Holy smokes, Batman! I am blogging! For all of my new readers, those blogs already up are from three years ago. So, I'd say it's more than due time, don't ya think?
So, Thing 1 and Thing 2 are now 7 and 5 respectively. Thing 1 is in school and Thing 2 will be heading to school in the Fall. Oh yes. Can you feel that? That my friends is the wind of freedom. Seriously, is it bad to want to put a ticker on my FB page that counts down to when I can pee without fingers under the door? I didn't think so either.
I remember sending Tyler to school and following the bus. Then walking inside and making sure my sweet little boy was going to be okay in the big big world of elementary school. Ethan, well, he'll be lucky to get breakfast before the bus carts his little bully self to the gates of knowledge. That child will know the principal on a first name basis, I am sure of it.
As for me ... the past three years have FLOWN by. I feel like it was just yesterday I was blogging on potty training and nose picking. Ladies and Gents, I've got new material. Dare I say better material? If I thought the things that came out of their mouths was blog worthy then, well, just wait until you read my life now. And, it's all for your reading enjoyment.
So, keep up. The blogs are coming. And, seeing as how MySpace is way of the dinosaur now, comment and spread the word. I need the followers to stroke my ego.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Grocery Store Adventures
First off let me say that if you are not a parent, you will most likely not understand the nature of my fustrations with the grocery store. Now, being that I am a mother of 2 children both under the age of 4, this place is like a nervous breakdown waiting to happen.
First off, let's begin in the parking lot. I understand the idea of pushing the carts so they lock together so you can fit more into the "corrals". Now, what they are not,is easy to seperate. Case in point. I have suceeded in retrieving both my children safely from the car and have even been sucessful in locking it. I now have the 1 year under my arm as if he is a 29 pound child shaped football. My three year old is holding my hand that is also holding the cell phone and 60 pound bag that I call a purse. I am single minded in that I need to make it to the cart before my arms are ripped from their sockets. I am already beginning to sweat. I make it across the parking lot that is inhabited by the SLOWEST drivers on earth. I yank on the closest cart. It has bubble gum all over it. It looks as if a chewed bubble gum grenade has exploded in its near vicinity. Okay, just pull the other one I tell myself ignoring the screaming coming from the sack of potatoes I call my son. I yank harder and harder. What I get is all 17 carts coming out of the corrall like a freaking train. Ack! I try to push them back in so I can pry one away. No use. They are a 40 foot train off the track. So, now ...I have my 3 year old holding onto my back pocket as I pull 17 carts up to the store doors. It's all out of the kindness of my heart I tell the 110 year old "cart boy".
I smile through the sweat and tears, and move into the battle zone. Somehwhere I smell a waft of sour milk. One of my fellow Moms before me must have fallen I think. No time to stop, must move on. I now have my single cart and begin to move through the aisles. Everything is plastered with Sponge Bob Square Pants, Dora (I hate that evil cartoon...ACK), and Scooby Doo. Of course, my children want it all. The 6 pound box of cocoa puffs that have clever Dora marshmallows. Yea, and ten years from now you might come down off that sugar high....if I am lucky. I end up giving in and buying Chicken Little decorated Kleenex tissues. It's not weak I chant to myself.
Now, my oldest has been sick lately so I need cold medicine. I discover that 3-5 year olds have been left mostly out of the market here. It's all infant to 2 and ages 6-12. So, if you are looking to corner the market on something .... there ya go. So don't say I haven't given you anything. That's money in the bank right there.
I finally finish everything and it is down to check out. This is like the final temptation of Christ for my kids. I mean seriously. I am pushing them down a narrow aisle that is lined with candy on both sides. My perspiring increases. This is it...I can do this. They only grab at a few things before I shoot them through there like a greased bullet. Ha - I think.
WRONG!
Now you slide your check card through on your own with these nifty little machines on tidy little poles. My three year old thinks this looks like mighty fun. He is tapping merrily away on the thing. Let me just tell you that I now know that I cannot pull 7,489.23 out of my checking account. I needed to know this and now I am glad Robby, the bag boy knows this too.
*Vintage Post
First off, let's begin in the parking lot. I understand the idea of pushing the carts so they lock together so you can fit more into the "corrals". Now, what they are not,is easy to seperate. Case in point. I have suceeded in retrieving both my children safely from the car and have even been sucessful in locking it. I now have the 1 year under my arm as if he is a 29 pound child shaped football. My three year old is holding my hand that is also holding the cell phone and 60 pound bag that I call a purse. I am single minded in that I need to make it to the cart before my arms are ripped from their sockets. I am already beginning to sweat. I make it across the parking lot that is inhabited by the SLOWEST drivers on earth. I yank on the closest cart. It has bubble gum all over it. It looks as if a chewed bubble gum grenade has exploded in its near vicinity. Okay, just pull the other one I tell myself ignoring the screaming coming from the sack of potatoes I call my son. I yank harder and harder. What I get is all 17 carts coming out of the corrall like a freaking train. Ack! I try to push them back in so I can pry one away. No use. They are a 40 foot train off the track. So, now ...I have my 3 year old holding onto my back pocket as I pull 17 carts up to the store doors. It's all out of the kindness of my heart I tell the 110 year old "cart boy".
I smile through the sweat and tears, and move into the battle zone. Somehwhere I smell a waft of sour milk. One of my fellow Moms before me must have fallen I think. No time to stop, must move on. I now have my single cart and begin to move through the aisles. Everything is plastered with Sponge Bob Square Pants, Dora (I hate that evil cartoon...ACK), and Scooby Doo. Of course, my children want it all. The 6 pound box of cocoa puffs that have clever Dora marshmallows. Yea, and ten years from now you might come down off that sugar high....if I am lucky. I end up giving in and buying Chicken Little decorated Kleenex tissues. It's not weak I chant to myself.
Now, my oldest has been sick lately so I need cold medicine. I discover that 3-5 year olds have been left mostly out of the market here. It's all infant to 2 and ages 6-12. So, if you are looking to corner the market on something .... there ya go. So don't say I haven't given you anything. That's money in the bank right there.
I finally finish everything and it is down to check out. This is like the final temptation of Christ for my kids. I mean seriously. I am pushing them down a narrow aisle that is lined with candy on both sides. My perspiring increases. This is it...I can do this. They only grab at a few things before I shoot them through there like a greased bullet. Ha - I think.
WRONG!
Now you slide your check card through on your own with these nifty little machines on tidy little poles. My three year old thinks this looks like mighty fun. He is tapping merrily away on the thing. Let me just tell you that I now know that I cannot pull 7,489.23 out of my checking account. I needed to know this and now I am glad Robby, the bag boy knows this too.
*Vintage Post
1-900-GET-FIRED
I am going to deviate a bit in my blogging about kids and talk about how I can make an utter moron of myself with absolutely no help.
Let's go back a few years to the year 2001. My husband and I have been married only a year. We are love birds. We are constantly wanting sex. Remember that time?? Before you felt like the world's largest burp cloth?? Yeah, I can barely remember it myself. Anyhow, I am working at my first career type job. I am dressed professional, at my own desk, and have a fairly large account. The biggest in my department actually. I have a lot of pressure. How does a newly wed escape. Sex. And when you aren't together ..phone sex. Late one afternoon my phone rings and I answer...
Oh ... it's Mike I think. Boy, I am going to give him a show. So, in my most sultry voice I begin saying things that would make Madonna in her hooker years blush. I notice he isn't saying anything. He really likes it I think. So, then I keep on. Confident I am the greatest thing since sliced bread. All of a sudden I hear ...
"What ???" in a voice that does sound similar to Mikes.
"You're not Mike are you?" I am sweating bullets instantly.
"Ahh ...no." Of course not. It's my biggest client. Good Lord. I do what I do when stressed.... I flee. You know the whole fight or flight thing. I hang up on him.
10 minutes later I am in the VP's office explaining my sexploits and rash behavior. While I don't recommend this, it must have worked for me. I kept this account through the 7 years I was there and enjoyed being a favorite in the office.
*Vintage Post
Let's go back a few years to the year 2001. My husband and I have been married only a year. We are love birds. We are constantly wanting sex. Remember that time?? Before you felt like the world's largest burp cloth?? Yeah, I can barely remember it myself. Anyhow, I am working at my first career type job. I am dressed professional, at my own desk, and have a fairly large account. The biggest in my department actually. I have a lot of pressure. How does a newly wed escape. Sex. And when you aren't together ..phone sex. Late one afternoon my phone rings and I answer...
Oh ... it's Mike I think. Boy, I am going to give him a show. So, in my most sultry voice I begin saying things that would make Madonna in her hooker years blush. I notice he isn't saying anything. He really likes it I think. So, then I keep on. Confident I am the greatest thing since sliced bread. All of a sudden I hear ...
"What ???" in a voice that does sound similar to Mikes.
"You're not Mike are you?" I am sweating bullets instantly.
"Ahh ...no." Of course not. It's my biggest client. Good Lord. I do what I do when stressed.... I flee. You know the whole fight or flight thing. I hang up on him.
10 minutes later I am in the VP's office explaining my sexploits and rash behavior. While I don't recommend this, it must have worked for me. I kept this account through the 7 years I was there and enjoyed being a favorite in the office.
*Vintage Post
3 is a crowd
Lately there has been trouble brewing in our happy little abode. Our 4 year old is struggling to find where he is in the kid/adult world. It seems early to me, but hey. I am chalking it up to him being super smart.
A prime problem stemming from this is that our youngest now has 3 parents instead of the 2 he is used to. This is a mjor problem mostly because Tyler differs in his dicipline ethics from Mike and I. ( This bit is tongue in cheek. We do not expect Tyler to parent Ethan. So save the hate mail.) He is a bit more harsh than we are .
Let me give you an example. Ethan is toeing the line of listening. He is testing the waters. We expect it. He is 2. Anyhow, our two boys are in the yard playing baseball. I am sitting on the porch watching. I can tell they are bickering, but I decide to let them hash this one out. All of a sudden, Tyler swings the little yellow plastic bat for all it's worth smacking Ethan square in his button little nose. Ethan steps back a bit, stunned, and then begins wailing. Understandably of course. I march down there. I quickly make sure Ethan's nose isn't broken and turn my full attention to Tyler.
" What were you thinking hitting Ethan in the face with a bat, son?" I am fuming.
"Well, Mom. Now he'll listen."
Tough love I guess.
*Vintage Post
A prime problem stemming from this is that our youngest now has 3 parents instead of the 2 he is used to. This is a mjor problem mostly because Tyler differs in his dicipline ethics from Mike and I. ( This bit is tongue in cheek. We do not expect Tyler to parent Ethan. So save the hate mail.) He is a bit more harsh than we are .
