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I am a SAHM of 6 little dudes. My hubby's jobs require him to be away from home way more than I would like leaving me to fly solo more often than not. Since Dr. Phil won't return my calls, and Oprah has unfriended me, my therapy has now gone public! Here is where I go to receive cheap advice, reassurance and hopefully share some laughs. Honeslty, I'd love to make you laugh until you pee! So come, grab a cup of coffee (or vodka) and join in the conversation!

Monday, January 31, 2011

Service Engine Soon.....Revisited

After a busy weekend of juggling a wrestling tournament and a swim meet for my two oldest boys, I find myself a little behind in my "mama-chores". I also have a girly doctor appointment which is stealing from my time this morning. Hence, I am finding myself a little crunched and in need of a little help. I am re-posting an earlier post that I really liked (I think I'm so clever sometimes...my hubby makes fun of me!) I hope you enjoy the read....I'm off to shower and primp before my OB/GYN checks out my nether regions!!

Service Engine Soon

I've been married for almost 11 years (some days it feels like it's been A LOT longer than that but that is clearly another topic for another day) during which I've delivered 4 beautiful, healthy, BIG baby boys (my smallest was 8 pounds). I've also become much more of a "girly-girl" than I was when I met my hubby at 19 (wow that was a long time ago). I was pretty simple- didn't use a lot of makeup, didn't color my hair, had no money so clothing was more of a necessity than a luxury- low maintenance, if you will. However, I've come into my own regarding the unique requirements of the female species. Basically, I've become more high maintenance. My hubby says I've gotten better with age.....kind of like a fine wine (I'm taking that as a compliment- what it really means is I wasn't as attractive when we met as he finds me now- or so that's how I am interpreting it). I am going to chalk it up to the simpler days in life.....when I didn't NEED to do as much to be cute (those were the days).

Now I look in the mirror and scare myself. I certainly hope my children aren't scared by the Crypt Keeper serving them breakfast! My hubby says I'm beautiful, but we all know he would like sex tonight (and future nights) so telling me that I'm getting scarier with age doesn't bode well for him. I am, regrettably, at that age where preventative and corrective maintenance and necessary repairs are no longer a suggestion acquired from a magazine article later to be disregarded. Quite the contrary, they are now necessary improvements essential to prevent hubby from trading me in for a younger model.

With that said, there is significant expense that accompanies this so-called required maintenance. I am currently suffering from the "Too many unexpected expenses prevent mommy from visiting optional (read-necessary) hair appointment" syndrome. In short, I have very visible roots. My hubby referred to me last night as a "half-n-half". You see, I am a blonde by nature, but somewhere in 30+ years....that changed. Now I must pay incredible amounts to restore my once youthful natural color. To my chagrin, I have also noticed my less-than-vibrant skin tone. Makeup isn't an option, it's a necessity. Freckles, sun spots, wrinkles and the like that comes with "aging" have all left their mark. Some say it's the sign of wisdom; I say it's the sign that I need to invest in some serious anti-aging arsenal and make an appointment with a local Botox professional asap!

Requirements of clothing have gotten more difficult and demanding now that I have had kiddos. Bras that define, lift and accentuate are a must- and they come with a hefty price. Apparel needs to fit and flatter the right curves in the right way, and all of a sudden, I am faced with the issue of "age appropriateness". Slimmers, shapers, smoothers....the likes of which I'd rather still be unaware.

As we travel downward, I would like to mention that I am completely NOT against the restoration and "plumpification" of my once perky, but now unresponsive, breasts. They now lack the ability to "stand at attention", if you will. I think breastfeeding should come with a warning label: "Constant and continual use will lead to shrinking, sagging, and possible deformation". We should have to sign a release before proceeding.

Stretch marks and skin that has lost its ability to "bounce back". Spider veins. Disappearing butt. Achy swollen feet. All lead me to believe that my trade-in value is decreasing by the moment. I am convinced that I am in need of my 100,000 mile overhaul. My "service engine soon" light demands attention!

So I ask , fellow woman, do we run from this challenge? Do we hide in the shadows? Or do we turn and face it head on? I choose to "fight the good fight" and employ any and all means possible to defend against the wrath of age. Salon visits I shall attend; creams I shall apply; peels I shall suffer through; going under the knife- the money I should only hope to find.  I am prepared for this battle. And if I can't beat and overcome the maladies of age,  then I will mask it every step of the way.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

We've had an unusually warm streak of weather lately. So I decided to ditch the confines of our home and head to the mall...actually, to the mall play land with the 4 year old and 2 year old. Not nearly as fun as just shopping but ya count your losses and move on. I am quite the hermit in the winter so I considered this a fairly ambitious move. Gold star day for mommy!

