Sled-scapades!

I have to say that I am fairly proud of myself at this point.  Against my better judgement (and that of the man in the store parking lot) I bought a sled for the kids on Wednesday.  There was snow in the forecast for Thursday and even though it has been as dry as the Mojave Desert here this winter I gave it a shot.  For some reason when weather.com forecasts 100% chance of snow I feel we've got a shot.  Luckily, they were right.  If they had been wrong I would have been pulling my children on the asphalt in the middle of the street regardless.  The female mini would have NEVER let me live it down and guilted me with her sad ass face to do so and I must admit I probably would have caved.  So I was taking a pretty big meteorological gamble with this purchase.  And being that snow isn't even sniffed in the forecast for the next two weeks it could have been a LONG go of it.  I envisioned actually having pulled them sans snow so many times that the cement would have eaten a hole through the bottom of the sled, rendering it unusable.  Fortunately this will not be the case as now they have a previously associated requirement for use of the sled...snow!

Honestly,  I was a little nervous about this next part.  I don't know where the thought came from but I foresaw pulling my kids in the snow to be a back-breaking experience.  I am so out of shape that I wasn't sure I would make it.  So I came up with an idea!  I figured, I have 2 kids at 30+ pounds each equalling roughly 70 pounds total...this is more than half my body weight...no WAY I could pull this sleigh alone.  Hubba is out of the question as he is away slaving at the salt mines.  There had to be another helper....THE DOG!  It was the perfect crime!  He's got tons of energy and as the 3YOG so nicely pointed out "that is what dogs are for Mommy...pulling sleds!"  This kid watches too much Diego!  So I get everyone bundled up, and ready for our arctic adventure.  An hour later we are ready to go.  I get the dog outside and bridled up and he is just fired up because he is finally going to get to go for a walk.  I first start out with the bungee chords.  HA!  That was a huge flop.  The dog looked at me like "You CAN'T be serious!"  The kids were yelling "Go Titin! Goooo! Vamanos!" and he just stood there heavily peeved, trying to bite off the chords.  I tried to coerce him and he snubbed me again.  So I moved on to a less rigid pulley system.  I found a really long rope to string through the front which I then attached to his leash.  I served as the go-between in the situation and let the horsey run in front while I ran in the middle to ensure that if the kids went flying I stood a fighting chance of catching at least one.  This arrangement he was ok with.  So we started to joy ride....

We ran while the kids launched over previously shoveled walkway piles.  They served as mini jumps for them.  They waggled on the ice, skid around corners and weeeeeeeed the whole way.  We sang "Jingle Bells" at the tops of our lungs (the neighbors must have LOVED us) and quickly changed the lyrics to a "one dog open sleigh."  Every time I looked back the kids had more snow piled atop their heads and bigger smiles atop their faces!  They both looked like they had just won the lottery.

At about a quarter mile I thought I was going to throw up.  This is the most running I have done in a looong time.  Mama don't run.  More of a water kinda gal.  And since having the kids well, let's just say when I run I don't exactly come back as dry as I left.  So I reserve running for times of emergency or immediately following a usage of the facilities.  I don't like to leave things up to fate.  This is usually the first ingredient in a recipe for disaster.  So needless to say I was a bit winded.  And being that the dog was pulling twice his body weight he was a little fatigued as well.  He started to sniff more and slow his clip to a mild speed.  No longer the "run like I'm being chased by a water buffalo" rate.  I then noticed a strong odor...clearly this little trip was taking it's toll on the poor pup.  The Titin Toots were killing me...being the go-between I could go nowhere for a breath of fresh air.  I was stuck.  He clearly needed a poop break.  This was my cue to end out little excursion and send this sleigh home.  The kids faces were bright red and I felt it was a respectable maiden voyage.  When we got home daddy came pulling in the drive only moments later.  We took another couple of spins in the "coupe."  I pulled them sans dog around the front yard.  Got going around a tree at a fairly respectable rate of speed and dumped the whole load.  They both went flying face first into the snow.  The 1st fall they thought was pretty funny.  The 2nd fall...not so much.  The Moose came up with a snow wash of the likes that I don't think I have ever seen.  Being the mean mom that I am, I tried to take a picture but most of it had melted by the time the camera was ready.  Hubba and I were laughing so hard it was almost mean.  Then I went to snuggle the little guy and he was back in the game.  Amazing what a little pity can do to a man.  Words to live by, no doubt!  

Post Snow Wash

Then Hubba took the reigns and led the princess down the street, around the corner and down a fairly good sized hill.  I've never seen this girl so happy.  She zoomed down with speed, precision and knowledge that she has the best dad who ever walked.  Metaphorically, a dad who would literally "pull her" through anything--it was quite a sight!  Leave it to me to spin a moment of glee into a serious life revelation...

All in all it was a great day.  I somehow managed to burn our crock pot dinner--don't know anyone in the free union capable of burning something in a crock pot but here I stand with my crown!  But we made our kids happy, ran the life out of our dog (he is STILL sleeping), I learned a little about physics, learned a lot about life and had the kind of day that I will look back on in 20 years and smile about.  As I was putting Mya to bed last night I asked her what she was going to dream about.  She replied "I am going to dream about all of the wonderful things we did today!"  Couldn't feel more blessed if I tried.  Happy New Year to one and all!  Much love, prosperity and health to you in 2011! 



                                                                                             Snow Angel :)



Diaper Dilemma

Here is my ponderance for the day...what the hell did people do before disposable diapers?  I know, I know, they used cloth.  But my question is HOW!?  There must have been one hell of a lot of laundry gettin done. 

I am brought to this ponderance by this morning's wake up call.  I hear "Mommmm, Mommmmm!" over the monitor and assume that the boy is up for the day.  It's 6:00...half hour longer than usual but it makes sense.  So I run up the stairs to retrieve the boy and in the dark of the snowy morning the little man bleats, "Woook!  Messss!" and points to some smatherings in his crib.  I've been a tad under the weather for the past 48 so I just assume that he has picked up what I have and has either A. An abundance of snot or B. Puked a little.  Upon turning on the light I found he had neither...it was a diaper explosion!

Somewhere along the lines of me feeling icky last night Hubba Hubba was kind enough to offer to put the Monster mimi's.  I failed to communicate to him that he needed to change him out of his standard diaper into his high performance, ultra absorbent, space derived sleepin pants.  That being said, the midget was ill-equipped for the night.  He consumes more liquid than a camel in the course of a day and no ordinary pants will do.  He'll shoot those right out of the water and that is precisely what he did.  He peed so much that this diaper didn't stand a chance.  It literally exploded.  And for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of experiencing an exploded disposable, the manufacturer of these diapers has found that inserting minuscule gel beads into the pants is the best assurance for absorption.  So when said pants hit their maximum capacity load this is what you get...gel beads ALL over the place.  It's actually pretty gross considering they are sticky and urine soaked and attach themselves to everything in the near vicinity.  Not only is there gel everywhere but the poor guy was laying down for so long that the pee had a chance to work its way both up and down the totem pole entirely drenching his jams clear up to his COLLAR!  Never in my life have I seen a kid more enveloped in his own excess.  How on earth he slept 11 hours in that state of affairs I will never know.  This is nothing short of a miracle.

So now I am faced with the question of "What did the cloth diaper families of yore do with their camels?"  Wrap an afghan around their asses each night and hope for the best?  How on earth did they survive having to do a wash every morning cuz the kid saturated yet another outfit, another bed sheet and another blanket?  Perhaps this is when daily bathing became vogue.  I can see why.  I surely couldn't stand to smell of a pee soaked kid all day long.  It's one of those days that I stand in appreciation all the more of my mom and the hurdles she had when we were babies and thank my heavenly stars for the kind folks at Huggie's for finding an easier, more sanitary way!  Bravo!!!

MOON DOUGH BLOWS!!!

I just need to put out my public service announcement about Moon Dough...this is a product that my princess saw on a commercial and just HAD to have.  This was the one thing she asked for from Santa.  Each and every time someone asked her what she wanted for Christmas she replied emphatically "Mooooon Dough!"  When they inquired as to what the hell Moon Dough was she would sweetly explain, "It's a kind of proof Play-dough that NEVER dries out!"  She would beam with delight and visions of this one day becoming hers. 

So the day came...Moon Dough was hers.  She was ecstatic.  She was overjoyed.  She could not WAIT to embark on a Moon Dough Adventure.  I was excited as well.  Who doesn't love to get something they truly long for?  Who doesn't love to see their kid so happy?  And for $15 I thought, this will be worth every penny.  Never did I dream that the contents within would come to be the bane of my existence. 

