hard continues to hit me on a regular basis.  For a hot second, we thought we were getting the hang of it with our two vivacious boys.  God doesn't let pride take hold for long I've noticed.  Just when we started patting ourselves on the back, He helped us back to our knees with the addition of two more...girls.   We don't do girls.   Or at least we didn't.  God decided to dismiss that idea as well because let's face it, we were pretty proud of the fact that we didn't "do girls."  And now we do.   Luckily, I've found that dinosaurs and flowers go together and pink matches camouflage just fine.  And while we are still getting the hang of wiping "...