However, there were lots of mommies with the same idea as me. Great minds must think alike. So instead of mindlessly watching my kids play in the the play area, I had to be in full-on referee status...making sure play was fair. For the most part, all the kiddos in attendance were running off what was left of their morning rush of energy enjoying its high before the crash of afternoon nap started to set in. Of course, the boys were all being super heroes or ultimate fighting champions or wrestlers or monsters...typical, I know. I'm not really sure what the girls were doing...I don't have any girls, so their mere existence seems mystical and foreign to me. I don't usually pay attention to what the little girls are playing.

I am much more comfortable with my kids roaring and growling and jumping off of things.  I do know, however, that the cliche that little girls are full of "sugar and spice and everything nice"....isn't always true. As I was sitting by myself in my corner ( I don't really like to socialize with people so much....we'll talk about that later) I watched a little girl open a can of whoop-a** on my 2 year old son who was trying to take a turn on the lily pads. She decided otherwise and proceeded to employ a WWF smackdown on my youngest. Now, I'm not naive. I'm sure my little man was not sans guilt, and more than likely provoked the little Miss Wanna-be Boxer. However, I watched her give my son a round-house, upper-cut and a left hook before he retaliated with a shove.

Both were crying by this point so I nonchalantly rescued my little man not wanting to make it into a big deal. But Mama Sugar Ray proceeded to swoop in as if it was her child under attack. While giving me the evil eye across the play land scattered with kiddos, she proceeded to tell her daughter (in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear) how boys are naughty and that she should stay far away from him. I think my jaw hit the floor!
Normally, I don't encourage violence but I was all "oh it's on, now!" Against my better judgement....I kept my mouth shut and endured the evil glances from her and her friend as they alternated from watching my son like a hawk and shooting accusatory glances in my direction. I left feeling awful, angry, embarrassed...and a little proud that my kiddo fought back. I know it's not the lesson we are supposed to teach...but give me credit for not starting my own WWF smackdown mommy style!

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Let's Get, Let's Get, Let's Get, Let's Get Rocked!

I am not a party girl...never really have been. That's not to say that I have never partied or thrown my cautions to the wind. On the contrary, the 9 or 10 times (which is really more like 6 or 7 times) that I've busted loose...I've REALLY busted loose. However, I've learned that I don't much care for the "after" feeling the next day. Excessive alcohol seems to have an adverse effect on my good senses and inhibitions. My wild side is released, and my "life of the party" side comes out in full force! Apparently, I'm a riot! But since this is such a huge shift from my "girl next door" personality, everyone seems to enjoy telling and re-telling stories of the "crazy girl" at the party.

To avoid my inner Jeckyll and Hyde dilemma, I forgo parties, drink rarely, and mostly keep to myself (that would be myself...along with hubby and 4 kiddos and their ever-blossoming schedules....I'm far from a hermit, people!) On top of harnessing my alter ego, a night out is also expensive when you consider babysitter, meal, and entertainment. Not to mention that I still have to get up the next morning and be a  functioning mama ALL DAY LONG. A quiet night at home sounds more and more appealing, doesn't it?! However, I was sucker-punched into attending a military party with my husband last spring. I've mentioned casually in previous posts that I don't much care for these events and my "social butterfly" candle was extinguished long, long ago. With that said, I have managed to successfully avoid military parties, gatherings, and events.....that is, until the Spring of 2010.

Since my husband is not a high ranking officer, he is pretty much everybody else's be-yotch. Yep, that's how it works. But in 10 more years, I'm sure he'll have his own low-ranking officer as his personal punching bag as well. Hence, it should come as no surprise (to you anyway) that my hubby came home from work-very timidly I might add- and informed me that he had been ordered to tell his wife that she WILL BE attending the yearly shindig...all 3 days of it. Of course the diva in me pulled her shoulders back, wiggled her head all dramatically and shook my finger as I asserted my authority stating that NO MAN tells ME what to do. Turns out, I was wrong...so I swallowed my pride and accepted my defeat determined to NOT HAVE ANY FUN at the party I was ordered to attend.

Night one was pretty uneventful...if you consider getting a red-beer spilled down the front of my brand new outfit uneventful. I may not want to be at that party but I'm darn sure gonna look amazing while I pout! With the debacle of party #1 under my belt I was even more negative toward the prospect of party #2. However, I was still dressed to kill...or at least my hubby thought so...and that's all that matters at the end of the night (y'all know what I'm saying right??!!) Now party #2 was actually....wait for it.....pretty awesome. The entertainment was hilarious and some other high-ranking officer took pity on us poor low-ranking couple and kept the drinks flowing. My night's looking better and better! Except no one was monitoring the alcohol consumption of the nearly-virgin party-attender. Many, many sour vodkas later, I decided to slam some beers with my hubby. Did I mention that the party was basically over, and we were apparently "closing down the bar"! So unlike me. But, oh my gosh, we were having a great time...well, I was...I'm not sure what hubby was doing. I was sitting on the table entertaining 2 of my hubby's higher-ranking bosses...keeping up drink-for-drink with the high rollers! Oh yeah...life of the party!!

