I love being with my kids. Love. This whole 24/7 thing has been awesome! What could be better than having them all to myself for 3 months? Sharing them. Yes. That's what they taught us in Kindergarten - to share.
Bring it on, 16/7!
I said I'd check in at this blog from time to time.
I said I'd never use the phrase "just you wait until your Dad comes home!"
I said I'd cherish every day with my kids because they grow up so fast.
Yes, I've said a lot of things. And really, I meant all of them. I recently sat down and took stock of all the things I've committed to, and was shocked to see that the list wasn't that long. But every job is a huge project.
* go through everyone's wardrobes and donate old clothing to GoodWill
* restock everyone's wardrobe... quite possibly at GoodWill, since I'm already there.
* save 50% on grocery budget by becoming a coupon ninja
* find time to squeeze in deal hunting
* score two kids-worth of school supplies for less than $5 total
* work VBS at our church for one week
* agree to run the craft section of our moms group
* wonder what the heck I was thinking, considering I'm not crafty. But I will save them money.
* sneak some summertime learning into our activities so the tiny brains don't turn to porridge
* regain mastery over my flower beds and lawn... ok ok-- over my potted plants on the porch
* put in half-time hours on the job, preferably not between the hours of 11pm and 7am
* keep my house in some sort of order
* go on outings
* have fun
* relax
* stop making so many "to do" lists and actually, y'know, "do".
* wash my face, put a fresh ribbon in my hair and have dinner on the table when the Mister comes home
I'll keep you posted. Really.
I haven't posted for a long time (perhaps you noticed?), but it's not for lack of material. The truth is, I have recently taken on more responsibility at work and with the summer holidays (i.e. double overtime) here, my mommy duties have also increased.
Which means I'm all work and no play now, but thank goodness I tend towards dullness in my downtime anyway. A good time in Mama's house means Seinfeld reruns and Brie with crackers. I fall comatose into bed each night and wake reluctantly to the sounds of my kids squabbling over the remote control in the morning. So blogging has unfortunately been the extra weight I've had to shed (although I really wish it was that last bit of muffin top from my last pregnancy instead, but that would've been yet another task on my overloaded schedule), and I'm thinking it'll be until the start of school before I can make regular appearances here again.
I'll check in from time to time, though, and you can always find my comments - both informative and irreverent - over in the other blog I co-author. Plus (and here's my shameless plug) it's a pretty good site.
'Til then, my dears, adieu.
And yes, those goggles are upside down
An open letter to 80% of parents out there (or at least, living in the southeast US)--
To Whom it May Concern,
I'm writing this letter to voice my frustration with your current practice of parenting my children, particularly in my presence. While I completely agree with your intentions of protecting your own brood and the general public, I must take offense at the excessiveness of your paranoid concerns.
The following recent events may give context to my comments:
1. Splish splashing with Rascal in the shallow end of a swimming pool while your child is safely wrapped in a padded life vest-style Diego swimsuit plus arm swimmy things AND seated in an inflatable is not dangerous. Especially while I'm standing within arm's reach. And let's be clear: both our sons were splashing (even though Rascal started it - I can admit that much).
2. Running around the playground at a public park should be an automatic invitation for my children to holler like cowboys. That is what a playground is for, so if you're looking for a quiet place to play, allow me to give you directions to the library.
3. Children have a tendency to weave around on the road while learning to ride a bicycle. Since the stretch of road in question is within 100 feet of my driveway and a dead-end cul de sac, maybe you should rethink your speed while traveling said road to allow for more stopping room. Our street has maybe a dozen homes and at least half of those house kids aged 2-14.
4. When kids play together, they will give each other bad ideas. This is (a) part of growing and learning, (b) a teachable moment for you, and (c) inevitable. If your kid starts wanting to use the slide all by himself or maybe even say "stupid" (which I agree is not a good word), is it wholly my kids' fault? I will also take this opportunity to mention that time my son learned about Doritos from your son. Before that, he was perfectly happy eating Wheat Thins.