Let me give you an example. Ethan is toeing the line of listening. He is testing the waters. We expect it. He is 2. Anyhow, our two boys are in the yard playing baseball. I am sitting on the porch watching. I can tell they are bickering, but I decide to let them hash this one out. All of a sudden, Tyler swings the little yellow plastic bat for all it's worth smacking Ethan square in his button little nose. Ethan steps back a bit, stunned, and then begins wailing. Understandably of course. I march down there. I quickly make sure Ethan's nose isn't broken and turn my full attention to Tyler.
" What were you thinking hitting Ethan in the face with a bat, son?" I am fuming.
"Well, Mom. Now he'll listen."
Tough love I guess.
*Vintage Post
Man ... that is hawt!
So, I am going to venture into bedtime stories. I am going to keep it PG rated so you can uncover your eyes. Well, I'll let you know before it gets crazy anyhow.
So, Mike and I have had a wonderful Saturday full of playing dinosaurs, snacking around, watching loads of college ball, and general goodness. So, we have been a little frisky all afternoon. All covert of course. I don't think we could afford therapy on top of the boys college tuition. So, after the boys are down we are in the kitchen making nachos. I am dicing the jalapenos and I see Mike giving me the look. So, naturally I drop the peppers and make a mad dash for the bedroom. We are fooling around a bit and the head in for the big game. We are really having fun ...(oh some timid people should've probably had their eyes closed about 30 words ago. Sorry for the late heads up.) and I notice it is warm. I mean .... it is really smoking down there. Never mind, I think. I'll deal.
Well, to make a long story short I realized I'd forgotten something vital. And I will give this to you as the motto of my story:
Always wash the jalapeno juice off your hands before touching private parts and/or engaging in intercourse.
*Vintage Post
So, Mike and I have had a wonderful Saturday full of playing dinosaurs, snacking around, watching loads of college ball, and general goodness. So, we have been a little frisky all afternoon. All covert of course. I don't think we could afford therapy on top of the boys college tuition. So, after the boys are down we are in the kitchen making nachos. I am dicing the jalapenos and I see Mike giving me the look. So, naturally I drop the peppers and make a mad dash for the bedroom. We are fooling around a bit and the head in for the big game. We are really having fun ...(oh some timid people should've probably had their eyes closed about 30 words ago. Sorry for the late heads up.) and I notice it is warm. I mean .... it is really smoking down there. Never mind, I think. I'll deal.
Well, to make a long story short I realized I'd forgotten something vital. And I will give this to you as the motto of my story:
Always wash the jalapeno juice off your hands before touching private parts and/or engaging in intercourse.
*Vintage Post
It's a bird ... no it's a plane...nope it was a bird.
So, I am recovering from the monumental chore of unpacking and getting back into the swing of life after vacation. It's hard.
Anyhow, I am sitting on my livingroom floor folding all the beach towels from the beach watching my plethera of lifetime movies. My youngest toddles in screaming for food. So, I stand up and go to the kitchen. And what do I see?? A flippin bird hopping around the joint like he owns the place. He is bouncing from window sill to fridge to the sink and anywhere his little bird tush wants to take him. I freak out. I am not scared of birds, outside in their own habitat. A bird in my kitchen, well that's another story.
So, I call my hubby and demand his presence for the bird situation. My youngest is still wanting food. So he meanders into bird territory. He sees it and is as pleased as punch. He begins chanting ...
"Bird! Touch! Bird!" In a shrill annoying kind of voice.
Well, the bird is not impressed. He puffs up and gets highly irratated. The little thing flies to the top of the wine glass rack and starts screeching back. This only makes Ethan happier. Now he thinks the bird is talking with him. The screeching on both ends heightens.
Meanwhile, I am trying to see if I can make it across the kitchen and prop open the back door to let the thing fly out. It sees me and has the nerve to dive bomb my head. Is this an outcast from Alfred. H. The Birds or what??
Chaos is reaching paramount porportions and I think the little thing has had enough. He looked at us and looked at the door and flew right out like he'd done it a thousand times before.
So, the bird is gone but my son is crushed. He's lost his friend.
I plop back down and finish folding clothes. It's all in a days work for this mom.
*Vintage Post
Anyhow, I am sitting on my livingroom floor folding all the beach towels from the beach watching my plethera of lifetime movies. My youngest toddles in screaming for food. So, I stand up and go to the kitchen. And what do I see?? A flippin bird hopping around the joint like he owns the place. He is bouncing from window sill to fridge to the sink and anywhere his little bird tush wants to take him. I freak out. I am not scared of birds, outside in their own habitat. A bird in my kitchen, well that's another story.
So, I call my hubby and demand his presence for the bird situation. My youngest is still wanting food. So he meanders into bird territory. He sees it and is as pleased as punch. He begins chanting ...
"Bird! Touch! Bird!" In a shrill annoying kind of voice.
Well, the bird is not impressed. He puffs up and gets highly irratated. The little thing flies to the top of the wine glass rack and starts screeching back. This only makes Ethan happier. Now he thinks the bird is talking with him. The screeching on both ends heightens.
Meanwhile, I am trying to see if I can make it across the kitchen and prop open the back door to let the thing fly out. It sees me and has the nerve to dive bomb my head. Is this an outcast from Alfred. H. The Birds or what??
Chaos is reaching paramount porportions and I think the little thing has had enough. He looked at us and looked at the door and flew right out like he'd done it a thousand times before.
So, the bird is gone but my son is crushed. He's lost his friend.
I plop back down and finish folding clothes. It's all in a days work for this mom.
*Vintage Post
A Horse Named Cat
As everyone is aware of ...Halloween is right around the corner. The boys are ready for some candy grubbing too. Tyler, my 4 year old, is going out as Darth Vader (I know. Big surprise.) and Ethan, my two year old, is going out as an Ohio State Buckeye football player (I know. Another big surprise). Anyhow, Mike and I are also going out Sunday night. We have the option to dress up. I decided to be a cat. I am just dressing in chic charcoal gray slacks, stilletto heels, and a great low v-neck top. The cat part comes in with a great Betty Paige-ish black wig, cat ears, a little collar, and a cat mask. You know, the ones that just cover the eyes. Well, I tried the whole get up on and my husband's eyes lit up. Needless to say, I was feeling like a feline goddess. My son walkes in and says........
"Mom, you look like a horse."
Not so goddess like.
Sigh.
*Vintage Post
"Mom, you look like a horse."
Not so goddess like.
Sigh.
*Vintage Post
Christmas Confessions of an Ebay Bidder
So, as we all know Christmas is upon us. I hear you crying, but there is still Thanksgiving to be celebrated. Turkey to be eaten. The Macey's Day parade to be oogled. Honestly, I don't care! I am so flipping Christmas happy this year I am dreaming in red and green. You got it, folks. I am turning into that girl. I am beginning to think of Thanksgiving as the precurser course to full fledged jingle bell merriment.
So, the closer the big day gets, the more E Bay happy I become. I am an E Bay queen. You want, I'll find it. But, something happens to my reason and logic the second my happy little fingers click that bid button. I become frantic and ultra comeptetive. For some reason I have developed what is only known as EBay rage. I have begun to take it as a personal offense, a challenge even , when someone over bids me. I begin to think nasty thoughts. I mean, how dare they outbid me on the Play Doh Ice Cream set? HOW DARE THEY? Can't they see I am thrilled with that $5.02 bid? Don't they know that as soon as they outbid me even by a penny and pay shipping they are paying more than what they can get it for in the store?? Don't they research these things?? Ack!
So, this is hard to admitt, but I keep bidding. Against all reasonable knowledge. I pay more and more just for the satisfaction of that glowing green check mark that tells me I am the high bidder. Because we all know that I deserve that kind of validation right? Right.
So, be warned. Christmas is right around the corner. Stay off E Bay. People like me are on there.
*Vintage Post
So, the closer the big day gets, the more E Bay happy I become. I am an E Bay queen. You want, I'll find it. But, something happens to my reason and logic the second my happy little fingers click that bid button. I become frantic and ultra comeptetive. For some reason I have developed what is only known as EBay rage. I have begun to take it as a personal offense, a challenge even , when someone over bids me. I begin to think nasty thoughts. I mean, how dare they outbid me on the Play Doh Ice Cream set? HOW DARE THEY? Can't they see I am thrilled with that $5.02 bid? Don't they know that as soon as they outbid me even by a penny and pay shipping they are paying more than what they can get it for in the store?? Don't they research these things?? Ack!
So, this is hard to admitt, but I keep bidding. Against all reasonable knowledge. I pay more and more just for the satisfaction of that glowing green check mark that tells me I am the high bidder. Because we all know that I deserve that kind of validation right? Right.
So, be warned. Christmas is right around the corner. Stay off E Bay. People like me are on there.
*Vintage Post
Coming in for Landing ...
Every year my husband and I put up a modest amount of Christmas lights outside. We have been particular on this matter in the past. We have almost all white lights with a very limited amount of red accents. (there are a few peppermints in the front flower bed. They were a birthday gift last year.) We love to stand outside and watch the lights turn on when the timer sets them off. The kids think it's magic and I love the feeling.
Now, my kids are everything to my in-laws. Having my husband, I have come to believe, was merely a step in attaining grandchildren. I kid you not. Really. Anyhow, Kim and Gary have been here and have seen the kids reaction to the lights. Mind you, the past several years the only lights on their house was the porch lights and that was only when the pizza guy was delivering. This year; however, they are turning into regular Griswalds. There are lights on the house, lights on the tree, along the fence, a fake lighted tree, a train, candycanes, candles in the windows, garland on the posts ... and this is only the front yard. They even have the garage and back porch lit up. It really is impressive .... that they haven't blown a fuse. Or a generator. For the block.
Well, being of the male variety, my husband has the natural instince to not be outdone. So, we are out shopping the other day and I see him lingering by the lights like I do by high heels.
Where are you going to out more lights at? I asked him.
I thought about adding red rope lights to the white ones on the pillar so it looks like a candy cane.
Oh. Completely red lights. Holy cow. It's bad.
And I thought about running lights along the entire length of the front of the house and up along the peak, too.
Uh oh.
So, now we look like a beacon for any stray small aircraft and we do't even have to use the porch light to get the key in the door. The kids are overwhelmed by Daddy's magic and we are almost as cool as Nana and Papa.
Thank Goodness for Christmas magic!
*Vintage Post
Now, my kids are everything to my in-laws. Having my husband, I have come to believe, was merely a step in attaining grandchildren. I kid you not. Really. Anyhow, Kim and Gary have been here and have seen the kids reaction to the lights. Mind you, the past several years the only lights on their house was the porch lights and that was only when the pizza guy was delivering. This year; however, they are turning into regular Griswalds. There are lights on the house, lights on the tree, along the fence, a fake lighted tree, a train, candycanes, candles in the windows, garland on the posts ... and this is only the front yard. They even have the garage and back porch lit up. It really is impressive .... that they haven't blown a fuse. Or a generator. For the block.