Said party continued at home with hubby....no candles and rose petals....we were all "bow chicka wow wow"...well...at least...I think, because it is all a blur by that point. Some time during the night all of those vodkas and beers mixed together and created a very unpleasant morning which included me taking 4 kids to soccer all by myself (hubby was still in briefings) Ugh! Once home, I laid moaning and groaning, cursing my partying decisions for the remainder of the day until I was carted off to the last of the 3-day hoopla. I walked around hungover with kids in tow at "Reptile Garden" and then joined in (read: watched everyone else eating...trying not to gag) on the complimentary grill-out. I have sworn to never drink again...until I am ordered to have fun....when I will apparently turn into the likes of Snookie!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

You Get Days Off?!

I read a post from Boobies, Babies, & A Blog (whom I love, by the way) about how a mama's job is NEVER done...we never get to clock out....and coffee breaks don't exist. Being a mama is tough...from butt wiping and laundry to helping with homework and life lessons...it's our purpose, our passion, our heart's desire. And even though nothing compares to those cherished peanut butter kisses and good morning hugs, every now and then mama only wants to work 9-5! So I dug out a post I have previously written to piggy-back on Mrs. Boobies' thoughts over the weekend.

Calling In Sick

Have you ever gotten up and wondered "why don't I get vacation days...or sick days, at the least?" True I can stay in sweats or even my jammies all day if I wanted. But I am far from lounging around eating bon bons all day (although, wouldn't that be great? Even for just one day.....) There are some days that I truly kind of wish I had to get up, look fabulous, and go to work.

The upside-I get to socialize with adults, I don't have to lose as many arguments (the 2 year old ALWAYS wins), I can drink my coffee without cute little moochers sneaking around for a quick little sip, I would actually get to use "sick" and "vacation" days, and my accomplishments are noted, monitored, and reviewed.

The downside-I would have to get up every morning, look good, take kids to daycare, and be sociable (ouch-that's gonna be tough), I have to hang out with people I may not even like let alone love, I still won't get to win many arguments-it's not very smart to argue with the boss, I always end up going to work when I'm sick anyway, and sometimes supervisors and bosses don't care about your feelings when they give you your review.

Aside from all that, I do think us SAHM types should get 1, maybe 2 (see, now I'm gettin' greedy), days a year that we can use for....well whatever; be it sick (because, darn it, when we're sick it really stinks to have to be mom and wife all day), to play hookie (oooh, like a spa day), or a true vacation day (meaning NO laundry, NO dishes, NO cooking - and maybe some sex on the side).

It's true that I have enabled the double standard to exist in my home. My hubby has a day off and he uses that excuse all day to avoid the "honey-do" list on the counter. My boys comment all the time that "mom doesn't work". Oh contrare my dear boy. Clean underwear doesn't magically appear in your drawer, and those toothpaste slobbers in the sink and smudges on the toilet don't disintegrate on their own (although that would be awesome!). No, the work of a mom/wife is NEVER done, hardly noticed, and rarely appreciated. But to the fault of only myself, I make sure those tasks are completed daily under the cover of my "Super Mom" alter ego. Hence, my unknowing family is never made aware of the Toothpaste Titan that I have defeated or the Dish Dilemma that is so swiftly vanquished by my mighty powers or even the Laundry Quandary that I have subdued. Alas, they are never the wiser.

On behalf of all moms everywhere, I will stand up and say "No More!" We demand our sick days and vacation time! I'm calling an all-mom revolt..."Super Mom"......well, she needs a coffee break.

So, I think tomorrow I'm doing just that. I'm calling in sick. I'm not going to shower (that's nothing new), I'm going to wear tights and a baggy T, and lounge with my boys. Call it an early weekend, playing hookie....or maybe just being lazy. But, every couple years I think we need to take the day off...........and boycott the laundry!

Friday, January 21, 2011

Baby's Got Her Blue Jeans On

I'm on a quest...a quest with seemingly insurmountable challenges. It is an endeavor that if conquered will leave me not only triumphant in my victory but also donning a desirable reward. Many have attempted this feat without fruition. Is it a gest worth attempting or is it merely doomed for failure?  Do I dare to defy the laws that be and declare my determination to arise the victor?

What, pray tell, is this challenging expedition I have declared to conquer? It is the pursuit...for a great pair of jeans. A pair of jeans that are void of the peek-a-boo effect when I bend down to assist my child. This applies to both my lacey underwear and my smiling half-moon. Neither are meant for the viewing pleasure (or horror) of the masses. I prefer to keep my secrets a mystery...an enigma, if you will... and revealed only to whom I deem appropriate and deserving of such a "treasure".

