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We are BACK. We are TIRED. And we have returned with some serious attitude. Well, the kids have, anyway. It's going to take a while to get back into the swing of things.
I'll try to keep my anecdotes of our trip as brief as possible, but brace yourselves; it was a long eight days and they did lots of cute stuff.
On our first day, we dressed Riley Kate up as Minnie Mouse (see external link, "Disney Pictures"-- and for those who don't know, Connor and Ror are afraid of the flash of the camera; they don't normally wear such twisted, squinty faces. LOL Obviously, our little cover girl does not have this problem). This was fabulous in her estimation-- she looked great, Dad made a fuss, and passersby constantly commented on her daunting cuteness. We thought she got the point-- she was in Disney, dressed up as Minnie Mouse. Evidently, though, she simply thought she was dressed in a polka-dot dress which made her look more fantabulous than usual, hence the comments. Because when she entered the park and saw some wench (Minnie Mouse to you and me) who dared to wear the same outfit that she did, to the same place on the same day, she FLIPPED OUT. She refused to talk to Minnie, would not pose for a picture, and even sat down on the ground in a rage. What a diva.
Ror spent the entire week engrossed in the important task of attempting to save the galaxy from the Evil Emperor Zurg. Buzz Lightyear's Spaceranger Spin was just calling his name, and we rode, oh, a bajillion times. Ror took his task (shooting the lazer gun at Zurg) EXTREMELY seriously, and was not at all appreciative of my diluting the experience with my photographic antics and childish comments-- you see, "Yay Ror!!!" is not appropriate when the galaxy is indeed in very real danger, with Ror and Buzz as its only hope.
Chris, Katie and I were all VERY impressed with Connor's memory of minutia from the 2004 trip, which was 20 months ago, before he was three. He remembered details from rides that we thought he had long forgotten. On our way into spaceship earth, he recalled seeing an animatronic of a sculptor chiseling a marble nude, and exclaimed, "Dad! Isn't this where we saw the breast? REMEMBER, DAD? IT WAS A LADY'S BREAST, right there on the RIDE! Will we see the breast again, Dad? Is the breast going to be there?" I took a picture to commemorate the occasion-- nothing makes for a great scrapbookable moment like a four-year-old embarassing his Dad at Disney World.
Riley Kate added to her oral repertoire during the week, with exclamations like, "Oh, WOW!" and "Look at THAT!" and, of course, in the retail capital of the universe, "I want THISH!" She also attempted to sing along with every musical show we saw. Additionally, she was sorely dissatisfied with the caliber of entertainment offered in the preshow waiting areas of the attractions, so she set to work developing a dramatic and moving modern dance performance which she performed with fervor during every preshow. After a while, I think she came to believe that the guests were all there for her.
Rory developed several charming new sassy retorts while in Disney-- the most lovely and original of which was, "You are NOT my Mommy," shouted at Katie when she calmly asked him to stop running full speed at the person in front of him. He's tried it out several times on the big boys since our return and, having found their response (shock and dismay) to his liking, he has decided to keep it on, not just as a special-occasion-and-vacation retort, but as an everyday response. He has also honed his indignance, used mightily along with the phrases, "I'm too BIG for that!" and "I am NOT going to [fill in whatever instruction he's just been given]." He says both with an air of feeling that his personal dignity has been violated just by the suggestion that he engage in such a puerile task.
After every show/ride/attraction that Connor enjoyed, he proceeded to set an extremely unrealistic timetable for our return-- "Dad! We need to see Fantasmic EVERY FIVE DAYS from now on, okay?" "I need to ride that Pirate ride every two days, got that?" For less enjoyable rides, like The Dinosaur (courtesy of Chris's and my poor decision making in letting him ride in the first place), he had a much more doable frame of time-- "Hey Dad. I DID like the ride, but I think I should be, like, TEN before I ride it again, okay?"
The kids had the time of their lives, and Chris and I did too. I can't speak for Katie, who is probably having her tubes tied as I write this, given that this was the longest stretch she's ever spent with the kids in an uncontrolled environment. In any case, though, after such a great time, we HAD to join the Disney Vacation Club, though we plan to bank our points and not return until the new baby turns two. In the meantime, our focuses are zooming in on the Elio Family's next big event-- Baby Elio's Big Arrival!
