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.