Baby's got a new pair of shoes

Is it considered in poor taste to call a 14 month old a "shoe whore"? I thought so. Regardless, that is what my daughter is. Bodhi Mae is obsessed with shoes. Hers, yours, mine, Daddy's, Maddox's. You got em, she wants em. When Bo first started crawling she knew that she liked shoes but didn't quite know what to do with them. So what my baby did was what any self respecting shoe whore would do, she put those puppies on her hands and crawled away. Fast forward a few months and now she is walking. Not only is she wearing shoes on her hands, but now she wants you to put them on her feet. Fine. That is not too much to ask, only she keeps coming back and wanting you to change them out. The most frustrating part for everyone involved is when she is wearing a pair she must find particularly fetching and doesn't want to take them off - she just wants to put on another pair right over them. Sister, you cant wear two pairs of shoes at the same time! Believe me I know the feeling of loving too many shoes, but screaming at the top of your lungs and stamping your feet is not going to help the situation.

It was all pretty cute and funny, albeit a little annoying sometimes, right up until the other night. Then Brian and I became concerned. I was dressed up to go out with some girlfriends for dinner and put on a pair of stiletto pumps I never wear (yeah, my life and heels....hahahaha, not happening) when all hell broke loose. At first I thought, because the sound of the screaming was so loud, that Bodhi had hurt herself. It was only when she had thrown herself on my feet and started ranting and grunting while desperately trying to separate me from my Charles David's that I realized that the little Shoe Whore was trying to steal my shoes. I fought her off for a few minutes only to realize that if she was in the same room as these heels I was going to get no peace until I let her wear them. As she is a little short and not that used to walking for four inch heels I opted for removing them and putting them up until my ride came. Needless to say, my husband and I, are concerned. Well, mainly my husband, is concerned. He foresees much shoe shopping in the future and says can feeling his wallet shrinking already. I, on the other hand, am only interested in one thing in particular. Please Lord, let us end up wearing the same size!

Becoming the Mythical Mother

I wish I could be one of those moms who always looks freshly shampooed, dresses in the cutest, latest fashions, has the cutest haircut (she never has roots). Her makeup is flawless, her car is always spotless and her dog never gets fleas. Her children eat organic. Hot dogs are strictly verboten. She runs her own business out of her basement – selling adorably chic children’s clothes, fabulous handmade jewelry, she has a basement. She has sex with her husband at least twice a week and plans their weekly date night. She works out religiously. Her floors are never dirty and you would not dare find a dust bunny the size of a men’s athletic shoe behind her couch. She always sends a thank you card and has her Holiday cards out two weeks before the event.

Oh, hell I could go on but I am starting to hate her. Mainly because I don’t fully believe that she exists. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to be her. But I have begun to think of her like I think of unicorns and dragons. She is more the stuff of Hogwarts than anything I might find in Gymboree. I think I thought of this woman as my model of Motherhood when I first started out. But I have to tell you trying to live up to that bitch’s expectations is exhausting! Yeah, fine…still want to be her. Okay, is it really bad if I can’t remember when I last shampooed my hair? Does dry shampoo count?

In my personal quest at “becoming the Mythical Mother” I must admit my personal care has been one of the things that have slid sideways…just a bit. Not completely mind you. I am not running around this joint green toothed and a head full of unintentional dreads. But any “Me” time has become the “Don’t want to look like something living under a bridge” time. If I find that mysterious and elusive “Me” time lurking in some dark, dust bunny littered corner, I use it to take an extra long shower. You know the one where you shave your legs, armpits and your bikini line. Body lotion is actually used and I floss. Before kids "Me" time was soooo taken for granted. Now if I am not careful lil' things just start falling away. This blog, well it slacked sideways a bit this summer too. It came last to pretty much everything else and normally I am typing with some pretty fuzzy legs.

Sometimes it is all I can do to keep the kids healthy, clean and happy. Then the housework comes next and so on down the line. If all that other stuff gets done in the name of becoming the “Mythical Mother” and there is still time left this house troll shaves her legs. Don’t ask me how I prioritize what gets done, I don’t have the answer to that, although I am sure SHE would hand you a perfectly organized and monogrammed day planner. I think all mommies have that friend they look at and think “how does she do it?” But I am willing to bet underneath the polished facade and that ever smiling face is one knarly bikini line. I mean nobody is that perfect, right?

Yeah, yeah, fine…still want to be her.

Cheese is the time, is the place, is the motion, cheese is the way we are feeling...

Cheese. Glorious cheese. I buy it in bulk. I am talking logs of cheese that would make a Wisconsoneer, (Wisconsonor, Wisconsonite... what exactly do you call people from Wisconsin? I digress...) proud. Why do I buy cheese in such vast quantities one might wonder. Because it is the mainstay of my son's diet. How the kid is not so bound up as to be rigid, the only fruit he will eat is bananas and apple sauce, is a miracle. But he is getting enough calcium by God!

Cheese is the answer to every question to which you might put to him.