Gwen Stefani, isn't she the one who sings "I'm just a girl, that's all you let me be..."? That's how I feel right now! I am totally baffled by Connor's belief that while all other females over the age of 16 are women, I am a girl. Daddy is a man, Grandmom is a woman, Katie is a woman, I am a girl. Take the following conversation for example-- not the first, and probably not the last in this ongoing argument over my maturity (clearly noted in the fact that I am willing to argue the point with a four year old):
Connor: I'm so glad that you're my girl.
Mommy: I'm so glad that you're my boy! But, I'm still a girl? I'm your Mommy.
C: But you're a girl too.
M: Well, yes, sort of. But I told you, I'm a woman, or a lady.
C: [snort, laugh] No you're not; you're a girl!
M: What is Daddy?
C: A man.
M: What is Katie?
C: [rolls eyes] DUH, she has GLASSES! Woman.
M: I'm going to calmly ignore the fact that you know that I have glasses too. Grandmom? What about her? She's shorter than me; does that make her a girl?
C: Woman.
M: What about AJ's Mommy? She's the same age as me, and she's married and she's a Mommy, just like me.
C: She's a woman.
M: But she's just like me!
C: Except that you're a girl.
M: Aunt Denise?
C: She lives in Pennsylvania! She's a WOMAN!
M: When I lived in Pennsylvania, was *I* a woman?
C: No, we just lived there like forty-thirteen weeks ago! You were a girl, remember? [looks incredulous and a little worried that I'm so confused over this SIMPLE fact]
To add insult to, well, insult, he's always offering to buy me dolls and play sets. The sweet side of it is that he usually says he wants to buy them for me when he sees a little girl on tv playing with a toy, and comments indignantly, "You are way beautifuller than that girl; I'm going to get you that toy because you should have it too!" He never offers to buy Chris toy cars or action figures; he always wants to buy Chris manly stuff like new hats, power tools, and the occasional tie or shirt. I'll never understand this kid.
The other GIRL in the house, the ACTUAL one, is using all of her free time to develop her feminine wiles. She sings. She dances. She demands "pretties," her name for curly hair ribbons. She performs for anyone who will applaud. By all accounts, she is me, 24 years ago. I am seriously amazed that Mammam wasn't committed to an insane asylum before I turned two. I have to admit though, much as I disdain any resemblance of my personality in Riley Kate (let's face it. Uncle Bobby, Uncle Paul, Pap and Mam can claim I was the world's most perfect little girl all they want; I've seen the videos- I was obnoxious), I am quite smitten with alot of the general girly qualities she has. I'm even pretty amused (though I NEVER show it) with the sass that seems to come so naturally (apparently, also genetic)-- "Riley Kate!" "[sigh, stomp] WHAT?" "Can you give Connor a turn in the rocking chair?" "It's mine!" In writing, it sounds pretty brazen, but when you see it come out of such a tiny little munchkin (though I swear, we do attempt to squelch it), it is, um... IT'S REALLY FUNNY! Are my kids headed for a lifetime of crime because I secretly think their unacceptable behaviors are hilarious? I hope not.
Ror continues to police the household for "bad choice" makers and rule infringements. He refers to Riley Katie now as Lolly--we're not sure why-- so we hear alot of "Lolly, you need to make a better choice! Lolly, get down! Lolly, that's usGUSting! Mommy, Lolly needs thinking time! Lolly needs a nap! Lolly, that's MINE and that's a bad choice! Lolly, you're not spiderman; that's a bad choice!" Given that he is the most frequent ACTUAL rule-breaker and rarely hears more than a calm, "Let's make a better choice," I'm a little concerned over where all the "BAD" choice lingo came from. In any case, next week all Disney tourists can rest easily, knowing that Ror will be patrolling the streets of the happiest place on earth, weeding out rule-breakers, bad choice makers and any cartoon characters participating in any funny business.
Oh, I nearly forgot to relay the story of Chris's unilateral decision to single-handedly solve the social security crunch by creating more future contributors to the economy. He's nothing if not patriotic. Two days ago he came up the stairs, hugging and kissing each of the kids as he entered the living room, saying, "Daddy loves you! You are great kids!" Not too unusual, but the effusiveness and the look in his eye was a little... maniacal. He sat down calmly and said, "Um, you know that movie, 'Cheaper By the Dozen'?"
