Poopie Head

I don't understand this whole sibling dynamic. My brother and I are 10 years apart, I am perfect he is not.  I was an only child until I was almost ten.  I loved my brother from the moment he arrived.  When I morphed into a tragic teenager, he was a sweet little boy.    My mother reminds me quite often that "she did it right!"   Lately, I have wondered if she did in fact do it  right.  The dynamics in my home leave me flabbergasted.  E and C argue about everything and anything.   This was the fight this morning at 6:30 am:
C: "Mommy! I went poop"
 E: "I went poop first."
C: "No I did!"
Me: "Who didn't flush the potty?"
C: "Not me, it was E"
E: "It was C, it looks like C's poop."
Me: "Really how do you know what Middle C's  poop looks like? "
 E: "She talks too much when she eats and doesn't chew her food, there were chunks. "

On a positive note, Middle C has been doing well in Kinder.  I had my concerns, but she has earned three super behavior stamps.  When she was chatting about her day, she mentioned that today's stamp was very light because she just barely earned it. She colored her hand black because she wanted to look like the little girl sitting next to her.

Drama on hold ...for a few hours

First day of school, done. 

I asked Middle C about her first day of kinder..."I love my teacher, she thinks I am an awesome skipper, just not in the hall." E's comment about 1st grade, "My teacher is nice, but she must be old like you because sometimes she forgets things...and I heard Claire get yelled at for skipping in the hall."  OK, Miss. "One-upper".  My comment about the first day of school, "Supercalifragilisticexpalidocious ,  almost eight hours without tattling, yelling,or complaining.  Just 3.5 hours until bed time.  Sweet!  

Today also began my life with just one kiddo at home...

Baby A got undivided attention for the first time in... forever.  Our discussion topic, panties.  I felt ambitious and let her sit on the potty and put her in big girl panties.  She sat on her little potty and in the time it took me to get a new roll of T.P. she managed to break the valve under the pedestal sink causing water to spray in her face.  Her eyes were as big as saucers, as I screamed for hubby to turn off the water.  A scurried off the potty, slipping on the wet floor, tears gathering in her eyes and ran to find her diaper.  Yeah, toilet training is not in our future now.  She keeps wandering over to the potty saying, "Potty, water, eyes.  No Potty!"   Hmmm...tomorrow we will try watching Elmo. 

"WILD" Kingdom Late Night

            In our attempt to pack in a few more memories before sending the kid’s off to school, we decide to go to one of our local zoo's.  Our city has the zoo and the "zoo”. I actually prefer to go to the “zoo”. It is down a few back roads littered with one or two mattresses that may or may not have had a crime committed on them, and one "gently mangled" sofa missing an armrest.  This Zoo is tucked away between a few mobile homes, past an abandoned storage shed, down a dirt road.   You really do need a GPS to find it.  It was awesome that we had one in the car.  The only issue was my directionally, absolutely, 100% correct husband did not believe “Xena” our travel warrior.  I watched as he argued with her and chose a different road, after a different road.  “Recalculating…..recalculating…..recalculating”, the miles to the zoo went from 11 to 21.   After an extra 30 minutes and Xena expertly teaching Baby A to now say “recalculating” we made it.

            It was a great time, the weather was good, and the animals stayed behind their bailing wire and duct tape fences.  Then I spotted it, a Zebra that was apparently rather excited.  I am NOT talking about old school Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom excited, I am talking about Discovery Channel Late Night excited.  I did my best to not point it out to the kids, but I HAD to say something to the hubby.  I also, because I really am not mature, thought that I would get a photo op of Middle C standing in front of the “huge” zebra.  She glanced over and posed for the photo.  Just before I snapped the photo, someone got very camera shy.  Claire looked at me after the photo and said, “Wow that Zebra turned from a boy to a girl.  God can do anything on a Sunday.”  Why yes, Middle C, he can.  He can also give my sweet little family the opportunity to watch yet, another Animal Kingdom Porn Scene.  Mr. Bear was having a moment with himself.  It was not a quiet moment; there was some loud grunting.  As we approached, hubby and I stopped and stared as we observed Mr. Bear committed a fairly impressive act of personal fellatio.  Baby A was giggling screaming”funny, funny,” in her high pitched voice as Mr. Bears grunts became louder.  Hubby attempted to distract the girls by mention it was snack time.  The girls ran off, Hubby and I just shrugged our shoulders.   I suppose solitary confinement amusements are few and far between…or should I say fur and fur between?  

Mr. Bear Himself

Conversations

Scrolled through my Facebook feed and realized that August really did provide me with a few giggles between the bickering, whining, and chaos.

~Apparently, I have broken Middle C's heart forever because I "forgot" to buy Strawberry Short Cake band-aids and only have the plain ones. I told her they were twice as much money to get the fancy ones, she replied,"Yeah, but just think of how much money an infected cut will cost you because these plain ones don't cover as much skin." Good Luck Kinder teachers, I will soon pass the torch to you.
 
~ We were watching the closing Olympic Ceremonies when George Michael came on. Without thinking I said," I thought he was still in jail". George started singing, "Freedom". E looked up and said ,"Obviously he likes being out of jail because he wrote a song about it." I am just glad he didn't sing, "I want your sex".

~ I have hit the age where a thong will no longer be in my panty rotation. I tossed them on the ground while I was cleaning out the drawer. I just went upstairs to the play room and discovered that they girls seem to think they make a pretty awesome hammocks in the Barbie Dream house.

~ Shout out to my 5 year old for keeping it real." Mommy, I know you have been sick, but it isn't hard to shower and put some lipstick on." She then digs through my panty drawer and pulls out a thong from years ago."This will make you feel much better!" 

~ The girls were attempting synchronized diving at the pool today. Before jumping off the diving boards, they would discuss what they would do. I overheard Middle C saying,"Ok, first you toot, then shake your bottom, and then do spirit fingers." 