The creator of this product obviously hated their parents (or perhaps they hate kids).  This is the only logical explanation for this hellacious product ever hitting the toy shelves.  This is some vengeful plot that goes back to the inventors' childhood.  This revenge is deep, harsh and undying.  I think this person has fully achieved the desired goal to make both parent AND child miserable.  The child is miserable because she joneses for the Moon Dough morning, noon and night.  The parent is miserable because he has to choose whether to make the child happy and allow play to occur knowing full well the disastrous state the play area will be left in or to hear the child cry and whine for the allowance.  How could one little product bring so much hate and discontent?  The evident beauty of this product is that it never dries out...this is also its grief.  It is the consistency of light fluffy snow.  Cotton candy, if you will.  Push on it hard enough and it will form a ball.  But if you push too hard it disintegrates into dandruff flakes on the floor.  Knowing the dexterity of toddler/preschool aged children, you should know that "gentle" is a relative term.  I think they know WHAT it means but they just don't know how to make it happen.  Therefore, every attempt they make to form anything turns into a disaster.  It gets on their clothes, toes, shoes, HAIR and is subsequently dragged throughout the house where it sets up shop in the carpet.  Little tiny specks of colored kernerballs everywhere.  Truthfully it looks like a bomb has gone off in whatever room they are playing with it.  I have half a mind to write the company and share this blog with them so they know the smear campaign that I am embarking on.  My goal here is to notify as many parents/people as possible of what a colossal waste of money and spend of sanity this particular item is.  Had I done some reading prior to purchase I would have found many parents bellowing the same sob story.  You would think that the creator of this would have, at the very least, had a focus group of parents on tap trying this thing out before they started selling it.  Instead they just marketed this shit out of it and hoped for the best.  Unless you are willing to let your kids play with this crap outside I would highly suggest against the purchase.  Now I am faced with how to get it out of my house without notice.  As mentioned, this was the one and only gift from Santa.  <Head hanging low and shaking vigorously> 

Perhaps I should have read into the name a little deeper...Moon Dough--the shit that sends you to the Moon in fury and and has you crying "Dough!" (to the tune of Homer Simpson) each time it is used.  Looks like the makers of this nightmare are getting the last laugh...but thankfully I have the Internet and can disseminate my ire amongst friends.  Thanks for reading the PSA...

The other side of the bed

Last Thursday I was witness to a miracle.  Before I go any further I need to thank the new parents for even allowing me to be a part of such a special, personal life moment.  A birth is such an insanely private event that to be welcomed into the situation is nothing short of very possibly the biggest honor of my life.  Thank you so much for sharing this moment with me!

Oddly, being that I have 2 children, I had never before seen a baby born.  Not on TV, not in an informational sex education video and certainly not in real life.  I had successfully eluded that visual for 34 years.  Even reading about births scared the living bejeezus out of me so I steered clear of that until after I actually had one labor under my belt.  I didn't want "the mirror" in the delivery room to see what was going on.  I thought I might pass out mid-evacuation.  And they kept asking me if I wanted to "feel" for the baby before he/she actually came out...umm...NO thank you...I'll pass.  To be honest, the whole thing kinda freaks me out.  I know, it's my body, my baby, all my stuff but my answer is still "Icky."  Short story long, I am a WUSS!  So I was a little nervous about being on the other side of the bed for this rodeo...a place where I didn't know what to do, didn't know how to act, had no real "job" except for being the cheerleader and I was in virtually no pain.  WEIRD!  But oh sooo amazing.  To hold the hand, cheer the breath, (I'll admit I "pushed" each time she did--guess it made me feel like I was helping in some way although truthfully it probably just irritated Mama T) was like nothing I had ever imagined.  To stand in virtual helplessness while my love went through this strenuous milestone was also WAY more difficult than I had anticipated.  But it was also way more calming than I had anticipated as well.  To be anywhere but by her side for this would have truly been an act of futility.  Even being down the hall would have been a gut-wrenching, hair-pulling nightmare for me.  So I much preferred this seat to any other.

This side of the bed also gave me a new-found respect for the dad's in these shoes.  Holy shit would that be stressful.  Prior to this I just viewed the dad as a spectator.  A co-conspirator in the creation but really just another cheerleader and supportive hand in the end.  I now see the other side.  There in that room lies the woman you love, the baby you will come to adore more than life itself and very possibly the biggest ordeal either of them have endured to date.  It doesn't matter if the doctor delivering has seen 15,872 babies come down the shoot, somehow THIS is different.  There is no margin for error, no time for thought, no sitting on the fence.  The doctor will make good decisions and he will make them now.  If he doesn't make them now Papa Bear will question the shit out of him until he is pleased with the answer and feels better about the situation.  He's got a little lady in the bed who is none too sure about what is to happen next and he is in charge of settling those fears...if not for her, for himself.  There are freaky words like "forceps, vacuum, C-Section, surgery" being used...there is no option to bring anything other than the A-Game into the room.  As truthfully, this is all he has.  Our boys really have very little control over what is going on.  They can't stop the pain, they can't make many decisions and they can't help to "push" so they really stand as advocates which must be VERY difficult since most guys aren't big fans of this role of non-doer.  I guess before this I was just so wrapped up in being in labor that I didn't have time, energy or emotional capacity to acknowledge this "man" role.  I thought I was doing all the work.  I was the one who had to emit 9 pounds of human being from my body, what did he have to worry about?  Turns out, quite a lot.  Feeling a little "Papa-Bearish" myself, I can now appreciate why some men pass out.  When I'd see a guy go down on TV, I'd always think, "You pansy!" but the severity and the colossal implications of it all lend a bit of wiggle room now.  At no point did I think I was going to pass out...but I can now see how someone could get that worked up.  These are no small potatoes.  I can also cut the Hubba a little slack (albeit 2 years later) that it was a stressful time for him too.  The fact that I didn't see this until now further clarifies how self-absorbed I am and how unwilling I was to see anyone else but ME.  Shocking, I know :) Oh the work I still have to do!  And I digress...

Seeing "life" from this bird's eye view perspective was such an experience.  Not at all how I had envisioned it but then really, what ever is?  I've come to realize that regardless of the screen play I put together in my mind that life somehow shows me just how wrong I have it and usually creates a better version for me to experience.  Even if it's not better, at least it's real.  Watching a new born baby squeeze her way into the world was like nothing I have ever seen.  And I just sat in marvel at how all that baby fit inside my tiny gal.  And then marveled some more at all of the amazing things the first hours of life brings...1st breath of fresh air, 1st self induced meal, 1st look at the world!  Thank God they are virtually blind at that point or it would all just be too much.  No wonder they sleep all the time...well, some of them. 

All this to say is I am SO glad that I followed my gut and drove up North when I did.  I was planning on waiting until Hubba Hubba got home from work at 2:30...baby girl graced us with her presence at 2:58...WHEW!  Thank God for women's intuition...and thank God even more for amazing nieces who fly in to the rescue at a moment's notice to hang with the previously birthed miniatures.  Everything worked out as though it was a well-orchestrated plan.  And I suppose it was...it just wasn't MY plan :)  WHAT a day.  To see life make its way into the world, to see love fill a room in an instant and to feel completely insignificant amidst it all was nothing short of fantastical.  I have yet to find another experience that brought on such emotion in one fail swoop...stress, anticipation, anxiety, fear, pain, exhaustion, exuberance, love, accomplishment, relief and miraculousness all in one.  What other life experience delivers all of this in such a short amount of time?  None that I know of.  Reminded me that life truly is a gift!

And I sat in joy and appreciation that I was able to be a part of it all.  To see that baby girl take her first breath.  To feel an instant connection and undying love for her--almost at the level that I felt for my own kids--was truly unparalleled.  It was a day for the record books.  One that I will remember with fondness and magic for the rest of my life.

Pie anyone?

I’ve never really considered myself an “eye for an eye” kind of gal…perhaps I was wrong.

Last night while running the bath for the kids the 3YOG was running around naked, excited and just generally pleased to be getting a bath (perhaps I should bathe them more than once a week—KIDDING!)  So when the mini’s get excited there is no choice but to generate some juice from the pooch as well.  I guess he believes somewhere in there might be something fun for him too.  If nothing else, he gets to see his little peeps leap and he wants to be in the mix for all such occasions. 

The streaker finally settled back in the bathroom waiting patiently for the water to fill, hands on the side of the tub, jumping up and down.  The dog followed.  Now he couldn’t possibly give the allotted amount of personal space required of this situation.  He had to come in and stand RIGHT behind her…operative word in this story is “behind”…so this is where my revenge comes in…

The femme notices the pooch’s presence at her rumpus and proceeds to sit on his back and swoosh back and forth as though he was some sort of Canine Caboose Cleaner…a use for a dog, that prior to yesterday, I had not considered.  Oddly, he just stood there taking it.  Hubba Hubba and I laughed with hysterics as the mini showed no signs of stopping and seemed to be having a great time.  The dog simply looked annoyed and a bit miffed but he was getting some attention (albeit an ass-wash)…he wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon.  I wanted to chime in and say something as “The Mother”…this was inappropriate behavior, was it not?  And isn’t that what I am in charge of around here?  Thwarting inappropriate behavior?  Ruining all good times especially when heavily cloaked in toilet-humor?  I could have SWORN that was in the job description.  I certainly know MY mom was in charge of that.  So, really, I should say something...