"Yes, Chris, I support your decision to leave me if Bonnie Hunt ever propositions you. We've been through this."
"No, no no... it's not that; I'm over that. But anyway, don't you love that movie? I mean, look at our kids. They're so great. Wouldn't twelve be AWESOME?"
[This portion of the conversation, my response, is edited because I know some friends have children who can read, and I don't want to be responsible for corrupting young minds.]
I explained to Chris that while yes, for many people, twelve would be 'awesome', for a woman whose pubic bone ruptures with each pregnancy and oh yeah, has CROHN'S DISEASE, twelve MIGHT be just a TAD out of the realm of awesomeness for US.
So while disappointed that we'll probably never have enough kids to fill a 15 passenger van, he's contenting himself with our old standby motto: Never say DONE. (Our motto USED to be, "We'll stop when we get an ugly one," but then we worried that whichever kid ended up being last would eventually hear that this had been our motto and always cast suspicious glances in the mirror.)
We are pretty sure that our kids are a marketing executive's dream. Product placement, gimmicks and themed cereals are hitting our house with such force that I find myself wondering, "Hm. If I put a Star Wars sticker on this pack of chicken cutlets, I wonder if they'll eat them, thinking they're Luke Skywalker chicken?"
Last night at the supermarket I came across some "pluots." Apparently fruit farmers have nothing better to do with their time now than to cross breed fruits, hence the mixture of a plum and apricot. But apparently, most rational adults had already noted that for the price of one pluot, you can buy three plums and three apricots, separately. So they must've called those genius marketing professionals whose days revolve around antagonizing parents of young children with their crazy strategies. As I looked at the pluots, I could almost see the sinister, mustache-twitching advertising guy sitting in his chair, smoking a cigar, saying, "Heh-heh-heh... I know! We'll take these pluots and instead of the usual 'sunkist' sticker, we'll put a DINOSAUR sticker on them call them dinosaur eggs, and voila! Those stupid Elios will buy them by the case." No sooner had all of this flashed into my mind, than Rory screamed, "LOOK! Mommy, DINOSAUR APPLES! I WANT DINOSAUR APPLES!" This wasn't the first time we've been victims of commercialization. About two months ago, Kellog's started putting pictures of Star Wars characters on their cereals. That, however, actually worked out for us, because we were able to get the kids to eat any sugar-free, high fiber cereal, regardless of taste, because it was disguised as "Darth Vader Cereal" or "Luke Skywalker O's". Breakfast took an hour, though, because in between bites, we'd hear, "Ho. Perrrr. Ho. Perrrr. I think this cereal is turning me into Darth Vader!" (Ho-per is their rendition of the sound of Darth Vader's breathing through his mask.) Even Riley Katie has jumped on the gimmick bandwagon. A few weeks ago we mistakenly bought a different kind of diapers that didn't have Elmo on them, and when I tried to change her, she grabbed the diaper from my hand and asked indignantly, "Melmo? MELMO? NO!"
This morning, however, I have reached my limit. We're now even feeling pressure to make laundry decisions based on sly marketing. When Connor woke up, I very stupidly thought I could grab an extra few minutes to finish the day's lesson plan by telling him that he could watch ten minutes of tv. Three minutes into it, he came barreling in the office yelling, "MOMMY! We need to buy oxy-clean! Please, PLEASE buy me oxi-clean!" "Why? Are you having problems with stains?" "Oxi-clean takes off stains like MAGIC! You know, Harry Potter! MAGIC! I can magic my shirts!" So heaven help us all next week when we're in Disney, mecca of catering to the younger demographic.
Whew, we have had a whirlwind few days, running here, there and everywhere, and getting ready for Disney on top of all of it!
First of all, the happiest place on earth has become completely cutthroat with reservations for dining, especially character dining. I figured ten days in advance was FINE to make reservations-- what a mistake! But after three hours on the phone and about nine thousand revised itineraries, we will be permitted to eat while in Disney. And we'll be doing the character dining thing four times!