Well, being of the male variety, my husband has the natural instince to not be outdone. So, we are out shopping the other day and I see him lingering by the lights like I do by high heels.
Where are you going to out more lights at? I asked him.
I thought about adding red rope lights to the white ones on the pillar so it looks like a candy cane.
Oh. Completely red lights. Holy cow. It's bad.
And I thought about running lights along the entire length of the front of the house and up along the peak, too.
Uh oh.
So, now we look like a beacon for any stray small aircraft and we do't even have to use the porch light to get the key in the door. The kids are overwhelmed by Daddy's magic and we are almost as cool as Nana and Papa.
Thank Goodness for Christmas magic!
*Vintage Post
At Least There Wasn't a Cavity Search
So, a few weeks ago I went Mystic Tanning. I was trying to be MILF'd before a crazy wedding we were set to attend. I will blog on that later. Anyhow, my sister in law and myself were both first timers so we decided to go together. We bought what they call a cocktail tan. A clever scheme to get more money out of morons like us. Basically, you go to a regular tanning booth for 5 or 10 minutes and then head over to the Mystic tan. A mystic tan is this : sunless tanning lotion misted over your body. I know I know .... I am lazy even in "fake" tanning. I have told you before about this undesirable trait. Oh well. Anyhow, there are so many steps we had to actually watch a video on it. I began to get a little nervous about 15 minutes into the video. How am I supposed to remember all these steps?? I am going to turn out like Ross on that episode of Friends. I know it. The girl beind the counter said that one episode of Friends had single handedly destroyed a lot of business for Mystic tan. Seeing as how this cocktail cost me $30 bucks, they are doing ok I think. Anyhow, I get into the booth and hit the green button. Now, the video has informed me that you have 5 seconds from the time you hit the button to the time it begins "misting". So, I run back to the appointed circle .... assume the crazy position ... and remember that I forgot my goggles. I begin swearing. Crap. Well, I'll just close my eyes and hope for the best. Let me say that this thing is loud. I actually yelped. It scared me and I pant when I am scared. Now I am breathing in the "tanning mist". I worry that now I am going to grow cancer from the inside out from this. It's only supposed to last 14 seconds but my lungs are bursting. So as the nozzles point to my feet I suck in lungfulls of ... lotion! I open my eyes. I cannot see my hand in front of my face. It looks like the Fog has creeped in. Now, I have been using the term "mist" lightly. This mist was akin to the prison movies I have seen where they hose the prisoner down with a power washer. Anyhow, it suddenly stops dowsing me down and I quickly turn. By now, my knees are shaking and I am light headed from holding my breath. Well that, or the Fog is killing me. Anyhow, another 14 seconds and it is all done. Well, after the 5 hour developing period I looked pleasantly tan. I smiled at the wedding no one knowing I had just experienced the most terrifying afternoon of my life.
*Vintage Post
*Vintage Post
Sell Out
So, like every mom ... I sometimes get the umph in me to be the best I can be. I will make everything from scratch and clean like the Queen is stopping by. So, I have always had a bit of this Donna Reed-ness in me, hence I had never in my life purchased let alone used instant mashed potatoes. I mean, what person lowers themselves to buy powdered food. Well, my sister did. She swore by things. They are soo easy she would rave as she was rolling on the floor laughing at my feeble attempts to be The Martha Stewart of Ohio. So, browsing at the local grocery (read: desperately trying to end the shopping tryade known as hell with two toddlers), I stop at the boxed potatoes. I look up and down the aisle to make sure I don't know anyone, and descreetly drop a box in. I hope feverishly that I don't know the checkout clerk. All went well. I decide to sell out and use them one night. I mentally apologize to my children as I set the double cheddar bowl of potatoes on the table. My three year old eats them up. He asks for seconds. I am beginning to get a little miffed. Whose team is he on anyhow??? Then, words that struck me to the core came out of his instant potato encrusted little mouth:
These are waaay better than the other potatoes, Mom. Look at how much I ate and now I want more.
I am broken. And, I have another double box in the far corner of my pantry. Shame Shame.
*Vintage Post
These are waaay better than the other potatoes, Mom. Look at how much I ate and now I want more.
I am broken. And, I have another double box in the far corner of my pantry. Shame Shame.
*Vintage Post
Who are the People in Your Neighborhood?
Let me set the scene:
On the left (my left not yours ...) are the worlds oldest living siamese twins. Wow, you might think. Instant fun. Not so much. I think retiring from the circus makes you a bit cynical toward the general masses. (Mike told me to tell you that they really did retire from the circus ... we are not making it up). So, yeah, can I be mean and say Halloween is a treat here??
To the right there is what I call the revolving house. There have been a plethera of unusal (I might use shady) characters here. The last group which had new "American" names were recently deported.
Let's now wander across the street and meet June and her husband. June is the lady we hve an imaginary lawn battle with. By this I mean I think she is trying to upscale us ...so we in return drop hundreds of dollars at Knollwood nursey so we can be the fine upstanding neighbors we are and beat her at her own imaginary game. June's husband as we call him because nobody knows his real name has demensia. Now this is okay with us. We understand and agree to introduce ourselves every third day. He however insists that our son's is named Jebediah. Now, you may not know, but he is Ethan. Jebediah is in fact the "Okay Lady's" dog.
"Okay Lady" you might ask. She lives on the other side of the twins. We call her this for this reason:
Me: Hi! how are you??
OK: Hi! How are the boys, okay? You know I have a grandson, okay. He is one, okay. I watch him, okay, like three days a week okay. He is a fireball, okay."
Now mind you, this is the EXACT same conversation we have had with OK Lady every time we have talked to her in the past 2 1/2 years. Although she has never come right out and admitted demensia like June's Husband, we are beginning to wonder.
Lastly but not in any means least, we have our fine neighbors behind us. We once knew their names, but now they escape me. I do know that their rabid vicious child eating dog is appropriately named ... get this ... Buddy. I know. Buddy's main objective in his meager existance are these two things:
1. Poop in the hottest part of the day when we are there for his smelling pleasure.
2. Eat Ethan. (a.ka. Jebediah)
We also know that they have a backyard the size of my bathroom because of all the "extra" recyclable goods they store there. However, they still employ the use of a riding mower. The clip that comes to mind is Austin Powers trying to turn the golf cart around in the hallway. You get the idea.
Well, thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoyed the tour.
*Vintage Post
On the left (my left not yours ...) are the worlds oldest living siamese twins. Wow, you might think. Instant fun. Not so much. I think retiring from the circus makes you a bit cynical toward the general masses. (Mike told me to tell you that they really did retire from the circus ... we are not making it up). So, yeah, can I be mean and say Halloween is a treat here??
To the right there is what I call the revolving house. There have been a plethera of unusal (I might use shady) characters here. The last group which had new "American" names were recently deported.
Let's now wander across the street and meet June and her husband. June is the lady we hve an imaginary lawn battle with. By this I mean I think she is trying to upscale us ...so we in return drop hundreds of dollars at Knollwood nursey so we can be the fine upstanding neighbors we are and beat her at her own imaginary game. June's husband as we call him because nobody knows his real name has demensia. Now this is okay with us. We understand and agree to introduce ourselves every third day. He however insists that our son's is named Jebediah. Now, you may not know, but he is Ethan. Jebediah is in fact the "Okay Lady's" dog.
"Okay Lady" you might ask. She lives on the other side of the twins. We call her this for this reason:
Me: Hi! how are you??
OK: Hi! How are the boys, okay? You know I have a grandson, okay. He is one, okay. I watch him, okay, like three days a week okay. He is a fireball, okay."
Now mind you, this is the EXACT same conversation we have had with OK Lady every time we have talked to her in the past 2 1/2 years. Although she has never come right out and admitted demensia like June's Husband, we are beginning to wonder.
Lastly but not in any means least, we have our fine neighbors behind us. We once knew their names, but now they escape me. I do know that their rabid vicious child eating dog is appropriately named ... get this ... Buddy. I know. Buddy's main objective in his meager existance are these two things:
1. Poop in the hottest part of the day when we are there for his smelling pleasure.
2. Eat Ethan. (a.ka. Jebediah)
We also know that they have a backyard the size of my bathroom because of all the "extra" recyclable goods they store there. However, they still employ the use of a riding mower. The clip that comes to mind is Austin Powers trying to turn the golf cart around in the hallway. You get the idea.
Well, thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoyed the tour.
*Vintage Post
I Want to be on TV
I am frustrated. I am tired of being bombarded with images of mothers and children laying quielty together on luxurious silk sheets while the sun streams in the windows like soft butter. A father is in the back ground admiring the perfect and beautiful scene in his linen pants that are low slung on a washboard stomach. There is lovely soft music playing and all is well with the world. And this is a commmercial for detergent?? If my house was that clean...well...detergent would be the last thing on my mind.
Where's the commercial that shows my house? The mom sleeping in a t shirt and no pants because she only got half ready for bed before she passes out from exhaustion. The sheets are a smidge too small for the bed because she doesn't want to use the good sheets until the anniversary. One kid is standing on the gate in his door like a balance beam with a blanket around his neck that has been there almost two straight weeks without washing. I mean, superheros are never without a cape right?? Even if it's too dirty and stiff to blow in the breeze anymore. The youngest is wearing a onsie that is flapping open in the crotch because the mom was too lazy to resnap it after a midnight diaper change. This is good because the new diaper is so full it is hanging to his knees anyway. The Dad is already gone for work and the soggy towel is on the hall floor to prove that. Where is that laundry detergent commercial?? I'd buy that stuff because I'd feel so sorry for the mom.
*Vintage Post
Where's the commercial that shows my house? The mom sleeping in a t shirt and no pants because she only got half ready for bed before she passes out from exhaustion. The sheets are a smidge too small for the bed because she doesn't want to use the good sheets until the anniversary. One kid is standing on the gate in his door like a balance beam with a blanket around his neck that has been there almost two straight weeks without washing. I mean, superheros are never without a cape right?? Even if it's too dirty and stiff to blow in the breeze anymore. The youngest is wearing a onsie that is flapping open in the crotch because the mom was too lazy to resnap it after a midnight diaper change. This is good because the new diaper is so full it is hanging to his knees anyway. The Dad is already gone for work and the soggy towel is on the hall floor to prove that. Where is that laundry detergent commercial?? I'd buy that stuff because I'd feel so sorry for the mom.
