The Big O Turns Five!

Our youngest we call the 'Big O',

When angry he sure lets us know!

Shirtless and carefree,

And always 'hungy',

His best buddy, hands down, is big bro'!

Top Five on Five:

1. The way you call me 'mama'
2. I love your dimples
3. You give the best hugs in the world
4. Your friendship with Jeremiah makes my heart swell
5. How thankful you are for the littlest things

So glad the O Factor is a part of our lives.  Our family would be incomplete without him.

Happy Birthday buddy.  We love you!

Baseball and the Big O

Everything the Big O does is big.  He lives in the land of extremities.  If he laughs it's going to be a really, loud, goofy laugh.  If he throws a fit, stand back.  It will be a whopper.  If he wants to give you a hug, watch out--he'll probably knock you down.  If he sings, turn up the radio if you were hoping to hear the song and not him.  He plays hard, lives hard, feels hard.  That's just the way he is.

We, as parents, wondered how baseball would play out with him.  We knew it could potentially be a disaster...or it could be a complete joy.  There was no way of knowing; we'd just have to risk it.  One thing we could guarantee, though--he would do things completely different then any of our other kids.  He would put his own off-kiltered twist on things, thus earning a few more badges on his nickname:  the 'O Factor'.

So the O Factor had some choice moments on the field, for sure.  Like the time when he ran off and on the field three separate times in one inning, straight to his momma to share something (in a really loud voice):

'Mom, is Miss Wite here yet?  When she gonna get here?' 

'Mom, I am weally sorry I pooped in my pants earlier.  I am weally, weally sorry Mom.'  (ummm, thanks for the confession.  Such pristine timing.  Really.)

 'Mom, can I have a piece of dat bubba bum (translated bubble gum)?'

The other proud moment was when he danced around and did a little jig in the outfield for five whole minutes.  Yes, that was mighty fine.  I believe this coincided with when he told us that he no longer liked the 'baseball ready' position and wouldn't be doing it anymore.

Then there was his last game when he got called out at third.  Coach Dave was standing at third and said, 'You're out O--go sit down.'  I held my breath and waited to see what he would do.  He had never been called out before.  And his biggest thrill each game was sliding into home.  I watched his face and saw his mouth cock up slightly on one side as he processed this.  He took two steps towards the bench and I started to breathe a sigh of relief, but then caught my breath again when he whipped himself around and put himself back on third.  I guess he thought Coach Dave might not notice.  However, Coach Dave immediately said, 'You're out O--go sit down', once again removing him from the base and pointing him towards the bench. 

Finally realizing Coach Dave meant business, he went and sat down.  Phew--my tense shoulders could finally relax.  Of course, he had to rehash the story to all of his teammates.  But since his speech impediment is slightly serious, no one understood a word he was saying.

After the final game, Coach Dave did a little presentation, giving each player a game ball and their 'end of the season' trophy. The Big O walked up, received his trophy and then swaggert and strutted he did, all the way to his seat. O-ee-O the overly confident showboat...such proud parents we are.

All in all, aside from the outfield jigs, the running on and off the field to discuss his bowel movements, consistently losing his hat on game days, and the 'near-fit' misses, I would say that it was a pretty successful first season.  Yes, I think next year we will once again be chanting for all to hear:

'TWINS, TWINS, TWINS!'   

Chronicles of the O's Opening Day

Wednesday, May 11, 2011, 7:00 AM.  The O pops his head around the wall into the kitchen, teeth-filled grin bigger than his face. 

"It's my first baeball bame!"

Immediately followed by:

"Can I put on my baeball oonifoam?"

The mom of perfection ten years ago would not have yielded to such a request.  Get a uniform dirty for opening day??? No way.  But this mom of five has been around the block a few times...she knows that bacon grease and syrup on a uniform is small potatoes.  Today there are way bigger fish to fry than uniform presentation.  She nods in compliance without batting an eye.

At 7:35 AM the mom gets one of those uncanny mom premonitions.  It tells her to make sure the glove is secure for tonight's game.  This manager of chaos is usually not one to follow through with such thoughts ten hours before game time.  That would be--just too on top of things.  But today something makes her scan the shelves in the garage for little man's glove. 