I am milliseconds away from ending this exfoliation escapade when it hit me…this is payback!  This is retribution.  This is direct and comparable vindication for every single time the dog has come in from the great outdoors, only to rush down the stairs, do a few victory laps around the basement and proceed to wipe his hiney on my carpet as though it is just a large slice of toilet tissue!  (Not sure if anything he does makes me angrier or more disgusted—aside from the barfing of course.)  But this was the perfect act of reciprocity in my eyes.  I don’t think the two will correlate in dog-speak but it made me feel a whole lot better about the situation.  Now don’t think that the next time he stops, drops and wipes I am going to be hailing over him with a midget looking for my immediate gratification but this was just a small slice in the pie I like to call “Sweet Satisfaction.”  A tick mark in the “Mom” column in the game of Dog vs. Human, if you will.  Rarely am I awarded these triumphs and today I sit, basking in the glory!  Hope you have the opportunity to “bask” today as well!

Penance...

Boy oh boy did I pay off some sins on Sunday!  I didn't realize I still had so many to amend but clearly I do.  After a long morning of Christmas shopping I came home with The Missy and embarked on an outdoor play date with her and her brother only to find that I brought home a lot more than just Christmas presents from the store...

I didn't feel quite well but I also didn't feel like hell...yet.  When dinner time came around I was getting there.  The Hubba was convinced that since I hadn't eaten since morning and that 75% of my meal was consumed by the beggars I was just REALLY hungry.  I liked that idea.  So I was hoping that eating dinner would be music to my tummy's ears.  It was not.  In 2 hours time I was curled up in the fetal position on my son's bedroom floor.  Bedtime Bonanza had to be turned over to the Man of the House as I was in no shape for such.  I thought if I supervised from the 6x3 space of carpet I was populating that would be good enough.  I think The Man thought I was exaggerating when I told him I felt so bad and he abruptly said, "Well, if it's this bad you should just go to bed!"...at 6:30.  So I heeded his word and did just that, thinking that a good night's sleep would whisk this away.  O contraire, mon frere.  I laid in bed groaning for awhile and the little lass jumped in to check on me.  Said "Mommy, why do you look like this?" and I explained that I didn't feel well.  She peeps, "Oh that's ok.  You'll feel better after you sleep."  Sound advice coming from a kid who sleeps 45 minutes in any given 24 hour period, but whatever.  She then sheepishly leaves the room to retire herself and like a ton of bricks it hit me.  Oh no! 

Hubby came downstairs after the "good nights" and admitted, he too was not feeling so hot.  Being that I had already "lost it" once and didn't find it necessary to share with my husband every single last secret I have, I decided to sleep upstairs.  I had also hoped that he was merely having sympathy pains for me and didn't really have the bug.  (Denial is a true friend of mine.)  And if Hubba was just suffering from sympathy pains I was not about to put the nail in the coffin and breath on him all night long.  Clearly what I had picked up at the store was an adult-sized, heaping spoonful of shit and "sharing" this is not really the Christmas spirit I am all about.  Turns out, I share and I share well...holidays or not I like to give to my brethren.  We were both miserable all night.  Aching, sweating, tossing, turning...and well, you know the rest.  At one point, whimpering on the bathroom floor, I actually made "The God-barter"...you know the one...similar to the one you make when you are suffering from a hugely obscene hangover and you bargain that if He just makes it go away you PROMISE never to drink again.  But this scene involved no alcohol...just the begging!  And for some reason I had a distinct feeling that this had to be punishment as both my husband and I got it at the same time.  I don't know many better forms of torture than to have 2 grown adults rushing to the bathroom every 5 minutes while trying to care for 2 small children.  If this is not penance it certainly resembles it!

On the plus side, being that my body felt like a freight train had been running routes in it all night long and I could hardly stand up straight from the muscle contractions I made a wise choice to take a swim in our hot tub.  At about 4:30am I decided to throw in the towel because I obviously was not going to be able to sleep and went outside for a minuscule moment of relaxation.  It was a nice, cool morning and completely clear.  Not a cloud or even the slightest sighting of the moon--DARK!  Stars all around, I looked up and realized it had been eons since I had seen a shooting star.  Couldn't remember the last time.  Because really, when was the last time I had truly taken the opportunity to just gaze up without thoughts of children, taxes, groceries or laundry.  I was so sick the only thing on my mind was the present...totally incapable of thinking of anything else.  Lost in my misery, gazing up above, what did I see?  None other than a shooting star!  I was so amazed that I asked for something and received it immediately.  Had it been December 24th, I would insist to you that Santa gave it to me.  Then not 2 minutes later I received another gift--another shooting star!  I was astonished.  Double the pleasure.  Getting double what you want?  When does this happen?  And the only answer I could find was "always."  Just gotta be paying attention.  It reminded me of the time in 6th grade when my mom and I got into an early morning fight before shcool.  She ended the argument with "Fine!  Then you can just take your bike to school!"  Psha--GREAT--Fine is right!  My whole trip riding to school I was writhing with anger and reciting "Please God, let me get hit by a car."  (I know, dramatic, right? Hey, I was going to Catholic school at the time. Who else was I supposed to talk to?)  And this was my plea because in my mind if I were to get hit by said vehicle oh how bad my mom would have felt about the argument and the decision to make me ride my bike to school.  Much to my chagrin, no vehicular encounter.  Went along with my happy day.  Got to school and forgot all about the fight, the plea, everything.  Riding home that afternoon SMASH!  Got hit by a van.  No injury aside from a pair of torn Keds but holy shit did that get my attention.  My 1st real brush with the Big Man and one that should have scared me right into the convent.  The lesson I learned from that was heavily laden...Pray carefully!  It was also proof that we often do get what we wish for--but we have to keep our eyes open.  Sometimes it's big (getting hit by a car) and sometimes it's small (a falling star).  It was just a sweet little reminder for me that I have everything I could ever need and want--and THEN some!  Funny how the little things can get me right out of that pity party and right into "What a wonderful life!"...even when I AM serving a penance ;)  Thanks for reading my woes :)

Are you STILL here?

I'm sure I am not the majority here because I don't think most people have the honor and privilege of getting to stay at home to care for their kids and therefore, don't really have the time to get sick of them, but don't some of you ever just look at them and wonder "Are you STILL here?"  I am ashamed to admit that these words have trickled through my mind...and more frequently in the past few weeks now that I think about it.  But I will admit these things at the risk of sounding callous, ungrateful and downright mean in hopes that my words will make another human being feel not so much like an a$$hole for thinking the same...

I envisioned putting up the Christmas tree with my kids to be this magical day filled with love, wonderment and joy.  Instead it was a day filled with me playing defense and being completely frustrated while trying desperately to hide the frustration so as not to "ruin the memory" for my kids.  Truth be known, I am sure neither one of them will remember a lick of the experience but in my mind they might.  And if their memory is anything like mine, only the "shit" will stick...most of the good stuff slides right out the other side.  So here we are.  The Ox broke 4 ornaments within 2 hours time.  And he couldn't have broken the stupid glass balls that were purchased at a bulk rate on the clearance aisle.  He HAD to break the sentimental ones that actually meant something and held reminiscent flare.  He would walk up to the tree as to throw it a high 5...across the room the ornament would go and crash to the ground.  The gal broke nothing and was gentle and delicate with each little piece.  Granted she hung all 320 ornaments in one spot on the tree, but she did so with great care, pride and adoration.  At the placement of each she would say "Look!  How beee-tiful!"  This pissed her brother off to no end so he would just try to knock 'em out of the park.  I estimate it took me twice as long this year to adorn the tree as it did last year.  All the while I just wanted to stash the Moose in his room or outside or in a meat locker.  All of which are surely frowned upon by the National Academy of Child Development.  And speaking of locking, ironically, earlier that morning after my departure Hubba Hubba was all alone with the kiddos and encountered a slight mishap.  Whilst he was making some adjustments to the females bedroom door to make it shut with ease there was a backfire in the previous parental move of flipping the door knob around and putting the locking mechanism on the outside.  Evidently much delight was taken by the midgets knowing they had a hand in locking daddy in the bedroom.  He was NONE too pleased with the arrangement and apparently there were some colorful statements bellowed from the other side!  To say he was livid is an understatement.  When I asked him what finally convinced her to unlock the door he stated "Nothing!  I had to take the damn thing off the hinges!"  I guess the silver lining of that was that he had the wherewithal to fashion some tools out of the princess toy box and emancipate himself.  He would never have outlived the litany of jokes had he not escaped on his own volition.  Thankfully for him he is one savvy man!  Needless to say, when he broke free they were both still there...