In any event, most of these problems stem from (1) kids being kids and (2) our slightly more relaxed parenting style. If anything, the fault is mine. Please direct all future bitching to the source, not at my children.
Actually, please feel free to bitch about it with your friends behind my back instead. You will not only have the satisfaction of voicing your complaints, you will also have a receptive audience. I will simply stare blankly at you as you list off all the non-life threatening issues you have and then promptly forget them. What I will remember, however, is to not arrange any more play dates with you.
I appreciate your prompt attention to these concerns, y'all.
Regards,
Mama
Whew! It's the dog days in southeastern US and we are broiling. Husband set up our aboveground pool and it's the only thing that makes this weather bearable.
It's also time for my kids to display never-before-seen levels of silliness as they all turn another year older this season.
Tweenie starts to worry about her physique when confronted with her bikini-clad bod. "Oh my gosh, mom! I'm fat!" She totally isn't, but it horrifies me to see she's picked up on what goes for societally acceptable body image these days (despite the Dove ads).
"I'm gonna run 1 hour on the treadmill, plus half an hour biking, plus 15 minutes of soccer drills every day!"
Five minutes later: "What? We're having grilled veggie kabobs? I want chicken nuggets!" And that exercise regime was in place for ... 20 minutes. It's never been spoken of since.
Now, I must say that I've seen the obesity issue much more prevalent in the south. No one can accuse me of being bone thin, and I would personally love to lose 5 pounds especially in the spare tire area. In comparison to many around me now, though, I am the thinnest by at least 50 pounds.
How did we get here? For starters, it's the fast food - driving down the interstate, every exit has signs for Wendy's, McDonald's, and Bojangles (fried chicken). Second, there are no sidewalks or large shoulders on the roads except in downtown, and with the speed limit on country roads set at 50mph, it is not remotely safe to go for a family bike ride or a jog. Our bikes have lain dormant in the garage since we moved in almost 3 years ago, except for the occasional ride around our backyard or up and down our short residential street. Third (and this really ticks me off), it is cheaper to eat Kraft Dinner or Hamburger Helper than to cook something half-decent from scratch. My grocery budget is at least 25% more than most of my friends because I cook almost everything we eat myself.
(ok, now I'm done with ranting and raving)
Rascal is turning into textbook boy, even more than he already was. His main source of hilarity is farting on purpose and mooning his sister. "Did it again!" he crows with delight. Did any of you read the Judy Blume "Fudge" series? Soooo worth it. We just bought it from the Scholastic book order and Tweenie is eating it up. She comments constantly on how she identifies with fourth-grade Peter suffering the existence of rascally little brother Fudge.
Kye is transitioning from being my baby to a real little person. He started speaking in full sentences suddenly about 2 months ago, and yesterday counted to 10 without prompting (I didn't even know he knew how). He's also decided to start defending his rights and personal property with respect to Rascal's attempted appropriations.
Discipline gets complicated now, because until recently I could safely assume that Rascal "started it", pushed, bit, yanked, stole, etc. Now, if I'm not present during the altercation, I have to try to sort it out by relying on this supposed inability of a young child to lie.
"Did you spill Kye's Cheerios?"
"No. He did it hisself."
Kye turns his huge blue eyes on me, welling tears shimmering. I'm stuck because I want to believe Rascal, but who can punish that little sweetie? They've both got my number, that much is certain.
This hot weather is getting to us all. With my baby growing up and bio clock ticking, I am oohing and aahing far too much over my friends' babies. Starting to think dangerous thoughts. Husband had at one point wanted 6 kids, but now we're outnumbered has rethought that strategy. We've now swapped positions on the family planning issue, and the debate on permanent (though presumably reversible) birth control is on.
I mean, I know it's probably a bad idea. But still.
Still.
Maybe when the weather changes I'll come to my senses...
I'm not one to send around email forwards. On occasion, I have even deleted them without reading, especially since the ongoing epidemic of "send this email to your 15 closest friends to show them you care-- right now".
Either I really don't care, or I choose not to associate myself with such mushy gushy sentiments. I'm figuring my friends already know that I love them and don't need a chain email to tell them so.