This first criteria needs to be achieved and maintained without resorting to the dreaded and widely feared "mom jean" occurrence. The belly button does NOT go under the top band of the jean resulting in "the crotch that never ends". And, on the flip side, the constant pulling up of the jean...due to the vendetta gravity has against all women...because they are continuously in the south-bound lane is also an undesirable feature. The backside, however, should also not be overlooked. The "mom jean" leaves the false, and undesired, illusion of wide and flat. That's a description best left for a newly discovered land mass! Also, cinching in at the ankles can only occur on skinny jeans and jeggings. No other style of jean is allowed to attempt this feature.

Another important element which is sometimes neglected, as briefly mentioned above, is the butt region. Deception and illusion are completely acceptable when addressing this particular area. One must avoid the atomic-wedgie effect which can occur with an ill-fitting pair of jeans. But equally feared is the saggy-bottom effect which should be reserved only when referring to your little one's over-due diaper change. Strategically placed pockets...and possibly Lycra...are a must!

Last but certainly not least is the issue of cost. Since most of us do not have a sugar-daddy, money tree, or bottom-less bank account we cannot overlook the desire to find a great fitting pair of jeans without the requirement of selling a necessary organ or possible your first born child. I would also like to avoid the need for me to "walk the streets" in order to afford my jeans of choice.

I realize I have given several  requirements. However, I believe I am up the challenge...with maybe a little assistance. Is there such a jean that exists or has delusions of grandeur skewed my judgment? Are they simply reserved for the likes of the chosen ones (aka celebrities) or can all moms have the chance to rock a great pair of jeans without the threat of financial ruin? Urban legend or not, I will face this challenge...and win! "Baby's got her blue jeans on" indeed!

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Unwanted

What do you think of when you hear that word? Does it make you cringe? Does it make you cry? Does it make you want to wipe it off of you and spit it out of your mouth? Me too.

Unfortunately, I put that word, that role, on every now and then and struggle to escape its grasp. It's suffocating at times. You see, I wasn't an overly wanted baby (at least by my own perception). A year and a half before my arrival...my tumultuous arrival I might add...my parents had suffered a great loss of their first born...a son, beautiful and perfect...to an accident on the farm. He was still just a tiny little boy of 3 years old when he was ripped from their arms, and my older sister was merely an infant. They had their perfect family...a son and a daughter....and didn't want any more. But God changed their world in a single horrific moment.

And then I came...in a fury during a blizzard and full of fire. I was not in the plan and didn't agree with their status quo. Older sis was "perfect" as I've been told numerous times. I, however, was fiery, feisty, temperamental, and equipped with a great pair of lungs. And on several occasions have been told how they hated my infancy, that I was the worst toddler, and my mere demeanor, and hence presence in my mind, made them never want any more children. In fact, they cried when the found out they were pregnant with my younger brother...because they didn't want another child like me.

Now as a mom...sometimes I can understand from where my mother was coming. However, being told over and over and over that "you were the worst child ever" and that "they didn't want any more like you" can sometimes tear you down...even if that wasn't the intent. You see, I think all of our parents did the very best that they could. And sometimes we need to forgive them their mistakes because they, too, are only human.

But I find it hard to let go and release the hold that "unwanted" has over me. I feel it at every family gathering even if it isn't intentional. By virtue of losing a child, I think you hold onto the remaining child even tighter. Which I think happened, but I never felt a strong grip toward me. When older sis was perceived as "perfect" all of the time, younger sis (myself)  was unable to live up to that expectation...and according to the re-telling of my childhood, I fell short. Big sis was allowed to torment me throughout my childhood with no repercussions, and now, she goes after my kids...still void of any consequences. I feel like the white-trash step-child who descends upon the royal family with my little white-trash posse in tow.

To top it off, when I was 3 my parents had an unexpected birth...a son. He was placed on a beautiful blue pedestal. And I can't really blame them. Little "T" was so loved, cherished...protected. As a mother, I think I understand and can say that I would probably do the same. What I can't wrap my head around is the disconnect that I feel now and felt throughout my childhood. Was I really that "unwanted"? Put those words on for a second. They don't feel very good do they? A little suffocating? Do you feel smaller? Do you feel.....less?

Me too.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Reasons Why My Kids Are Going To Rule The World

* the boys are downstairs playing 'dodgeball'... Tyson (7yo-he is #2) sticks a ball down his pants, pulls it out, yells "PENIS BOMB" and chucks it at his brother!! No body, young or old, wants to get hit with one of those.

* the 2yo and 4yo were playing with our flash light in the dark. They were shining it in their brother's ears, daddy's nose and then came running up to mommy.....to shine a bright spotlight on my yana benieni area. They thought it was pretty funny!