Glass of mommy guilt...

Middle C's note for her sister

The start of school is just two long weeks away.  I feel guilty about saying it, but I am ready.  I announced my feelings about school to a few friends and one of them floored me when she said, I don’t want to send them back, I am having so much fun with them.  I will miss them so much.  That is when I felt that little sting in my heart that makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with me?   I should enjoy these last few days of togetherness.  The following day I was determined to have “fun”.  I told the girls to get on their swimsuit.  Simple task, but apparently middle C “accidentally” dropped E’s swim suit in the toilet when she was bringing it to her.  E retaliated by declaring that Middle C was wearing one of her old swimsuits that she always thought was ugly.  Tears and drama ensued, but I didn’t yell I”enjoyed” the moment.  Baby A took a dump in her swim diaper two minutes before we were about to get in the car. After the drama, and 20 minutes of deep breaths and determination to not loose it and enjoy my kids, I loaded all three girls into the swagger wagon.  First stop the neighborhood pool, and the sunscreen ritual.  Yes, someone is always getting it in their eyes.  Baby A inevitably will find the one spray bottle not locked and spray her face.  There will be tears, but I will “enjoy” the moment.  After the pool, I took the girls to get their new backpacks.  While at Toy R Screwing us, Baby A managed to get her foot stuck in the slats of the cart.  She was screaming bloody murder, and the teenage employee looked confused when I asked if she had any lotion to help grease up her chunky leg so I could pull it out of the cart.   I tried not to lose it when she said they didn’t have lotion.  Really?  They sell baby diapers and baby necessities.  Baby A’s foot is swelling; my other girls are clutching their new backpacks in horror.  Then out of the corner of my eye, I see super woman sprinting down the aisle clutching a bottle of baby oil.  She helps me lube up baby A’s foot freeing her from the evil shopping cart vice.  I had tears in my eyes and sweat tricking down my back.  She looked me in the eye and said, “This is why I hired a babysitter this week.  I can’t take it anymore either.  On a positive note the baby will have smooth skin?"   I sniffed and gave her a big hug.  So for those of you mommies that are enjoying your last few days with your kiddos, bless your sweet little hearts.  For those of you mommies that are about lose your mind from the bickering, the pouting, the whining, and the constant pressure to make memories,   bless your exhausted guilty hearts.  Pour out that glass of mommy guilt and pour a glass of mommy glee, I won’t judge! Two weeks and counting...

House of ill repute

I have been so busy lately that I have neglected my blog.  Have I been busy vacationing, going on dates, blowing money, getting a rock solid body, tanning?  Um… nope just experiencing my first summer with three kids not in school.  My mother always said that she hated when summer was over.  Just pour me a glass of mommy guilt, because I am looking forward to sending them off.    I embarrassed my oldest by performing the cabbage patch, running man combination when I saw the “Back to School” display at Target.  For the record, I still can rock it old school style.   Speaking of old school, I have finally decided it was time to empty out the panty/bra drawer.  Gals you know what I am talking about, remember those totally cute, lacy numbers, the sexy thongs that you perhaps wore when you first got married.  Victoria did have a secret and they are all jammed in the back corner of my drawer.    While baby A was napping, and the older girls were playing upstairs.  I sorted the items from…granny with too many holes, granny but comfy, special occasion, and “G” so not wearing that string.   I shoved the retired panties into a Wal-Mart bag and threw it in my closet.  Apparently there must have been a few renegade thongs begging to be used.  Later that day, I went up to the playroom and found this lovely moment frozen in time.  Notice the clever use of the thong as it cradles a mother mermaid and her child.  Western Barbie (circa 1984) appears to be attempting a Fifty Shades Of Gray move. The other Barbie is working on some Pilates equipment above her bed.  Not sure what is going on with the “Sunshine Family Dad” and the girl in the bath tub.  When I questioned middle C about it she said, “ Mom, that is not a boy , its just a girl that likes to look different and she has eczema, also her legs fall off if I try to take off her pants.”

Urine your backyard...

I'll admit sometimes I look at Middle C and wonder where she came from, and then hubby does something and all I can do is shake my head and shrug my shoulders.  Last weekend, we attended a party at our next-door neighbor's house.  I had some wine and hubby had one or two beers.  We came home around 8:00pm (gasp!) and put the girls down.  I sat down at my computer to do some work, and hubby went to finish up some yard work.  About an hour later, he waltzed in.  He glanced at me in the office typing away, and proceeded to give me a bear hug.  I pushed him away and wrinkled up my nose.  Stinky!  He started chuckling.  He came in for another smelly hug, and then started laughing.  I stared at him in utter confusion.  Seriously?  What is so funny about smelling like booty?  In between laughter, he managed to relay the story of what occurred the backyard moments before.  Let me clarify, that we do back up to a greenbelt with a short fence and have a sweet little burrow filled with two baby bunnies under one of our trees.  Hubby was attempting to protect them from the coyotes that we hear every night.  How could a six foot, four inch man, protect the sweet little bunnies...peeing the fence line of course, duh!  Well, while creating a human barrier, he was looking down and managed to forget about the bird feeder we had hanging from a low branch.  Yes, my brilliant hubby cracked his head on the feeder, showering him in congealed bird poop, seed, and stale rain water.  He was sweet enough to hug me and play "what's that stench?"  Sigh...