It's 7:40 in the morning on opening day and the O's glove is no where to be found.  Lost.  Left behind on a bleacher somewhere.  The O doesn't take the news very well:

And the first fit is thrown nearly before the dawn of the rooster crow.

Big brother Jeremiah tries to save the day by going and getting his glove out of this bag:  'Look O!  You can use my glove...oh no... MMMOOOOMMMM!  THIS IS BEN'S GLOVE!'

Ben?  Whose Ben?  (and by the way, whose on first, Abbott?) 

Teammate to big brother Ben, that's who.  Whose glove happens to look a whole lot like big brother's, resulting in a switch-a-roo..or would that be a switch-a-who? (is it just me, or is this starting to sound like Dr. Suess?)

'No worries, O.  This is so exciting!  You get to use Jeremiah's teammate Ben's glove for your first game ever!  Isn't that special?'

High maintenance youngest sibling of five isn't buying it. 

Recovery is looking unlikely, but then Miss Shell shows up with a special something something to commemorate opening day:

And the face does a 360.

Cupcakes with plastic baseballs save the day...once more, all is right in the world.

Shortly after the sugar consumption, I announce the next surprise:

OPENING DAY HAIRCUTS!

At this point in the day, eldest son Joshua, whose concern for justice is of utmost importance, pulls me aside:

'Wow--pictures, cupcakes, haircuts, more pictures...you sure are making a big deal about this first game.  Did you make this big of a deal about my first game?'

Buddy, go open the cabinet in the basement and pull out scrapbook, volume #7.  On page 250, you'll find a ten page spread, I'm sure of it.

Phew.  Glad those middle kids...what's their names...didn't pose that question.

So we mosey on down to the Sports Clips and this momma has a trump card in our back pocket...and she's so excited to pull it out, yes she is.  The last of the pack needs some trumpet noise--some announcing--every now and then.  A trump card of the Mr. T. variety:

One last look, Mimi:

And back to our red-neck roots we go:

The 'out-in-your-face-here-I-am' kind of do.  A mohawk-sportin', red-neck stylin' grand-son.  Mimi is so proud.  I know she is. 

So with the buzz of the clippers, the O's capacity for trouble just grew ten-fold.  Or, more accurately, just exposed what was already there.  (Who just knocked that kid down?  It was the boy with the mohawk.  Who is throwing a fit out there in the field?  The boy with the mohawk.  Who is stomping off from his parents again?  Oh, just the boy with the mohawk.)  Yep.  No hiding now...  No longer able to hide under the innocent locks of brown hair.  No longer.

The O is in his element, his prime.  It fits like a glove, and he can't lose this one I might add.

And finally, finally, it's 6:00 PM--the moment we've all been waiting for. 

And a slew of 'firsts' for this four-year-old happens in a matter of minutes.

His first National Anthem:

His first team huddle:

His first time to field (sportin' Ben somebody-or-other's glove):

First up to bat (with dad's assistance):

First time to score:

And amidst all his 'firsts', his fan club cheers him on:

Of course, in O fashion, he pretends to ignore the signs.  He pretends to ignore the friends, the Mimi, the aunt and cousin cheers.  He tries to look all unaffected...but the smile seeping out of the corner of his pretend somberness gives him away.  Later, when it's safe to care, he'll talk non-stop about all the people that came to share in his day of firsts.

O boy, you are one-of-a-kind.  You might be number five, but you're the first to ever sport a mohawk in this family.  And sport it well I might add.  Crooked smilin' mohawkin stylin'.  Yep.  It suits you.  It suits you just fine. 

So thankful to share in this day of firsts with you...we love you O-ee-O.

The O Factor's Debut

Yesterday was our youngest boy's first official t-ball practice. Owen (whom we like to lovingly refer to as the 'O Factor') has been waiting all of his life to get some action out on the field. Since he was one month old, he has been sitting in the stands as a spectator. So yesterday marked a big milestone in the life of our four-year-old. Here he is right before we left for his practice:

And here he is with his sidekick, Jeremiah.  They are 'baseball ready!'