* Our 4 yo has some what of a hearing issue. Toy Story has been his favorite movie for the last 2 years. When Woody says "somebody poisoned the water hole"....my son heard "boy and girls in the watering hole". I'm guessing he pretty much has this world figured out!

* the 2yo constantly asks mommy "where penis go" wondering what mommy did with hers.

* daddy and mommy took the middle 2 boys sledding (4yo and 7yo). The 7yo was with daddy and the 4yo was with mommy. On the last ride down the hill, mommy and the 4yo crashed into the loan tree on the hill....he tells everyone that mommy ran into the tree, and won't go down the hill with me anymore.

* our 2yo continually pats and rubs mommy's boobs, smiles and says "boobies". (should I be concerned?)

* when putting on a pull-up on for nap our 3rd boy said matter-of-fact "I like my balls"....and so it begins!

* when our current 7yo was 4 daddy became the head volleyball coach. Our cross-town rivals are called the "cobblers" which he mistakenly coined the "gobblers". They've been the "gobblers" in our house ever since.

*When that same kiddo was in kindergarden he got to experience Red Ribbon Week where they learn to "Say No to Drugs". At supper we were talking about the meaning and all the activities throughout our town for Red Ribbon Week. We asked him if he knew the meaning of the week, he looked up from his plate and said "Say No to Gobblers" (the "gobblers" are red by the way!). Loyalty runs deep!!

* we went to our oldest son's 1st swim meet. We walked into the building, sat in the bleachers, and our 2nd son looked around and asked "so where's Michael 'Phlelps'?"

Obviously, my 4 little dudes have all they need to know to rule this world!!

Friday, January 14, 2011

My Poo Doesn't Stink

I was looking and feeling quite fabulous this morning. Determined to rock my swim suit at the pool this summer, I have been consistently working out again...after a Christmas cookie haiku run amuck! The previous night I whipped out my Suzie Homemaker alter-ego and made homemade chicken noodle soup, cheesy garlic bread, and apple pie...ok the pie wasn't homemade, but I served it with a smile and ice cream...that should give me some "Betty Crocker" points. And this morning I have played with the my little two, cleaned the bathrooms, vacuumed the home, and rotated the laundry. Poo totally not stinking! I'm totally fabulous!

Since the last couple days have been spent in yoga pants and workout gear I decided to up the ante and don my smokin' hot skinny jeans, rock-star brown boots, sexy Rachel Zoe eternity scarf, and charcoal grey ruffled ruana. My self esteem was soaring confident that I was going to knock hubby's socks off tonight...in more ways than one (cue my bow chicka wow wow music). Not only am I looking hot, I am also on top of my game with supper in-process for my rulers and cookies ready to be baked for after-school delights. Again, I say, poo totally not stinking!

I'm flaunting my new-found sexy in my mirror as I apply smoky eye makeup and sultry, need-to-be-kissed lipstick when I notice something askew. There staring back at me was a smile.......full of strawberry seeds and blueberries from my breakfast! Pedestal....broken! Poo....smelling up the place! Humbled...to the core! My life is not a bowl full of cherries...indeed, it is sometimes just a bowl full of oatmeal. And everybody's poo stinks!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Femme Fatale

I have always likened myself to "the girl next door", the "best friend", the Meg Ryan character in a movie...hardly romantic and far from the sex vixen likes of Angelina Jolie or Samantha on Sex and the City. The trials and tribulations of puberty didn't leave me with a new found sexual prowess or confidence as I had hoped. Instead I was left with a boyish figure, far from well-endowed, and devoid of femme fatale capabilities. Wasn't that supposed to be the reward for suffering through puberty and the woes of high school? On the contrary, I was still a nerd; albeit an athletic nerd, but still a nerd, and one that was a far cry from the sexy librarian or the naughty school girl fantasy.

Is it something only the lucky are born with, luck of the draw, a case of good genes? If it isn't something you're born with than it must be an attribute that can be acquired, learned, or discovered. But I am still at a loss as to how I go about getting in touch with my inner Jessica Rabbit. I've never known how to use my feminine wiles to my advantage...and without looking like a complete buffoon while attempting that feat. And you can forget about my ability to be a dominatrix behind closed doors.

At times, I feel bad that my hubby didn't get the golden ticket when he married me. No mystery or oozing seduction...no charm that ensnares my lover in the bondage of ecstasy and irresistible desire...no hypnotic beauty and sexual allure. Nope. I've tried...and fallen down the stairs half (ok- barely) dressed in Pretty Woman boots; I've gotten the costumes but was barely able to get into character without my insecurities reducing me to a giggling pubescent teenager, and I've considered buying the Flirty girl dance videos complete with stripper pole and lap-dance routines. But my inner prude is holding me back, and I would probably get hurt on the pole.

