Where did my memory go?

Why is it that I can't remember to file the taxes, yet I can remember 46 different Thomas the Tank Engine character names?

There's a whole new world just waiting to be discovered once you have children. It's a world you never even imagined was out there. From my own childhood, I have fond memories of Sesame Street. I am reading my children the same silly story about the monster at the end of the book starring Grover. But my kids not only have Sesame Street to discourse on, but also Teletubbies, Blue's Clues, and Thomas the Tank Engine.

The Teletubbies are fairly easy. There are only four of them, with whimsical names like Tinky Winky, Dipsy, La-La, and my personal favorite, Po. Blue's Clue's is pretty easy, with only two principle characters, Steve and the blue dog, coincidentally named Blue. But Thomas the Tank Engine really stretched the old brain cells, let me tell you.

There's the cheeky blue engine, named Thomas who gets into all kinds of scrapes with his friends Percy (green) and James (red). But it's insidiously tricky after that. Because then tender engines like Edward (blue), Henry (green), and Gordon (blue) enter in to really confuse you. The little numbers painted on the side are some help, but once you've got them down other buses, cars, and locomotives are continuously introduced so as to make your life hell going past the toy aisle in Target and Walmart.

But, I've done it. I've even sat with my children and watched the movies, read them the books, and colored in the Thomas the Tank Engine coloring books. I've made curtains, purchased a Thomas alarm clock, and put sheets on the little devils beds with Thomas and Friends scattered about them. T-shirts and socks, as well as underwear adorned with trains are scattered about the house. There are even Thomas the Tank Engine bathtowels, shower curtains, soapdishes and toothbrushes available for "your little Thomas fans" as the catalogs that have insidiously crept into our house proclaim. I couldn't have avoided knowing their names if I tried.

In an effort to diversify our son's interests, we would make subtle hints about Batman and Spiderman. To no avail. "Thomas is my favorite!" was his inevitable reply. He recently suggested we paint his bedroom "Thomas blue" during one trip to Home Depot. If I have to listen to Alec Baldwin narrate another DVD about the Adventures of Thomas I might have to enter an institution for the maternally insane.

Then, one day after kindergarten our son came home and told me, "Mommy, Thomas (his make believe friend) has Hot Wheels cars that run on a track".

It's all Time Management

My friend Jen, who is expecting her 5th (yes, fifth) baby, insists that it's all time management. For example, whenever we manage to catch one another on the phone, she usually is in the middle of something, about to go drop off or pick someone up, or going somewhere (doctor's appointment, dentist, gymnastics, etc.). Heck, she can even email and make phone calls at the same time, a skill I myself have not been able to master. But what really had me floored was the day I found out she was painting her dining room. While pregnant. The best I could do when I was pregnant was to muster enough energy to put fresh sheets on the crib before heading for the hospital to have the kid.

She warns me right up front she only has say, 4 minutes to talk. And in those four minutes I learn a heck of a lot, let me tell you. I'm in awe of this woman, whom has never once in the course of our 12 year friendship complained or griped about her duties as mom and general CEO of the household. Not once. This woman can toilet train a toddler in her sleep, is on a first name basis with the nurses at the emergency room, and can take 4 children grocery shopping without breaking into hives. On a good day I manage to leave my children home with daddy so I can go grocery shopping.

So, it appears that the answer to my daily question (how do you have 3 kids and maintain a semblance of sanity) is TIMING.

Get Andy to speech on time in the mornings? A Teletubbies video popped in at 8:14 a.m. and insert child into clothes while he is absorbed in watching squat figures in strange costumes run around after a blue vacuum cleaner. During this time, it is also possible to dress one year old and get self into bathroom. Teeth brushing is optional for mother (I'm not the one in speech) but can be accomplished for three year old with Teletubby video as bribe. At all costs, do NOT put on video before brushing of teeth. Otherwise speech teacher will look askance at child and give you dirty look for inflicting milk-cheerio breath on her. At end of video, grab 3 year old, stuff into his jacket and without breaking stride, insert him into the car seat and go. Remember to also wrestle one year old into his car seat. Any dirty diapers will have to wait until after we get to our final destination.