wax on, wax off

The other day my hubby and I had the state of our union briefing that primarily focused on the budget and spending cuts. He showed me pie-charts and graphs outlining our spending habits in the past few months.  We discussed where we could make some cuts in our spending.  I sat there feeling guilty at the spiking red line in the grocery spending, while sipping on box wine.  Hey, I am trying.  After the talk, I really needed to make some changes and there by forgoing a spa appointment that I had made.  Not spa like relax, but spa as in wax.  Our ten year anniversary is this weekend, and I though I would surprise hubby with some smooth skin.  I chose a nice place, versus the place I get my 8 dollar brow wax for obvious reasons.  I have never had anything waxed besides the brow before.  Well, the budget cuts forced me to rethink my choices.  After talking to a friend, she recommended doing the wax at home.  So, I bought the Sally Hansen wax strip kit.  The cheerful box boasted "quick and easy, works on short hair, and results lasting 8 weeks!"  I waited for hubby to go out for the evening, got the kiddos to bed, and downed a glass of wine to take the edge off.  I locked my bedroom door and preceded to lay out the items.  I began to read the directions and then at the bottom of the pamphlet I spy the phrase, "Must have at least 21 days of growth."  What??  Shouldn't that have been on the front of the box?  Who lets everything grow out for 21 days?  I couldn't return the box because I opened it, and I am too cheap to waste it, so I tried it despite my lack of 21 days of growth.  Not the brightest thing I have done, I guess you need 21 days of fur so you don't rip off a fine layer of skin.  Apparently, there are somethings that need to be budgeted for.  Happy Anniversary honey...

Tinkle

Just discovered that Middle C has been experimenting with urine collection. I found a bucket in her room this morning.  When I asked her about it she said,"Ummm...I am practicing being a nurse, they have to work with tinkle."  I shook my head.   "What?  They said on TV that trying things will help me know what I want to be when I grow up.  Seriously!"  My response was probably not one any parenting book would suggest. "Well try being a janitor and clean this shit up" (yes I shit, it just slipped, out it was 6:30 in the morning.)  Claire glared at me and stomped her foot, " It is not shit, it is tinkle AND you said a bad word."  Why yes, yes I did.

Lyrical Genius

This morning Middle C age 5, woke me up with a new song that she made up.
(to the tune of "I'm Sexy and I know it")
Your a Mommy and you know it,
You have boogers in your nose and your not afraid to blow it, blow it, blow it.
When you walk in the house, this is what you see
toys on the floor and you scream at me.
You have stink in your pants and you aren't afraid to blow it (she then made a toot sound with her mouth and shook her booty)

I am thinking she just might be the next Weird Al.  Seriously, there must be some sort of scholarship for her mad lyrical skills.

Cleavage Envy

If you have ever read my blog, you know that I suffer from T.T. (Tiny Tata's).   T.T. has been an issue in my life for many years , however after three kiddos, I now have T.T.T. (Teeny Tiny Tata's).  If you are cursed with my particular affliction you are required to wear a tank top under most of your shirts and dresses. There is not a line of clothing designed for TTT sufferers and so most clothes just hang down way too far.  Last night I was going out to meet some friends, I had a dress on and a tank underneath it.  I walked over to the kitchen table where E was sitting she looked up with a confused look on her face.  "Mommy, why do you wear a shirt under your dress?"  I told her that if I didn't, I would be showing off my bra.  "Really?" she replied,  "My teacher wears low things all of the time, but she doesn't wear a shirt under.  I can see some of her boobie, but not the nipple.  It sort of looks like a fanny crack."  I explained that her teacher has something called cleavage.  She looked at me confused, "So, will I have cleavage?  I really want some."  Sadly, I had to tell her if she has my genes she might be out of luck.  Middle C was listening in on the conversation and piped up.  "Yeah, well I DON'T want a fanny on my chest.  I bet it would get smelly and then people would call you smelly boob".  Things went down hill from there.

Roid Rage, Kentucky, and a Keg

Yep, that sums up my weekend...roid rage, Kentucky, and a Keg.  This weekend we hosted our 6th annual Kentucky Derby party. It was touch and go before the party.  I had been suffering with walking pneumonia and was taking steroids.  I was not bitchy, not weepy, but just plain mean.  I found immense pleasure crunching a beetle under my shoe and glaring at people.  My poor family...  Seriously not a good place to be in while getting ready for a party for 27 adults and 22 kids.  Hubby got a keg, and several bottles of mint julip and he was in heaven.  He taped the keg the night before the party and was giddy.  It annoyed the crap out of me that he was so calm and happy.  I finally gave up glaring and yelling and downloaded "Fifty Shades of Gray" on my kindle.  That seemed to tame the roid rage quite well.  The party went perfectly, there was betting, drinking, eating and plenty of lovely hats.  The following day we had to kill the keg.  Hubby was so proud of teaching the girls a new... life skill? The girls were fighting over who could fill up our cups.  Hubby would take a swig..."May I please give you a refill Daddy?" Middle C would call out.  This was usually followed by E screeching, "Hey, it's my turn. I want to do it, it's not fair!"  As far as I know, neither of the girls have gone to school bragging about their newly acquired skill.  Middle C, I'm sure is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to demonstrate her skill at her church run preschool.  She has already told me she wants to be like Jesus and turn water into wine because, "Mommy sure does like wine."

Shades of Brown

My girls have been giving me more material for my blog, unfortunately the posts are in my head and have not made it to my computer. So, I thought that I would once again reminisce about this time last year...

Painting with Pooh...I mean Poo

I am thrilled to announce that we have another artist in the family. Now two of my children, have chosen an organic medium to explore. Let me explain... It was a glorious day. My older children were out with daddy and baby A was asleep. I was making good headway on the three baskets of clean clothes that I had been ignoring for the past week. Sure enough, 3/4 of the way done I heard baby A babbling over the monitor. I figured that she was content, so I continued to fold. Baby A's babble turned to squeals of joy, I smiled as I folded the last pair to pet shop panties. I grabbed a basket of clothes, and trudged up the stairs. I pushed open A's door and my olfactories were accosted by a distinct odor. I sighed, as I quietly padded into her room. I wanted to see what she was so happy about...that's when I saw it. A soiled diaper lay mostly empty in the middle of her floor. Her beautiful pale pink gingham crib bumper was now streaked with a hideous shade of bluish brown (thank you blueberries). I gasped as soon as I saw baby A's little head pop up. My sweet little redhead now resembled a brunette. Begrudgingly, I peered into the crib to examine the magnitude of the smelly mess. There it was, an amazing piece of artwork streaked across the wall. My little avant-garde artist stared at me quizzically while I gagged. This was not my first child to attempt to be Poo-casso. Sadly, I have considerable experience attempting to clean a textured wall that has been smeared with Doo Doo Brown. The irony of it is, is that the only stuffed toy that she chose NOT to artistically embellish was Pooh.