This morning we went out to breakfast and a kind-hearted couple (who were apparently also blind and deaf) with two kids came up to us and said, "Your children are so incredibly well-behaved, well-mannered, and smart; we just had to tell you that we noticed that..." I said, "Well THANK YOU! How old are yours?..." You could see Chris giving me the death ray look that said, "They've said the children are well-behaved; now cut the conversation short before Ror throws his pancake at them."
Riley Kate has been amazing us all weekend with her blossoming conversational skills. When we call her name, she now answers with an exasperated, "WHAT?" as though we've just interrupted something very important. She also answers yes/no questions appropriately-- "Riley Kate, are you Mommy's baby?" "Yeeeessss..." "Is Rory Mommy's baby?" "Noooooo." "Do you look so pretty today?" "Oh, YEEEESSSS!"
Rory's become the judgmental toddler of the family, pronouncing everything that everyone else does as gross, disgusting, or a bad choice. Last night we were at a restaurant (do you see the pattern for weekends? Every story starts with, "at the restaurant...") and he dropped his crayon and shouted, "She made me drop my color! THAT'S A BAD CHOICE, RI-KATIE! It's a BAD CHOICE!" The night before, Connor amused himself so thoroughly that he accidentally snorted some of his chocolate milk through his nose, which Ror said was "Yuckers, and a bad choice!" I showed him a picture of a "wiggle worm" in his animal book, and he said, "Mommy, don't show me! That's usGUSting!"
Connor is keyed up for co-op tomorrow and wonders if maybe he can invite some of his new friends along to Disney. You know, no need to lose the momentum of budding new friendships because of a pesky little vacation-- let's just bring 'em all along.
Chris and I are spending the evening watching videos of the kids when they were babies (well, more babies than they are now) and smugly congratulating each other on having such cool kids. It doesn't get much more obnoxious than that.
P.S. My new "watch me grow" photo will be belatedly posted tomorrow evening! :)
Connor, kindergarten's newest star, has had a rough two days, having had some very long-held misconceptions cleared up in his mind.
First was, "Mom, you know what a mandarin tarantula is? You don't need to worry, because it doesn't live here." Puzzled, I said, "Yes, I know. Tarantulas don't really live in this part of the country." He replied, "No, they don't even live on this planet. They live on animal planet." He had recently watched a special program on Animal Planet channel with Chris, and thought that all of the featured animals were from a planet called Animal Planet. He's very uncomfortable with the fact that the tarantula lives on his planet, no matter how far away.
This morning, he woke up and said, "Hey, let's go eat breakfast! Then we can go play!" He was shocked when I said, "Well, after we eat, we'll do school first, then play." "Uh, we're going to do school AGAIN?" "Every day." He had assumed that this kindergarten gig was a one-time deal, and he had graduated. At most, he figured every now and then we'd break out the workbooks, but every weekday? Whew, life is hard when you're in Kindergarten!
The most heartwrenching dashed hope for him has been losing the love of his life. He's been learning Spanish to impress the woman he intends to marry-- the administrative assistant at our office, named Mayra, whose first language is Spanish. Each time he saw her, she gave him chocolate covered coffee beans, spoke a few words to him in Spanish, and he departed with stars in his eyes, saying, "I can't wait till I marry her someday." Then last week our boss visited our home and when Connor informed Dave that he intended to wed Mayra, Dave dropped a bomb: "Well, she's already engaged." I thought Connor would react angrily, but he continued the conversation as though Dave had never said anything. Then suddenly, a week later:
"Why is Mayra getting in a cage?"
"No, she's not in a cage; she's engaged. It means that someone else has already asked her to marry him."
"WHAT??!?"
"Well, Connor, she is a grown-up; you're a little boy."
"But I thought she'd wait till I growed up!" It was really heartbreaking, like a cross between Romeo and Juliet and a Lifetime Movie of the Week.
He soothed himself with, "Well, I bet when I grow up she'll get tired of being married to that guy, and then she'll want to marry ME. I'll just tell her, 'Mayra, te amo!' and she will marry me."