Going to the pediatrician? Start two hours ahead of time. Get children ready first. Wrestle them into clean clothing (which you had to go dryer diving for) and get shoes on now, before you're wrinkled. Pull out toy they haven't seen for awhile and dash into bathroom to change out of sweatsuit with bleach stain on one cuff and sweet potatoe stain on the shoulder. While changing, dash out a few times to break up fights over toy and kiss boo boos. Attempt to dissuade youngest from emptying the contents of the bathroom drawers onto floor (he followed me to the bathroom after the fight with his big brother) while struggling into clean shirt. Clean up mess, grab one year old in football hold, and jam feet into shoes on way out of bedroom. While restocking diaper bag with the necessities (diapers, wipes, snacks, drinks, spare clothing) sternly inform one year old the videos are not for stacking in the kitchen sink, particularly when full already with breakfast dishes. Change baby's diaper, then immediately get into car seat. In remaining 14 minutes, convince 3 year old it's time to go, run a brush through my hair, and find immunization cards for both kids.

I asked Jen when she got the housework done and she told me, "oh, you know. Just grab a few minutes in between going places and getting the kids ready." Panting from my recent get-ready-to-go-pick-up-oldest-from-kindergarten rodeo, I could only gasp out, "I've got to go" and hang up the phone.

All I can say is, I'm in awe. Oh, and I need to paint my bedroom.

My Son, the Artist

Our first child scribbled crayon all over the kitchen floor when he was just shy of 3, scribbled on the walls with permanent magic marker when he was 4, and got extremely active with the scissors sometime in between. I remember my parents' comments when I related these incidents to them. For the first episode of the floor, my mother asked me, "well, where were you while this was going on?" (I was in the bathroom). With the marker on the walls my father very calmly replied to my hysterical recitation of events with, "the question is, how did he get his hands on the marker in the first place?".

Nowadays, I relate my sons' disasters to my parents after I've had time to think about my defense. For example, when I was pregnant, "I was in the bathroom" was always acceptable. I mean, it's an absolutely necessary activity, not like say, making the bed or cleaning the shower. (Of course, they'd have something brilliant to say about unmade beds or yucky showers, but that's besides the point.)

But now I'm careful with the markers and the crayons and have SET LIMITS about where they are allowed to be utilized, namely, they stay on the kitchen table. Now that we've got our oldest, who is 6, fairly civilized, I can safely say that we've reigned in his ideas about home decoration. But now it's our middle boy's turn, and he's embracing his artistic sensibilities with gusto.

I was clearing up the kitchen table from the latest round of artwork in preparation for dinner when I noticed a cap without the matching marker. This is not an unusual occurence, and it was a yellow marker (and washable) so I didn't exactly go hunting for the marker. I started dinner preparations when my 3 year old walked into the kitchen with what I can only describe as the biggest ---t eating grin on his face that I have ever seen. In his grubby little hand was the missing yellow marker.

My mommy antennae went up like they were electrocuted. I asked him, "where have you been?" and got an even wider grin. I snatched up the marker and went through the house like one of the characters on Crime Scene Investigation. Did I mention we just moved into a brand new house? I checked the living room, the bathroom, the baby's bedroom, his bedroom, his older brothers bedroom, and then, dreading what I might find, my bedroom. No sign of toddler graffitti anywhere. The little guy follows me, still grinning. As I retrace my steps, a part of my brain registers I haven't seen or heard our youngest (17 months) for the last 5 minutes or so.

I found the baby on top of his oldest brother's bed and the sight of him made my heart stutter. He looked like he had yellow fever. His face, ears, and hands were colored with yellow magic marker. Even his ears were yellow.

I grabbed him down, washed his face (while he vigorously protested), and said to Andrew, "don't color your brother again, ok?"

Another entry for the list of things I never thought I'd ever, ever, hear myself say.