Take Me Out To The Ball Game

My family is never lacking for entertainment. Every adventure...either near or far...boasts of hilarities a la the dude crew! For the last two weekends, my all-male posse and I have traveled across the state to partake in a little (actually, it was a lot of) baseball. And by "baseball" I, of course, mean "staying in a hotel and relishing in the joys of their super fun pool! Since only the middle three dudes traveled with me my trip was almost a laissez faire vacay of sorts....with some baseball thrown in the middle. Fun was had by all...even those around that were privileged enough to witness our debacles, shenanigans and otherwise normalcies! 

Of course any adventure is not complete without a hiccup or two. Round 1 was marked by Mama Catcher forgetting Son Catcher's all-important-and-always-necessary nutcup! And I have since learned that not all nutcups are created equal. What I thought would be my crowning, mama to the rescue moment turned out to "rub" someone the wrong way. The moral of this debacle would be "if it ain't broke, don't fix it"! From this day forward, I will always stay with the brand of nutcup my son is used to, likes, and requests! Rubbed-raw-itis in the heat and humidity after game 1 of 5 does not produce a happy camper...or in this case, a happy ball player. 

Even our debacles have debacles, however. I enlisted some ball player dads with the all important task of purchasing some lube for my dude. I assumed that men would know more about my son's "junk" than me...a woman, and they were very eager to help my son with his issue. Apparently, however, something must have been lost in translation between momese and dadese because delivered to my hotel room door was a tube of............wait for it............cortizone 10. I requested Vaseline to lube my dude but anti fungal cream was the chosen remedy. Not wanting to question a man's knowledge of all things penis, I instructed my dude to apply the ill-fated cream to his delicate (and incredibly raw!) nether region. The horror that followed need not be mentioned in detail. I'm sure one's imagination will do the scenario justice. Needless to say, an emergency intervention was in order. What's a mama to do when her normal arsenal of first aid is not at hand? She improvises! Lip balm...Blistex to be exact...seemed to fit the bill. I swiped my lips one last time and handed my boy the tube with a "rub this all over your area" suggestion and a "DON'T PUT THIS BACK IN MY PURSE!" warning. I think it goes without mention that I will be changing lip balm brands...what once went down under should never again grace the presenceof my lips!

All's well that ends well, I suppose, and the burntastrophe was avoided....ok, not avoided per say but soothed! I have now been deemed, by myself and son, a penis expert! I am, after all, in charge of 7 penises...most men are only concerned with 1, and I'm not sure what I was thinking letting another person purchase anything for my son's weenie! So "Queen of the Penis" I shall remain. And it's a good thing, too, because the middle two tag-alongs continuously lost their "worms" (or as the 4 year old says, "my wom")  in the hotel pool...all the live-long night during our second baseball adventure! Through teary eyes, I was hounded, harassed, pleaded with for help, S.O.S.ed to death and interrupted constantly during my attempts to enjoy adult conversation to organize a search and rescue for the missing woms (I feel that I should mention that these worms and other dime-store crap were won at the arcade for the measly price of $20!)....much to the amusement of every other adult in our group. I was reminded that men are just big boys and every one has a "wom" joke to share! Here a penis, there a penis, everywhere a "wom" "wom"! Needless to say, night two at the pool was as wom-free as I could make it. 

For better or for worse these are the scenarios one will encounter when traveling with my crew. Once the burn subsided my ball player cracked a tiny grin about the "situation", and since being home neither of my middles seem at all concerned with their costly "woms"! All in all our trips were a success...and after trip one, no penises were harmed in the creation of this baseball memory!