*Vintage Post
A Woman on the Edge
No one ever told me being a mom and wife was this of hard of work. For crying out loud, where are the union people? I think some renegotiations are in order. There are several things I can see that are demanding some attention. One of them being my toenails. Good Lord. Let me tell you ladies, sandpaper isn't sexy.
And while we are at it, let's talk about these sleeping arrangements. I have some issues with everyone sleeping on clean sheets that I have put on. Can anyone agree with me that sheets that are not laundered by you feel so much better? I want to slip into a cool crisp inviting bed of newly washed sheets and know that it isn't me that broke my back loading them and folding them. Okay, maybe not broke my back, but I most assuredly had to bend down to get them out of the dryer.
And clothes. Don't even get me started. Let's just say me and the washer? Well we are mostly inseparable. And it's not because I love it that much. And while we are at it, dishes. If it's not the washer, it's the dishwasher. What is everyone eating anyway? If my memory serves me right, all I hear is that there isn't anything to eat in this house.
Let's talk about the TV. This one is going to be directed mostly towards the people in the house 4 feet and under. I am considering a ban on any show that has more than 20 minutes of animation. And anyone who repeats themselves 30 times in that amount of seconds .... gone. Say your goodbyes now. Mama is going to be master of the TiVo now. Say hello to Dr.Christian Troy.
And lastly. Maid services. Now this is the make or break of the deal. While I don't mind doing things like scrubbing toilets and floors, I do mind screwing that cap back on the toothpaste. Or closing cabinet doors. My head can only stand being konked so many times. I am losing brain cells here people. Not to mention the stress it causes me having to refrain from cursing while feeling like my head is splitting open like a watermelon thrown froma balcony.So, all in all. What do you think my chances are of getting this deal sealed without a strike?
That's what I thought. Things might get messy.
Raising Bo Jackson and George Lucas
As most of my readers know, I am a mother of two boys. They are my life. Literally. I quit my job to stay home with them. Best decision of my life so far. Also, the hardest. Seriously, on a day to day basis, I am challenged physically and mentally. Well, and emotionally if I am being down right honest.
I feel as if I am being pulled in a thousand different directions by these two miniture little beings. A few days ago a revelation hit me, though. I am raising two very different people.
My oldest son is a sci-fi geek and will watch Animal Planet on television until his eyes rot out of his sockets if I would let him. He is fair haired, pale as all get out, and uber skinny. I always think he looks like a miniature man-orexia fellow. I feed him, but his metabolsim would make any woman kill for it. He's reserved and not extremely good with social skills. He sports a super clean cut hair cut and is out of this world smart. He's pretty whitty for a 4 year old, I must say. Tyler will be the 40 year old man sleeping outside of the theater with all of his super wealthy coputer programming friends when the next installment of Star Wars comes out. And he will be okay with that.
Ethan on the other hand is his polar opposite. He is stocky, stays tan all year, dark haired, and a sports freak. If it contains some type of physical contact or a ball, he's there. He will watch March Madness like a man. He's out going and wears his hair in a mohawk. He is my rock star. He will most likely be the son we get a call from the local jailhouse from because he is in it.
So, after I finally processed all this information in my frazzeled, starbucks laden, trying to plana trip to Disney World mind, I realized that I am going to have to vary my parenting style. I tell Mike that we are raising George Lucas and Bo Jackson. I am freaking out about how to make sure both of them feel supported and loved. And he looks at me and says,
"Both of those people have partied at the Playboy mansion. That's makes it okay. They'll be fine." and he goes back outside to playing with the boys in some mix of Light Saber baseball.
I suppose he's right.
*Vintage Post
I feel as if I am being pulled in a thousand different directions by these two miniture little beings. A few days ago a revelation hit me, though. I am raising two very different people.
My oldest son is a sci-fi geek and will watch Animal Planet on television until his eyes rot out of his sockets if I would let him. He is fair haired, pale as all get out, and uber skinny. I always think he looks like a miniature man-orexia fellow. I feed him, but his metabolsim would make any woman kill for it. He's reserved and not extremely good with social skills. He sports a super clean cut hair cut and is out of this world smart. He's pretty whitty for a 4 year old, I must say. Tyler will be the 40 year old man sleeping outside of the theater with all of his super wealthy coputer programming friends when the next installment of Star Wars comes out. And he will be okay with that.
Ethan on the other hand is his polar opposite. He is stocky, stays tan all year, dark haired, and a sports freak. If it contains some type of physical contact or a ball, he's there. He will watch March Madness like a man. He's out going and wears his hair in a mohawk. He is my rock star. He will most likely be the son we get a call from the local jailhouse from because he is in it.
So, after I finally processed all this information in my frazzeled, starbucks laden, trying to plana trip to Disney World mind, I realized that I am going to have to vary my parenting style. I tell Mike that we are raising George Lucas and Bo Jackson. I am freaking out about how to make sure both of them feel supported and loved. And he looks at me and says,
"Both of those people have partied at the Playboy mansion. That's makes it okay. They'll be fine." and he goes back outside to playing with the boys in some mix of Light Saber baseball.
I suppose he's right.
*Vintage Post
Team Work
So, naturally, being the family that we are, we have some great stories from Disney. It was the best and most stressful trip.
All week the boys were being complete opposites. Tyler only wanted to sit in the stroller, Ethan only wanted to walk (read: be held by an adult while they're walking). They were at each other all week.
*TMI ALERT* I became so stressed with the miniature war we were publicly fighting that my period stopped. Yeah. It was like that. *END ALERT*
So, we decided to take a break form the rest of the family, and take the boys by ourselves to a water park. It was the best day of the entire trip. They were great. We were so happy to see them together without biting one anothers fingers and donkey kicking each other in the gut. So Mike and I pulled up some chairs to the kiddie wave pool and let the mounds of tension slide off. We were hearing yelps every now and then from parents. We would glance and see that our boys were not within a 15 foot radius of the miffed parent. Not our problem we would think when we saw our boys a safe distance away. Boy were we ever wrong.
Our boys had banned together to enduce havoc on the little kiddie pool they now considered their own field of revenge.
They have manned this little duck. Ethan, our youngest was sitting atop of it and was was quite nicely controlling a 30 foot jet stream of water. Tyler, the four year old, was behind the duck swinging it to and fro. So, he was directing the 30 foot water jet. They were aiming for every person over 4 foot 6 inches. And doing quite nicely I might add. They have quite respectable aim for such young kids. The screams and yelps were from poor unsuspecting adults being torrentially drenched by our sons.
I immediately hopped up to go get them and then Mike grabbed my arm. I sat down.
"They are fianlly working as a team. Leave them alone." He says.
I did.
*Vintage Post
All week the boys were being complete opposites. Tyler only wanted to sit in the stroller, Ethan only wanted to walk (read: be held by an adult while they're walking). They were at each other all week.
*TMI ALERT* I became so stressed with the miniature war we were publicly fighting that my period stopped. Yeah. It was like that. *END ALERT*
So, we decided to take a break form the rest of the family, and take the boys by ourselves to a water park. It was the best day of the entire trip. They were great. We were so happy to see them together without biting one anothers fingers and donkey kicking each other in the gut. So Mike and I pulled up some chairs to the kiddie wave pool and let the mounds of tension slide off. We were hearing yelps every now and then from parents. We would glance and see that our boys were not within a 15 foot radius of the miffed parent. Not our problem we would think when we saw our boys a safe distance away. Boy were we ever wrong.
Our boys had banned together to enduce havoc on the little kiddie pool they now considered their own field of revenge.
They have manned this little duck. Ethan, our youngest was sitting atop of it and was was quite nicely controlling a 30 foot jet stream of water. Tyler, the four year old, was behind the duck swinging it to and fro. So, he was directing the 30 foot water jet. They were aiming for every person over 4 foot 6 inches. And doing quite nicely I might add. They have quite respectable aim for such young kids. The screams and yelps were from poor unsuspecting adults being torrentially drenched by our sons.
I immediately hopped up to go get them and then Mike grabbed my arm. I sat down.
"They are fianlly working as a team. Leave them alone." He says.
I did.
*Vintage Post
I've got Holes to Fill
So, have you ever had busy but great weeks? Yeah, me too. This week is one of them. We have been working our butts off in the yards. Yes, yards plural. No, we are not that rich. We sometimes are lucky to have this one. There have been the busy but not fun weeks too. I hate those.
Anyhow, for Mother's Day this year, we decided we were going to really spruce up our yard here and add mounds of new flowers. Which I am super happy about. I am addicted. A flat of newly seeded flowers is my crack. And gardening is my drug of choice. So, we hauled butt and really worked hard. We even mulched with the "organic" mulch from last year. I wrote about it. The organic-that-smells-worse-than-six-diaper-genies mulch. Hey, it's good for the plants.
Anyhow, so for Mike's Mom's Mother's Day (are all those little 's grammatically correct. I don't know either.) we decided to do a little overhaul onher yard as well. Sounds simple right? WRONG. Her house must be built on broken up concrete, the graveyard for every landscaping stone ever used, the largest broken terra cotta collection, and all out hard as concrete dirt. It has been back breaking hard work. I feel like I am on a chain gang here. Just throw me a jumpsuit. Well, maybe not a whole piece job. I never looked good in those in the early 90's. I can assure you things have only gone down hill since Jr High. So, we have put in, oh, about 9 hours so far and I would say we hit the mid-way point last night. Digging up the entire South Westerns region of Ohio, also known as Kim's front yard hs gone a little slow. Since we have no tiller, all manual labor is being done with TWO SHOVELS. I swear, this is love.
So, while I would be happy to entertain you with the super exciting tales of how I need to clean my house before we have company next Wednesday, I am needing to soak my blisters before this afternoon.
I just wanted to say hello to everyone. Oh! So, if you ever find yourselves in Vegas and need a few bodies "disposed" of. Call me. I can dig a mean hole.
*Vintage Post
Anyhow, for Mother's Day this year, we decided we were going to really spruce up our yard here and add mounds of new flowers. Which I am super happy about. I am addicted. A flat of newly seeded flowers is my crack. And gardening is my drug of choice. So, we hauled butt and really worked hard. We even mulched with the "organic" mulch from last year. I wrote about it. The organic-that-smells-worse-than-six-diaper-genies mulch. Hey, it's good for the plants.
Anyhow, so for Mike's Mom's Mother's Day (are all those little 's grammatically correct. I don't know either.) we decided to do a little overhaul onher yard as well. Sounds simple right? WRONG. Her house must be built on broken up concrete, the graveyard for every landscaping stone ever used, the largest broken terra cotta collection, and all out hard as concrete dirt. It has been back breaking hard work. I feel like I am on a chain gang here. Just throw me a jumpsuit. Well, maybe not a whole piece job. I never looked good in those in the early 90's. I can assure you things have only gone down hill since Jr High. So, we have put in, oh, about 9 hours so far and I would say we hit the mid-way point last night. Digging up the entire South Westerns region of Ohio, also known as Kim's front yard hs gone a little slow. Since we have no tiller, all manual labor is being done with TWO SHOVELS. I swear, this is love.