It's just that we're NEVER alone.  And I don't want to be alone much...but sometimes would be nice.  Maybe just once a day.  We eat together, shower together and God forbid one of us has to go to the bathroom...there's at least one audience member if not both.  The boy enjoys sticking his head between the hubby's legs while he goes...the girl used to do the same.  Then one day she tried to "grab the yellow rain" and that put a quick kibosh on that accompaniment.  I realize at this age they are sponges and need this contact.  All I am saying is there are times...

Yesterday the "why's" were so incessant I could hardly stand it.  I felt like the Ragin' Cajun...you know the guy from CNN's Crossfire?  I could hardly get my answers out to the first "why" when its partner "but why" came to follow.  Hubba Hubba laughed from the other room while smoke streamed from my ears.  At which point, I almost uttered "ARE you still here?" but refrained.   

And for the past 5 nights the female has decided that she will again grace us with her presence shortly after lights out.  This is all new so I am still trying to figure out how to handle it.  The 1st night I was just in that beginning stage of REM sleep and Hubba leaned over to tell her to go to bed.  I must have launched 3 feet in the air from shock and fear.  There's just something about a 3 foot human standing at the side of the bed against the pitch darkness...whispering.  The silhouette of it all is enough to just send me through the rafters.  My mind immediately goes to "The Exorcist" and suddenly my daughter is Linda Blair speaking Latin, crawling upside down and spinning her head 360 degrees.  I realize I reference "The Exorcist" frequently in my cyber rants but I contend that it is the single freakiest movie ever put to film and every child has this potential after seeing it.  Didn't sleep for 3 days after the 1st viewing.  Just sick.  And it doesn't help that The Moose, in his very early, highly communicative state has taken to demanding objects by way of yelling "Dimi!!!" (translation--Gimme!)  So he repeats "Dimi! Dimi!" over and over and I am again taken to the damn movie and the young priest's mom is crying "Dimi! Dimi! Why you do it Dimi?"   I'm seriously on the verge of issuing time outs for this "offense."  He is being rude so I am not totally out of line here but truth be known I would more want to "put him away" because he scares the hell out of me when he says this than actually being angry. And I digress...

So back to Senorita Sassy Pants...seems as though after about an hour in her room, reading by nightlight, she gets bored.  She ventures down the stairs like a bull in a china shop and then loiters at our door for a spell.  She finally makes her way through the door--closer to our bed--where she proceeds to sigh loudly, huff or "accidentally" kick something.  The first couple nights, post-sigh/huff/kick I would inquire "MYA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"  She would reply, "Oh, Hi Mommy!" (as though we were just  meeting for the first time and this is totally normal.)  Then she proceeds to recite this lavish story about how she'd had a bad dream and was scared and needed a kiss.  She is still not onto the fact that we have a monitor downstairs and can hear, loud and clear, all 183 chorus's of "Police Navidad" over the waves, knowing full well she has yet to fall asleep.  I call her on her shenanigans and her shoulders drop in defeat.  She says, "Fine!  I will just go to bed then."  Other nights I have feigned sleep just to see what would happen.  Could she simply just go away on her own?  Tonight she hovered with her audible antics for about 5 minutes, realized she was getting nowhere, gave me a kiss on the arm and then scurried back upstairs-my plan worked!  Believe me, I am fully aware that just because it worked once doesn't mean I won't be asking her tomorrow "Are you still HERE!?"

But at the end of the day I ADORE my kids.  Wouldn't trade them for the world.  Couldn't be more grateful that they are healthy, happy human doings...Lord knows they aren't "be"ings.  There are times, sometimes every hour, but times where I want to hop a plane to Mexico and call it a day but you know I never would.  I mean, what would life be like if my Ox wasn't puking on the Christmas tree skirt?  It would be boring.  It wouldn't be my life, that's for sure.  Who needs sleep anyway?  Entirely overrated!  Privacy?  Should have known upon delivery that I would never sniff an ounce of that again.  Sanity?  HA!  I wasn't sane before so I might as well celebrate it in grand fashion.  Crazy is en vogue, right?  If it was, I would be working it on the cat walk in Milan right now!  Instead I am sitting in my "nice sweats" reflecting on who I was vs. who I am.  Change is good and truth be known I wouldn't change my life for all the money in the world.  I will go to bed and simply pray that when I wake up and say "Are you still here?" they will reply "With f#@!ing bells on, lady!"

Oh My DOG!

I feel sort of bad.  I have neglected to introduce you to my "1st born" and it's led me to a pang of guilt.  He is truly the biggest baby in our family and the one that got us primed for parenthood.  He deserves his due.  I suppose he has been an oversight because I believe most of you have met him.  This leaves little to the imagination as nothing I will say will come as a surprise after you have had the pleasure.  I have also come to notice that I rarely have anything nice to say about him anymore.  He has unfortunately become a pain in my a$$ who just seems to know precisely when to wreak havoc and tears shit up just when I think things couldn't get any worse.  He is, of course, The Titin Dog. (pronounced titan)

I realize that the allowance of the dog to commit any of the bad deeds he is accused of is completely left in my lap but I still choose to see him as a kid in a dog suit.  He is not a true dog.  He is a person.  Just ask him.  He tries to sit at the table with us.  He lays on the couch.  He sleeps in our bed...under the covers...with a pillow under his head.  This is no true canine.  He has never really been "normal" as most people are quick to point out.  We got him as a baby boy and I immediately took him to work with me at the rock quarry.  For 3 years he accompanied me to my job.  He was more of an employee than I was and truth be known, I believe he is missed more than I am, as well.  He took his job seriously.  Took pride in it.  Like the greeter at WalMart, he knew it like the back of his hand.  This is where it was first discovered that he was simply a human in a dog suit. 

It would rain, he would sit at the door and wait for someone to carry him to the car.  If my hands were full, my co-worker Gregg was all too happy to oblige as he was NOT about to walk out there in that slosh, get wet and get his "suit" all muddy and cold.  He would sit there with his super sad dog face, shivering as though just dipped in an ice pond and wait for an unsuspecting sucker to escort him. 
He sat in my office chair with me, snuggled in right behind my butt in my jacket.  It looked like I had a tumor growing out of my back as he would only poke his head out from under my coat if someone was there to pet him.  I don't think he believed people showed up for stone.  He believed they were there to see him.  I will never forget when we were wooing a big government job and the head peeps were out at the quarry for the Q&A and taking pictures.  We were all on our best behaviour and the meeting had gone quite well.  They had been there for about 2 hours and were just about to leave...just a few more photos.  Low and behold Titin comes flying across the yard, jumps front and center of the camera toting none other than a deer leg between his teeth (a neighboring individual was evidently a butcher of wild game who was none too concerned with the secondary parts).  So there is Titin flaunting this blood-stained leg (which was about as long as he was) and just begging to be recognized.  I truly thought I was going to die.  I was mortified.  Talk about a blown first impression.  Luckily these guys had a sense of humor and saw the little runt as comical.  Needless to say the Day of the Leg become lore at the quarry and we even kept his trophy around for a spell.  I think he truly wanted people to believe that he had, in fact, scored that kill and was living to tell about it...if not brag!

His laundry list of misdeeds is quite exhaustive (as am I!) but I will share some of the noteworthy fodder...As my Mr. Mini has, Titin has found "flavor" in some unsavory items over the years.  Most notable would be 2 whole outdoor couches.  I didn't think a puppy could actually consume ONE couch much less two!  I must say for the record that the squirrels started it but he was more than happy to join in the reindeer games.  I wish I would have photographed what these items looked like when he got done with them as I think you would agree they were no where NEAR recognizable as previous pieces of furniture.  Then there were the birth control pills.  Little bastard was rootin through my work bag and decided that those looked like fair game.  Called the vet to make sure he wasn't going to explode or anything and their only response was, "Well, at least we know he won't get pregnant!"  AWESOME!  He has also ingested innumerable mouse carcasses, cat turds (which I discovered by him licking my face--gross!!!), an entire bag of freshly purchased Costco dried fruit large enough to feed an army, shoes by the heap, things from the trash that I won't mention out loud but will leave to your imagination as my husband would remind me, "Nobody wants to hear about THAT!", diapers, socks, peach pits, whole boxes of cereal, crackers and cookies...you know, standard dog fare.  The list truly goes on.

