Happy Birthday to Fraser! On Tuesday Fraser turned 5 years old! For his birthday dinner (photos above and below) Fraser chose to go to the Outback Steakhouse (which he alternately called the "Back Out" Steakhouse and the "Back Up" Steakhouse throughout the day). This was Fraser's first birthday when he seemed to really grasp the concept that he was a year older and think that was pretty cool. He was so excited, in fact, that my usually quiet child who is very wary of strangers was walking up to virtually everyone we saw and asking, "Do you know how old I am today?...I'm 5!!" Complete with hand and all five fingers fully outstretched and shoved toward the bystander's face.


I also happened to learn this week, via facebook, that Fraser shares his birthday with the son of a woman I went to high school with. R.J. turned 1 on Tuesday, which made me a little nostalgic for Fraser's first birthday, and also got me thinking how incredible it is that 4 years have already gone by since that very first birthday. As I prepare this week to walk the Relay for Life, finish the volcano hat I have been working on for the relay, make Fraser's Farmall Cub Tractor cake for his birthday party Sunday, shop for all the groceries for said party, make an appointment to take our foster cat and her 4 kittens back to the shelter for their checkup and vaccines, weed our vegetable garden, finish sanding, staining, and urethaning our patio furniture, go to music and swim class all while keeping my three children clean, fed, and reasonably well entertained, I started thinking about that timeless quote from Tallulah Bankhead, "It's the good girls who keep the diaries; the bad girl's never have time."


I guess given that logic mothers of three can safely be categorized as "bad girls", though under a far less glamorous and sexy light. Lately I feel like I get up at 5:00 and go full tilt under 9:00 when I finally collapse into bed and spend the next 30 to 45 minutes obsessing over all the things I should have done that day that just didn't get done (updating this blog, for example). These days I simultaneously find it impossible to comprehend that I ever complained about being "so" busy when I had one child, but also that I ever managed to get anything done when Eleanor was an infant. Yes, it is hard with all three of them fully mobile and headed in different directions (Eleanor tried to take off in a parking lot last week for the first time. Luckily she was wearing a sweatshirt and I caught her by the hood just as she got past the end of our parked car, and yes, there was a car coming). But now I can't fathom how I accomplished even the smallest tasks while I was holding one and using my feet to try to guide the other two along, like a hockey player with two pucks and no stick. Every stage I guess, from their first birthday through their fifth (which is all I can yet speak to) has it's own rewards and challenges, and all seem to come with the blessing of some retrograde amnesia.


Oh of course things aren't all peachy keen here these days. Hammie has already come in at least 4 times while I have been writing this to ask if he can watch TV, sit on my lap, have some snack, sit on my lap, and play a computer game (the answer to all of these "no" was met by intense whining and fit throwing). Eleanor's speech has exploded in the last month and she seems to add dozens of new words to her repertoire each day. Of course I meant to take videos of her more adorable baby phrases (the way she said "Da-kay" for thank you and "Q-me" for excuse me) but, as I said, moms of three are the bad girls, and the time just passed me by. Now she says Thank you, and "cuse" me. She also says "Fezer" and "Hammie." Of course her increased ability to communicate has opened up a whole new world for her in her ability to make demands and be understood. These range from the pretty adorable, when she goes to Andy, Fraser and Hammie each before bed and demands "Diss! (kiss!) Hug!" to the amusing, when she is hungry, "Hungry! Cookie! Mouth!" to the decidedly not amusing, when we bought her new shoes and I told her she could not wear them before I paid for them, (while screaming and crying in the middle of the shoe store) "Mommy! Shoes! Mine! Mine! Shoes! Mine!" And of course Fraser, my great big five year old, is working on his great big five year old personality. Parts of which are pretty amazing. He does seem more interested in helping Hammie and Eleanor with things like putting on their clothes or shoes, or getting toys or snacks they can't reach. Parts of which are truly exasperating. Fraser has finally figured out that Hammie has far fewer reservations about (1) talking to people and (2) venturing into the grey areas of house rules. This has led Fraser to start giving Hammie directions to do things Fraser himself doesn't want to do like talking to people he doesn't know or saying inappropriate things to mommy. Previously we had a bad case of monkey see monkey do in our house, now we have a bad case of monkey directs, monkey follows orders.


The biggest problem with the monkey dictator relationship, however, is the fact that it has already started to evolve into more of a monkey co-conspiracy. So on Monday, while I was getting some MOMS Club paperwork done (as my tenure reaches it's close, but that's a whole other story) downstairs, I heard Hammie crying upstairs. I went up to find Hammie crying at the top of the stairs and Fraser down the hallway wearing Hammie's Diego backpack. So I told Fraser to give Hammie back his backpack, and I happened to glance into the room where we are housing our foster cats and notice that the ottoman is on it's side. I go into the room, yelling at the boys not to overturn the furniture because they can hurt the cats that way, and May, the mother cat, and three of her kittens come out to see me. The problem is, May has 4 kittens. So I look around the room and say, more to myself than anything, "Where is Casey?" Fraser and Hammie walk into the room, looking quite literally like the cats that ate the canary, and put the backpack on the floor. I said "if that cat is in that backpack you two are in SO much trouble." Those of you who can't guess where this story is going have not met my boys. I removed the cat from the backpack and made sure she was okay and then i spent a good 20 minutes screaming at Fraser and Hammie and threatening them with every random thing that came to mind. I told Fraser he was not allowed to go his birthday breakfast with his father (which I did follow through on) and that I was going to donate all the money from their collage funds to animal shelters because they didn't deserve to have me pay for anything for them ever again (I probably won't follow though on this one, but we'll see).


Now yes, I do realize that they had some elaborate game of "Diego, Animal Rescuer" going on, and a more generous mother might comment on their creativity and resourcefulness. I am not a more generous mother, however, and I was pretty freaking pissed. The cat is fine though, and I think they have learned their lesson, at least for now. I couldn't really say I was altogether surprised by this episode, as they seem to be finding all kinds of new and aggravating ways to get into trouble. What this really drove home for me though, is that the co-conspiracy is only going to get more elaborate and evil once the third monkey enters into the planning.


But, even when Fraser and Hammie are stuffing kittens in backpacks, or Eleanor is splashing in the drool filled dog bowl, again, I remember that as crazy as my kids seem some days, they are just kids like all the other curly haired, dimpled lunatics out there, and I likely won't have time to keep a good girl's diary anytime soon.