So, while I would be happy to entertain you with the super exciting tales of how I need to clean my house before we have company next Wednesday, I am needing to soak my blisters before this afternoon.
I just wanted to say hello to everyone. Oh! So, if you ever find yourselves in Vegas and need a few bodies "disposed" of. Call me. I can dig a mean hole.
*Vintage Post
... of the Garden Variety
I love everything. I swear I try at least. There are some days, though. Those days ... grr. Let me just say these are the days of my life lately. So here it is.
Mike has been layed off. We are having the time of our lives. We are treating this as a rare and long overdue vacation. So, what does any good family do on some time off? Of course, we work on the house. Let me just say that the lady at Home Depot knows my children's names. I dream in orange. And still it isn't enough. There is always that one more thing. You know, the cool brushed chrome sprayer nozzle, the nifty little decoration thingy for the end of you fan chain, the beveled mirror, the never ending bags of mulch...
Now this my friends is where the real fun is. We decided to landscape the yards. We want organic mulch. We pick up several (read: enough that the back of the car was much lower than the front for the ride home.) bags of this stuff. I think - a little over $3.50 a bag ... what a steal. Now, for all you garden novices (I understand if I am the only naive one here) "organic" means poop . Good ole fashioned right out of the barn stuff. I noticed people were politely turning away as we made out way to the check out line. Let me just tell you, I hold my breath on the way out of the door when we leave the house now. You can smell our house down the block. The first night I was so scared the neighbors would boycott and fling unmentionables at our house. My husband calmly assured me that this wasn't going to be a problem since we smelled worse than the stuff the muck out of the barn already. Since then, I have slept well at night. Well, except for the fact that I know we spent a decent amount of money buying poop when I have a little one still in diapers. We get it for free.
*Vintage Post
Mike has been layed off. We are having the time of our lives. We are treating this as a rare and long overdue vacation. So, what does any good family do on some time off? Of course, we work on the house. Let me just say that the lady at Home Depot knows my children's names. I dream in orange. And still it isn't enough. There is always that one more thing. You know, the cool brushed chrome sprayer nozzle, the nifty little decoration thingy for the end of you fan chain, the beveled mirror, the never ending bags of mulch...
Now this my friends is where the real fun is. We decided to landscape the yards. We want organic mulch. We pick up several (read: enough that the back of the car was much lower than the front for the ride home.) bags of this stuff. I think - a little over $3.50 a bag ... what a steal. Now, for all you garden novices (I understand if I am the only naive one here) "organic" means poop . Good ole fashioned right out of the barn stuff. I noticed people were politely turning away as we made out way to the check out line. Let me just tell you, I hold my breath on the way out of the door when we leave the house now. You can smell our house down the block. The first night I was so scared the neighbors would boycott and fling unmentionables at our house. My husband calmly assured me that this wasn't going to be a problem since we smelled worse than the stuff the muck out of the barn already. Since then, I have slept well at night. Well, except for the fact that I know we spent a decent amount of money buying poop when I have a little one still in diapers. We get it for free.
*Vintage Post
See No Evil
This isn't a well thought out blog at all. I just wanted to warn everyone. This blog is simply about cleaning out my couch cushions. Mind you, I do this before company comes from out of town. Mostly only because I am scared for some reason something might slip out of their pocket and in between the cushions. And heaven forbid they dig in the dark crevice of my couch without me going in first. I swear, it's like booting up for some morbid spelunking expedition.
Have I mentioned that my brother and his newly expectant wife are coming up next Wednesday? Yeah. It was time. So in honor of all of you who were not here to share in the thrill of digging through the black hole I call my couch, here's a list of what I found. Now, this is in no specific order :
* Pink plastic ocotpus fork
* Blue keychain
* 1 black and 1 blue crayon
* 2 plastic rings
* Red pinwheel (These were purchased last OCTOBER for my sons' birthday party. We haven't had company in a while ... obviously.)
* 1 red MegaBlock
* 22 cents in loose change (mostly pennies)
* Red dishtowel
* An enormous dryer lint ball
* 1 Toy Story Memory Game piece
* 7 stray Yo Gos
* Price sticker off a kid's polo shirt (I got a heck of a deal on it, too. Gotta love Target.)
* Brown hair tie back
* Broken piece of green sidewalk chalk
* Orange toothbrush (and for the record, I don't ever remember buying an orange toothbrush)
* A shooter piece off a Star Wars battle ship
* A Little Mermaid sticker
* 5 random bobbie pins
* 1 safety pin
* Enough crumbs to piece together about 1/4 loaf of Wonder Bread (although I am fairly certain they are not all bread crumbs. Actually, I am positive.)
NOTE TO SELF: Have a garage sale next weekend.
*Vintage Post
Have I mentioned that my brother and his newly expectant wife are coming up next Wednesday? Yeah. It was time. So in honor of all of you who were not here to share in the thrill of digging through the black hole I call my couch, here's a list of what I found. Now, this is in no specific order :
* Pink plastic ocotpus fork
* Blue keychain
* 1 black and 1 blue crayon
* 2 plastic rings
* Red pinwheel (These were purchased last OCTOBER for my sons' birthday party. We haven't had company in a while ... obviously.)
* 1 red MegaBlock
* 22 cents in loose change (mostly pennies)
* Red dishtowel
* An enormous dryer lint ball
* 1 Toy Story Memory Game piece
* 7 stray Yo Gos
* Price sticker off a kid's polo shirt (I got a heck of a deal on it, too. Gotta love Target.)
* Brown hair tie back
* Broken piece of green sidewalk chalk
* Orange toothbrush (and for the record, I don't ever remember buying an orange toothbrush)
* A shooter piece off a Star Wars battle ship
* A Little Mermaid sticker
* 5 random bobbie pins
* 1 safety pin
* Enough crumbs to piece together about 1/4 loaf of Wonder Bread (although I am fairly certain they are not all bread crumbs. Actually, I am positive.)
NOTE TO SELF: Have a garage sale next weekend.
*Vintage Post
Will the Real Housewife Please Stand Up?
This is a rant blog. So, if you're in search of happy, it ain't here. So, back the heck off.
Can I just say that my kids are driving me insane ? And, I'm not being funny about it, either. They are putting me in such a foul mood today even the happiest of things are pissing me off. Seriously, I need some crack. Or in the vey least a strong cup of coffee. With a liberal dollop of alcohol.
What happened to those sweet little infants all wrapped up in the tiniest little receiving blankets? When did they become the little demons they are now?
When did my 2 year old learn to poop only during pivital moments of my day?? When?!?!? And why did no one tell me potty training completetion does not take you off poop patrol?? No one told me they poop in the toilet, but still need help WIPING?!? Why?
And, why for the love of God, does my 5 year old have so dang many words? I mean, his vocabulary on sharks alone can boggle any persons mind. I am this close to a nervous breakdown and he wants to know where Whale Sharks migrate to.
I DON'T KNOW.
And, yes, that is my final answer. I can barely remember to add fabric softner to the never ending dirty laundry band wagon I call my life. Let alone, be so educated about various marine life.
I need a break. I mean, where are my vacation days, eh? I've worked a heck of a lot of overtime these past few YEARS.
This concludes my rant. There is a bathroom in sore need of scrubbing. The lady that runs this place has really let it go to the dogs. Sheesh.
*Vintage
Can I just say that my kids are driving me insane ? And, I'm not being funny about it, either. They are putting me in such a foul mood today even the happiest of things are pissing me off. Seriously, I need some crack. Or in the vey least a strong cup of coffee. With a liberal dollop of alcohol.
What happened to those sweet little infants all wrapped up in the tiniest little receiving blankets? When did they become the little demons they are now?
When did my 2 year old learn to poop only during pivital moments of my day?? When?!?!? And why did no one tell me potty training completetion does not take you off poop patrol?? No one told me they poop in the toilet, but still need help WIPING?!? Why?
And, why for the love of God, does my 5 year old have so dang many words? I mean, his vocabulary on sharks alone can boggle any persons mind. I am this close to a nervous breakdown and he wants to know where Whale Sharks migrate to.
I DON'T KNOW.
And, yes, that is my final answer. I can barely remember to add fabric softner to the never ending dirty laundry band wagon I call my life. Let alone, be so educated about various marine life.
I need a break. I mean, where are my vacation days, eh? I've worked a heck of a lot of overtime these past few YEARS.
This concludes my rant. There is a bathroom in sore need of scrubbing. The lady that runs this place has really let it go to the dogs. Sheesh.
*Vintage
I Will Kill Them with Boredom
So, the other day Mike and I took Thing 1 and Thing 2 to the local kids museum. They were having a little presentation in one of the classrooms where someone would talk about different animals then let the kids touch them. Perfect, I thought. They touch everything else when they aren't supposed to, this will be a welcome break.
So, we are packed into this room like sardines and I already feel the apprehension in air. Parents are all sitting with fake smiles while the cold sweat of dread trickles down their spine. I am not excluded.
This little gal stands up and begins stammering into her presentation. Great I think. My 2 yr old could manhandle this woman and she is the one that is supposed to be commanding attention from 30 preschoolers. It is beginning to be a full on panic attack for me now.
Somehow, though, I think she bores them into a trance. Because the kids are all sitting kind of staring into space, and I am actually able to let my mind wander. I begin thinking about the sucker that I am sure is still on the backseat in the car. I think about the wet laundry I forgot to throw in the dryer.
I think about how incrediably .....
"Boring!" ... this lady is.
I smiled. My sentiments exactly kid. I look around to find the clever little lad. However, everyone is looking at me. Well, I didn't yell that.
But my 5 yr old did. The cold sweat returned quickly. A torrential downpour between barely contained anger and full on embarrassment. I quickly made my way out of that room and tried my best not to chew a hole through my lip with my clenched teeth.
Yeah. It was like that.
*Vintage
So, we are packed into this room like sardines and I already feel the apprehension in air. Parents are all sitting with fake smiles while the cold sweat of dread trickles down their spine. I am not excluded.
This little gal stands up and begins stammering into her presentation. Great I think. My 2 yr old could manhandle this woman and she is the one that is supposed to be commanding attention from 30 preschoolers. It is beginning to be a full on panic attack for me now.
Somehow, though, I think she bores them into a trance. Because the kids are all sitting kind of staring into space, and I am actually able to let my mind wander. I begin thinking about the sucker that I am sure is still on the backseat in the car. I think about the wet laundry I forgot to throw in the dryer.