And finally there are his "tics."  I suppose most dogs have these but Titin's neurosis is second to none.  He still chases his tail in hopes of catching it.  I thought only puppies did this...he is now 6 and still working on it.  Has caught it a couple of times and then looks confused as to what to do with it. **He is also not the smartest dog I've ever seen**  He also has a habit of carrying things in his mouth so he can "talk" to you.  At work it was his chain, at home it's whatever he can find.  But he can't talk unless he has something in his mouth?  Weirdo!  And this one kills me every time...when he sneezes he does so in such a boisterous, violent fashion that he bashes his face into the ground.  One would think after the first few times he would catch on and stop beating the shit out of himself but again, 6 years old and still going strong.  One day at the quarry he got into a cactus patch.  The dog literally sneezed no less than 84 times, one right after the other.  I had never seen anything like it or since.  Neither had my customers.  We laughed so hard I almost peed myself.  Again, the hysterics displayed when he releases are so dramatic that it was almost impossible for me to move to help him because of the constant onslaught.  If only I'd had a video camera--I'd be writing this from Lanai instead of Longmont...

The thing about this dog is he looks ferocious.  Like he could just rip the jugular right out of a guy.  When in actuality he is the biggest pansy dog that ever walked.  Nothing phases him.  I don't think I have ever seen him mad.  My cousins dog seriously tried to hump him for 6 hours straight and Titin just allowed it.  Had a little girl at the quarry walk right up to him and swipe the bone he was chewing directly out of his mouth and he responded by licking her.  My son attempts to ride him on the regular, pulls his tail while he is eating, as well as gets on his hands and knees to join him and the dog just wags.  I swear if someone broke into our house he would usher them from room to room in exchange for some love.  He is the biggest love whore I have ever known and he has NO shame in this game. 

So while I constantly complain about what a nightmare this dog is, I also don't know what I would do without him.  He comes to snuggle me and then almost instantly pukes 6 inches from my head--yes, I want to kill him.  The thought, at that moment, sounds oh so nice.  But I'd never do it.  He puts on his sad dog face, waggle bottom deluxe and crawls into my lap as though he's been invited and I just can't bring myself to kill him.  I will continue to accept the fact that he is in costume 24-7 and truly just trying to take the title in being "The One" that sends me to the loony bin.  He is, at present, sharing the chair with me.  Some things about him will never change...nor would I want them to!


Have a seat!



Cat Nap...



Canine Comedy...



Titin the Pig-Nosed Reindeer



Girl's Gone WILD!

I just needed to say out loud that the past 24 hours are ones I don't wish to duplicate anytime soon.  I am sure they will resurface.  Check that...I KNOW they will resurface.  They will probably be 10 times more dramatic than what I just experienced.  This is a fact that I have learned to accept and embrace.  But not the long, romantic "embrace" you might be thinking.  More like the "Please stop touching me" hug that you are entitled to give certain individuals in your life.  You know the one.

So I just get done spouting off about what a sweet little angel I have in a gal and I shit you not, someone swooped in and snatched that right out of her.  Stole it for their own.  It must have been one of the people in the grocery swooning over her princess costume.  And then I start to wonder...has there been any research conducted on female offspring and their mother's going through the "grumpies" together during that beloved segment of each moon?  I would be willing to fork over some tax dollars to that kind of study.  I have a hypothesis of my own.  At least I would have something to blame her psychosis on and not feel like such a failure of a mom. 

I just don't see how she could go from this happy, cooperative, sweet, loving little being to a total train wreck in the course of a day.  She woke up pissed off on Monday that she couldn't have a milkshake for breakfast!  My first thought was, "What the hell are you smoking?"  Note this was only a "thought," not something I actually uttered.  She literally cried for 30 minutes about this.  That must have been one hell of a milkshake dream that she had awoken from.  Then we got home from pre-school and it was just down hill from there.  It was as though she had lost her mind somewhere along the way.  "No" was the answer to everything.  When bedtime came I thought fire might come from her eyes.  She was so adamant that she not go to bed and so resistant to walking upstairs that the litany started.  Running room to room hoping to dodge the bullet.  Meanwhile I am taking away items like it was a yard sale.  This just pissed her off and made her more certain that she was NOT going to bed. 

Once I got her upstairs the pajama shenanigans ensued.  Legs and lungs a-flying!  At one point I got a size 9 right to the chin and decided something else had to go.  I requisitioned "her love" (a sweet necklace her cousin Krystal gave her to symbolize their love so she could have it with her all the time--her true FAVE) she LOST it.  I thought certainly removing this special token would get her to realize just how serious I was.  It did nothing of the sort.  Then she started offering things for me to take!  "Here, take my glow stick, take my dress."  Really?  No one wants yard sale items pushed on them.  They want to find them like a needle in a haystack.  They want to come upon the item so unsuspecting and take it to the front only to have the seller say "OH NO!  Not that.  How did THAT get out here?  It's not for sale."  She was saying no such thing.  I'm thinking she is working Jedi mind tricks on me.  I am just desperate to get her teeth brushed and get her to sleep as this is clearly the issue--exhaustion, right?  So I somehow get the toothbrush in her mouth, all the while she is foaming, screaming and saying "None teeth brushed!"  I trek on.  I wasn't sure if I might lose a digit in the process with this feisty pit bull but I was willing to take a chance.  Finally, the necessities are complete and I go to walk out thinking she just wants/needs some time alone.  Walking out sends her reeling even more so.  Now I am worried that she is going to wake the midgetier midget and then I will REALLY lose it.  So I enter again, saying "Ok, what do I need to take now?" to which she replies "NOTHING!"  I swear I heard a hint of Linda Blair in her voice.  Possession would make sense at this point.  Call in the priest.  But on she carries with the wailing so I remove her nightlight which I am thinking may, in fact, be an issue.  Read a study on how the presence of dull light in a room of sleep leads to depression.  The study didn't mention schizophrenia.  When I took her "book reading light" she about popped a gasket.  Then I went downstairs to leave her to her devices.  She exited her room and I could her the pitter pat of tiny feet up above.  I scurried up the stairs to see what was going on and she ran back to her room.  Stood at the door for about 3 minutes as I knew she would be coming out again soon.  All the while she is talking to herself in code and I am sure wishing horrific things on me.  Finally, she came out.  Finding me in her threshold she meekly and quietly says "Hi mommy."  MJ is that YOU?  Are you back?  Have the demons released you?  I almost hugged her but thought better of it. This may be yet another trap.  She simply said "I can't find silky (her beloved blanket).  She's no where to be found. Can you help me?" to which I reply "Ummm, sure. [then decided I should insert my bargaining chip here] If I find silky will you lay down and go to sleep?" and she says "Oh yes mommy I will go right to sleep.  No more fits or crying or naughty."  So the blanket was retrieved and the night was over.  Whew--this kid exhausts me.

So I am thinking after a good night's sleep she will wake up a new kid and we will have a new day...orrrr we can just pick up where we left off from last night.  Went to return a switch to Office Maxx and decided this wasn't really a cart-worthy situation.  5 minutes tops.  Well, the kid behind the counter wasn't so adept in her item return skills and my littles were onto that like flies on shattner.  They quickly saw the aisles of the office store looking like laps of NASCAR and took to running.  I kept giving the Office girl my desperation face of "Hurry or they may break something expensive!" and she was soo not feeling it.  I tried voice commands to no avail.  I can't really blame the Mr...he is just along for the ride.  He just goes along with what his sister is doing.  And each time I called her back she would stop, look at me, smile her devilish grin and continue, knowing full well that my hands were tied and there would be no issue until my transaction was complete.  I was so infuriated that I couldn't even see straight.  Cross-eyed with anger the cashier finally finished her business and sent me on my way.  I then headed to retrieve my herd.  Upon seeing my release the elder darted.  She took her "laps" to new avenues.  Could the aisle BE any longer?  I think not.  She ran all the way to the back of the store and the little man was not much further behind.  I was trying not to sprint and give the other customers cause for concern.  Don't know why I actually cared what they thought of my horrible parenting abilities but I wanted to keep the urgency to myself. Finally caught Senorita Disaster Child and gave her a stern talking to...she laughed!  This is NOT my daughter, I thought.  She took off again...she went one way he went the other...he's catching on quick to this little game.  I had copies to make so I figured I'd let them run while I did that.  Perhaps exercise is what they were needing.  But alas, it came time to leave and the bi-directional scamper continued.  I finally chased down the smaller of the two, picked him up (legs kicking all the while) and then proceeded to give the female a chance to leave the store with dignity.  She scoffed at my request so I just said "Ok see ya later.  We're leaving."  Walked away and never looked back.  Oddly she wasn't calling me on this one and decided to follow.  I then raged the entire way home about how disappointed I was, what a poor example she was setting for her brother and how they were both going to be spending some time alone when we got home.  She was not impressed.

So we got home and as promised Chase went straight to his crib.  Funny how the doctors suggest 1 minute for each year they are old.  He is 20 months old and I have done the math to incorporate those extra seconds!  Anyway, she goes to her room and begins taking off her store outfit and putting on another.  The Mr. had since been released from prison and was wanting in on the mix.  For no more reason than it felt like the right thing to do at the time she hauled off and kicked him in the chest.  I laughed in disbelief and proceeded to take both the newly requested attire and every single book I have ever purchased her.  For some reason, physical abuse sends me through the rafters.  She then decided she needed some time to be in her room and reset the computer.  She had obviously short-circuited.