Unfortunately this morning I had to dash his final hopes by explaining that the age barrier was just way beyond anything in the realm of possibility. He's heartbroken, but remaining philosophical about it: "Well, hey, maybe I'll just marry AJ's sister. Because if I live at AJ's house, I can play with him all the time." When asked if he thought Ava would agree to this, he said, "Well, she's a baby, but if she could talk, I think she'd say that she's gonna marry me when we grow up." At least we can be sure that we're raising a kid confident in his own charm.
Just this morning, Ror started using the word "actually." It cracked me up to the point of choking on my orange juice, and it came at a time that I really needed comic relief-- I had just realized that the dietary pendulum in our house had swung in the direction it always does when I'm pregnant-- and the direction is not good. On the upswing, I'm very enthusiastic about nutrition, forbidding anything that doesn't pack a vitamin-filled punch. On the downswing, when I'm tired, there are far too many nights of pizza and the occasional fast food. Apparently we're on a downswing, because Riley Kate's latest phrase is "I want PIZZA!"
"Time for breakfast, Riley Katie!"
"I want PIZZA!"
"Looky, here's a BANANA!"
"PIZZZAAAAA!"
Oops.
So after her pizza demands this morning, Ror greeted me as I walked into his bedroom with the following manifesto: "I'm not getting a diapee change. I want Burger King with chicken nuggets."
I responded, "I have to change your diapee. And we can't get Burger King-- Daddy's not even home."
"Actually, I want an ice pop."
I almost collapsed in a fit of giggles.
Brace yourselves, this is going to be a long and goofy one. Not too much about the kids, either-- more having to do with my own hysteria!
Although only members of my household and Katie have known this until now, I have been fighting with a ghost for a few months now. Have never seen him, but I hear him, and get alot of ridicule for this, mainly from my husband, who does not enjoy being woken up in the middle of the night to hear me rebuking any mean spirits in the name of Christ. He's just not game for exorcism at 3am and basically thinks I need to be locked up. And please note this important disclaimer: I am not saying that the following story indicates that there IS no ghost; I am simply saying that LAST NIGHT ONLY, there was a case of mistaken identity.
By last night, I already had some theories and ground rules with the ghost. Since I had many times said and done all of the things any good ghost-believing Catholic is supposed to say and do to a demonic spirit (sprinkled the holy water, rebuked in the name of Jesus, etc), and he/she had not left, I concluded that this was not a meanie ghost; just somebody who maybe got a little confused in Purgatory and needed help. So my new tact of late has been to pray to my father-in-law to intercede and help this guy or gal up to Heaven. I also make sure to address the ghost very respectfully, lest he/she get mad. I also make it clear that the only unbeliever in our bedroom is my HUSBAND, so if the ghost feels so disposed to make him/herself seen, no need to do it to me-- just get Chris.
(NOTE: All through the night last night, Ror was awake, playing in his crib, giggling, pretending to fight bad guys, etc. After reading the story, take this to mean whatever you feel it means.)
At 3am last night, I started hearing VERY LOUD crackling, INSIDE my bedroom. Chris continued to snore. "Your royal ghostiency? Chris has to get up really early today, so if I wake him, he will annoyed that I am waking him to protect me from the ghost. Could we maybe do this another night?"...Five minutes of silence. Then, louder crackling..."Your eminent spookiness, sir, this is the loudest you've been and I am FREAKING OUT. My father-in-law is in Heaven; his name is Frank Elio. Please go talk to him, and he will help you." ...Two more minutes of silence, then continued crackling. I am now imagining that yes, this is a mean spirit, and he/she is trying to imitate the sound of my bones crunching when he kills me. I start speaking more loudly to the the ghost, hoping that it will awaken Chris, you know, ACCIDENTALLY..."MR or MS GHOST, SIR OR MADAM, I AM REALLY REALLY SCARED RIGHT NOW AND I AM AFRAID THAT IF YOU MAKE ONE MORE SOUND, I WILL HAVE TO WAKE MY HUSBAND, AND YOU WILL BE REALLY REALLY SORRY BECAUSE THEN HE WILL BELIEVE ME, GET THE HOUSE EXORCISED, AND YOU'LL HAVE NOWHERE TO GO! NOW I AM NOT KIDDING, ONE MORE SOUND AND I WAKE MY HUSBAND!".... crackle, crackle, crackle, CRUNCH!... "That's it. Chris, CHRIS! WAKE UP! LISTEN! THE GHOST IS IN HERE! DO YOU HEAR IT?" Chris, groggy but alarmed, says, "Yes, I hear that! Where is it coming from?" "I don't know! Get it!" "Hm, I don't know where it's coming from; maybe it's the air conditioner; go back to sleep..... [snore]..." He's sleeping in two seconds. Crunch is now changing to a rustle.... "DAD ELIO! PLEASE HELP ME! Or else come down here and hit your son in the head and make him save us from the ghost!"