For the last two years, older brother Jeremiah played on the 'Twins' at Lyndon Recreation.  It has been the best t-ball team we ever played on because of the coaches (you can read about them here).  In fact, word must have gotten out about the coaching, because there were sixteen parent requests to play on the Twins!  Sixteen!  Wow.  We are so glad that Owen made the cut.  And so is he.  He would have been devastated if he couldn't have followed in his big brother's footsteps and be a 'Twin'.  And since he and Jeremiah are like twins (not only do they look alike, they spend every waking moment together),  it fits that he would be on a team named such.

While they may look alike and enjoy the same activities, Jeremiah and Owen's personalities are night and day different.  Jeremiah is laid-back, soft-spoken and compliant.  Owen is intense, loud and well--a rule breaker.  In fact, his personality is what led to us calling him 'the O Factor'.  I have already warned the coach that Owen is a completely different animal--I mean boy--than Jeremiah.

So off to practice they went, the daddy and son.  What Owen didn't know was that Sophie and I were going to come by shortly after they started.  There were two reasons we couldn't resist seeing the O Factor's debut:  1) because watching a four year old on the field is just hard to resist 2) whereever the O Factor is, there is usually a 'story'...

When Sophie and I arrived, the coach had divided the team into groups to practice their fielding.  We set on the stands with about thirty other people (no--I am not kidding.  You would have thought it was a game with all the spectators at this practice!  See?  These parents can't resist either!).  Anyway, suddenly Owen told his coach he needed to go potty.  Eric, who was helping another group of youngsters, began walking off the field to accompany our O to the bathroom--or so he thought. 

Our O Factor ran off the field and dropped those pants right outside the backstop.  Yep.  There he was--drawers pulled down, baring all...trying to do his business.

Everyone's attention turned from the field to this bare bottom...of course it did.  This is usually the case with the O Factor.

Soph and I about fell off the bleachers and busted a gut.

And then I remembered that I was the mom.  And a responsible mom would offer to take their child to the bathroom.  That a responsible mom wouldn't just lay there laughing while the responsible dad left his coaching post and took the O to the bathroom...

So as responsible Dad pulled up the drawers, I gained my composure, snorted one more time, and fessed up as the mom of deliquent boy.  

Well, that was a bad decision.  

O Factor hadn't realized that dear Mom was in the stands.  And dear Mom has a way of bringing out the best in him.  The O immediately ran towards the bathrooms, his defiant arms in the air, yelling, 'I going by myself, Otay?!?  I can do this myself!' 

As I chased after him, I guess the Factor got it in his head once again that he didn't really want to bother with the bathroom.  After all, he was in the middle of his t-ball practice and time was of the essence.  So he stopped and dropped those drawers again, intending to get his business DONE.

'Owen, you can't do that...pull up your pants!'

I don't know if it was me yelling or the fact that he did not want his mom to help him, but O pulled up his pants and began running towards the bathroom again, yelling, 'I don't need help, otay??!'

I finally caught up with him.  That just made him all the madder.  So he decided to do a front noseplant into the ground.  He laid there stiff on the ground.  Yes!  A fit of the finest sorts. 

'I don't need help, otay???'

Getting him to wash his hands was another whole battle.

'I don't have time, otay???!'

After practice, Owen wanted to stay and run the bases a few minutes.  And here is fit two, three and four:

Oh me. Oh my.  I think our parenting abilities are going to dissolve into the dust of the t-ball field this season.

Owen's Third Birthday

Our sweet 'O' turned three yesterday. Watch below as he spits all over his cake--I mean blows out the candles. :)

My Daughter the Teacher

Today I went to lunch with a friend. Eric was on a conference call in his office when I left. So, I put Joshua and Sophie in charge until he was done. Now, Joshua had some reading to do and Sophie kind of took over the 'being in charge' part. She loves to be in charge. And she decided they were going to do school while I was gone.

All year long she has been 'teaching' my four year old preschool. My four year old, at this point, is getting rather tired of doing school. You should see his expressions when she yells, "Jeremiah, it's time for school!" He stomps into the school room, muttering things like, "Oh, great!" Recently, she has gotten Owen in on the action. Since it is still all new to him, he actually sits there and participates. It's a trip!

