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?