However, this morning my cousin sent me a pretty funny one that rang all too true for me. It highlighted the difference between a first-time mom and a hardened professional like myself... check it out.
The First Kiss
It's your First Kiss and several questions might come to mind:
Is it the right time?
Is anyone watching?
Does your partner even want to?
Is your breath fresh?
AND,---Should you use some tongue?
Then you say . . .
'What the heck!' and Just Go for it!!!
This must be a 2nd or 3rd child... because Mom grabbed the camera and not the kid
I do apologize for my extended absence from this blog. I have been lurking more than usual at my day job at ChickAdvisor and writing all my wisdom (or prattling on to fill cyberspace, depending on my mood) at ChickLit, our site blog. You should go for a visit sometime. It's wickedawesome!
In other news, I feel like I'm still recovering from 3 weeks of family fun. We had such a fabulous time but for some reason it's taking me forever to bounce back. Like I've had a month of PMS or something (just as long as I'm not pregnant again, I say!).
Because of this and the fact that soccer season is in full swing, school's drawing to a close, and my flower beds have taken on a life of their own, I find myself with precious little spare time to rant and rave over here. I'm sad about that, and I hope to start finding more time soon. In the meantime let me leave you with yet another classic Rascal moment...
(in the van going home from preschool)
Mama: What d'you got there, buddy?
Rascal: It's my craft. I maked it all all all myself! It's soooooo pretty.
M: Tell me about it. Is that Noah's Ark and the animals?
R (angrily): It's not Noah's! It's mine! MINE!
M: I don't mean your friend Noah, I mean the other one... from the story.
R (emphatically): I maked it! I did! It's not Noah's! It's my boat, and that's Elmo in it! OK??
Gotcha.
Lessons learned while hosting guests for 3 weeks in a row:
1. I can function on 4 or less hours of sleep. However, I cannot hold my liquor whatsoever in this sleep-deprived state.
2. My brother-in-law could care less if my legs are hairy. Hiding in my bathroom for 2 hours trying to wax various body parts while my little boys are emptying my makeup bag is an exercise in futility.
3. I am a much worse parent than I thought. My nephew does not act like Tarzan, and it is - apparently - possible to put babies on a schedule that is not interrupted by vacations. My sister-in-law is a freakin' genius.
4. I am a much better parent than I thought. My kids are not afraid of heights, dogs, Costco, or stairs because the Law of the Jungle employed by Husband and I (i.e. "I warned you 4 times not to touch that. You can stop crying now.").
5. That thing under my nose was not a zit. It was a cold sore.
6. Cold sores should not be fiddled with, as it may lead to a growth of ginormous proportions.
7. Cover-up makeup only goes so far, and then you have to walk around casually holding your hand against your nose. I find a contemplative facial expression helps with the illusion.
8. Getting out of a guest-filled house at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to take Tweenie to soccer is actually pretty awesome. Especially since we have to pass by Starbucks on the way to the field.
9. There is nothing wrong with letting Uncle or Auntie take a 3 a.m. shift. It makes no difference to Kye who fetches his bottle of warmed milk and rummages under the bed looking for Birdie.
10. I love my family and I think I need a vacation.
Rascal: "Mamaaaaaaaa! Come play cars wif me."
Mama: "In a few minutes." (clickety click on Spider Solitaire)
Rascal: "Mamaaaaaaaaa! Coooooooome!"
and then last night...
Rascal: "Mama, you sleep wif me."
Mama: "I have to go tidy up the kitchen. I'll check on you soon."
Rascal: "You stay a feeeeewwwww minutes. And den da sunshine comes and you can go."
*oops* He's on to me.
It becomes increasingly clear to me what the phrase "running around like a chicken with it's head chopped off" actually means.
We have long-awaited guests in the house, and they'll be staying for 2 weeks. Immediately upon their departure, another couple will arrive and stay for a week.