Crunching eventually dies down and I sit petrified until the sun starts to rise. Around 6am, I decide to take a nice long bath. While soaking in the tub, I began to reflect and decided that maybe I hadn't really heard anything; maybe even the power of suggestion caused Chris to hear something too. I continued to soak until... rustle...RUSTLE...rustle... .... The ghost is on the other side of the shower curtain! I'm in the tub, naked, in the bathroom with a GHOST! The ghost will see me naked before he/she kills me! Oh, cruel world!
I decide it's all up to me now. I'm gonna face down the ghost. I'm going to pull the shower curtain aside, look the ghost in his/her spooky eye, and muster all of the unafraid-seeming dignity available to a person who's soaking wet and naked. I stand up, pray for courage, rip the shower curtain aside and come face to face with...
HERO-CHICKEN.
So, no paranormal activity in our house last night. Just an abnormally large teddy bear hamster terrorizing me. I hesitate to suggest anything, but remember back at the beginning of the story when I said that Ror was awake all night? I don't ever want to accuse my angel boy of causing me any undue anxiety, so while I am adding this, I will just leave it up to the reader to discern what his wakefulness could have had to do with my night of fright. But let me just add this: a few weeks ago, we were having some problems with decals mysteriously disappearing from the wall in the boys' bedroom. They're expensive decals, so I was very annoyed, and Connor maintained that he had not done this. Besides, they were all being removed from a shelf near Ror's crib; the only way for a kid to get there would be to practically catapult off of the crib. I kept asking, "Ror, did you take the stickers from the wall?" "Noooo." Then one day Katie came to the house as Ror was waking up from a nap, and I told her about the decal thing. She went in and very casually and cheerfully said, "Hey, Ror, do you know how to get out of your crib to reach the stickers?" "Yeah!" "Did you take the stickers off of the wall?" "Yeah! [big smile]" "Can you show me how?" Ror proceeded to demonstrate as we looked on in awe. So, while I will not make any accusations and will continue to assume that Hero-Chicken somehow made a death-defying leap to the roof of his cage and then used all of his super-hamster strength to hoist the lid off before leaping to the ground from the dresser, I just thought I'd add that little anecdote. Totally unrelated, I'm sure.
Well, we've all stopped wearing black (the traditional period of mourning for a hamster is considerably less than the period for a human). Connor commented several times today, "I really miss Sammy," but he's okay. Grandmom is making a gravestone for Sammy as per Connor's wishes, with blue paint and a red cross on it.
Connor has been doing the sweetest thing while we snuggle; he gives me a "piece" of his blanky. He lies beside me and cuddles up and says, "Here's a piece of my blanky. It's the coldest part; you want to hold it?" So I hold one end and he holds the other. And the coldest part-- well, I feel like a princess; everyone knows that the coldest part of the blanky is the most sought-after. He's so chivalrous.
Riley Katie was such a sweetheart today, hugging everyone and saying "I love you." I think we're going to get an updated portrait of her taken this week, if she's willing to cooperate with the photographer without too much diva fuss. You'll recall that her biggest fainting episode happened at the portrait studio because her demands were not met (well, in reality it was because I took my cell phone from her, but I sometimes think she was upset and felt that the photographer had not captured her most charming side). Anyway, I haven't had her back since, so maybe we'll take a Mommy-daughter trip to the mall for pictures this week. Her hair is getting nice and long, and she's at such a sweet age, really a nice time for a picture. Oh, who am I kidding. Chris and I want her portrait taken because lately we think she looks a little bit like The Brain from Pinky and the Brain, and we want to remember this evil-dictator-lookalike phase forever. Some parents want to capture the first steps; we want to capture all of the physical developmental phases that suggest likenesses to cartoon characters. Ror used to look a little bit like Stuey from The Family Guy, and we've never forgiven ourselves for letting that moment pass without capturing it in formal portraiture.
