Happy Halloween!

I can't speak for the others but the two children that live with me (the Ninja Turtle and the cowgirl) ate approximately four pounds of candy each.



And here's something REALLY scary!

I have 30 minutes

Blog or knit? Knit or blog? I have about 5000 scarves on my list to get done before Christmas so I suppose I should take this opportunity to knit.

I hope you all like scarves!

Bah humbug

My readership. Ha ha. Really though, would it kill the three of you to click on the Google ad down there in the lower right hand corner every now and then? (Just kidding!)

UPDATE: I moved the ad to the top. NOW things are gonna start happening!

Sing-alongs

This sounds like a great party! The Ring My Bell part reminds me of something that happened on our Tall Dog bus while headed to western Iowa for the start of Ragbrai. There was a lot of loud music and a lot of tequila. It's the only way to make a six-hour bus ride across western Iowa tolerable. I don't know what it is about Billy Joel but he brought our bus together into one cohesive, inebriated unit to sing along to It's Still Rock and Roll to Me. Nobody knew any of the lyrics beyond the refrain, so this is what our bus sounded like somewhere west of Ames:

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na PANTS.
Na na na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na CHANCE.

Na na na na na na na na na na na
NA na na na na na na na na A LOT OF MONEY
Na na na na na na na na na blah funny but
IT'S STILL ROCK AND ROLL TO ME!

(Repeat)

Let the festivities begin!

Mulan attacks Leonardo



A very brave mom from Hank's class invited two morning kindergarten sections to her house for a Halloween party. Much fun was had by kids and parents!

Snow White was there:



There was a big leaf fight!

Blueberries

There's not much better than a frozen blueberry snack in the front yard on a nice day while waiting for big brother to come home on the school bus.

Pumpkin math

Kindergarteners in Hank's class know a lot about pumpkins: weight, circumference, estimated number of seeds inside.



How well do you know your pumpkin?

Candy is dandy and/or I'm pathetic

I'm steeling myself for The Halloween Candy Battle. I love Halloween but I really loved it more the year Hank was two, dressed in his homemade Clifford costume, and couldn't have cared less about the sweets the neighbors were dropping in his pumpkin bucket. Those were the days. Mr. Bickerson and I ate chocolate until we were sick without one peep of complaint from Hank. He knew not the ways of the sugary desires.

Suffice it to say THINGS HAVE CHANGED. Beggars' night started about five weeks ago for our household when Hope picked one of her books about the Easter Bunny out of the stack in her room.

"When the Easter Bunny coming, Mommy? When he gonna bring us some candy?"

She was a little confused about where the candy was going to be coming from this fall. Our risen Lord/devil worship: It's all the same to the three year-old crowd as long as it involves candy. But Hank straightened her out on her holidays and there has been candy talk and begging for JUST ONE PIECE of candy every day since.

Which brings me to tonight. The scene: Swim lessons at the Y. Hope was feeling grumpy and tired and stated that she would not be participating in her swim lesson. Instead she would like us to leave her in childcare (where she could play) while Hank swam. Her dad and I said she could choose to not swim but she would dress in her swimsuit and sit by the pool for the duration of the lesson. Her swim teacher then informed the students that because this would be the last lesson before Halloween, there would be a candy treat for all students. Sadly, we had to inform Hope that swimmers choosing not to swim tonight would, in fact, receive zero candy after the lesson. There was a big pout and then, "I don't want the candy ANYWAY."

I started to think that maybe she was really coming down with something. No candy? Are you kidding me? Then I realized yes she was kidding me. She had a plan. She was saving her trump card for the moment the teacher handed out candy to all the kids except her. There would be a gigantic tantrum. There would be crying and screaming and begging for candy and promises to swim when it would be too late.

So I knelt down beside her and quietly said (as we watched the other kids swimming away to the deep end), "You know, Hope, you WILL NOT CRY at the end of the swim lesson when you see your teacher giving candy to the other kids. Do you understand?" There was a five second pause as she realized that she needed to fold 'em (as Kenny Rogers would say). She said, "Oh all right. I'll go swimmin." And she did. And all was well. (Not only was it all okay but the little bugger leapt off the end of the diving board much to her teacher's [and our] surprise. Previously she would only allow her teacher to lower her from the board slowly into the arms of another teacher. This time, she almost did a cannonball.)