Disclaimer: this is freakin' awesome! We are very excited to have family come down and we haven't seen the first set of guests in almost 3 years. It's all good.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch-- this means planning sleeping arrangements, trips to Costco, and a few odd presents for my nephew, in addition to dealing with the yearly scheduled Spring Cleaning and the unfortunately unscheduled leaking of our septic tank. It just so happens to be situated near our front walkway and the spillage sheets over the path every time a toilet is flushed. It's gross.
And of course, there are the daily chores and commitments that still need to be addressed.
The End Result: nothing gets accomplished, soccer practice and Girl Scout meetings are forgotten, personal hygiene falls by the wayside, and my on-again off-again adult acne goes into overdrive.
Yet by the time Husband delivered Brother, Sis-in-Law, and Nephew from the airport, I had a warm snack prepared, a house tidied to 95% cleanliness, and cover-up smeared in all the right places. This chicken pulled it all together at the last minute, but I'm tellin' ya I needed a glass of Chardonnay when all was said and done.
Update on the hyperlinked story above: it turns out my friends were not impressed by my boozing and reported me to the mom's group coordinator at church. Apparently this was an official church function and they did not appreciate my behavior. I was called in for a sit-down meeting and everything. Sheesh.
"Mom, what travels farther? If you throw a ball really high in the air, or if you go more slanty?"
"Well..." I began to gush excitedly. I was one of the only kids my age who actually enjoyed high school physics. I started waving my arms around wildly, explaining about vectors and gravity. Tweenie followed along, interested for the moment (remember, she's my genius child).
"...and so, the ball stays in the air only as long as it takes for gravity to bring it back down again, but travels at an equal rate in a forward direction until it hits the ground!" I finished with a flourish.
"But what if you threw it off the cliff?"
"I'm glad you asked!" I ran for a sketchbook, tingling with excitement at this learning opportunity.
She must have figured out where this was going, because--
"Um, can we go to Target now? I need new Sunday shoes and my lip gloss ran out."
"But we're not finished here..." I whined.
"Yah, but I'd rather go shopping now."
Hmm. Just the two of us in the van for 20 minutes? That'll work.
What luck for me that Spring Break falls right after Easter this year! I'm being ironic.
Whereas I might have had a half-day of alone time to clean up the blotches of chocolate ground into the carpet and such while the kiddies were off at (pre)school, instead I find myself running around changing junk food-charged nappies that would otherwise have fallen to Kye's wonderful teachers and trying to amuse a bored Tweenie who can't seem to connect with any friends for a quick playdate today. Rascal is the only one who remains more or less at status quo, which is to say that yesterday's chocolate rush did not affect him like the others since he has a naturally high temperament.
I'm exhausted. Kye won't take a nap but I think I might have to. Just lock the door and let them deal with each other, I'm thinking.
This weekend was filled with one Easter Egg hunt after another, and at our house it could hardly be different. The only exception is that I'm a serious chocolate snob and won't spring for Tootsie Rolls or Dollar Store chocolate bunnies. Also, if I'm going to snag the odd treat, it may as well be Ferrero Rocher or Lindt truffles, y'know?
Another project I undertook was to make my grandmother's Paska recipe. This Ukrainian Easter staple is a wonderful sweet bread that you slather with icing and eat with homemade jam. It was my first try and I must say I did my Oma proud.
It only took 5 hours with rising time and it was a challenge convincing the kids they shouldn't help with the kneading...
...but here's the finished product! I was so proud of myself I cut some up and handed it out to our neighbors. That seems to be another trait of my cultural heritage sneaking through: the fobbing-off of baked goods to friends (in lieu of gifts? Yeah, we do tend toward cheapskate-ness also) whether they want it or not.
At the end of the day, we confiscate the goodies to the least accessible place in the house. Also up on that shelf: the BBQ lighter, Jolly Jumper (don't ask), and a Fruit Snack maker from Christmas. The Jack 'o Lantern bucket is not up there from Halloween; within 2 hours of buying 3 Easter buckets, one was lost. Sadly, this is not atypical.
Nemo Band-Aids: 100% ketchup-soaking guarantee
Tweenie's school held the All American Fun Run last week to raise funds for their school. It's your basic Thon, and brought back memories for me of the events I participated in at that age.