How do I grab my inner Cleopatra and seduce hubby in every sense of the word? I let my guard down one time for a quickie in the laundry room...only to scar my then 10 year old who came seeking us out to see what we were doing. With four kids, spur of the moment rendezvous, take-me-now passion, and care-free middle of the day romps are few and far between and closer to impossible than I would like. By the time the "to-do" list has been tackled and kids are in bed...both of us are exhausted. Quickies aren't fun and exciting when they are the norm. And most nights sleep beckons my name with more allure than the arms of my lover!

How can I get my groove back when I never really had one to begin with? I don't think I ever possessed unbridled female sexuality. Is there a femme fatale hiding dormant just waiting to be discovered and released? That is yet to be discovered, and until I can find my Sirens mentality, I will continue to fall exhausted into bed with guilt that I am not fulfilling my marital vows. The balance of super-mom and sex kitten is a tough one to conquer. But hubby deserves a little bow chicka wow wow every now and then. So today I am desperately seeking my Aphrodite alter-ego! I need to embrace my Delilah-esque, seductive enchantress, and surprise hubby with my lascivious fires of love......only in a smaller-heeled sexy boot!

Monday, January 10, 2011

Recycling

My weekend didn't end as planned. Hubby was supposed to come home after a week (and a couple more days) of pre-deployment training with bottle of wine and supper in hand so mama could have a break. On the contrary, he arrived feeling sick and needing to sleep sans wine or supper. With him he brought a week's (and a couple more days) worth of dirty, trained-in clothes for his loving wife to manage...did I mention that my washing machine is making a very weird sound? My #4 kiddo wound up losing the wrestling/tackling game the boys were enjoying but gained a black-eye and a may-almost-need-stitches cut on his eyebrow. And my poor little #2 seems to have acquired a case of strep throat and needs a little extra lovin'. So in an effort to buy myself some extra time today I am going to resort to a  little "green living". Please indulge me as I recycle a previous post in attempts to put some order into the chaos that my Monday has become.


Is This It?

Wouldn't it be great to go back to high school...only for a couple days? No bills, no cleaning, no laundry, no tantrums, no "mom I forgot _____" (fill in the blank). I look back to high school days and remember the carefree fun that I got to experience. Ok- so there was acne (um, hello? Wasn't that supposed to STAY in adolescence??!?), tests, book reports, homework, girl-spats with friends...but what I remember most is having a blast and loving every minute of it. I knew I was going to change- no- conquer the world! There was no doubt about it.

Somewhere along my path something changed. Now, I sometimes sit on my couch in my sweatpants (they're coming back in style right?) and washed-enough-to-be-comfy t-shirt and think....is this really it? Is this the mountain I thought I was going to climb? Have I truly conquered anything? Would the world truly end if I didn't pick up the toys that are somehow reproducing when I turn my back? Will my brood of men be able to tell that I hung up the wet, stinky towels, or washed their smelly clothes--seriously, how come boys smell so bad!!??-or organized the activity calendar so we are at the right place at the right time? Occasionally I consider making our "To Do" list into a "Ta Da" list- you know, one itemizing everything that mamma bear has done, accomplished, taken care of, wiped and/or changed and fixed throughout the day.

Probably not. But about the time I start to grab for my stash of secret chocolate (we all have one so stop judging me!) my inner kick-butt mamma says- heck ya!! I can do the laundry, make the supper-heck! plan a week of suppers, clean up the house, help with the homework, entertain the toddler, get the kids to do their chores-and make them think it was their idea all before daddy gets home from work! How's that for climbing a mountain!?

I am the CEO of the best business out there! Sure I may not truly get to set my own hours- but I always wake up to sweet stinky-breathed kisses and the sleep-filled eyes of my smiling boys who tell me I look beautiful and that they love me "so so much!" I would rather work for that boss any day. So, I may not get to pee alone -ok, I would actually like to do that every now and then...30 seconds, that's all I'm asking for!-and my toddler and preschooler always have to look at me while I'm showering and tell me that my boobs and be-bo (that's slang for belly button if you aren't already a Sandra Boynton reader) are broken, the 7 year old recommends every workout video known to man, telling me "you need that, mommy" and my 11 year old is on the verge of growing up and maybe not needing me as much as I need him. Even with all that....I think I not only met my goals I set as a wide-eyed, unknowing teen, I waved bye to them as I sailed right past!

No one can be mommy to my 4 little guys as good as I can. I know their hurts, their fears, their joys, their goals....their smells! But I wouldn't want anyone else to share in these moments (ok, daddy can have some too!) I get to spend my days as the one they want to talk to- good or bad.....and that's good enough for me.

So high school can keep it's cat-fights, Friday night football games, and flirty days. These adult days are full of a lot less judgement, no homework, and lots of peanut butter smiles that scream thank-you!