The next hour was OK and then I made the mistake of inviting her to shower.  When I turned off the water to get out you would have thought that I had ripped her toe nails out through her nostrils.  She sat in the shower, wet and clothes less for 15 minutes screaming.  I again, laughed in disbelief.  Luckily we were saved by the arrival of her cousins for a bon voyage dinner.  My nephew is moving and we thought we should have a little meal for him.  My niece also joined in the reindeer games and the afternoon was awesome.  The Mr. and Ms. Mini were in heaven, as "cousin time" is always a good time. 

So I am cringing at what today will bring.  As I write this, Ms. came downstairs from her slumber and cuddled in my lap.  She notified me that she thinks I am a "good mom" and she loves me.  NO CLUE where this came from and I really don't care.  At least I have her fooled and she likes me for the time being.  I am just realizing today is the 1st of December and time to hang the much-awaited 1st ornament on the beautiful Advent calendar that Grandma Susan made.  Maybe this is the start of something good?  Hope this month brings the beauty and magic that it should!  Happy December 1st.  Wish me luck...I'm goin' in! :)

A Day of Thanks...

I think I have illustrated in past recordings that I have a "princess" on my hands.  Yesterday was no exception.  One truly would have thought that it was Halloween in November.  She insisted on her "Cinderella Princess Proof Costume."  Don't ask me what the hell that means.  I have been struggling to figure it out for like 2 months now and have nothing.  It's Princess Proof and that is the end of the story.  Anywhoo, the girl would not take "No" for an answer regarding this dress--I told her when we bought the gown that she had to wait till Halloween to wear it and once Halloween was over she could wear it as much as she wanted.  She did not forget this statement as she regurgitated right back to me when I tried to talk her out of it.  Side note, this dress (like alll Halloween costumes) is insanely uncomfortable, itchy and just not put together well.  Makes me know the designer of such costumes clearly has no children.  But these were my rebuttals which fell on deaf ears.  She was hearing NO part of me and was planning on sporting it for the rest of the day.  I figure, we are at home.  Sure.  She will certainly want to take it off after the "scratch" sets in.

So I start getting my stuff together for a dreaded trip to the grocery and she is not even hearing of taking it off.  I am of the "F*&k it" school of thought on this one.  If she wants to dress up like an orangutan every day so be it.  I read a book awhile back that wisely told me to pick my battles.  This, my friends, is NOT a battle I am choosing at this date in time.  I will make my suggestion, state my opinion and move on.  And soon enough it won't be cute anymore and the mean people of society will stink-eye her into submission.  I am going to let her be 3 for a little while.  I figure this serves me in the arena of gray hair as well.  Might as well save those up for something really worthy...I don't even want to get into what would fall into that category!

So the car ride was filled with questions about our purpose.  Why are we going to the store?  What do we need?  Are you planning on buying me a treat this time?  Can we get the (g-d) cotton candy again!?--I KNEW that one would come back to bite me in the ass.  So once I had talked her off the ledge of cotton candy destruction and waxed intellectual with her on the sugar content of the cotton poof vs. that of a doughnut we were safely to our destination.  Then the Thanksgiving questions started in.  What is it?  Where is it? When is it?  What is Thursday?  When is Thursday?  I'm exhausted.  I feel like Alex Trebek from Jeopardy as she peppers me with her intrigue.  I know if I throw my hands in the air and scream "ENOUGH!!!!!" they will certainly call security.  But I won't lie and say I wasn't tempted.   And boy am I glad I didn't.  This rampage of question back and forth gave her a mental picture of Thanksgiving.  As we are walking the endless parking lot, Princess holding one hand, Beast holding the other she is jabbering.  She is dancing her little jig, enjoying the beautiful sunshine we had been gifted with on an unseasonably warm Colorado day in November.  She went on about how she saw Thanksgiving and I sat in thanks.  She said, "Mommy, life will be beautiful, sweet, fun, warm and delicious!"  This is what Thanksgiving sounded like to her.  Had I not continued to entertain her vast array of questions she may not have come up with this Day of the Bird synopsis.  At which point I was grateful.  God has not given me much patience...I think I've been given JUST enough.

As we continued in Cinderella was stopped by a little couple walking to their car.  The big, burly man said "Look honey!  A princess!"  You should have seen this girls' expression.  She looked up at me with a glow as if to say "They KNOW!!!"  She did a twirl and a tiny sache for the man, said "Thank you" and we were on our way.  In the store no less than 15 people actually approached her to tell her how beautiful she looked.  And at one point she turned to me and said with amazement "Even strangers think I look beautiful!"  Then there were those who just gave her the sweet eyes and carried on.  It was a surprisingly sweet display.  I have let her wear gaudy attire in public before and she got nowhere near the reception she did this day.

All this to say is the trip to the store that I thought was going to be excruciating because of irritated, harried customers turned into a delight.  Letting my girl don her last-month attire proved beneficial for all--certainly nothing I should have forbade because it "didn't fit the mood."  It gave her an ego boost (perhaps too large of one) and it gave me a little more faith in humanity seeing that people aren't all just grump-a-saurus's.  It also gave me the opportunity and stage to talk about Thanksgiving with my gal and hear what she thought.  I most likely wouldn't have gotten that outlook at home.  It was a day to be thankful for.  I am eager to continue on this theme of thanks.  It's really a good one to adopt.  We are sooo incredibly blessed and so well cared for.  I can honestly say I want for nothing.  And a lifestyle of gratitude has helped me see that I need for nothing.  I feel so fortunate to be able to say these things and mean them from the bottom of my heart.  I hope your Thanksgiving is as wonderful as my Princess predicts ours to be!  Love to all!  XOXOX!

The 12 Days of Pregnancy

In an effort to get into the Christmas Spirit I thought I would share a little ditty that I wrote while pregnant with The Moose.  Go ahead, sing along!

The 12 Days of Pregnancy...retold by Katie Cunningham
On the 1st day of pregnancy my true love gave to me an embryo in a tree.

On the 2nd day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 3rd day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 4th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 5th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 6th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 7th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 8th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 9th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 10th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 11th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 11 stretch marks, 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree.

On the 12th day of pregnancy my true love gave to me 12 morning sickness, 11 stretch marks, 10 broken scales, 9 moo moo dresses, 8 un-tied shoes, 7 raging hormones, 6 weakened bladders, 5 mood swings, 4 crazy cravings, 3 ultra sounds, 2 swollen boobs and an embryo in a tree!!!!!!

Hind-Quarter Hootenany

It never ceases to amaze me just how little I know about this life.  I guess it's exciting and humbling all at the same time.  On the one hand it reminds me that there are millions and zillions of things I know NOTHING about that I have a chance to learn of and on the other it proves exactly what I have suspected for some time--I don't know shit!  Seems like the less I am willing to admit I know the more I open myself to learn.  I am thinking I will stay this course for the duration...

Let's take, for instance, the phone call from my kids' doctor yesterday.  She phoned with the lab results stating that both kids' cultures came back positive for Strep...of the BUTT!  I didn't even know Booty Strep existed!  Who's ever heard of such a thing?  Probably you, but not this ditz-o-plenty.  Strep of the hiney hole!  Are you serious?  And OMG talk about sad!  My kids have both been telling me their butts have been hurting for almost 3 weeks now. Being that diarrhea and constipation are the only tushy turmoils I am aware of this possibility never crossed my mind.  Didn't even enter the "Options" column.  Since dia is kind of apparent (to most) I was left with one diagnosis...Sooo, for the past 2+ weeks I've gone nuts with prune juice, grapes, Activia, dried fruit, bran, olive oil, MiraLax, tummy massage--you name it, I tried it.

Ms. Mini embarked on a back end boycott of withholding actually inducing the condition.  I thought she was just being controlling and trying to send me to the Freak Farm when in actuality she had a "sore throat caboose" and was dreading anything threatening to make matters worse.  When one has Strep throat they hate to swallow.  When one has Strep butt they hate to "spit."  HOW ON EARTH DID THIS ESCAPE MY KNOWLEDGE BASE?  When Hubba Hubba went in for his ails the doc told him that kids under 4 rarely get Strep so he shouldn't worry.  What he failed to mention was The Ring of Fire.  Was this what Johnny Cash was referring to?...and I digress.