Here's the thing - I remember these events as following a basic pattern:
(1) publicize your participation among family and friends,
(2) raise funds based on performance (i.e. 25¢ per lap around the gym, or $5 per 100 skips),
(3) a 1-2 hour commitment on the day of the Thon, featuring a cheering section filled with the kids who packed it in early,
(4) and crappy freebies based on your level of achievement
But this is how Tweenie's event went down:
(1) sent out a preprinted letter provided by the school asking for sponsors; it was a fill-in-the-blank form (I just love that personal touch, don't you?).
(2) "...and they said all we have to do is send out the letters. Raising the money is not our concern," Tweenie stressed. "So it doesn't matter if no one responds?" I wondered. "Raising the actual money is not our concern," Tweenie repeated slowly, as if I was dimwitted.
(3) a 10-minute walk inside the gymnasium. Apparently there were too many participants this year so running was deemed unsafe. Even though it's technically The All-American Fun Run, the moniker clearly holds little sway over the actual proceedings.
(4) Awards ceremony recognizes those over-achievers who managed to mail out the most letters. Tweenie made it to the second highest tier and is now the proud owner of a wind-up bird. This high-quality Made In Timbuktu toy is advertised to fly "up to 50 yards!", but I think we have air quality problems at our house because it only manages to stay aloft as long as it takes for gravity to yank it earthward. In retrospect, my super awesome idea to throw it out of an upstairs window might not have been the brightest. But I was so enthralled with the idea of !50 yards! that I got carried away. I guess I should have said that Tweenie was the proud owner of a wind-up bird.
Introducing: The All-American Sit-On-Your-Ass-a-Thon (sponsorships welcome)
This Ebola got somewhat out of control. I am pleased to say, that after roughly 3 weeks of slapdown fight (winner TBA), we have cycled through the sickness in our house.
Our final holdout, Kye, had his first Advil-free night last night and so far shows no sign of relapse (knock on wood). What little time I had for work and blogging was spent with a screaming 1-year-old on my arm and my 3-year-old taking advantage where one could be found, hammering on the keyboard and yanking cables.
The path of least resistance here was to leave All Dogs Go To Heaven running in a continuous loop and keep the pantry fully stocked with alcohol I mean Diet Coke. Much whining to Husband and manic calls to Tantie later, I eased out of this illness psychosis and straight into P.M.S.
Yeah, it's been a fun few weeks. Which is why I haven't been blogging, and quite frankly, you should be glad of it.
Now that we are hopefully in the clear, I hope to be bringing you more tales of mischief and mayhem from a lighter note as per the old Mama (at least, once the P.M.S. phases through).
I think I'm dying of Bubonic Plague.
This week has seen it's ups and downs, and my relapse into illness (and seemingly certain death) has been the anti-highlight.
I called Tantie this morning to gripe. As soon as she heard my shivery raspy voice, she demanded I call Husband at once to take me to the doctor.
"You could have pneumonia, or worse!" she worried.
"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's Ebola," I teased. My joints and kidneys ache, my face is throbbing, and I'm shaking violently from fever. This little cold is seriously kicking my ass.
I summoned Husband home from important meetings and such to take me to the Urgent Care clinic. He made sure to remind me just how inconvenient all this was. "Shall I cough on you now?" I threatened. There was no more backtalk after that.
Of course, my diagnosis was merely a bad cold with possible sinusitis. "Plenty of rest and fluids," Doctor recited. I left with a scrip for nasal spray. Satisfied that the love of his life was in fact not dying from tuberculosis, Husband headed back to work.
Darn it. I should have milked it a little more.
We had a nasty stomach bug
**Update: ... and sinus thingy...**
run rampant through our family this week, which is why I haven't posted in a while. We're on the rebound now but dealing with the fallout: 18 loads of laundry, 46 doorknobs and light switches to Clorox, and planning a trip to Costco for more Kleenex (on the upside, we were able to collect a lot of BoxTop$ this week).