My Middle C

I adore my middle C.  She has always keeps me on my toes and laughing.  I was looking through a few old posts and ran across this gem.

 May, 2008

You lost them mommy

Let me preface this by saying that my 2 year old has always been very curious. At a very young age, she was fascinated by nipples. She pronounced them "Nepal". Often times when she was younger, she would ask in public places who has "Nepals". She would announce who had them, speculate on the size of the "Nepals", and expose her own. I could easily spin the conversation by saying...Nepal is on the other side of the world. Not everyone has been to Nepal or is interested in discussing Nepal. One day, her interest waned and I was thrilled. Last week she reconnected with her burning desire to discuss them. Unfortunately, my two year old no longer uses such cute phrases as "Nepal". She has embraced the term "boobies". Today we stopped at the grocery store. I was holding her and she reached down my shirt. I was wearing a sports bra since we had just come from the gym. Ladies, as you know the sports bra does nothing to enhance an already pitiful size bra cup. So yes, I suppose I was looking unmmm a little prepubescent. My adorable 2 year old is determined to solve the mystery of the missing boobies. She announces in her tiny shrill voice, "Where did your boobies go mommy?" I gently pulled her hand out of my shirt and told her to not talk about boobies. That was my monumental mistake. Had I just made something up like...Victoria's secret has the day off, or the miracle bra is too tired, she would have probably let it go. Instead she began to literally panic.... "Oh no mommy, your boobies are missing, go find them mommy." There were several chuckles from the customers in line. I was mortified. C reached down for another investigative feel. I yanked her hand out of my shirt, no more Mr. Nice guy. She began to howl and scream. The cashier asked if she wanted a "buddy buck" to calm her down. She took a deep breath and took it. "Here mommy, go buy boobies." Nice...

Go suck an egg Monday-I hate you

 I feel like crap on a stick today.  I skipped my dance class this morning because I am coughing up a lung and got no sleep.  Instead of coming home after dropping off Middle C at Preschool, I thought I would run to Big Lots and buy two lawn chairs that I saw were on sale.   Baby A was not in a good mood, she was having some really bad gas.  I plopped her into the cart, buckled her in and started hunting down the chairs.  Once I found them, I struggled to get the two awkwardly packaged chairs into the cart while the "employee of the month" looked on.  While trying to get them into the cart I smashed Baby A's little chubby finger between the cart and the chair.  She let out a high pitched wail and attempted to bite the offending chair.   I tried to calm her with a bag of cookies that I hastily grabbed off the shelf.   She quieted down a bit, and I wheeled the cart to the check out line.  It was about three people deep.   I waited and I waited.  Baby A was about halfway through the bag of cookies when the cashier croaked, "Next".  I asked if she could possibly scan the chairs without having to pull them out of the cart.  She blew a bubble, popped it and said, "Nope".  I hoisted the chairs out of the cart, one at a time trying hard not to smack Baby A in the head.   The cashier gave the the total, and I started to root around my giant purse.  Crap, there was no credit card.  Then it dawned on me, I did not put it back in my purse after ordering pizza the night before.  Just as I was about to tell the cashier never-mind, Baby A grabbed a handful of cookies and threw them on the floor and screamed, "OUT"!  I started apologizing for not having my credit card, when the cashier got on the microphone and bellowed, "Need a Void,  Customer can't pay".  By then, there were several people in line behind me, obviously annoyed.  I could feel my face burn with embarrassment and my antiperspirant start to fail.  Then I remembered, as wet gnawed on cookie sailed past my cheek, I still had to pay for the #$%#$%$ cookies.  I started pawing through the discarded receipts, crumbs, and  wrappers looking for 1.25 in change.  It was at that moment, that Baby A began to grunt, crinkle up her little sweet nose, and turn red.  The stench that permeated from her diaper was beyond heinous.  A woman standing behind me whispered, "Good Lord!"  Then out of the depths of my purse I spotted a few more quarters.  Done!  I high tailed it to the car with my stinky baby, cursing under my breath.  I guess I will never get those chairs, there is no way I am going there again.  Go suck an egg Monday, I hate you!

Sorry about your Porsche...

First of all I would like to make a blanket apology to whom ever drives a black Porsche that was recently detailed and parked in front of Target. Yesterday, I scored a rock star parking spot at Target, right near the door.  As I was pulling into the spot, I noticed the shiny new black Porsche parked to my left.  "Must be nice", I muttered as I put my swagger wagon into park. Baby A was in the back seat chomping on a banana and a baggie of almonds.  I opened her door and proceeded to do my usual task of emptying her car seat of discarded snacks.  I usually dump them on the ground, because I figure that is environmentally friendly. Surely, some famished bird needs a snack.  As I was picking things out of her seat, Baby A felt it would be a great time to spit mashed bananas and chewed up almonds on my hand.  Without thinking, I shook my hand out the door and flung the chewed mess.  I promise I was not intending to soil the perfectly detailed Porsche.  When I saw what I had done, I glanced around and discovered no one had been watching. I looked at the car, a lump of almond encrusted banana was now slowly sliding down the driver side window.  I grabbed a baby board book out of the car, and attempted to flick the glob of mush off.  It worked, however now there was a beautiful slimy trail of goo left behind.  I grabbed a baby wipe and very gently attempted to wipe it off.  This just spread the mess over more of the window.  I was scared that the damn car alarm would go off if I scrubbed too aggressively.  I was just about to give up, when a piece of sticky, slobbered on fruit snack sailed past my head and landed on the front windshield.  I did the only thing I could think of, I got the hell out of there.  I threw my swagger wagon in reverse and went to Wal-Mart. 