Ror let us all in on his sensitive side a little bit today; he wept during The Lion King when the father died, and cuddled up to me, saying, "I'm so sad, his Daddy died! I love you, Mommy! Where's MY Daddy? I want to hug Daddy!" Connor looked totally amazed and a little taken aback that the Boy of Steel was showing his softer side. He quickly regained his stoic composure, though, and in what seemed to be almost an effort to reassure us all that he's the same Ror he's always been, ate his chicken at dinner like a caveman.
I regret to inform our loyal readers that Samuel Gilbert Patrick Elio, faithful hamster and friend to Connor, passed away this morning. The cause of death has not been determined and Mr. Elio has elected not to have an autopsy performed, but witnesses report that Riley Katharine Regina Elio, 1, was seen two days prior to the incident, shaking the deceased's exercise ball while he was inside. Her parents were regretfully unable to reach her in time to prevent the shaking and local authorities suspect that Sammy may have sustained internal injuries.
Connor received the news of Sammy's passing with great sadness, but remained stoic and performed a heartfelt funeral and burial service, during which he eloquently stated, "Jesus, you can keep Sammy forever, because no matter where he is, he will always be my friend." Even the adults were crying after his eulogy.
Rory, unable to cope with his feelings of grief, took the news quite angrily and has only in recent moments begun to come to grips with the tragic event. Connor felt that he was the best person to gently break the news, and said, "Rory, I'm sorry to tell you, Sammy died." Rory replied, "You said a bad word! You don't say he DIED! Don't say Sammy DIED!" Connor replied philosophically, "Rory, let's just talk about DEAD. DEAD just means that, you know, even people don't live forever. God wants us all to die so we can live in Heaven." Yikes. Goth, here he comes.
Riley Kate seemed unaffected by Sammy's demise, and seemed oblivious to the suspicious glances cast her way.
Later, with great fanfare, Connor welcomed the newest member of the family, Gilbert Patrick Elio, named after his predecessor. Gilbert is a tan and white teddy bear hamster, the same breed as Hero-Chicken (Ror's hamster). Ror seems to feel a little threatened, having always been the undisputed owner of the fuzziest and biggest hamster in the house (Sammy was a Russian Dwarf). He spent alot of time in the playroom staring at Gilbert in his new exercise ball, saying that Hero-Chicken is bigger and faster. We'll be keeping a close eye on this situation to be sure there are no more reasons to suspect hamstercide from any of the Elio kids. For Connor's part, he's excited to have Gilbert, who we all admit is much more friendly and cuddly than Sammy was; we chose a teddy bear hamster this time because of how docile Hero-Chicken has always been in comparison to Sammy.
So, that's the way the cookie crumbles here at the Elio household today.
Oh Sammy boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen, and down the mountainside...
Well, I finally got the knot out of my stomach, but not until the very last minute of procrastination. Down to the very last day, I made it to the very last minute before my self-set deadline of choosing a curriculum for Connor's kindergarten program. As I neared a hysterical breakdown, Chris stepped in and suggested we take our two favorite curriculums (Seton and Catholic Heritage) and break them down, subject by subject and see which one provided what we thought was a better all-around education. When he put it that way, it only took us about half an hour to decide. I wish he had told me to do that sooner-- like, six weeks ago! So Connor is officially a Seton student and the curriculum is on its way here, and our official letter to the school district, of our Intent to Homeschool, is on its way to the distric superintendant. Whew, I'm so relieved. Also, surprises are on their way to Grandmom Elio and Mam and Pap Conniff, in honor of their favorite little homeschoolers. (Ror is our unofficial homeschooler; he'll be doing a really loose headstart program this year, just learning shapes and letters and things like that. Basically, just something to make him feel like a big boy too.) Connor, ever the one to take after his Mom, said, "Hey, I don't think I wait that long. Let's just call Grandmom and Mammam and tell them what we got them." LOL
Riley Katie had a blast last night on the trampoline; she would stand up and start to jump and then just stand still and wait for Connor and Ror to jump and knock her off balance. She kept yelling, "Watch! Watch!" Then she buzzed around the yard on Ror's BigWheel for a little while, followed by showing us how she could stand up and jump off of it ("Watch! Mommy, WATCH!"). She's decided that Nicole and Al are the only people in this world who will save her from negative consequences. If she tries to grab something and Chris says, "Not for Riley Kate," she runs to Nicole or Al and grabs their legs, yelling, "NO! NOOOOO!" Last night she was throwing a tantrum and ran to Nicole for support, and when Nicole said, "You must listen to Mommy and not throw a tantrum," the look on Riley Kate's face was priceless. She looked so betrayed.