Husband took off on Friday for a Guys' Weekend Away to watch ACC Basketball's March Madness and drink beer away from wives' watchful eyes. That morning, Rascal started off our run with the flu.
It took 24 hours for the rest of us to catch up, and in that time Kye, Tweenie, and I were sick together while Rascal was well on his way to recovery. A recipe for disaster. Luckily/unluckily, Husband arrived home refreshed and plunged into the maelstrom with vigor. The next day, he was fighting me for the best porcelain in the house.
As I shlumped weakly around the house cleaning up accident after accident, Rascal's return burst of energy was more than I was willing to deal with. I rationalized every lack of response with the thought that I didn't have the strength or even desire to bother with discipline. I should have anticipated that this would yank us back to Square One.
I could go into detail about all the ways Rota and Rhino (the viruses, people) made our lives miserable, but frankly most of those details would involve various bodily fluids, scents, and sound effects better left undescribed. As we pull out of this week-long drama, Rascal is the only one in perfect health (convenient, no?) while Tweenie's just achy enough to squeeze a few days away from school. I have that cough where you know you'd better not start because it'll keep going for at least 5 minutes, leaving you with a red, teary face and suspicions of incontinence.
Have I said too much? I'll just leave it at that, then.
Rascal (brandishing a whisk): "I keel you! I keel you! You keel my favver, prepare to dieeeeee!" We need to hide The Princess Bride for a little while I think.
Actually, we all love that movie. Unfortunately, we may be more like Miracle Max and Valerie than Westley and Buttercup (although arguably, Valerie is much smarter - so there). As in:
Husband: "I'm not eating that." Referring to the Cashew Chicken I made last night. I may have gone a little heavy on the veggie component.
Mama: "That'll be one 'No Thank-You helping' for Daddy."
Other comments that could be really interesting, when taken out of context...
Kye (who up until about 2 weeks ago could barely speak at all): "Come, Mama. We be 'aked." Think naked, without the 'n'. This is how he asks to go in the shower with me.
Tweenie: "I would rather walk around stark naked." Referring to a very cute sweater given by a loving friend last Christmas. It's warm, and as a mom this is my only criterion. So what if she looks like Strawberry Shortcake?
Remember this the next time you're at Wal-Mart and hear some outrageous comment. There's always a back story.
My grandparents, so the story goes, walked to school through neck-deep snow uphill in both directions. They had to wake up at 4am to milk the cows and their only toys were whatever they could fashion from hay and loose twigs, fastened with bits of cloth pulled off their raggedy clothes.
My parents had it a little better. They lived in the city and only had to walk 17 blocks to school on a level sidewalk. There were plenty of trees to escape into when the bullies came around, and after school they were permitted a half hour of listening to Sunday School records before taking a crack at their mountain of homework. They didn't play on Saturdays because they had 8 hours of chores and a paper route.
I tell my kids that I rode the stinky bus to school. I played with Cabbage Patch knockoffs and collected Strawberry Shortcake scratch 'n sniff stickers that I bought with my allowance. This allowance was earned through daily chores plus yard duty on Saturdays. We had a TV with rabbit ears that beamed 3 fuzzy channels on a good day. I remember when my dad bought our first VCR and standard tape deck.
My kids moan and groan under the load of making their beds and putting dirty clothes in the hamper each day. Their 2-hour TV limit can be selected from a range of programs (but we only have basic cable, so we're in the Dark Ages), and on the weekends they are expected to help out here and there as requested. With all the griping that usually follows, the path of least resistance is to not ask very often. I know this is not the right way to do things, but it might be the sane way. We have high-speed internet, 3 computers, a full entertainment center with all the gizmos, and an Xbox system. Heck, even our van has a DVD player.
Yeah, we're really slumming.
Many things have changed "since we were young". This post was precipitated by a recent article by WebMD on tooth fairy inflation. The going rate in our house is a shiny new quarter. According to friends and family, we are the biggest cheapskates on the block by a huge margin.
I'm just curious--what do you pay for those little bits of enamel that your child's body rejects on its path to adolescence?