Subjective Glimmers of Brilliance

I often have these glimmers of "brilliance" in the middle of the night.   I want to remind you that brilliance is subjective, that being said...  this idea was brought on by a situation that sadly has happened more than once.  If you have a toddler, or any crotch level kiddo you can relate.  This is my infomercial.  We first see a mom pulling on the typical mommy uniform, black yoga pants and a t-shirt.  She attempts to slather on some lip gloss and check her hair in the mirror when a toddler with a snotty nose runs full force into her crotch, giving her a full on leg hug.  This child is sneaky, and subtly wipes his little button nose all over his mommy's black yoga pants.  Mommy grins, picks up her little cherub and plops him into his highchair, where he devours a bowl of yogurt.  She picks him up, sets him down and turns to find the washcloth to clean him up with.  The little angel, with an adorably yogurt  smeared face goes in for another leg/crotch collision hug.  Next scene, the Mommy is waving goodbye as she drops off her toddler at school.  The camera zooms in on her crotch area which is now smeared with crusty white yogurt and flaky snot streaks.  Mommy is completely oblivious, until she walks into a department store and she notices people staring, one utterly creepy guy gives her a wink and a thumbs up.  Now we hear the voice-over.  "Ladies, are you tired of the crusty crotch?  Are you ready to wash that snot right out of your pants?  Now introducing Le Crotch Bib.  Your children have a bib to protect their clothes, why not wear a bib to protect your crotch?  Tie one on when you get dressed in the morning, and then take it off after dropping off the kids.  Le crotch Bib, get one today!"

What do you think, other than I really need to be sleeping more?  I am sure the person that invented the snuggie had insomnia too!

Tit for Tat Screw That!

I feel as if all of my children are going through some sort of phase right now.  Baby A only wants to be held, Middle C is embracing the FU fives, and E has morphed into little Ms. Tit for Tat.  My easy, breezy first born has traded in her hallo.  If I have to hear "That's not fair", one more time I just might give myself a swirlie.  She counts and compares everything, chomping at the bit to discover an chance of injustice.  Today, I was playing around with the girls and I semi depantsed Middle C.  She was giggling, then out of the blue I heard a shrill panicked scream,"That's not fair Mommy, I want to have you pull my pants down too!"  I couldn't help but laugh, which really sent her over the edge. "You never laugh at Middle C, it is not fair."  The evening went down hill after that.  I swear E counted how many individual pieces of macaroni and cheese she had versus her sister. How many times do I say, "life is not fair"?  I might have to start charging her 10 cents for every time she utters the words "not fair".  I could use the proceeds to purchase a nice bottle of whine, I mean wine.

Caught Bubble Handed!

 Middle C why must you test me, and why can't I help giggle at your antics?  Middle C was ordered to take a bath after getting covered in mud.  She found the only puddle in miles with about a tablespoon of water in it to frolic in.  I suppose that is some sort of talent.   I had her strip and get in the tub.  What was I thinking having shampoo on the edge of the tub?  Of course she would empty out the whole bottle of Aveda Shampure in the tub to make a frothy mess.  There is no way she would have grabbed the HEB generic shampoo to play with, she has standards after all.  Grrrrrr!

 

Wax...Relax

The idea of relaxation changes with age and the number of kiddos.  I used to say that an hour massage was the key to a stress free life, and then it was a pedicure, and now it is a toss up between the dentist and a brow wax.  My needs and expectations have hit an all time low.  Today I had a few kid free minutes, and needed to get a brow wax.  I am not picky, I am all about convenience.  I went to the little shop a few doors down from my daughter's dance studio.  Let me preface this by saying that it was only eight dollars.  Ok, so I am escorted into the little dark, dank room that smelled faintly of burned hair.  I glanced around at the dust that has accumulated on the light and notice the crock pot with what I think is hot wax?  Perhaps a normal person, or the person that I was several years ago would have bolted.  Nope, I was so happy just to lay down on the table and close my eyes for a bit waiting for the brow lady.   I was rudely awaken by the "relaxation" music.  I'm not quite sure who thought that bagpipes would be a good choice, but whatever.  My eyes flutter open and I get my first glance at my brow lady.  She was wearing an eye patch and it was not because she was trying to be a pirate.  Honestly, I didn't even think twice about her ability to craft my bushy brows into a arched work of art with one eye.  I just closed my eyes and literally slept through the whole ripping out my hair ordeal.  I was woken up by a grunt and someone attempting to thrust a hand mirror in my face.  What can I say...I am now in fact a fan of the one eyed, crock pot wax woman.  It was the best nap I have had in awhile.  Sigh...

Open Mouth Insert Glass

On Easter Sunday, there was no Sunday school or nursery at our Church.  We had all three girls in a packed pew for an hour and a half, the longest service EVER.  I attempted to be prepared, however the snacks were all discovered and devoured within the first fifteen minutes.  As the service progressed, Baby A was rooting around in my purse unwrapping a tampon, Middle C was scratching her bum and wiping her hand on her sister.  When it was time for communion we passed another friend of mine.  We made eye contact, our once perfectly coiffed hair now a  tangled mess, our pressed Easter dresses looking like a wrinkled road map, and the children we were carrying were attempting pull our dresses off our shoulder.  I am still a bit shell shocked after enduring the service.  So the other day I ran into a Dad who attends our Church.  I don't know him all that well.  He asked me about our Easter.  I said, "It was good, but my God...that was the longest service ever and to not have child care.  I swear I was tempted to take the whole tray of wine from communion and down it."  He politely smiled, chuckled and walked away.  I was only half kidding...