I think about how incrediably .....
"Boring!" ... this lady is.
I smiled. My sentiments exactly kid. I look around to find the clever little lad. However, everyone is looking at me. Well, I didn't yell that.
But my 5 yr old did. The cold sweat returned quickly. A torrential downpour between barely contained anger and full on embarrassment. I quickly made my way out of that room and tried my best not to chew a hole through my lip with my clenched teeth.
Yeah. It was like that.
*Vintage
To Shave or Not to Shave
Sometimes I step out of my mom shoes and slide into my I-am -a- woman-too shoes. Man, do they ever pinch the baby toe. I decided to wax the good ole bikini line. I mean everyone is doing it these days. I have had two kids for crying out loud ... I should be able to do this. Well, I decided I wasn't to go and bare my hoo-ha for some lady named Helga who hadn't so much as thought about her bikini line in decades. So, I nominated hubby. He truly seemed thrilled which made more than a little suspicious. Anyhow, we went ot Target and I picked out my torture. We got home and I assumed the postition. Let me tell you, I felt more sexy digging a wegie out than I did at that moment. I felt him apply the warm wax. I tried to use my lamaze training to prepare myself. Afterall, I never used it in childbirth, so might as well get some use out of it. Then he yanked.
When I came to I screamed. Literally. Then I pulled myself together. I mean what if I woke up the kids?? They would be scarred for life to see me like this. So, I put on a brave face and nodded the go ahead for the second strip.
NO MORE! I wheezed. I cannot do this I tell him. He laughed but stopped his torture. I carefully reach down and feel ..... a quarter size area that was as smooth as a baby's bottom. A quarter sized area.
So, I shave now.
*Vintage
When I came to I screamed. Literally. Then I pulled myself together. I mean what if I woke up the kids?? They would be scarred for life to see me like this. So, I put on a brave face and nodded the go ahead for the second strip.
NO MORE! I wheezed. I cannot do this I tell him. He laughed but stopped his torture. I carefully reach down and feel ..... a quarter size area that was as smooth as a baby's bottom. A quarter sized area.
So, I shave now.
*Vintage
Fire In the Hole!
So, we have terrible problems with the plumbing in our house. Everything runs slow. The shower turns into a bath about 5 minutes into it. It's terrible. Well, the kitchen sink is no exception. We have done everything we can think of. Roto Rooter has cleaned the main drains and traps and yadda yadda. Well, lo and behold, the kitchen sink backed up again. So, Mike got online and looked up suggestions. After a bit, he headed out to Home Depot. He returned a while later with what looked like a mini plunger thing. He was super excited. No surprise to me. Any home improvement purchases are like a new set of legos for him. So, he asks me to give him a hand. He wanted me to plug the other side of the sink. He wanted to get maxium power he says. Figures. Maxuim power on a plunger. Woo flippin hoo. Fine. I hold the plug over it. Are you ready he asks?? Um, yeah. It's not that exciting for me, really. With a gleam in his eye he pushes down the little handle.
Now, what happened next is a bit of a blur for me. There was an explosion that sounded like a shotgun and a definite vibration on the sink. I scream for my life and jerk back from the sink. Water shoots up and then just as quickly splashes back down. I can feel my heart skipping beats. I inch closer to the sink and their is smoke wafting up out of the drain. I am shaking and scared to death that I might have just peed myself. I am drenched in old sink water and more than a little mad.
"What was that?!?!?" I scream in sheer terror.
" It was the burst of carbon. It explodes in the drain and shoots the clog out. Wasn't it great??" He is busting at the seams.
I am still clutching my chest and have my legs crossed so I don't pee myself, "Yeah. It was awesome."
I swear my heart is still not right.
*Vintage
Now, what happened next is a bit of a blur for me. There was an explosion that sounded like a shotgun and a definite vibration on the sink. I scream for my life and jerk back from the sink. Water shoots up and then just as quickly splashes back down. I can feel my heart skipping beats. I inch closer to the sink and their is smoke wafting up out of the drain. I am shaking and scared to death that I might have just peed myself. I am drenched in old sink water and more than a little mad.
"What was that?!?!?" I scream in sheer terror.
" It was the burst of carbon. It explodes in the drain and shoots the clog out. Wasn't it great??" He is busting at the seams.
I am still clutching my chest and have my legs crossed so I don't pee myself, "Yeah. It was awesome."
I swear my heart is still not right.
*Vintage
Some Days You Get the Bear, Some Days the Bear Gets You
So, let me give you a break down of what happened to me the other day.
1. I called my sister. I had my hands full so I opened the cell and put it on speaker phone. She didn't pick up so I left a quick chipper message. Closed the phone and stuck it in my pocket. Went back to normal Mom voice. Don't act like you don't know at I am talking about.
2. Found my two year old pouring old tea into last nights popcorn bucket and drinking out of it. So, I yelled and stopped him before he choked on old pocorn kernels. Ick.
3. Tried to take clothes out of dryer while aforementioned child tried to get in the dryer. Yelled a bit more about how kids are not meant to be in appliances. Maybe told him I was going to hang him up by his toes. Maybe.
4. Went by oldest son's room to see it still had not been picked up. Began a full fledged rant on how if he can pull the toys out he can put them back. Maybe threatened something about Santa not visiting if toys were not put away. It wasn't pretty.
5. Tried to make youngest son's bed. Silly child must be oblivious to Mom's mood because he kept trying to lay in the covers as I was trying to strip them. Pretty sure I had a full meltdown here. Hey, motherhood is not always pretty. I won't tell you all the gory details.
6. Just then I hear the phone in my pocket beep and say ...
"You have 5 seconds to finish message before time elapses."
Hmph. I forgot I had the phone on speaker. It doesn't hang up when you close it. ACK! Now my younger sister can always rest assured knowing that Motherhood is hard on us all. Even the cool "older" and more mature sister.
1. I called my sister. I had my hands full so I opened the cell and put it on speaker phone. She didn't pick up so I left a quick chipper message. Closed the phone and stuck it in my pocket. Went back to normal Mom voice. Don't act like you don't know at I am talking about.
2. Found my two year old pouring old tea into last nights popcorn bucket and drinking out of it. So, I yelled and stopped him before he choked on old pocorn kernels. Ick.
3. Tried to take clothes out of dryer while aforementioned child tried to get in the dryer. Yelled a bit more about how kids are not meant to be in appliances. Maybe told him I was going to hang him up by his toes. Maybe.
4. Went by oldest son's room to see it still had not been picked up. Began a full fledged rant on how if he can pull the toys out he can put them back. Maybe threatened something about Santa not visiting if toys were not put away. It wasn't pretty.
5. Tried to make youngest son's bed. Silly child must be oblivious to Mom's mood because he kept trying to lay in the covers as I was trying to strip them. Pretty sure I had a full meltdown here. Hey, motherhood is not always pretty. I won't tell you all the gory details.
6. Just then I hear the phone in my pocket beep and say ...
"You have 5 seconds to finish message before time elapses."
Hmph. I forgot I had the phone on speaker. It doesn't hang up when you close it. ACK! Now my younger sister can always rest assured knowing that Motherhood is hard on us all. Even the cool "older" and more mature sister.
You say Pretty in Pink, I say Darth Vader Black
From the beginning I told my husband I only wanted sons. No girls. I know, I know. That's just how we roll. Anyhow, God was smiling on me because he blessed me with two rocking little boys. They are gorgeous and have the sweetest intentions (most of the time).
I am so excited with my family. After we had Ethan, our youngest, I thought how thrilling it would be to still be the only girl in the house. Yes, thrilling.
Obviously, I did not think this through. At all. There is so little left in this house that is even remotely feminine you might call this a cleaned up bachelor pad. And I use the term clean loosely here.
Let's start with the movies. There are a grand total of 2 chick flicks. Two. Did I mention that we have close to 150 movies? No, well, you do the math. Girls- 0, Boys- 1.
Now, onto the decor of the house. Kitchen, decidedly retro. Could go either way except the dominant colors are green, blue, and brown. There is not a single floral print or anything soft. The living room, all red and rustic. Most assuredly not girly. The boys bedrooms, well, let's say they are Star Wars meet Pirates. I lose all points there. And our bedroom. Red and Tan. There are small shimmer peices in our tan sheers. That's worth half point right? So, that leaves us with the bathroom. There timy roses sewn into the shower curtain. I have a bouquet of pink roses in there too! Most assuredly, it is girly! So, you know what this means? If I want to feel any type of woman-ness, I have to go sit in the john. And with three men in the house, let me tell you, it negates the roses. So, boys-2, girls-0
Now comes general living. There is so much farting (or tooting as the little men call it) and burping going on here that I feel a little overwhelmed. Seriously, I never said we had class. There are always sports on TV. There is always the Star Wars theme eminating from somewhere in these fours walls. There are so many lego blocks, battle droids, tools, video games, and general maleness around I fear I am losing all vestiges I have left that link me to the female race.
Did I also mention that I am the happiest tom boy Mom in the world? Well, I am. Go Bucks.
*Vintage
I am so excited with my family. After we had Ethan, our youngest, I thought how thrilling it would be to still be the only girl in the house. Yes, thrilling.
Obviously, I did not think this through. At all. There is so little left in this house that is even remotely feminine you might call this a cleaned up bachelor pad. And I use the term clean loosely here.
Let's start with the movies. There are a grand total of 2 chick flicks. Two. Did I mention that we have close to 150 movies? No, well, you do the math. Girls- 0, Boys- 1.
Now, onto the decor of the house. Kitchen, decidedly retro. Could go either way except the dominant colors are green, blue, and brown. There is not a single floral print or anything soft. The living room, all red and rustic. Most assuredly not girly. The boys bedrooms, well, let's say they are Star Wars meet Pirates. I lose all points there. And our bedroom. Red and Tan. There are small shimmer peices in our tan sheers. That's worth half point right? So, that leaves us with the bathroom. There timy roses sewn into the shower curtain. I have a bouquet of pink roses in there too! Most assuredly, it is girly! So, you know what this means? If I want to feel any type of woman-ness, I have to go sit in the john. And with three men in the house, let me tell you, it negates the roses. So, boys-2, girls-0
Now comes general living. There is so much farting (or tooting as the little men call it) and burping going on here that I feel a little overwhelmed. Seriously, I never said we had class. There are always sports on TV. There is always the Star Wars theme eminating from somewhere in these fours walls. There are so many lego blocks, battle droids, tools, video games, and general maleness around I fear I am losing all vestiges I have left that link me to the female race.
Did I also mention that I am the happiest tom boy Mom in the world? Well, I am. Go Bucks.