Connor and Ror are enthralled with the two new big boys, the youngest we've ever had. They love having kids around whose interests are closer to theirs. The four of them spent the whole morning playing Thomas the Tankengine, and everyone had lots of fun. I promised Connor and Ror that they can help me make dinner tonight, so the kitchen should be pretty well destroyed by 6pm tonight.
Well, I must say, my mental energies are completely used up on the great curriculum decision of 2005, so I'll just sign off and hope I remember the rest of what I'd hoped to write by tomorrow.
I know this site is supposed to be all about the kids, but I just want to brag quickly about Chris before I go on to talk about Connor's newfound entrepreneurial skills. So, we have to write treatment plans for the boys in our care, and they have to be approved by a CMO before they'll pay to have the boys stay with us. The CMO is pretty big, so they don't just cover our company. Chris writes all of the treatment plans for our home; they're called JCR (joint care review) and include everything from treatment recommendations to current presenting behaviors. They're pretty long. So anyway, the CMO called our boss and our boss called us, to give us their message-- that our house has the best, most well-written JCR's they've ever seen. WOW! I'm so proud Chris! Okay, back to my usual droning about the kids.
We gave Connor a little bank in the shape of a 'C', and he is just a madman about finding loose change. He's only had the bank for about two weeks and he already has over eight dollars in coins! He's undecided on how he'll spend his riches and is thinking about investing. He's been asking me to explain more about how people will pay him for keeping his money in their banks.
Aside from banking matters, Connor's been spending the remainder of his time with Mr. Fantastic, his new doll (referred to as an action buddy when talking to Dad). Mr. Fantastic stretches and apparently can use this power to save the universe in any number of ways. I'm not clear on exactly what he does, and I don't think Connor is either, given that he's never seen the movie (Fantasic Four). But that doesn't stop him from utilizing Mr. Fantastic to save babies. Connor and Ror usually have their superheroes saving babies when they play; I'm not sure if this is indicative of their respect for human life in its smallest form, or if they just think there are too many irresponsible parents in this world whose children need to be saved from their carelessness. Either way, I guess it's a noble cause, but you'd be shocked at how many babies they pull from burning buildings in a day's work.
Ror's superhero action buddy that he got to complement Connor's Mr. Fantastic is none other than The Thing. He's orange and really menacing looking, but Chris assures me that he's a good guy. Rory has been playing with Thing nonstop and has saved much of the world's infant population just in the past two days. In other Ror-related news... He's napping right now IN A BED! He asked if he could take his nap in Connor's bed today, so we decided to give it a try, and he just lay there till he fell asleep! Bunk beds, here we come!
Riley Katie is also already conked out for her nap; she had a tiring morning of "cleaning up." She likes to help when Mommy's doing housework; helping consists of singing the cleanup song over and over and randomly throwing household objects into baskets and bags, or handing them to me and demanding that I "puh-way." Her newest word is "WATCH!" She learned this from her big brothers, who like to say "Mom, WATCH!" before jumping off the bed and performing death defying stunts (I know what you're thinking: "She lets them jump off the bed? No wonder they question the safety of the world's children when their own irresponsible parents watch and applaud as they could be falling to their doom!" Seriously, it's a really low bed). So her version of this is to stand on the Thomas Trundle Table, which is all of four inches high, and sort of stumble off. It's really funny to watch, because from the triumphant and relieved look on her face after each jump, you'd think she had just leapt off the roof. Chris has been calling her Baby Knieval since before her first birthday because of her hair-raising stunts in shopping carts and restaurant high chairs; it's really hard to contain her.
Guess who just marched into the office? Our newly uncontained napper! Ta-ta for now!
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