Don't Be Tardy For Keeping Up With The Real Military Housewives

Even though our fate in this permanent-employment-seeking fiasco has yet to be signed, sealed and delivered we are inexplicably calm, cool and collected. Despite the very real prospect of my minion and myself living in one city while Lt Hubby resides and works in another dangles over our heads, I am more confident than I have been in a very (very, very) long time. Decisions and uncertainties are a mainstay in this home, and from what I have gathered after 13 years of being an "Army wife" this status quo is fairly typical for most military families. Typical or not, however, there are moments that change and transition, uncertainty and sheer exhaustion and the prospect of stepping out of our comfort zone aren't always what we bargained for. Life is tough, people! But I've learned (again and again. I must be hard-headed or something because this is a recurrent theme/lesson for me!) that slapping on a smile and laughing about the crap that happens in life seems to lift the spirits...even if only slightly. And, hey, (totally channeling my inner Si) slightly is better than not at all!

So...onward and upward; Keep on keepin' on; One step at a time! Whatever mantra you want to slap onto this made-for-TV special, our crew is tough and ready to take whatever this world has to offer. With that being said, I've had a revelation...an epiphany, if you will...of maybe a little something that my army of men and I could offer to the inquiring minds that want to know. From what I have heard, my family is fairly entertaining, and entrainment pays good money. Are you following me? You know where I'm heading with this right?! We are totally reality TV material! Seriously! Scan through some past posts...there is never, EVER a dull moment in this world ran by boys! We have drama, comedy, suspense, tragedy...and sometimes we are even a little sexy! I have little Kardashians in the making! 

People always seem to be intrigued with the ins and outs of military life. This would be a perfect way to let them have their fill. The tearful goodbyes, the exuberant welcome homes, the uncomfortable adjustments...our lives are perfectly scripted curtesy of  government overlords who are void of "after school special" emotions. I think we could be the next big thing!

Only one teeny, tiny, minor little problem. Reality TV families rarely stay together. They take a lot of hits from people that truly believe others need to hear their opinion, and America has never been short of stone throwers. I'm not sure my skin is thick enough to take the bad that would come with the good (good being the money that would accompany "fame" hence providing a solution to our not-sure-if-we-are-going-to-have-a-job-so-how-will-we-support-our-kids-and-pay-our-bills dilemma). So until we receive any such proposition we will have to resort to finger crossing, hoping for the best, and succumbing to the idea that mama may need to walk the streets in my stripper heels to make ends meet. At least my "bedroom boots" can see the light of day a little more often (well, to be honest, they've never seen the light of day hence "bedroom boots"...and street walking is usually left for the darkness of night...but I'm splitting hairs at this juncture!) 

See...I have a positive spin on all things!

Boys R Us

  In my realization that I am indeed becoming one of the dudes, I've realized that my home isn't equipped properly to handle the needs and demands of all-things-boy. What I used to believe was adequate in making a house a home I have now discovered isn't practical in regards to the male species. Pretty things, delicate or fancy decor, items meant for seeing and not touching or anything that cannot withstand being tackled, jumped upon, tipped over or stabbed with a pirate sword are not meant for a home filled with boys. I would love a home worthy of a magazine but that is hardly practical in my testosterone-filled world. 

I seek a renovation worthy to be labeled "Boy friendly". I want people to walk in and know this home belongs to dudes...and I mean that in a good way. I need a locker room-esque bathroom...one that can be power washed if necessary and containing multiple showerheads in a row and at least one urinal. There are 7 weenie whackers in my home...I NEED a urinal! If you only have girls or mostly girls you are probably laughing at my suggestion...maybe you are even questioning my sanity, but I'm completely serious! Boys are dirty, nasty, smelly creatures, and a hose-downable bathroom seems like an answer to a dude-mom dilemma. And a urinal (maybe even two!) makes complete sense to me!

Instead of a standard entryway, I would prefer a washable, stain-resistant room worthy of receiving 6 boys in all of their glory ever singly day. I'm thinking stainless steel from top to bottom that again can be hosed down. Springtime rain mud messes, snow and ice covered winter gear and the baseball field amount of dirt that accompanies my crew home after every stint at the ball fields wouldn't stand a chance in such a room. It would be a wash, rinse and repeat kind of home! And the idea has me all excited! But why stop there?! My kitchen resembles a natural disaster after meals. How simple would my life be if I could just power wash it and walk away!