And so it begins...

Yes, it is that dreaded time of the year again...the hunt for a swim suit. The mere thought of it turns my stomach. The three way mirrors, the "hygienic" sticker on the crotch, trying to cram your underwear into the bottom half of the suit. YUCK!   I thought my first stop would be the internet. I can get it shipped to me and try them on at home. My first stop the Victoria's Secret site. There is free shipping for items over 100.00. I figure I get a few, try them on and send the majority back.
Decisions, Decisions, decisions... Beach Sexy, Miracle Bra, Very Sexy, or Body by Victoria. Let's see Beach sexy, I will be running after three kiddos on the beach, sand always seems to gravitate to the crotch region, my youngest has a fascination with straps (she prefers them off the shoulder). I'm going to have to say no to the beach sexy or very sexy. That leaves Miracle Bra or Body by Victoria. I am excited about this Miracle Bra idea. I have been clinging to my A+ since adolescence and I would really love a miracle. The woman wearing the suits looked to either be blessed by God or a surgeon. I don't think that Victoria has the power to work a large scale miracle. I loved some of the tops, but I just can't envision my mini miracle in there. On to the body by Victoria...please. My body is Body by E, Middle C, and Baby A. So the search continues.

Pooptastic!

I swear, I couldn't make this up if I tried.  The other night I started coming down with a nasty cold.   I woke up @ 1:00 am and  took some sinus medication and passed out on the couch.  I got up at 6:00am in a medication stupor to get E up for school, then I fell back to sleep.  I woke up at 8:45 and realized that I had 15 min to get out the door to take Middle C to Preschool.  I threw some clothes on everyone, and headed off to school.   Baby A always has snacks hidden in the crevices of  her car seat, so I didn't think anything of it  when I looked in the rear view mirror and saw her munching on something.  When we got to school, I threw the swagger wagon in park and preceded to get the kiddos out of the car.  I notice Baby A has a little chocolate smeared on her face and fingers, whatever we were late! We jogged into the building.   I sign Middle C in while attempting to hold on to the wiggling, screaming, Baby A. Tired of her thrashing, I set her down and let her meander down the hallway.  I spy her halfway down the hall "chatting" with a little old lady from the Church.  I smile to myself and then I notice the woman is not really chatting she is scrunching up her nose in disgust.  Really?  Baby A is so sweet and friendly.  The lady calls out to me, "Is this your child?"  I smile, and nod.  "Well," she continues, "I think someone has been playing in her feces. She is really smelly and has some on her face."  With that Baby A, wipes her little chubby hands on the door and grins at me.  I apologize profusely, begging the woman to understand that I have a cold, can't smell, and I thought my daughter had just eaten chocolate.  The woman shook her head and walked away.  "Don't worry, I will clean it off." I called out to her.  Feeling like a winner of a mother I rushed home to give Baby A bath.  I kept having to call my hubby over to give her a quick smell to make sure I got rid of it all.  Once again I am that mother...
***  The photo is not of Baby A eating poop, just mud.********

Making eyes across a crowded room...

Am I the only one that giggles when someone calls them a woman?  That word just seems so grown up to me, and I certainly don't feel grown up.   I am closer to 40 than I am 30 and I am still a bit immature.  I snicker when I hear the word "tea bag", or "money shot".  My husband is not much better he got me a 6 pack of Boner Beer for Valentines Day.  We made jokes the whole day about it.  "How is your Boner?"  "Do you like your Boner cold or warm?"  "Are you a fan of the Boner?"    You get the picture.

Baby A attends Little Gym.  She loves it.  I have found that I am not the only one who needs to grow up.  Every class we join in for a lively little jingle,"It's time to play with balls today."  I can't help but giggle. I know, I know... I have always felt a bit guilty about it and then (cue romantic music) I see it.  There in the gaggle of Mommas attempting to secure a ball for their baby is another snickering Mom.  We make eye contact, ( the music swells)  and we have found each other.  Now, I am never alone when we "play with balls" or sing "where is tall man".  Sigh...

What is Enough?

What is enough?  I am struggling with this question today.   Eleven years ago, I was teaching second grade.  I finally had my dream class after a few years of very challenging classes.  One day a few weeks into the school year, I saw a child walking the track with the Vice Principal. The little boy was screaming curse words at him and sobbing.  That same day the VP came up to me and asked me to take the cursing child into my class.  I had mixed feelings about it.  The little boy was brought to my classroom so I could meet him.   I looked at him, his beautiful blue eyes peeking out under a mop of tangled, dirty hair, and knew that he needed me.   I never saw that angry boy that walked the track.  M was smart, kind, and had a huge heart.  I asked the man that I was dating at the time to be his mentor.  He said “Sure!”  I ended up marrying that man and we continued to be a part of M’s life.  We took him on trips, advocated for him in the foster care system, and had him spend a holiday with us.  It wasn’t enough… M is now 18. He has survived his mother getting killed, his father dying in prison, being abandoned by other family members more than once, the foster care system, getting adopted at14, and then getting kicked out soon as he turned 18.  Two days ago, I received a message from the county jail saying that M had called.  I have missed the phone call three times now.  He must feel like we abandoned him.  Could I have done more to save him from this childhood?  I feel sick to my stomach that the answer could be, yes.  I contacted the Sheriff and am trying to communicate with M. This is what I want him to know:

M,

  I don’t know why you are in jail and I don’t really care.  It does not change the fact that we love you and care about you.  We always will, no matter the good or bad choices you make.  We care about you unconditionally.  We have always tried to make sure that you knew that your past does not define you.  You have faced more tragedy and pain in your short 18 years than most people have in their lifetime.  There is nothing I can do to make that better.  You are smart and you have an amazing heart despite your experiences.  My hope for you is that you find freedom from your pain and anger.  I hope you embrace your future and find happiness.  We love you M.