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Itsy Bitsy Spider

I enjoy taking my two youngest on small outings (when the weather is nice- I don't leave once it's freezing outside) during the day. Sometimes the confines of our house and fenced-in yard don't provide any of us with enough stimulation or social interaction. And the boys really seem to enjoy going to the store and looking at all the pretty stuff. My four year old insists we are there to "buy evrysing" (and part of me would certainly enjoy that), but truly we are there simply to window shop and get out of the house before one of the three of us loses it!

That is just what my little dudes and I were doing last spring on a sunny, starting-to-hint-at-getting-warm day. Mommy gets a coffee at the Starbucks....and the boys drive me insane asking for drinks until I just relent and give it to them to fight over...and we browse through all the different departments that fill our shiny, glittery, local Target. Don't the glistening ads, shiny price tags, and bright red "SALE" signs that are trademarked to Target just beckon your name? No!? Well, they sing sweet-nothings in my ear! And I must heed their sweet call by searching, touching, wishing, pondering, putting in my cart only to re-shelve moments later. Target truly is an evil place, filled with evil desires...and it admittedly takes all of my will power and fortitude not to "buy evrysing" as we walk through the store.

Sometimes resisting myself these indulgences is quite exhausting. So by the time we finally exit the store leaving my desired treasures on the racks and screaming to be rescued, I am more than a little "spent". And on this day, it seemed to have taxed my judgement and awareness more than anticipated. I buckled both little boys into their seats as I repeated to myself "Good job, C. You don't need that adorable cami. Those on-sale jeans aren't really your style anyway. And those ballet flats....totally last season!" I was so lost in my own self-meditation that I didn't really pay attention to the car-jacker that was waiting for me just inside the driver's side. Nonetheless, he was waiting...basking in the warmth of the sun beating through the windshield...anticipating his attack.

Still inside my own head, I was clueless to the assault that was imminent. I put the car in gear and started to leave my House of Worship...promising myself I would return later...somehow, some way. When ..... "AHHHHH!" The attack was underway...and I never saw it coming. Screaming, swerving, and battling ensued as I slammed on the brakes! My heart was beating rapidly, my breath was sharp and intense and panic had taken over. I dove out of the vehicle only to realize my boys were still trapped inside....so I had to rescue them.

With all the bravery and courage I could muster, I climbed back into the vehicle determined to...................kill the spider that was taunting my family. Without a plan at hand- and fear taking over my ability to think clearly- I tried to capture it in a tissue- well, 5 tissues (I don't want his ooze to touch me!). But he was too quick and scurried across the windshield away from my reach. Since I couldn't squish him (he kept going down between the windshield and the dashboard), I decided I would drive home and Raid his arachnid bootie!

The entire drive, that devil-spider would creep out of his hiding place and promenade across the windshield distracting me from the task at hand - driving. I have no idea how we made it down the interstate, through town, and parked haphazardly in our driveway. Throughout the trip home, I watched that spider swagger across the windshield and sometimes onto the dashboard where he would bask in the sun...and his victory. Sometimes I would try to grab him with a tissue - ok, wad of tissues- only to scream bloody murder, swerve (at 65 mph) down the road, and watch him scurry just out of my reach. Fate...or luck...or guardian angels must have guided our path home. We most assuredly should have crashed! But we arrived "safely" in our driveway....albeit emotionally scarred from the near-death experience.

Hell hath no furry......like a woman saving herself from a spider. I rescued my children, and then Raid-ed the heck out of the entire vehicle. There was a white cloud pluming out of my van when I was finished. I can only hope that the toxic fumes got him since I was never able to spray him directly. And let's hope it didn't lay little mutant baby spider eggs somewhere inside....to attack me and gain victory (and avenge their mother's death) at another time!

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Best Gift Ever

I love getting gifts. I think all of us do....even if we don't admit it. We play the "you don't have to get me anything" card when secretly we are hoping for the newest, greatest, most amazing gifts and gadgets. I love gifts...I love everything about gifts...both the giving and the receiving. But, let's be honest, I really like receiving gifts (you do too, get off your high-horse!) Now as an adult, I don't get nearly as many gifts as I would like. There's too many kids in front of me in the gift-receiving line...and I was taught that it isn't polite to budge or push kids down.

My hubby and I don't exchange gifts for Christmas, anniversary, or other silly holidays...and most of the time, he prefers to go without on his own birthday since it is shortly after Christmas, and, let's face it, we were usually out of money. However, he insists on getting me birthday gifts and has always done pretty well in that department, I have to say. He does a great job at making my "day" a big deal (I think it's because I'm older than him...and he's just rubbin' it in a little). So kuddos to the hubby...he definitely gets a gold star for his birthday-present prowess. However, there is one gift that I have received that always sticks in my head...and it didn't come from my hubby (and there are some pretty great birthday gifts from which I could choose). This particular gift came in the mail - actually the post-man brought it to my door because it didn't fit in the mailbox - as a a plain box on an ordinary day...not my birthday, not a holiday, not my anniversary. Weird.