I'm sitting here now wondering if it isn't wrong for me to feel so good about out-thinking a three year-old. It's pathetic but I don't care because I feel great tonight for winning The Swimming Battle.

I don't like Mondays

What a day. School, two trips to the Y, one for running, one for BodyPumping (I know it sounds naughty but it's not) and kid swimming, PTO meeting, cleaning, bill paying, frisbee throwing to drain some energy from highly energized dog, and a grocery store trip with three tantrums and one idle threat that mom would leave the grocery cart right here and you two are going straight home to bed with no lunch, no story, no pizza/Halloween safety party at school and I'm taking away your gum and IwillneverbuyyougumagainasGodismywitness-sohelpmeGoddon'tmakemespankyoutworighthereinthedairyilseatRainbow-Foodsbecause I...WILL....DOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTT!!!!!!!

And so we completed our grocery shopping with one crying three year-old, one pouting five year-old and a host of noontime shoppers and two clerks staring at us. I would have left that grocery cart there but (damn it) it was loaded with the week's food and man, I was so fricking tired. Lesson learned: I will never threaten to leave the grocery store without my groceries but I will promise to be really, really mad at those kids for at least an hour.

Crying

How old do they have to be before we can make it through an entire day without tears? Here's some of what we cried about this week: lack of lipgloss, misplaced lipgloss, empty container of lipgloss, new friend who didn't want child to eat her lipgloss, light sabers, light saber the wrong color, light saber not loud enough, mom's rule that one may not hit mom in the behind when she's cooking lunch, not wanting to brush teeth, wanting to gargle and not being allowed large quantity of Listerine, unacceptable pizza had microscopic pieces of unfamiliar vegetable, socks too short, socks to tight, socks too loose, socks with bumps in the seams, jeans too stiff, new sweatpants too big, playdate cancellation due to illness, playmate refuses to be locked in dog crate, mother won't let child sleep with gum in her mouth, and gas pains.

Pictures by George

Slideshow

Self portrait by Hank

This was a kindergarten assignment that his teacher gave us at his first conference. I love the surprises that come home every day in the backpack. I liked school a lot when I was a kid, but I'm really loving kindergarten the second time around. Key quote from Mrs. K at the conference: " That Hank. He's a keeper."

We couldn't agree more.



He's skateboarding!

I hate you, Baseball!

I really do! I want my Arrested Development and I want it now! Damn you for preempting it. WAAAA!!

A disclaimer: I really only hate major league baseball. The family went to a St. Paul Saints game for the first time this (last) summer and had a ball. And the reason we had fun had next to nothing to do with baseball. The game was all about the fun stuff happening between innings: pig races, pillow fighting, musical giant meatball (when the music stopped the person holding the giant beach-meat ball won a spaghetti dinner delivered right to her seat), kid races, pig dancing, in the stand massages, etc., etc.

That's what baseball ought to be.

What happens at the Y stays at the Y

Don't you all want to see Mr. Bickerson in Happy Baby pose? You know that you do. He's been doing it in the BodyFlow class at the Y and refuses to let me take a picture.

Just what I need

Another reality TV show. Have you watched Three Wishes yet? I'm all set to cry my eyes out tonight, same as I did last Friday. The comic relief for this show came in the form of a promo for the soap opera Days of Our Lives. Apparently next week The Rolling Stones will be special guests. I shoot you not.

How do you know you are way too old to be a rock star? When your band does commercials for mortgage companies and is a featured performance on a 400 year-old soap opera.

8:45 p.m. Update: Definitely crying my eyes out! Go Stephanie the Dancer!

Holy cow

The little dude can kinda knit!

Idea

If the Star Tribune is going to call us six times a week to beg us to subscribe to the paper why don't they offer to pay us a small fee for letting them drop the paper on our doorstep?