Q. Where are you going?

A. To get some cheese.

Q. What are you doing?

A. Eating cheese.

Q. What do you want to be when you grow up?

A. Cheese.

Q. Why did you hit your sister?

A. She looked at my cheese.

He is a very interesting little boy. I never tire of watching him. Did I mention I am lactose intolerant... I am however looking into buying Maddie one of those giant cheese hats. This way he can not only eat it but wear it. I will be posting a pic as soon as it gets here.

Super Summer Slacker

Yes, I am the super-summer-slacker Mom. Summer has come and I have become incredibly lazy. Instead of keeping up with the blog it has gone the way of the scrapbook- if the computer could be dusty and underneath my bed it would be. Just as it would be used to jot down shopping lists and random phone numbers in the sad way that my journal died. My days have been a blur of slip n' slides, bouncy water slides, beaches and pools. Instead of writing all the silly, crazy, annoying, touching, bizarre things that my kids do I... repainted the living room, redecorated in a beachy theme and partook in midday margaritas while the kids played out in the backyard and on the sun porch.
I love summer. So now that I have rested I here my little update. Maddox and Bodhi Mae are brown as berries and have golden highlights in their hair. They are obsessed with pools and the beach. We touched a dead hammerhead shark the other day. I had nightmares, but for days Mad pulled himself across the floor using only his arms and screaming "I'm a shark! Aaarrrrr!" Bodhi didn't think much of the shark, she likes to eat sand. Of which there is a lot all over the floor of the house, but I am loathe to clean it up. It makes me feel like I am on vacation.

Bodhi Mae started walking shortly after her first birthday and luckily she had her Nonni (otherwise known as 'slave girl') to walk around the house with her in circles. She is saying 'Mama, Dada, woof, Maaaa' (which we think is Maddox- mostly because she walks around the house screaming it when he is from home) and something that sounds like 'thank you'. She is still a very serious little girl and likes to stare. She will look strangers up and down, head to toe, a good four or five times before venturing a smile. She seems to be a very old soul.

Maddox is, well, Maddox. He exists on a liquid diet and cheese. He screeches and says things like- "I'm busted brother!" and "That's the freshest!" He will spend most of the day pretending to be some kind of mythical creature or animal and will only answer you if you refer to him as his chosen moniker. For example; "Dragon, would you like a snack?" or "Snake-boy, do you need to use the potty before we go to the store?" The other day he started dancing to imaginary music in his head and shaking his booty like some girl from a rap video. Doubled over, hands on his knees, booty popping up and down like Beyonce. I am not sure when I should become concerned....we don't watch MTV.....hmmmmm.

Soooo, now I renew my commitment to my blog. I must remind myself that my poor children have no scrapbooks and that I am the crappiest journal keeper ever. Now if you will excuse me, I am off to inflate a gigantic squirting, bouncy, water slide, pool thingy!

The Second Child Syndrome

We have all gotten that email.  The one where they show the difference with one and then two kids and then three.  With the first one you sanitize the pacifier in boiling water first and with the second kid you run it under cold water, etc.  

I had so many, should we say, lil ideas about how I was going to raise my newborn.  He wasn't going to watch more than a half a hour of TV a day, would only play with wooden toys, eat only nutritious and healthy food (have I made you gag yet?), the kids would never eat in my car...oh the list goes on and on.

That email sure was right and I bow down before its truthfulness as I feed my 11 month old a mini Hershey's Chocolate bar while she and her brother start on some more Sponge Bob while playing with obnoxious electronic toys...did I mention my car is covered in puffs, Cheerios and Popsicle juice?

How does it happen??

Yes, how does it happen that when I take the laundry out of the dryer about 100 popcorn kernels come flying as well?  Was someone trying to make popcorn in the dryer.  Its not a bad thought really.  It does spin around and get really hot...

Sufficed to say this is not the strangest thing I have ever pulled out of the dryer and it definitely wont be the last odd thing that comes flying out of the dryer I am sure.  I used to fight things like this, now, I am good as long as it isn't alive and that is pretty much the only requirement...well that and the electronics (but he and I already had that convo.  Goodbye sissy's sound machine!).

Now if I had  this laundry basket/washer/dryer I wouldn't letting the kids anywhere near it.  It is just a concept for Electrolux that I stumbled onto online and fell madly in love...a girl can dream... 

The iBasket is a hamper/washer/dryer combo. The transparent iBasket stores your dirty clothes. Once filled, the automatic wash and dry cycle begins. After it has finished drying, the iBasket will send you an email or text message to let you know it’s done.

Bustin'

So Maddox comes out of his room playing with a choo choo train when he saw his sister sitting on the ground with Mommy playing with his piano keyboard.  He rushed up and began  to tug it out of her hands.

Of course I told him no, we don't take toys out of other people's hands.  Yes, I know it is yours, she knows it is yours.  Okay, that's it, if you are going to take this then you give her the train.  

Well, after a bit more of that he let his sister continue to play and strode off to his bedroom.  

Not 30 seconds later I felt a light tap on my shoulder and I looked up to see that Mad is back and standing over me with a quizzical look on his face and he says to me...

"Why you always bustin' on me?"  