I think my remodeling ideas have merit! What I need is some evil renovating genius to come in, take over, and make my house a boy home...complete with some kind of turf for my backyard (and maybe a padded room with Velcro walls, a ball pit, and maybe a punching bag). This is my S.O.S call to any of you HGTV/TLC/home makeover/hottie carpenter TV programming people. I need a dude-haven home makeover! If you need to let your inner boy out or get in touch with your inner rough-and-tumble, this challenge is for you. 

I don't even think these are wishful thinking indulgences...we are talking practicality here. Someone, anyone...how do I get my hands on a urinal?!

If You Can't Beat Em, Join Em

 It's become glaringly obvious that my girl time is not only rare...it's almost nonexistent. Even though I desire girl nights, girl weekends, or even a spa day with anyone with two X chromosomes, those dreamy ideas never truly come to fruition. They're but a dream...a wistful hallucination for which I secretly long. Alas, my connections with anything female tends to be few and far between, and the poor female sap that mistakenly engages with me in idle conversation usually tends to find herself trying to escape my death grip on the fleeting moment! I find myself clinging to her...desperately trying to win her friendship hoping she will want to hang out with me. I'm constantly searching for the chosen one that will be my partner in crime as we navigate this man's world all the while staying in touch with our softer, feminine side. Unfortunately, at this point in the game, most of the possible confidants with whom I feel a connection already have their girl posse in place, and very much like Fort Knox, adult girl posses are all but impenetrable to outside forces.

So I've resorted to forging into this all-male battle alone. Well, not completely alone...I'm surrounded constantly by all-things boy. Seven "things" boy, to be exact! Lucky for me, I don't really know any different anymore. After 14 1/2 years of  "the boy, the whole boy and nothing but the boy",  I'm fairly accustomed to the dude-dom in which I now dwell. In fact, one could say, I'm in my element...whether by choice or not is still undecided, but whichever the case, I've become quite versed, and fairly savvy if I do say so myself, with the boys in the hood! 

My knowledge of and comfort with the elements and idiosyncrasies of those containing the XY chromosomes is almost scary. Farts and other bodily noises haven't phased me in years. I'm fairly comfortable in a world of stink no matter from where it is emanating either north or south of the border. I've learned that food is more precious and valuable than air and am amazed at how much the male species can consume. Showering, I've discovered, is simply a formality forced upon dudes by their mamas. And laundry baskets are truly invisible to anyone other than a female. 

I'm not judging...it's just the way it is. What does have me somewhat concerned, however, is my desire to, in some ways, be like them! This is something I've noticed recently, and I'm starting to wonder if my second X chromosome is morphing onto a Y...kind of in the same way that girls who live together will start cycling at the same time. Occasionally, I've noticed a new tendency of  NOT holding in farts so as not to offend others. I'm breaking wind and bragging about it...and every now and then challenging my stinkiest offspring. I've long ago given up the need for personal hygiene...I'm hairy, stinky, and dirty, and I seem to like it like that. I often envy my male counterparts ability to not only poop in public but to not even care who knows. And I've even considered the idea of adjusting my lady bits without a second thought! 

I'M BECOMING ONE OF THEM!!! 

In the very near future there may be a need to stage a serious intervention...one that involves massages, pedicures, beautifully smelling lotions and potions, wine, dark chocolate, and fits of laughter with those that are of the female variety. I fear that without afore mentioned salvation I will need to be referred to as Chris (or Pat, for all of you SNL lovers from yesteryear!) because no one will be completely certain of my gender. 

Until such an intervention takes place, I will continue to cruise with my dudes hoping that my male mutation slows down. My estrogen levels may be dangerously low, and I worry that my fate may already be sealed. So I leave you with the same adieu with which my boys impart upon me...one that is of the silent but violent variety! 