Lesson of the day

It is in fact not possible to blow dry your own hair and get dressed to make it to a 7 p.m. meeting downtown when it is 6:35 p.m. at the Ridgedale Y and your three year-old is naked, dripping wet from her post-swim shower, and shutting herself repeatedly in a variety of lockers in the women's locker room, all the while yelling, I'M NOT DONE SWIMMING!! I'M SWIMMING IN THE LOCKER!! I'M SWIMMING IN THE LOCKER!!! I DON'T WANT MY CLOTHES ON!!!!!!!

So let us now put that out of our minds and turn to my gratitude journal entry for October 12, 2005:

I am so thankful for Dave Barry and his blog links. This was on the site today. Read and enjoy. I think I've eaten well over half of those recipes.

She has a need for speed

A day in the life of me

Another dog playdate that looks worse than it really was.



And in this photo Hope demonstrates how she does not need noseplugs for swim lessons.

Marathon picture

Came in my email today.



Does it look like I walked the marathon? I'm thinking it does. I'm going to have to adjust training to include a little sprint action for 5-10 feet beyond the finish line so that another photographer does not catch me looking so lazy.

Basketball on the trampoline

Our kids have been enjoying trampoline fun at our neighbors' house this summer and fall. Little did we know the dad is a stealth super-photographer. He surprised us with these pictures today:

Hank art

Bulldozer



Peacock

I talk too much

Regular readers of this blog already know that I have a somewhat unhealthy interest in the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes match-up. I really need to get a life. I was driving the kids to the Y today and listening to the radio when I heard the announcement that Katie Holmes is expecting. Out loud and to the radio I muttered, "Oh gross." I was instantly peppered with 75 questions from Hank.

What's gross, Mom?

I wasn't thinking too clearly about the asker of that question so I just said, "Oh nothing. Somebody's having a baby."

Why's that gross?
Why is it bad?
Did they just look at each other or something?
Who is Tom Cruise?
Is it bad to have a baby?
You said it was gross why is it gross why did you say that?

I couldn't think fast enough how to get myself out of the sticky situation so instead of continuing to provide lame answers I said, "Who wants candy when we get to the Y? What kind do you want and why? Discuss."

Oh poop

It's pouring rain outside with lots of lightning so you know what that means. It's a great night for the dog to have diarrhea. There's nothing like the smell of almost clean dog poop carpet to brighten your day.

This is why we're The Bickersons

Mr. B: Is it just too difficult for you to get a new package of paper towels out of the garage when the roll in the kitchen is empty?

There was a dramatic pause...just long enough (1.5 seconds) for Mr. B. to think to himself, I am so very screwed.

Mrs. B: Yes. It is exactly as difficult for me to open a new package of paper towels as it is for you to clean a toilet, make a bed, get your dirty clothes to the basement, shut off the lights in the basement when you come upstairs, wipe a counter, or pick up dog poop in the yard. Shall I go on?

Case dismissed.

The end of the run

Image029.jpg
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Bickerson.

Marathon aftermath

4 hours, 51 minutes and some seconds. I started too fast because I couldn't believe how good I felt and then my 10 min 30 sec miles turned into 12 minute miles at the end. Reality sunk in around mile 11: Oh wait. I have to run 15 miles more! UGH.

Only one portopot stop. That's a personal best. :-) Today, I'm feeling really good as long as I have a steady stream of ibuprofen running through my veins.

Best sign on the course was around mile nine:

DON'T POOP YOUR PANTS!

Best t-shirt sign handwritten on the back of some guy running in front of me from mile four to about 10:

GO BOB GO! 26.1!!

I hope the last .1 mile didn't do him in!

And what an awesome job my speedy friend, Mary, did in the 10 mile run! Way to go, Mary! She'll be kicking butt in the full marathon next year.

Feet ready to run

Image028.jpg
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Bickerson.

Let's go!

Let's go!
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Bickerson.

Twins born 39 years apart

Is it live?



Or is it Memorex?