Eleanor is 11 months old! Such a big girl now. (I know, there is no sign. Believe me when I say things are so nuts here you should be incredibly impressed I even managed to take the photo, if you waited for a sign Eleanor would be 16 before I got this up) She still isn't crawling, but since she is getting madder and madder when she is deposited somewhere and she can't reach something she wants, I can't imagine it is far off. Eleanor is definitely developing her own very distinct personality now. She is a bit of a diva, and will object loudly when her brothers steal her toys, but she still adores them and was an ecstatic ball of wiggly energy when Fraser and Hammie arrived back from their weekend in Maine. Eleanor also has very clear (and odd) fears. I don't remember the boys ever being obviously afraid of anything this young (except being more than 2 feet away from me at any time). Eleanor's fears are goats and hydrangeas. I'm not kidding. She appears to have gotten over the fear of hydrangeas thanks to some good old fashioned immersion therapy down at my parents' house, but goats may be a problem for awhile.

So I took this adorable video of Eleanor displaying her newest trick, waving bye bye on command, but this stupid friggin site won't upload it. I will try to upload it again tomorrow, when I have more time, and possibly more patience. As if the waving weren't freaking adorable enough, when she is finished with her bath I wrap her up in the towel and then hold her in front of the mirror. I say "Who is that baby in the mirror? Is that Eleanor?" She waves enthusiastically at the baby and squeals with happiness when the baby waves back. I know, I can't stop smiling just writing it.

More than once over the past few weeks I have thought "God bless the mothers of boys." It is just plain amazing how much trouble two little boys can cause on any given day. One morning this week Hammie spilled his milk all over the table, the floor, and the poor dog. I had to scrub down the table and then I (unwisely) left the spray bottle on the radiator cover while I got the mop and bucket ready. Hammie and Fraser then started fighting over who got to mop. I tried to distract Hammie by offering to let him vacuum the floor before I mopped (the boy still loves the vacuum) but he was undeterred. I then offered to let Fraser scrub the toilet. I know, this doesn't sound like an enticing offer, but since we use baking soda and vinegar to clean the toilet this means a cool chemical reaction complete with sizzling sound. Fraser relented and Hammie mopped first. Then Fraser got a turn to mop, so Hammie went to scrub the toilet and I got a turn to mop. Half way through the mopping I hear "Mom, Hammie opened the spray bottle!" I turn to see Hammie with my bottle of cleaner, now empty. Apparently he decided to clean the toilet by dumping the entire bottle into the toilet and, of course, all over the floor. After cleaning that up I went upstairs to change Eleanor's diaper, then put her on the floor in the bathroom while I went back to get the phone from Fraser, who was enthusiastically explaining the finer details of the Maine Antique tractor festival to Keekey, and Hammie locked himself and Eleanor in the bathroom. 10 minutes of negotiation through the locked door and he unlocked it, and to my credit I didn't kill him. Our poor sad dog still smells like spoiled milk because I'm afraid of what Hammie will get into while I try to wash her. Like I said, God bless the mothers of boys.

Despite the less than award worthy behavior of both my sons, we decided to take them to Thomas's Day out where they got to ride on Thomas the train and try out a bunch of other amusement park rides too. Fraser and Hammie were actually wonderfully well behaved (go figure) and we all had a great time. We did decide to take them on the tilt-a-whirl first, which may not have been exactly the most brilliant parenting decision. I went on with the boys while Andy stayed with Eleanor and I had forgotten just how fast that thing whips around. Hammie started to freak out first yelling things like "Make it stop! I want to get off! I'm tired!" and anything else he could think of that typically would cause me to stop what we were doing and try something else. I let go of the bar so I could hold onto him and I said "Don't worry honey, I won't let you fall out." and he responded "Thank you Mommy!" Adorable, and so funny. Fraser also went on a ride all by himself and I was very proud of how brave he was! Even Eleanor went on the merry go round.


Aside from a wonderful family trip our day out with Thomas was a very good learning experience too. The boys enjoyed the train ride on Thomas and the little train ride they had as well that just went in a circle, but by far their favorite thing was a wooden train that didn't go anywhere at all but sat perfectly still and could be climbed on. So, the fact that the boys could care less about actual "rides" and the fact that Thomas's day out in Carver Massachusetts provided more than enough people to make Mommy and Daddy want to run screaming back to the relative quiet of Ashburnham, I think it is safe to say that we are definitely not going to be ready for Disney anytime soon.


By popular request, here is a photo of Fraser's cake from his firetruck themed birthday party. Yes, it is a blue firetruck since Tarrytown (where Keekey works) has a blue firetruck (and it turns out it is damn near impossible to make red icing, who knew) and it is a tiller because Fraser requested that it be so. That's right, I said "How about a fire truck cake for your birthday?" and he said "Yeah! But it has to be a tiller." Only Andy's son could request a specific kind of firetruck (one that is a major freaking pain to make out of cake). Thanks for that honey. And below are pictures of Fraser and Hammie after the very exciting whirlwind of firetruck cake and pinata full of candy (which of course led to Fraser and Hammie full of cake and candy). Fraser looks like an overfed vampire because he actually fell asleep with his ring pop in his mouth.

Fraser must have really enjoyed his party since he has been asking the entire month when his next birthday party is. No matter how many times we try to explain to him that everyone, young or old, big or small, rich or poor only gets one birthday a year (no matter how unfair they may think that is or how angry they get about it) he is still insistent that his birthday should come next. The other morning I explained to him that actually his cousin Jack's birthday will be next when we are in Maine, and then Eleanor's and Mommy's are also both in July! Then I went on to explain that after that will come cousin Lily's and Uncle PJ's and Grandpa Paul's and Grammy Lynn's and Aunt Denise's and Uncle Craig's and Grandpa Don's and Uncle Dustin's and Hammie's and Keekey's and Daddy's and aunt Bethany's and THEN his birthday. Since then Fraser has been announcing that everyone else will have "skunk birthday parties." I have no idea why, but he thinks this is hysterical.

Hammie, meanwhile, couldn't give two hoots about when his birthday is coming, but instead marches around the yard reciting lines from the book "Llama llama red pajama" as loudly as possible. I have completely given up trying to get him to sit down at the table, much less sit still. I have to admit, I thought all those "boy books" (the ones that talk about boys constant energy and how our education system will inevitably fail them if it doesn't find a way to embrace their need to constantly move, fidget, yell, and fight) were a tad alarmist when I read them when Fraser was this age. Now I see what they are talking about.

This Saturday we leave for our family vacation in Maine, which I am really looking forward to this year. Lately I have begun to feel the truth of that old saying "Having children is like being pecked to death by ducks." It turns out that this not so much refers to your children pecking at you (though there is that, of course) but the constant barrage of other tiny little annoyances that just peck away at you all day, every day (today our vet's office told me they couldn't transfer our new cat's medical records to my name without the prior owner's consent because it would violate patient-doctor confidentiality. I love animals as much as the next person, no, more than the next person, but he is a friggin cat! What am I going to do? Hold his medical history against him at his next job interview???). So I am looking forward to a little space, a little peace, and a little time away. Of course there will be Hammie, and a large body of water with no safety barrier in place.... well, at least there will be space and time away.