A Little Bit Kinky

I was a guest blogger for Scary Mommy (http://www.scarymommy.com/category/scary-mommy-society/) the other day.  I know those of you that know me want to vomit because I have mentioned it so much.  I am sorry, but this is the first time in years that I have been acknowledged publicly for something other than being a mommy.  OK, granted  my post was about an epic mommy fail, but it was a huge boost for my frail little self esteem.   I have really been thinking, I have a voice, I am awesome.  Why oh why, must I get a bit overly confident?  Nothing good can come from my chest pumping and fist pumps.  Case in point...

Hubby is out of town, the girls were all asleep, so I thought I would embark on a full out war on my hair.  I pulled out the box of keratin treatment that I had received to try and review.  I was a bit intimidated when I opened up the box and saw a pamphlet with numerous directions, gloves, and three tubes of stuff.  This treatment was suppose give me smooth shiny hair for 30 days.    Step one, wash hair, towel dry and apply the cream with with gloves on.  I was to leave the cream on for 20 minutes.  I thought I would multitask and bring on the Nair too, why not?  Just before applying the treatment, I lathered up the unwanted hair with Nair, and set the timer.  I then put on the rubber gloves, and began applying the cream.  I gagged at the scent, it smelled like a perm gone bad.  I was determine to finish the process since half of my head now smelled like a salon from the late 80's.  While covered in both Nair and stink cream I thought it would be a great time to do some laundry, and some dishes, and wipe down the kitchen counters.  If my neighbors had peered though the window they may have thought I was the stay puff marshmallow man.  I glanced at the time, crap I was suppose to wash this stuff off a long time ago.  I waddled to the bathroom leaving a trail of cream and stink behind me.  I rinsed off and admired my work.  My Nair skills are far from great, I am a bit patchy and somewhat pinkish.  My hair,well multi step directions have never been my strong suit.  Apparently, I missed the part in the pamphlet that said that you need to section off the hair, so you get cream on every part.  Now have nice straight hair and a few sections of random kinky.  What is worse, is the aroma of perm seems to follow me around like Pig Pen's cloud of filth.  I actually attempted to fabreeze it after two of my children made gagging sounds after hugging me.  Awesome...
 

Revelation

Revelation

Today Little A discovered where doggie poop comes from.  Perhaps she may not attempt to pick it up or squash it with her toes anymore. One can only hope.  That is all I have to say for today.

Ambushed!

Ambushed

It was a wonderful evening spent with my parents and an old friend at a vineyard watching the sun set.  I was feeling that nice warm glow after a good meal and a few glasses of wine.  My parents were driving and paying, so I poured the wine a bit more liberally than I usually would. 

I pushed open the door and immediately my ears were accosted by high pitched squeals, giggles, and screams.  I peered into the living room and what to my wandering eyes did appear?  Two Dad’s lounging on the couch with glasses if bourbon is their hands.  I looked into the kitchen it was a disaster.  I could feel my heart pounding, but I tried to keep my cool.  Then I heard one of the girls scream, “Slumber Party!!!”.  I turned to look at my husband.  “Really?”  He grinned, “Yep, in impromptu slumber party, I tried to call you to see if was OK.”  Truth is, I never answer my phone and I can imagine him giving a high five to his friend when I did not pick up.  I glanced up the stairs in the direction of the playroom.  Toys were strewn everywhere, and five little girls are twirling around.  I marched down the stairs and closed my bedroom door.  I called my mom in tears.  One of my many flaws is that I do not do spontaneous, especially for our daughter’s first slumber party.   My mom calmed me down and then I drank a glass or two of wine and fell asleep, ignoring the loud thumps and giggles from above. 

My husband surprised me.  He got up early, got breakfast for the girls, cleaned the house, and had the girls clean the playroom.  When I got back from church, everything was as it should be.  Maybe I need to take a lesson from him and be more spontaneous.  I was thinking that until we got a call from the other family the following day…the kiddos have lice and may have left a few at our house.  On the bright side, little C was able to come up with a great word for the letter “N” at her preschool, nit.  She then proceeded to give the class a lesson on the life cycle of a louse.

At The Carwash

I am an awesome mother…on most days.  I know that one of the things mothers should never do is compare our mothering skills, but we do.  In our moments of self loathing, we doubt our parenting choices and skills.  We all have “friends” on facebook that keep us posted on how amazing they and their kids are.   We hear about their fantastic family trips, their made from scratch meals, and the numerous awards that their kids win. We rarely hear about the messy stuff... the things about motherhood that we all can relate to.  I give you one of my Epic Fails in motherhood to make you all feel better.  (At least you were not THAT mother....)

June 21st, 2011

In the past three weeks, I have survived a 3,000 mile family road trip and little C's tonsillectomy and recovery. Who knew that on top of that, today, the summer solstice would bring with it an epic Mommy Fail moment.

I was rocking it today. It was one of those days when things were getting done and the kids were cooperating. I was feeling great about my mommy skills. I even listened to the Vacation Bible School CD four times in a row. That in itself deserved a few gold stars.

One thing I have learned about parenting is to enjoy the moment, because it could all go from calm to insane in no time flat... which is just what happened - my Epic Mommy Fail moment.

It was another blistering day of 100 degree heat. The meteorologists were excited,  yapping about a 15 percent chance of rain. At some point in the morning they mentioned that (or suggested that) we should all wash our cars to bring on the rain. My 4 year old, Little C, heard this and begged me to get a car wash after her post-op doctor appointment. Sweet!  (If that can be the bribe for good behavior at the doctor's, it is a win win as far as I am concerned.)