*Vintage
They Call it Puppy Love
So, my son Ethan had his 3rd birthday back at the end of September. He has a "girlfriend" named Shelby that came to the party. He lets Shelby have her way anytime she is around. So, come birthday time, there was no exception. Hey, what can I say, the fellow was born with natural instincts on how to treat a lady.
So, we are gathered arround the Curious George cake and Shelby is singing to Ethan at the top of her lungs. Awww, I think. How adorable. Well, she finishes up the last words in a hurry and in a flash she has blown out the candles "for Ethan". How sweet. I eye Ethan to see if he is bothered. Not at all. He is seeing her through rose colored glasses. Next up, presents. I waited to see what would happen. And guess what? Oh yes. Shelby opened every present "for Ethan." I checked his mood again. All roses. He was pleased as punch. What love, eh?
So, fast forward to today. We are heading to Shelby's party. She is 3. Ethan is more than excited. How sweet I think. Then I hear Ethan say that he is excited to help Shelby open all her presents too.
I smile at Mike. He looks at out little lad and utters some of the first real man-to-man advice. The first of a long run I am sure. This is what he said,
"Son, when you go to Shelby's party is going to be all about her. It's her birthday. When Shelby came to your party, it was all about her. Because she's a girl. That's how they work."
Rose colored glasses gone.
*Vintage
So, we are gathered arround the Curious George cake and Shelby is singing to Ethan at the top of her lungs. Awww, I think. How adorable. Well, she finishes up the last words in a hurry and in a flash she has blown out the candles "for Ethan". How sweet. I eye Ethan to see if he is bothered. Not at all. He is seeing her through rose colored glasses. Next up, presents. I waited to see what would happen. And guess what? Oh yes. Shelby opened every present "for Ethan." I checked his mood again. All roses. He was pleased as punch. What love, eh?
So, fast forward to today. We are heading to Shelby's party. She is 3. Ethan is more than excited. How sweet I think. Then I hear Ethan say that he is excited to help Shelby open all her presents too.
I smile at Mike. He looks at out little lad and utters some of the first real man-to-man advice. The first of a long run I am sure. This is what he said,
"Son, when you go to Shelby's party is going to be all about her. It's her birthday. When Shelby came to your party, it was all about her. Because she's a girl. That's how they work."
Rose colored glasses gone.
*Vintage
Fried Boogers
So my 3 year old was on a war path today. He was the epitome of every rotten thing a 3 year old is capable of. He picked a man booger from his nose and wiped it on the oven door. You would not believe how fast a booger fries on a 400 degree oven door. He hit his little brother more times than Dora said "say map!". That's one helluva lot for all you Dora Virgins out there. He cleaned the inside of the bathroom garbage can with his father's toothbrush. I may be keeping that to myself ... I haven't decided yet. He body painted his brother in Hershey's chocolate syrup. Much to the delight of his younger brother I might add. And to top it off he flushed my newest pair of contact tidly down the toilet. I am FUMING at this point. I am thinking in my head that someone must have sucked his reasoning out last night cause the boy is not thinking straight. I calmly sit him on my lap and recite everything I previously mentioned and explained in great detail how much those things have raised mommy's blood pressure. I kiss his marker covered cheek and tell him , "You make me happy Tyler." I am a good mother I think to myself. As I am basking in the glow of my good Mommy statment my three year old looks me square in the face. Aww..he's gonne kiss me or tell me he loves his great momma....
"You make me crabby momma. "
Does anyone know a good home remedy for blood pressure?
*Vintage
"You make me crabby momma. "
Does anyone know a good home remedy for blood pressure?
*Vintage
Must be in the Water
I am pretty sure I have kids with the normal amount of brain matter up there in their cute little noggins. I mean, they've had all the routine check ups and no one has mentioned anything.
But, for some reason that I've yet to discover, their freaking common sense leaves them the second their naked little bodies hit the water in the bathtub. It really is an out of body experience for them I think.
Everynight I tell them the same things. EVERY NIGHT. And I will be danged if the don't act like they've never heard it.
Rule one, the bathtub water is to remain in the tub. Simple right? I mean you would have to physically scoop the water out or throw your body off the side of the tub to expel enough water to drench the towel that has already been postitioned on the floor. But, alas, most every night I go in there and wade through what can only resemble a shallow version of one of the Great Lakes. And if you've never seen one of the great lakes, let me assure you they are HUGE. I once fell asleep on an airplane and as we were landing for the layover in Illinois, I thought it was the ocean. Seriously. I panicked. Give me a break. I was VERY preggo and operating on no sleep. Back to the bathroom. So, I wade through the lake that was my bathroom floor so see my son flinging himself off the side of the tub. Ever tried to catch a sudsy three year old in mid flight? Like a greased pig.
Rule number two. The bath water does not go in your mouth. I tell my boys a good rule of thumb is that anything you sit your butt or privates in really isn't meant to be in your mouth as well. However, do you think they think I know what I am talking about. Oh God no. They will happily make themselves a fountain by spewing water ceiling high from their mouthes. Did I mention how the 3 yr old thinks it's great to fart int he tub wand watch the bubbles? Yeah. It grosses me out too. I tell them they are drinking stinky fart water. It does not bother them in the least.
Rule three. Now, if you don't have little boys, this may not be something you are familiar with. Thou shalt not sword fight with your "tee tee"s. Laugh all you want. It is a serious issue at bathtime here.
These things seem like simple and logical things to me. And I think that any other time they would grasp what I'm saying. So, until the paranormal decreased brain activity stops, I suppose I'll just invest in waders.
But, for some reason that I've yet to discover, their freaking common sense leaves them the second their naked little bodies hit the water in the bathtub. It really is an out of body experience for them I think.
Everynight I tell them the same things. EVERY NIGHT. And I will be danged if the don't act like they've never heard it.
Rule one, the bathtub water is to remain in the tub. Simple right? I mean you would have to physically scoop the water out or throw your body off the side of the tub to expel enough water to drench the towel that has already been postitioned on the floor. But, alas, most every night I go in there and wade through what can only resemble a shallow version of one of the Great Lakes. And if you've never seen one of the great lakes, let me assure you they are HUGE. I once fell asleep on an airplane and as we were landing for the layover in Illinois, I thought it was the ocean. Seriously. I panicked. Give me a break. I was VERY preggo and operating on no sleep. Back to the bathroom. So, I wade through the lake that was my bathroom floor so see my son flinging himself off the side of the tub. Ever tried to catch a sudsy three year old in mid flight? Like a greased pig.
Rule number two. The bath water does not go in your mouth. I tell my boys a good rule of thumb is that anything you sit your butt or privates in really isn't meant to be in your mouth as well. However, do you think they think I know what I am talking about. Oh God no. They will happily make themselves a fountain by spewing water ceiling high from their mouthes. Did I mention how the 3 yr old thinks it's great to fart int he tub wand watch the bubbles? Yeah. It grosses me out too. I tell them they are drinking stinky fart water. It does not bother them in the least.
Rule three. Now, if you don't have little boys, this may not be something you are familiar with. Thou shalt not sword fight with your "tee tee"s. Laugh all you want. It is a serious issue at bathtime here.
These things seem like simple and logical things to me. And I think that any other time they would grasp what I'm saying. So, until the paranormal decreased brain activity stops, I suppose I'll just invest in waders.
Dr induced insanity
Let me say that I dread when one of my boys becomes sick. Not only because they are feeling ill, but because it usually ends up a the Dr office.
I dread going here. I get nervous just on the phone call. What time slot am I going to be fit into. Most usually it falls right when the boys should be napping. This means this : No sleep = no happiness. I begin sweating. I start the countdown. 2 hours. Ok, I can get him to get a power nap. The oldest will have to get cleaned up and I will whip up a quick and healthy lunch. For some reason I feel like I am going on trial when I take my kids in. Like the Dr will know just by looking into their eyes that they had peanutbutter and marshmallow fluff off the spoon as an afternoon snack. He will know that last week I forgot to brush Ty's teeth before he went to bed and I was simply too lazy to get back up. He will know these things and I will get it big.
So, I marathon clean my house. I mean, he'll know ... it'll show on their clothes, right?? (I am a freak, I know.) I make the youngest lay down. He screams ... I scream. It isn't pretty. 1 hour and 45 minutes has flown by. We have to go! I scurry them out of the door like the finest drill sargeant I have ever seen. I cram the kids into the car with carrot sticks in their hands - just for good measure.
We make it to the appointment in record time. I am sweating under my T-shirt. I usher the boys in with a fake smile. We check in and I envy the mom sitting with all 6 of her kids huddled around as she reads them a story. I look at my two playing in the water fountian. I act like I am rummaging through my purse.I cannpt be held accountable for what I don't know, right? The room echoes so much I don't want to yell.
We get in to the actual exam room. Now, here's the final stretch. The boys want to touch everything! The biohazard box and it's beckoning red colors. Ethan licks the toy trucks that have surely been loved on my kids carrying some rare disease that is only transmitted on plastic. The drawers full of all sorts of used-to-be-sterile equipment. I am panting in exhaustion now. Please come in Dr. I am silently chanting.
Finally, we are at the desk to check out. My boys are chanting for a treat. I quickly fish half melted peppermints out of the bottom of my purse. These aren't stickers they wail. I lick one and stick it to the back of his hand. It is now I say.
Thankfully, we are back at home and all is well. What is that peculiar rash on Ethan's chin ? Could it be the toy truck disease ...... better call the dr.
*Vinatge
I dread going here. I get nervous just on the phone call. What time slot am I going to be fit into. Most usually it falls right when the boys should be napping. This means this : No sleep = no happiness. I begin sweating. I start the countdown. 2 hours. Ok, I can get him to get a power nap. The oldest will have to get cleaned up and I will whip up a quick and healthy lunch. For some reason I feel like I am going on trial when I take my kids in. Like the Dr will know just by looking into their eyes that they had peanutbutter and marshmallow fluff off the spoon as an afternoon snack. He will know that last week I forgot to brush Ty's teeth before he went to bed and I was simply too lazy to get back up. He will know these things and I will get it big.
So, I marathon clean my house. I mean, he'll know ... it'll show on their clothes, right?? (I am a freak, I know.) I make the youngest lay down. He screams ... I scream. It isn't pretty. 1 hour and 45 minutes has flown by. We have to go! I scurry them out of the door like the finest drill sargeant I have ever seen. I cram the kids into the car with carrot sticks in their hands - just for good measure.
We make it to the appointment in record time. I am sweating under my T-shirt. I usher the boys in with a fake smile. We check in and I envy the mom sitting with all 6 of her kids huddled around as she reads them a story. I look at my two playing in the water fountian. I act like I am rummaging through my purse.I cannpt be held accountable for what I don't know, right? The room echoes so much I don't want to yell.