So Mr. Mini with his limited communication had a harder time giving me a dissertation as worded as the Ms. but his grunts were much more direct and to the point and in finality what sent me to the doc.  3 o'clock Monday morning he is howling at the moon.  When I went in for calming I could feel his angst and desperation.  He had these words on repeat "Butt...hurts...better...PWEEEEESE!"  This hard-as-nails one year old was begging me to make it better and I had NOTHIN.  The 10 minute console of yore was not in the slightest bit effective in lulling him back this time.  An hour later he finally drifted off, alerting me that what we were dealing with was much bigger than bran muffins and prune juice.

How sheepish was I that morning in the ped's office with 2 fire engine hiney's staring her in the face?  The phone diagnosis of yeasty beasty for the Ms. was clearly incorrect and my self-analysis of "log jam" was also faulty.  When she confirmed that this illness felt like a sore throat of the back barracks I shuddered.  Can't even imagine what an ail of this magnitude would feel like.

All this to say is I have 2 public service announcements for those of you unaware as I was. And moreover reminders to myself in writing: #1--Phone diagnosis for nether region issues are ill-advised.  There's not enough Lotrimin or MiraLax on the shelves that would have rid the Ms. of her ails and this determination could never have been made sight unseen.  #2--Booty Strep exists!  This is still hard for me to process.  Evidently the germs from the hands of the infected carrier transfer to the bottom with wiping.  So if you or your honey have the Strep you're OFF diaper duty/potty patrol for awhile.  Please believe you don't want your kids' "starfish" afflicted with this unholy (no pun intended) wrath!

I must say that in this fiasco and time of pain, confusion and late night visits to my baby boy there was a moment.  Just him and me.  Him, uncomfortable and sad; me, uncomfortable and unable to console.  The only "trick" I had left in my bag was the old faithful snuggle and rock.  Still erring on the side of "undownloaded material" I continued the tummy rub.  After a spell my exhaustion won out and my hand rested on his chubby, warm tummy.  As we rocked back and forth he started to doze off.  He took his little hand and slid it underneath mine and this is where it rested.  For a split second I thought of Al Bundy but in the end will remember the sweet security he felt just being in my arms--having his little hand under mine, sleeping.  Somehow knowing that even though I didn't have all the answers he still felt safe and loved.  Made me feel like less of a heal and more of a human.  As parents we can't always have all the answers.  I'm finding more times than not I don't.  But if we love our kids and do our best can we really be doing a bad job?  I think not.  And I will leave you with that!

Let the name calling begin...

We recently discovered by way of Chinese delivery (proud recipients of a bonus calendar) that our son was born in the Year of the Ox.  Stand alone, this information is unremarkable.  When we delve deeper we find that the boy was nicknamed "Ox" by his mother shortly after birth.  Partly because of his ginormous head circumference and partly because of his near immediate display of oxen-like personality traits.

So as we are looking through this  "You bought so much shit from us we are thanking you with this ultra cool Chinese calendar" free-be we made some further discoveries...

Discovery #1- (already mentioned) Mr. Mini is an Ox. 
Discovery #2- Ms. Mini is a Pig
Discovery #3- Mom is a Dragon & Dad is a Tiger (Rarrrr! :)

Learning all of this new information unfortunately gave Ms. Mini much delight.  She found it to be hilarious that this calendar basically affirmed what mom had been saying all along and she embarked on the name-calling.  "Ox" this and "Ox" that.  "Don't do that, Ox!"  "Come here, Ox!"  Each time there was a giggle in her voice and a look of confusion on his face.  As of right now, he isn't quite sure what this whole "Ox" thing is.  Never having seen one in real life and not knowing any of the negative connotation regarding the species he is generally in the dark at this point.  My fear is that this will continue for years to come (the moniker is really just too fitting) and perhaps it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy for him.  He will, in fact, become a stubborn, bull-like entity and I will regret the day of Crispy Duck & Pot Stickers. 

Then I take this a step further and foresee when he is old enough to figure out for himself what animal year his sister was born under.  Though it won't be too hard as she has been running around proclaiming "I'm a Pig! I'm a Pig!"  A "Pig" 3-year-old is cute--a "Pig" 13-year-old is not.  I mean, that sort of name calling is grounds for just about anything and I have to say I wouldn't blame her.  The thought of my little girl being called such an unsavory name bring shivers.  Again, I'm hoping it doesn't send her straight to the Bon-Bons. 

And then we prognosticate one step further and note that mom is a "Dragon."  Really?  Do I HAVE to be a Dragon?  No Rooster?  Sheep?  Horse?  I'd even take Monkey.  But Dragon?!  I had a teacher back in the day that we called The Dragon Lady and let me tell you we were not complimenting her.  She could scare me into submission with just one glare.  I don't think I spoke for that whole year and you can IMAGINE just how hard that was!  I do not want my minions to fear me though I suppose with the track record I have already established I am well on my way.  You could tell me to "Rage On!" and it would bare quite a different reality today than it did 10 years ago...although at each segment of life quite fitting for where I was/am.

But at the end of the day I suppose they are going to be who they are...be it Ox or Pig.  I will no doubt, fill my Dragon role.  There shall be no self-fulfilling prophecy.  I suppose this is simply a wake up call for me in regard to doing my best to give them strong senses of self.  That the task at hand from here on out should not be to keep the names from being called but to keep the stereotypes from being ingested.  As we've seen in recent years, it's tough stuff growing up these days.  Bullying is at an alarming level and kids are taking drastic measures--both the givers and receivers.  I guess I should be grateful that this nugget was brought to my plate so early.  When they are given shit by their siblings at home at the very least one can play referee and teach them a few tricks of the trade while being the voice over their shoulder teaching them the truth about themselves.  Not the lies of verbal abuse.  Wow, re-reading that made me see that this is a TALL order--and again, I am reminded of what I have said to myself time and time again, "Isn't EVERY aspect of parenting?" 

"Rage On" my fellow do-gooders--in whatever capacity of "rage" you can conjure!  Release your inner Dragon and have a Grrrreat day! <insert dorky laugh here> :)

Monday Monday...

So I get these emails every week with the subject line "Your 19-Month-Old: Week 1; Week 2; Week 3"...you get the picture.  So as the kid progresses I am privy to the things I can expect from this creature and milestones in which to look for.  I'm questioning why not ONE of these emails has ever had the subject line: "Your 19-Month-Old: Hold onto your f*(%ing shorts!"  Now I know not ALL kids are hell on wheels but you'd be hard-pressed to convince me that most boys aren't.  I just could not have picked a more polar opposite from my daughter if I had tried.  Granted she did/does have her issues as she decided that being awake for 92% of a given week is acceptable, she has just never pulled the kind of crap this one does.  Which is why I believe I am constantly amazed and totally unprepared for the shenanigans The Ox brings to the table.

Let's take this morning...I left the room for TWO minutes to brush my teeth (heaven forbid I take ANY time for self-hygiene) and come back into the room after about 30 seconds of silence only to find the table, floor, breakfast nook and all associated walls covered in tomato juice!  I do believe my exact words were "WTF!?"  Partially because of the shock of seeing red splattered all over everything and instinctively thinking it was blood and the other part was just plain, old fashioned shock.  This would have NEVER occurred to my female.  Something of this nature would just never have even entered her mind.  She would have written such off as preposterous!  I don't know how I know this, I just do.  I take that back...I think I know this because the same female had passed up the can of juice and pulled up a chair in the adjacent room once the tomfoolery commenced.  I believe she KNEW what was going to happen next and thought she needed to take cover.  Probably why she was buried under the couch cushions asking "What did Chase do, mommy?"  My point is, I can leave her in a room to brush my teeth and know that when I come back into it 2 minutes later it will be as I left it.  With the boy it is a literal crap shoot.  Most of the time it is as though a bomb went off upon my exit.  So am I supposed to get one of those kiddie leashes and attach him to me wherever I go?  I have already conceded to the fact that we will have nothing of value or decency until he moves out.  I left my eye glasses on my desk yesterday, turned my head to reach for some papers, turned back around to find him treating them like a Gumby toy, ripping them from limb to limb.  Maybe he is testing their durability?  I certainly know he is testing my patience.

And then this morning after our trip to the doctor (where we learned that not one but both children have contracted impetigo--most likely from dad's bout with Strep :-/) we were trying to scurry into the house. Ox decided that he needed to frolic in the yard for a moment which I completely encouraged.  I stood by the door and watched them play for a bit at which point he scoped out a pile of fecal remnants in our front yard that was left by our neighbor's dog.  His radar honed in on this pile and he conjured all of his mini-might to leap as high into the air as a toddler possibly could and land directly amidst the dung.  WHAT ON EARTH WOULD POSSESS HIM TO DO THIS?  He knew what it was...he kept saying "poop...poop!" and I do believe I have made it abundantly clear in our tenure together that poop is gross.  But it is like a moth to a flame.  A truly puzzling sight.  So needless to say, I rushed into the house to arm my hand with something to pick up the piles and found a plastic grocery bag.  Slipped it onto my hand as a glove of sorts...upon closing the claw, came to the realization that the bag had experienced a previous blow out and was without substance.  Grabbing a dog pile with a bare hand brings a special sort of feeling to my heart...one part dumb ass, two parts disgust, one part IRE with a dash of disbelief. 