Well, today while I was at lunch, she called me three times, asking me if 'her students' could do this or do that. The second phone call entailed asking me if she could give her students a bath. What in the world? What in the world? Where in the world is your father? No, you cannot give them a bath!

So...I get home later and find out the 'why' behind wanting to give them baths. She decided today was 'picture day' at preschool and wanted to get them all fresh. Since I said no to baths, she put that really stiff hair gel all over their hair--you know the kind that makes it hard and crinkly like straw. Jeremiah has this infatuation for this pink shirt right now--it used to be Joshua's...um, like last year. So it is about two sizes too big. But he soooo wants to wear it. So I guess he picked it for 'picture day'. Check out the shots--they are hilarious:

Nice stance:

This one is particularly nice:Even some graduation pics--she was on top of it.

An action shot--with some illuminating light in the background. Nice touch.Student #2, before hair gel:Student #2, after hair gel:Yep, that's our O Factor!And let's not forget the teacher:

Soph, you make me laugh...i almost laughed about 'Picture Day' as hard as I laughed about Cafe Disco.

Playing baseball VIDEO #1

Here is Owen playing baseball yesterday

Looking like Ray from Jerry McGuire!

Remember the little boy named Ray on Jerry McGuire? Don't you think 'O' would look like him if he had some big round glasses?

What's up with the O factor these days? Well, he has been stealing everyone's toothbrushes and we don't know where he is putting them! Everyone's, that is except his own and Jeremiah's. Where in the world is he putting them all ???? It's a mystery. Don't worry. I've got my super sleuth Sophie on the case.

'O' Man, What are we going to do with you?

Well, this morning our neighbor across the street called to inform us that our O-Man was out on our front sidewalk. Yes, he has learned how to unlock our front door and keeps going outside and hanging out on our front porch! We caught him out there three different times today, once with Sophie's boots on (which come up to his knees and he can barely walk in). Yesterday he was swinging a bread knife around in the air like a conductor. He is also climbing up on the stools in our kitchen and onto the kitchen island. The other day I walked into the kitchen and found him sitting on the stool calling someone on the phone. He is also climbing up on the top bunks of all the kids beds and throwing everything off. Little O, what are we going to do with you!???

The 'O' Factor

Meet the 'O' factor -- what we call our dear fifth child, Owen:

Notice his angry look--usually his look of choice. You see, Owen has an agenda. An agenda of which we are not big fans of--so we are usually circumventing the agenda. Thus, the 'look' above is usually what you find upon his face. I have pics to prove it:

So last weekend I did my long run on Saturday morning. Eric was 'watching' the kids--when I came in from my run this is how I found him:

Glued to the TV, watching the all consuming Rider Cup. I asked 'where is Owen?' (about three times, before he heard me). He said, 'I'm not sure--I haven't heard him for a while'. Uh-Oh. Not a good sign. We found him sitting in the top bunkbed--a place he is not supposed to be--with his brother's tooth brush and toothpaste. He was trying really hard to get the toothpaste open and he had toothpaste all over his mouth from where he had licked it off the outside of the bottle (don't worry, it wasn't enough to poison him). Then I walked in my room, where I found my jewelry thrown all over the room (another 'O' factor specialty).

I think I sarcastically made some comment to Eric about maybe if he was watching Owen as intently as the Rider Cup this wouldn't have happened....so, a little bit later, Eric left to clean out the van (which I'm pretty sure was a 'front' to listen to the Rider Cup on the radio in private--I think I'm on to him) while I got 'ready'--you know, put on makeup, etc. Just down the hall, Jeremiah was in the bathtub playing. Suddenly, Joshua yells, 'Mom, come look what Owen, did!' Owen had found his way to the bathtub and had been filling a plastic container with water and dumping it out onto the floor umpteen times--while Jeremiah looked on. The water had leaked through the floor down to the first story--soaking the kitchen table and everything on it--including some of my most treasured books. The 'O' factor strikes again.

I thought about my sarcasm earlier--I think maybe I need to eat those words :)