We get in to the actual exam room. Now, here's the final stretch. The boys want to touch everything! The biohazard box and it's beckoning red colors. Ethan licks the toy trucks that have surely been loved on my kids carrying some rare disease that is only transmitted on plastic. The drawers full of all sorts of used-to-be-sterile equipment. I am panting in exhaustion now. Please come in Dr. I am silently chanting.
Finally, we are at the desk to check out. My boys are chanting for a treat. I quickly fish half melted peppermints out of the bottom of my purse. These aren't stickers they wail. I lick one and stick it to the back of his hand. It is now I say.
Thankfully, we are back at home and all is well. What is that peculiar rash on Ethan's chin ? Could it be the toy truck disease ...... better call the dr.
*Vinatge
19 Monkey Kinda Night
For the most part, my children go down to bed fairly easily. I mean, there normally is very little hitting, kicking, tantrum throwing, and general chaos. Tonight is different. My 3 year old layed down after 2034 rendetions of his favorite book "how does a dinosaur count to ten?". Seriously, they need interchangeable dialog for the poor parents...anyhow. (I digress) Next comes my almost one year old. I walk into his room and he is looking at me with the look of a cornered lion. This is not good, I think to myself. I am achy and tired and I am not feeling up to my usual warrior mode. I hope he goes easy on me. Not a chance. He is bouncing and playing an assortment of musical toys as I pick up his room. I dim the lights and all is quiet. Good I think, he's got the idea. I turn around and realize that he has decided a tasty nightcap would be the Baby Majic baby lotion that I was convinced my other son "put away" for me. I yank it away and he starts to cry. Give in I say to myself. I wearily pick him up and begin to sing.....
"10 little monkey's jumping on the bed..one falls off and bumps his head...momma calls the dr. and the dr. says....no more monkeys jumping on the bed."
I get down to zero and he is still cheerfully singin with me. OK...I can do this. And I begin at 10 again. I stop with one horridly stubborn monkey jumping on the bed. Sheesh! 19....man he was a trooper tonight, my son was. I call my hubby and say yes, I have someone to come and sit with the boys and I will be there for after work social hour. How were the boys he wants to know. They are asleep I say. They are goods kids he assurs me. He's the last monkey I think as I hang up.
*Vinatge
"10 little monkey's jumping on the bed..one falls off and bumps his head...momma calls the dr. and the dr. says....no more monkeys jumping on the bed."
I get down to zero and he is still cheerfully singin with me. OK...I can do this. And I begin at 10 again. I stop with one horridly stubborn monkey jumping on the bed. Sheesh! 19....man he was a trooper tonight, my son was. I call my hubby and say yes, I have someone to come and sit with the boys and I will be there for after work social hour. How were the boys he wants to know. They are asleep I say. They are goods kids he assurs me. He's the last monkey I think as I hang up.
*Vinatge
The Lazy Days of ... Public Restrooms.
So, the other day we are having a picnic at the park. It was lovely. Blue skies, white fluffy clouds, huge swarms of gnats .... it was great.
Anyhow. Ethan (the 3 yr old) says he's gotta go potty. So, my mother in law takes him. I can tell from the way he's walking he doesn't only have to pee. It's nothing huge that everyone would notice, just a mommy thing. So, he walks up there and in no time, he's back. No go, I think.
A little while later, he's indescreetly grabbing the back of his pants. This kid has REALLY got to GO. So, my husband and my father-in-law take him. Now, knowing my child and my husband like I do, I know this isn't going to pan out either. Oh well, I hope for the best. Two seconds later out trots Ethan. Dang. I know this is going to end up being a Mommy job.
So, as predicted a few minutes later we are heading BACK to the bathrooms again. Now remember, we are at a park and these bathrooms aren't like hanging in the Hilton or anything. I mean the kid's gotta have mounds of germs on his shoes alone already being a frequent flyer of this place and all. So, I take some paper towels with us. I know this kid is taking one look at the pots and squirming like I did when I saw the spinal needle with my c-section. I cover the seat and plop him on.
"Did you leave a hole in the towel, Mom?" Yes, I tell him. I've done this before.
Now, this is where the fun begins. He says, "You might want to go on the other side of the door. This is going to be loud." I look at my kid. This is too much. I walk outside the stall. True to his word, there are all kinds of not right noises echoing off that steel bowl. I peek through the crack to make sure he is still in the upright position. Yup.
About that time a cute little teenage girl comes bopping in. She halts dead in her tracks. And let me tell you, it wasn't the smell that was melting the rubber caulking around the doors either. She actually said out loud how gross this situation was. Look kid, I agree. I didn't ask for the symphony. It just comes with the job.
Well, Ethan fianlly calls me back in. He tells me in nonchalant terms that he's got the biggest poop ever. Real long.
Nice.
And that the was end of that. Finally. Picnic complete.
*Vintage
Anyhow. Ethan (the 3 yr old) says he's gotta go potty. So, my mother in law takes him. I can tell from the way he's walking he doesn't only have to pee. It's nothing huge that everyone would notice, just a mommy thing. So, he walks up there and in no time, he's back. No go, I think.
A little while later, he's indescreetly grabbing the back of his pants. This kid has REALLY got to GO. So, my husband and my father-in-law take him. Now, knowing my child and my husband like I do, I know this isn't going to pan out either. Oh well, I hope for the best. Two seconds later out trots Ethan. Dang. I know this is going to end up being a Mommy job.
So, as predicted a few minutes later we are heading BACK to the bathrooms again. Now remember, we are at a park and these bathrooms aren't like hanging in the Hilton or anything. I mean the kid's gotta have mounds of germs on his shoes alone already being a frequent flyer of this place and all. So, I take some paper towels with us. I know this kid is taking one look at the pots and squirming like I did when I saw the spinal needle with my c-section. I cover the seat and plop him on.
"Did you leave a hole in the towel, Mom?" Yes, I tell him. I've done this before.
Now, this is where the fun begins. He says, "You might want to go on the other side of the door. This is going to be loud." I look at my kid. This is too much. I walk outside the stall. True to his word, there are all kinds of not right noises echoing off that steel bowl. I peek through the crack to make sure he is still in the upright position. Yup.
About that time a cute little teenage girl comes bopping in. She halts dead in her tracks. And let me tell you, it wasn't the smell that was melting the rubber caulking around the doors either. She actually said out loud how gross this situation was. Look kid, I agree. I didn't ask for the symphony. It just comes with the job.
Well, Ethan fianlly calls me back in. He tells me in nonchalant terms that he's got the biggest poop ever. Real long.
Nice.
And that the was end of that. Finally. Picnic complete.
*Vintage
The Last Supper
There are some things that just change once you have kids. Going out to eat is one of them. Let me explain by giving you an example of such an outing.
First we have to choose the restaurant. I always lean towards a lively place around here called Joes Crab Shack. This works for me for many reasons. You cannot hear the boys yell above the already loud music. This is particularly helpful when Ty yells out his bodily functions over dinner. The waiters/waitress line dance. This is free entertainment for the boys, thus giving me 3.2 minutes to shovel as much food in me as possible before I go back to referee-ing them. I can threaten to let the ginormous shark hanging from the ceiling eat them if they dont stop flipping popcorn shrimp everywhere. And lastly, they give a discount to AAA members. This helps to save for my childrens future therapy they will need to get past their aversion to line dancing and ocean dwelling creatures.
Next is the packing. If you think going on an over night trip as an adult is bad, you should see me pack for a dinner out. Heres what I bring: 2 plastic forks and 2 plastic spoons. They have to match in color to satisfy my OCD compulsion. This may require me to run the dishwasher. Which means packing may have to start up to an hour before we leave. I bring a 10 pound box of wipes. These arent just handy for potty breaks. These are wipes for the silverware that will most assuredly be dropped at least a few dozen times just while waiting for the food. I pack a bowl with a suction cup on the bottom. You laugh, but when there is spaghetti sailing in your direction, youll wish every mother had them. An extra shirt for each one. This is pretty self explanatory. Its easier than power washing. And lastly, bendy straws. They are the best thing ever. For some reason it is impossible for my children to grasp the concept of drinking out of a cup with a regular straw and not tipping said cup. Hence, the bendy straws. Basically, it looks like I ripped off a baby store to go out to dinner.
Once, we are there we proceed to give the kids a reminder crash course in table manners. Mostly this consists of not spitting your food on the plate and re-eating it. No throwing anything. The ketchup bottle is not an enormous bottle of fruit punch. Pepper burns when snorted. The lady at the table over there knows that she isnt at her ideal body weight; there is no need for you to point and yell that. No swatting the waitress on the butt.
After, much commotion we eat and after a lot more fanfare we manage to get up and go. Always remembering, of course, to leave behind a monster tip for out distraught server.
*Vintage
First we have to choose the restaurant. I always lean towards a lively place around here called Joes Crab Shack. This works for me for many reasons. You cannot hear the boys yell above the already loud music. This is particularly helpful when Ty yells out his bodily functions over dinner. The waiters/waitress line dance. This is free entertainment for the boys, thus giving me 3.2 minutes to shovel as much food in me as possible before I go back to referee-ing them. I can threaten to let the ginormous shark hanging from the ceiling eat them if they dont stop flipping popcorn shrimp everywhere. And lastly, they give a discount to AAA members. This helps to save for my childrens future therapy they will need to get past their aversion to line dancing and ocean dwelling creatures.
Next is the packing. If you think going on an over night trip as an adult is bad, you should see me pack for a dinner out. Heres what I bring: 2 plastic forks and 2 plastic spoons. They have to match in color to satisfy my OCD compulsion. This may require me to run the dishwasher. Which means packing may have to start up to an hour before we leave. I bring a 10 pound box of wipes. These arent just handy for potty breaks. These are wipes for the silverware that will most assuredly be dropped at least a few dozen times just while waiting for the food. I pack a bowl with a suction cup on the bottom. You laugh, but when there is spaghetti sailing in your direction, youll wish every mother had them. An extra shirt for each one. This is pretty self explanatory. Its easier than power washing. And lastly, bendy straws. They are the best thing ever. For some reason it is impossible for my children to grasp the concept of drinking out of a cup with a regular straw and not tipping said cup. Hence, the bendy straws. Basically, it looks like I ripped off a baby store to go out to dinner.
Once, we are there we proceed to give the kids a reminder crash course in table manners. Mostly this consists of not spitting your food on the plate and re-eating it. No throwing anything. The ketchup bottle is not an enormous bottle of fruit punch. Pepper burns when snorted. The lady at the table over there knows that she isnt at her ideal body weight; there is no need for you to point and yell that. No swatting the waitress on the butt.
After, much commotion we eat and after a lot more fanfare we manage to get up and go. Always remembering, of course, to leave behind a monster tip for out distraught server.
*Vintage
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