They say you can start your day over at any time.  I've pressed the "redo" button on this day twice already.  Hoping things can only get better from here...

Scrooge!?

OK now this one has been settling on me for a bit now.  Truth be known since Mya's 1st Christmas.  It has all resurfaced with the eminent arrival of the Holiday Season.  It all started when an extended sister of mine sent the minis these beautiful Christmas Reindeer books last week.  The story goes, that on Christmas Eve the reindeer are outfitted with "shoes" (much like horse shoes) and from time to time a shoe will drop onto an unsuspecting recipients "lucky" roof.  The reindeer shoes are to be cherished and hung from the tree as they are very special.  The books came complete with 2 packages of cute little reindeer shoes and the story is a very sweet little one.  Needless to say I have read the book to Mya no less than a jillion times already so she could commit it to memory and "read" it to herself.  One particular evening after having read it 3 times in a row she looked up at me with her sweet little innocent 3-year-old face and said "Mommy, are the reindeer shoes REAL or just pretend?"  UGH!  Take the knife out of my chest!  I faltered.  Here I am, the MOM, and to be raising my daughter as honest and upstanding and I am LYING to her!?  The pain of this is fibery is something that I was not alerted of pre-parent.  Something that should be written in all CAPS in a pamphlet they pass out for when you decide to discontinue your birth control usage.  **WARNING** SHOULD YOU BECOME PREGNANT YOU MAY FEEL HORRIBLY GUILTY LYING TO YOUR KIDS ABOUT SANTA CLAUS!  I'd be fine with them making footnotes regarding the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Cupid etc. but Santa, for me, is the big one. 

So here I am faced with being the biggest Scrooge on the planet by admitting to my daughter something I believe she already knows.  She called me out last year when we saw "Santa" at the store.  I said, "Look Mya there's Santa!" to which she retorted "Uh no mommy, that's just someone dressed up like Santa!"  At 2 I wasn't really sure what to do with that so I let it be.  Now at 3 I am becoming more convinced that she is onto the charade.  My poker face is such that I won't be able to keep this one up.  I already feel like I am about to crack.  And if I do break down and tell her then I am left with a shattered little girl whose childhood is void of the beautiful belief in The Dream. 

I remember at the age of about 7 my same-aged cousin alerting me of the sham.  I played it off like I knew, all the while horrified that mom and dad were, in fact, Santa.  Memories of earlier childhood Christmas's came flooding back and all the pieces were finally put together.  I had KNOWN it all along.  I was simply in denial--something I have grown quite comfortable in after all these years.  Denial has come to be like a warm, winter afghan to me so it is no surprise that at the age of 7 I still hadn't figured it out.  I remember my first thought after the blow being "You bastards!" (yes, already at the tender age of 7 I had my truck driver vernacular)  I just couldn't believe that they had put on this whole story about a fat guy in a suit just to give me "Christmas Spirit."  And it was really all down hill from there.  The years to come were filled with gift-hunting prior to the big day as well as gift opening and re-wrapping with my brother in later years.  The whole magic had deflated in that one moment and I became a Christmas Misfit!  Don't get me wrong, I still liked the holiday but the flare that it once had was removed in one fail swoop!

So my issue here is that I don't want my daughter to think I am a fraud for having her buy into this whole song and dance.  But I also don't want to be a Scrooge and let her in on the goods right out the gates.  Will she not trust me forever because of this little white lie?  I feel like I have already jumped in the water and I just don't know how to get out!  There have GOT to be those of you who have gone through this same turmoil.  Those who have braved the battle field and survived with your child's love and trust still in-tact.  Please share with me your wisdom!  Give me the ability to survive this holiday season and those to follow without feeling like a total con artist cuz I got NOTHIN!

Why is this such a hard topic to process?  It is supposed to be Merry Christmas not Wary Christmas!  Please, with your comments, help me put the "Merry" back in our Christmas! :)

Let it Snow--Let it Go!

So today was the 1st day of legitimate, stick on the ground snow.  This came at a not-so-good time as Chase and I are both sick.  Nothing major, just enough to be irritating.  Also coming with poor timing is Hubba Hubba's memory lapse in forgetting to take MJ's car seat out of his truck and leave it for me.  And coming with even worse timing is the fact that today was the day that I had scheduled for grocery shopping.  All this to say is that I HAD to go to the store and the only way to get there was on foot.

So I wrapped up the littles as snugly as possible for 30 degree weather and got them both looking vaguely like the little brother in The Christmas Story.  At one point Chase DID look like a tick about to pop!  After I had decided there was no possible room for another layer on either one I ran as fast as a mom can run pushing two kids in a double stroller with blustery wind and snow pelting one's face.  We retrieved our essentials, looked at every toy and Christmas decoration in the store, ate a donut and headed home.

When we got back home Mya decided that this would be prime time to show her brother the Snow Ropes.  This is really his first experience in the white stuff and she really felt the need to indoctrinate him into the World of Snowball Fights.  I thought better of it for a moment as the mini is not feeling 100% but how does one drag a young boy from his very first snow day without feeling that pang of guilt?  So I figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt.  He was no sooner out of the stroller when his sister came up with guns blazing and launched a fatty right to his face.  There was so much snow he literally couldn't inhale without it going up his nose.  Had it not been for the snot melting it immediately he may have suffocated a little.  I quickly went into Mama Bear mode and scolded her stating that he did not know what a snow ball fight was, didn't know what the hell snow was for that matter and that she needed to ease him into the whole thing by teaching him how it goes and what to do.  She obviously missed the fact that boys don't necessarily come with genetic coding on how to snow ball fight.  So she went about teaching him the rules, all the while hurling snow right into his face.  I continue to rage.  He is trying to get the hang of it but due to the aforementioned "tick status" he was scarcely able to raise his arms.  With such limited range of motion he was forced to implement a side-arm type hurl which started to get him somewhere. 

While all of this was transpiring I started analyzing my anger toward the elder.  Is this right?  Does the baby always turn the mom against her 1st born angel?  Are these emotions fair, right and normal?  Once the Moose started getting into it and getting his sister in the kisser I found myself applauding him internally and saying "Ya! Take THAT!"  WTH?  This is my baby girl that I am rooting against.  Are you sure this is right?  And furthermore, why am I admitting to this?  Perhaps it is my eternal praise for the underdog that got me going?  Maybe a flashback from childhood where I was the recipient of freezing cold snow washes lit my fire?  I'm not certain the source--all I know is I was legitimately hoping for him to teach her a lesson in rosy red snow rashes. 

Then I started feeling bad about all of this and tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.  She really WAS showing him the right way to play the game.  Play hard or go inside.  And maybe, just maybe she kept pelting him front n' center in an effort to remove the double barrel snot guns that he was bringing to the game.  For this, I couldn't blame her as it was pretty gross.  Upon this realization I ran in to retrieve a Kleenex.  At least I would take this option out of the equation...

When I finished wiping him, a delightful surprise...I was now a part of the ambush!  I guess I never really considered myself a welcomed player in the game due to the size differential but I figured, why not!  I thought "This a prime opportunity to teach her about snowball fights and picking on people your own size."  HOW MEAN, right?  I am her MOM not her arch nemesis.  Where the hell is all of this coming from?  But when she threw the ball at me my only choice was to fight back. 

I point blank ranged her--right in the forehead.  Now mind you, this is light, fluffy, new snow so there was no injury and no need for you to call CPS but I was kind of shocked at my ability to make my own offspring cold.  I half-winced after the delivery and held my breath waiting for the response.  Much to my surprise (though I am sure not to many of you) she responded with uncontrollable laughter!  She was so pleased at my aim and fire that she rewarded me with giggles! 

So here I am trying to teach her the standard Golden Rule method of do unto others and it is simply falling on deaf ears.  Is it that I am old and unaware that, cold or not, snow is a damn good time?  I am trying to elicit a "think before you act" sort of lesson and instead I'm being met with the portrait of "Game ON!"  This brings me to the fact that I am constantly over thinking this parenting thing.  I'm so busy planning my next move that I don't live in the moment and respond like I would to any other human being.  If my next door neighbor would have come at me with this business we would have rumbled, laughed and brushed it off.  It made me realize that there are times to be a mom and there are times to remove the mask and just have fun with my kids.  At this point in my journey it is not coming so second nature.  I am needing to blog about it to see where I went wrong.  But my hope is that with time and practice I will learn to be a better balance of parent and pal.  It's going to be a loooong winter so I am sure I will be met with ample opportunity! 

Happy Snow Day to you all.  Hope you are gifted with the same chances to grow that I was!

Some pics of my "tick" :)