Peace out peeps!

Dressed For Success

Every now and then I like to separate myself from the all-male herd with which I roam and adorn myself in such a way that identifies me as distinctly, without a doubt, female. I have an array of dresses, skirts, frilly tops, accessories, and cute shoes to match. They all hang beautifully in my closet...rarely touched...waiting for the day that I grace them with my presence. I've even fallen victim to the catalog-page illusion of that care-free woman strolling along a promenade in her crisp white, flowy sundress without care of dirty, sticky fingers. I have the dress...and it looks as if it would be beautiful to wear on a getaway weekend alone with Lt Hubby.

Anycrazydaydream, contrary to what anyone may have seen lurking around the ball fields, I enjoy putting on attire that may be classified as "cute" or "girly" and attempting to present myself as something other than frazzled, over worked and under showered. Unfortunately, it is a rare occurrence that some have likened to Big Foot sightings. It is not for a lack of desire but more appropriately, a lack of opportunity...or practicality.

On the occasional "Date Night" (read: few...far between...basically non existent) with my man, my favorite part is rummaging through my closet to find some of my cutest apparel that never gets to see the light of day. But, alas, that rarely happens. Chalk it up to six kids, crazy sports' schedules, Lt. Hubby's multiple work commitments, or complete and utter exhaustion! Whatever the culprit, my "going out" (with Lt Hubby or girlfriends) has been reduced to the status of Urban legend which leads me to attempt to wear my "good" clothes for my day-to-day adventures if I ever want to see what they look like off the hanger.

Herein lies the problem. Most of my "good" clothes are not kid friendly. Days involve chasing, grabbing, bending, holding, lifting, cooking, serving, cleaning, wrestling, wrangling, dodging...and this is just for the 1 year old! There are 5 others! They all demand food multiple times a day which always results in the need to either renovate my kitchen or just burn it down and start over. Any and every outing requires buckling and unbuckling and climbing into the back of the van to buckle another one who just "can't do it!" And with those outings comes the multitude of crap and necessities and accessories that need to accompany us in order to make the outing less painful and more of a success.

Mind you, I attempt to keep outings and expeditions to a minimum, but with the oldest two very much active and involved in sports that's an impossibility. Baseball games are nightly. We arrive with stroller, blankets and hoodies (just in case), bags of toys, sunscreen, sipper cups, water bottles, snacks (which they will refuse because the "session" stand calls out to them even though I specifically told them NOT to ask for the concession stand), bug spray, umbrellas (just in case), parental expectations (that will be defied and shattered at the amusement of others in the stands), sunflower seeds for the minion to chew (and spit usually splattering unsuspecting mommy), camera (which never gets used but needs to come along on the off-chance that I will be left alone long enough to snap a photo or two of the actual ball players that I am here to support), diapers, wipes, another package of wipes, and the slightest slimmest hope that I will get to have an adult conversation with someone that will give me the teeniest and tiniest glimmer of hope that "this too shall pass" and allow me the fortitude to do it all again tomorrow.

If I could accomplish all of this AND also arrive looking cute, I would be marked as a martyr for all mom-kind. Tshirts are not just a luxury for this job...they are a necessity. In all honesty, moms should have smocks, hairnets, and protective eye wear for our own safety. Heck, when we leave the hospital with our newborns, our "complimentary" (you know you're paying for that crap, right?!) diaper bag of goodies should include a hazmat suit for future use. "What Not to Wear?" CUTE CLOTHES!! I love me some Stacey and Clinton in theory but in on-the-job practicality they may have missed the mark (no offense Clinton...I actually have a huge, indescribable crush on you. I think it's my desire to have you dress me up and down like your own personal Barbie.) Wash and wear needs to be the goal when dressing for the day...we are talking about survival! And survival of the fittest will include washable garments, comfortable shoes to provide support and stability, pony-tail and some really effective deodorant.

Good luck and God speed mamas!