 I fill up my car with gas and get the receipt with the carwash code printed on it. I should be suspicious when I notice that the code is 666.  Baby A is happily babbling in the car and C is chomping at the bit waiting for the rainbow colored soap. We very slowly drive the "swagger wagon" in, savoring the moment when the under carriage is being washed. I remind C to make sure that her little pop-out window is, in fact, closed. She cheerfully yells, "Check!"

I put my car into park and just as the car wash begins to really get going, baby A begins to scream (not a fan of car washes). Little C is giggling and singing, "At The Car Wash, doobie doobie doo....MOMMY, my window is open. I am getting wet!!!" I launch myself over the seats until I am at the back of the van and pop the window back into the locked position. C finds this whole thing hilarious and is laughing. Baby A is screaming. Since I am in the back seat, I attempt to calm her down and give up when she hurtles a book at me.

The little sign in the car wash now flashes CRYSTAL CLEAN RINSE, the last cycle. Once again, I scramble to get to the front seat. Due to the diaper bag in my way, I crash over the front seat armrest bonking my head somehow on the door control button.

It is like slow motion... I hear C scream, "The door Moooommmmmmyyyyyy." Next, I feel a fire hose force of water pummeling the inside of the car. Baby A is wailing. I fumble to find the button to close the door. Screw the dry cycle, I floor it out of the wash and pull into the parking lot. I'm sobbing, baby A is screaming, and C is laughing out loud. I get out and open the door. Baby is soaked from head to foot. Her hair is wet and water is dripping down her face. The stack of diapers I had at her feet are now bloated with water. I unbuckle the poor water logged baby and attempt to calm her. We are all fine, however I fear that down the way baby A may be in therapy, suffering from a debilitating car wash phobia.

After all of that, now it had better rain, damn it!

Don’t you feel better now? 

At least your were not the mother that opened her van door in a car wash. 

If you still don’t feel good about your mothering skills, do what I do.  Go to Walmart.  There is no other store that does more for improving one's self esteem.

Investigative Photo Journalism

Raising children in this day and age it tough.  Back in my day, we didn't have digital cameras, we had the point, click, wind, flash cube cameras.  If you wanted your photos you took them to the store, put your film in the envelope and waited several days to see if you actually took any decent photos, or if your finger was semi covering the lens.  There was a learning curve, and an expensive one a that.  My family had a Polaroid camera and a "snap shot" camera.  The Polaroid was awesome, snap and get a sort of instant...well shake it, wave it around in the air, blow on it and slowly a semi blurry image would appear.  Magic, but a little tempting.  I will admit my best friend and I, in 4th grade took a picture of our butts.  We thought it would be funny to send it to someone, but chickened out when we realized that my Bon Jovi  poster and some of our cabbage patch panties were sort of visible in the photo.  We tore up the picture and burned it in the char coal grill outside.  No harm done, now one silly photo emailed to a friend can be detrimental.  I have had to have the conversation with my girls ages 6 and 4 about pictures.  I stressed no naked photos.  Yesterday, I found the girls Fisher Price digital camera and began clicking through the photos.  There was one of the carpet, one of the dog, one of Middle C's eye, a picture of poop in the potty.  What?  I kept clicking through the photos, different angles of feces, apparently different feces from different days.  I called the girls over to me and asked who was the fecal matter photographer.  Middle C proudly said, "Me!  They were awesome Mommy, right?"  I looked at a her and reminded her of our appropriate photo discussion .  She looked at me and grinned, "My booty was not in any of the pictures, just my poopy."

Thwarted passion

Last weekend I attended a wonderful conference, momcom (momcomaustin.com).  Thanks to the amazing speakers, I felt something that I have not felt in quite a while, a passion for something other than motherhood.  I connected with the part of me that was driven and successful.  I am going to wake up a 5:00am two mornings a week to focus on my writing.  I do love being a stay at home mommy, but I feel that desire to....
Really?  My first focus on me morning and middle C just came down at 5:10 am to inform me she tinkled in her bed.  I stripped her bed, cleaned her up and settled her in front of the TV.  The dog whines to go out.  I let her out, the baby starts screaming in her room.  I get her settled back down just in time to wake up E for school and get her breakfast started.  I let the dog in, she drinks too much water and vomits.  Thank you family for supporting my endeavor.

Anatomy Lesson

  Let me first say that last year, I  heard a speaker stress the importance of always using correct terminology when talking about private parts with children.  Middle C is a very curious and precocious child.  Needless to say, she has become very interested in naming parts.  Every morning we drive past several horses, we are usually in traffic so there is time to observe them.  A few weeks ago C piped up, “that is a boy horse because it has a penis and it is huge!”  I acknowledged her statement without giggling.  The next morning, it dawned on her that all animals must have a penis or vagina, hence leading to several weeks of checking out any animal she sees and informing us as to the sex of the animal.  After hearing penis and vagina being screamed from the back seat in the car a few more times, I told her that observation is fine, but it isn’t necessary to inform everyone about what you see, that is rude.   That was the end to the naming of parts phase. The other day, I had all three girls and I needed to run an errand.  Baby A had a Ziploc baggie with goldfish; the other two girls are behaving nicely.  We walk up to checkout; there is a line about two people deep.  Baby A decides that she is all out of good and starts swinging her open baggie of goldfish around showering the floor with fish.   I bend down to attempt to pick up the renegade fish when I hear Middle C screech,” The only way to tell, is to ask to see his vagina or penis and we can’t do that, it’s rude!”  I popped up, knocking my head on the shopping cart handle just in time to make eye contact with the customer in front of us.  The transvestite glared at me as he grabbed his purchases and sashayed out the door.  You can imagine the discussion in the car on the way home.  Isn't parenting fun?