Let me backtrack for a second. At this time in our lives, we were very much "down on our luck", to say it nicely. Necessities were hardly met so anything that wasn't of the utmost importance didn't get purchased. It wasn't even considered. Very often, our suppers consisted of water and wish sandwiches. You know...2 buttered pieces of bread slapped together and called a sandwich. We "wished" there was something in the middle! Most often in times like these, it was mom and dad that went with out...and that's how it should be. But that doesn't mean that we still didn't have wants (and sometimes needs) that couldn't be met and had to be ignored.

Enter "the box". It was addressed to me...from my mom. OK. It had to be something for the boys...that makes sense. Grandmas always send their grand babies little out-of-the-blue gifts. So when I opened the box nonchalantly, and then casually looked inside...I was shocked, floored, taken aback, in a state of awe! That box was filled...filled, stuffed, almost overflowing...with socks, socks and more socks...for me! I was so excited! Currently I was juggling between 4 or 5 pair of socks all falling apart, full of holes and disintegrating from the shear number of times they had been washed. But socks for parents were considered a luxury...the cost of which surely could feed us for 1 or 2 meals...so replacing said torn and tattered socks was not an option. That is until my mama sent me an unexpected, completely thoughtful, absolutely needed box full of socks...that brought me to tears with appreciation, excitement and gratitude.

A simple gift...a simple deed...a simple moment...that met a simple need.

Monday, January 3, 2011

You Kiss Your Mama With That Mouth!?

Since the middle of December, my family has been suffering from and passing around a couple different mutant germs. These said germs seem to pick people at random and then ravage their body for a couple days before attacking their next victim. So we have become the quintessential "druggies", running around with an array of cold medicines, pepto, Vick's vapor rub, and displaying our best Scrooge impressions. Bah humbug, indeed, has rang true in my corner of Mom-dom.

Since being stuck in the house with the grumpy old men isn't as much fun as it sounds, we (being- mom and dad) decided to take our joyous, all-deserving crew to the movies. We are gluttons for punishment, if you were wondering. To "Tangled" we go, with our 4 boys in tow. Yep, we probably shared our germs with all in attendance...but I really could care less! They probably gave me some new germs too!

Our boys were great at the movie since they were truly excited to see it. And since we are a larger family, movies are a luxury...and treated as such. Popcorn and soda was indulged by all. Considering the cost of such an "extravagant" outing...one would think our crew wouldn't need supper once back at home. Ah, but you would be mistaken. The "what's for supper" demand came shortly after exiting the movie theater...after $20 + in popcorn and soda had just been consumed!

Once home, the older boys (and daddy) disappeared to the basement to partake in a little Wii while mom came up with something quick and easy for supper. However, I had other ideas and needed to check some things (read: facebook, twitter, and my blog) on the computer. Obviously, the toddler was left to harass me so as not to interfere with the Wii tournament now underway. And, I admit, I wasn't paying as much attention the little stinker as I probably should have been (don't judge, you do it too). So when he brought me his sweet little finger and jibbered something in a language that I don't speak, instead of looking up from my computer to address his issue I just kissed his finger.

I was actually going to put it in my mouth, but for some reason, I reverted to a kiss at the last minute. And thank God for that! Something made my chin and lips wet. What could it be? He was just toodling around in the kitchen...so who knows what that little trouble-maker had been into. But that little dude had a look of horror on his face as he stared at his crazy mama. I wiped my chin...still not looking up from computer...but then he screamed a horrible scream. I looked up and grabbed his hand. What is this green stuff all overrrr...Ahhhhhh! It's poop! It's poop everywhere! Oh my gosh I kissed it! AHHHHHHHH!!! Honey, honey get up here right now!!!

The baby exploded! There was poop from the nape of his neck down and out the bottom of his diaper. Oh, and on mommy's face!!! Yep, I kissed his poop. Heck, I almost ate it!!! Daddy had to come and rescue both mommy and baby who were both extremely traumatized by this point. Not only was my little man freaked out by the green poo all over his hand. But his mama kissed it!! Then she screamed bloody murder and scared the crap (ha- I didn't even mean to make that funny!) out of him!

The moral to this story...don't put things in your mouth if you don't know where it's been, and every once in awhile, look up from the computer!

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Blast From the Past

I didn't write a "year in review" post. I am not much of an advocate for New Year's resolutions, and I've only been blogging for 4 months....so a recap of my year's best seemed kind of silly. But I do think I have some great posts from my early blogging (that sounds so funny....it's only been 4 months...in all retrospects, I'm a rookie!) that didn't receive many (read-zero) comments.

If you would humor for a moment, I would like to share a previous post with you.

Children Wouldn't Survive
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