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Wednesday, September 12, 2007


I totally meant to get on this blog last night and wax poetic about 9/11 and Looking Back and all that, but I got a little caught up in the Drama That Has Become Our Evening Routine and then, I'll admit, a Dean Koontz book. The ultimate author for when you want to be lightly entertained and void of all real thought but not drained of all your brain cells in the Nora Roberts kind of way.

Four-years-old must be the magic age when a child is ready to sleep in a hotel room without making life miserable for everyone else also forced to sleep with him. Cause it certainly ain't the Terrible Twos.

And it is terrible. Olivia has no problem sharing a room with her siblings. She's even been known to put herself to bed when mom is dragging her feet or is otherwise occupied. Sean-Peter, on the other hand, still seems to think that Bed Time=Party Time and has forgotten that he knows how to fall back asleep if he wakes up in the middle of the night. We learned to stagger their bedtimes: make sure Olivia is dead asleep before putting Knucklehead down so his monologue and/or music medley doesn't keep her awake. But putting him down is rarely the end of the story because he can hurdle himself over the crib bars and land himself giggling in his sleeping sister's face faster than you can say "Holy Frijoles!"

We just listened to a Skippyjon Jones book on tape so that's the first thing that came to mind. (Which is much better than some other things that have come to mind.) Very, very fun books by Judy Schachner, by the way, if you aren't already familiar with them.

So Sean-Peter is having so much fun that there isn't enough to go around for the rest of us. Conner woke up this morning already so out of sorts before his day even began: He does NOT take kindly to these nightly interruptions nor appreciate their introduction with his brother's breath on his face, smiley giggles and all. Conner really still is an only child at heart, but I can't say I blame him on this one. My own patience is wearing thin, and I'm the one who's supposed
to have it.

On a positive note, Conner is adapting to school just fine, despite the shaky start. I knew things were looking up when he came home on Friday and said he "only" had maybe an hour of homework, like that was nothing. We've proposed a trip to the aquarium this weekend, complete with a backstage pass, to celebrate his upcoming birthday. Even though we are getting a real, honest-to-goodness house SOMEday, living in these small quarters makes me loathe to bring in more stuff, besides the fact that, really, he just doesn't need anything. I mean, along with the house will come our household goods that, since we haven't seen them in two months or so, will all seem like new anyway!

Speaking of the house, we are waiting to hear if the sellers will be ready to close on the 21st or the 24th. We were kind of hoping for the 19th, which is the earliest date our lender said we could close, but anything earlier than the 27th, the date on the contract, is that many days less in this hotel. And that much more of a chance that my two-year-old will survive to see three.

I was remembering last night, when I was wishing that my son would just go to sleep already -- or at least stay in bed, really, I couldn't care less what he did there -- that this time six years ago I was living with my sister Cheri in Kansas while John was attending some F-16 course in Arizona. Conner went ahead and started kindergarten there and I stayed home with my young nephew while the older kids were in school. I watched a neighbor baby some of the time, too, but I don't think I happened to have him on the 11th. I very specifically remember standing at the sink, probably rinsing breakfast dishes, and Cheri's friend Shalene called and asked if I knew about the airplane that ran into the World Trade Center.

Honestly, I didn't even think anything of it. It didn't register that this "airplane" was a huge jetliner full of fuel -- full of passengers; I was picturing a little puddle jumper and an errant pilot, maybe drunk, maybe stupid. It wasn't until Shalene called back and said that another plane had hit the World Trade Center that I turned on the TV.

So there you have it. I don't know if 9/11 will be our generation's equivalent of "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" but I do know that it was very clear at the time, to everyone, that what happened that day was a turn in the course of history. Today people seem to question why we're out there, why we're fighting. No one seems to ask the real question, "Why hasn't it happened here again?"

I would go on, but my son isn't going to sleep again tonight and I'm not in the mood for debate material. That same sister, by the way, has been inspired to start her own blog -- for which I take full credit! You might want to check it out as she is way more together than I am, and also a much better writer:

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