Ummmm, say what?  Bustin'?  What the?  Where did you...?  Huh!?  Since I was rendered ridiculous he just turned and walked away.  He has since asked his father the same thing when he got in trouble for messing with the cat's water dish.  Bustin'.  Yeahhhhhh.... I don't know where he got it but I do know I will be cutting back on the cartoons my friend.  How's that for bustin'?

Me do it!

It has happened.  My baby is shedding his baby traits.  Everything right now is "me do it."  

He wants to brush his own teeth, put on his own clothes, wipe his own bottom (yeah, um, how do I get it across to him that Mommy needs to help or we will have a visit from Mr. Itchy Scratchy Bottom all day long?).

The upside is that now he wants to help me around the house.  He loves to vacuum and help put the laundry in the machines.  Of course now I cant vacuum without him chasing after me screaming "ME DO IT!" at the top of his lungs.  

How did this happen?  How did he go from Mama does everything to Mr. Itchy Bottomed Me Do It?  My husband says that I need to let Maddie have more freedom and let him do more things on his own.  But it is so hard to simply stop doing for the boy when in the past three years it has become automatic to take care of all things Maddox.  Now I am just supposed to stop or know when to let him do it on his own.  Ahhhh, cutting the proverbial cord is hard!

Its raining its pouring!

How long was the Donner party trapped in those mountains before they went crazy, starved and ate each other?  Ok, I know it was the mountains, they didn't really go crazy and to their credit they waited for those people to die and freeze before they ate them.  I only ask the question because it has been raining here for 10 days.  10 days.  Stuck inside with The Children.  I think capitalizing it makes it seem more ominous, don't you.  You, know, like...The People Under the Stairs or The Thing.  See I have gone completely wacky!  These kids wont leave me alone, we are so bored all we can do it pick on each other.

The good thing about being stuck inside so much is that you start to notice little things about each other you never noticed before.  You get to know the little idiosyncrasies, the little personal patterns and rituals, the small intimacies that make you feel you know them better than anyone.  Things only a mommy would notice.  Like the way Maddox insists on any lingering tooth paste left in the bowl has to be rinsed out before he can rinse his mouth out.  Or that he has lately developed a thick southern accent...but that is for another time. 

Since I have a lot of time on my hands trapped in this house during the down pour I affectionately call The Apocalypse I got to thinking.  Enjoying the kids little idiosyncrasies was what my husband and I used to do with each other.  We were it and that is how we bonded.  Each other was all we had to focus on.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my job and my husband enjoys his, but our relationship has always come first. Before babies we used to sit around and talk all day long about each other, what we thought, what we dreamed and make fun of each others little quirks.  Now I find myself looking at him and discovering something and asking "when did that start"?  Since when have you been parting your hair like that?  Since when do you wear cuff links?  You used to hate cuff links.  

Its stupid I know, but it bothers me.  That I know Maddox likes to put his pants on right leg first but I didn't realize that my husband had finally welcomed the French Cuff into his fashion repertoire.  Date night seems more important now than ever.  I still know my husband better than anyone does but boy is it a lot of work to make sure that other things don't start to escape notice.  Marriage is hard work, anyone who says different is lying or probably doesn't have kids.

PS

It has since stopped raining and I was able to peel the cabin bound children off me long enough to post this.  I missed you computer! Entertaining the Donner party for 10 days was exhausting.  I am never moving to Seattle or Forks.  

She bang, she bang...

I am constantly finding new and thrilling (insert sarcasm here) things about having babies that no one bothered to tell me about.  My latest find is what I like to affectionately call the Ubangi Booby Syndrome.  After having my darling children, the "girls" (another affectionate term, this time for the boobies themselves) look like they belong to a Ubangi woman, i.e. some one depicted on the cover of National Geographic.  Please, don't get me wrong.  Those women are beautiful, but their boobies, and now mine, all look like tube socks half filled with sand.  Mmmm, not the look I am going for here.  I want the perky little suckers (ewww, that is an unfortunate word to use as that is what caused the Ubangi syndrome in the first place!) I had before children.  Now my dilemma is do I spend the 7 grand it is going to cost to have a plastic surgeon bring me back to my previous glory?  Hell, for that kind of money he had better work magic.  Oh, the dilemma!  Oh, the vanity!  Oh, the constant wishing to not have to tape and push and pull the sad saggy girls into position when wearing certain items of clothing or finding it is just not possible to wear certain items of clothing without wearing the "girls" closer to my belly button than is desirable.  Wouldn't I be better served putting that money into the kids college funds?   Yes, of course I would.  Now if I can only figure out a way to insure one of them will end up as a plastic surgeon...

Photo Credit:  National Geographic

Drum Roll please....

And the WINNER of the CHIC BEBE BOUTIQUE GIVEAWAY is...

Catherine from Don't Bullshit Me

Congrats Catherine!  Just email me your address and I will have the Chic Bebe Boutique girls send you the gifty!

Of Sickness and Pedophiles...

So I was watching my stored up cache of Oprah shows on the DVR and my fear factor, which is higher than most every body's anyway, has just skyrocketed.  Thank you Oprah for focusing on my two biggest fears- sickness and pedophiles.  

Crap! You got me Oprah! That bladder infection that I wasn't really concerned about is now certainly turning into the flesh eating bacteria or MRSA.  I am going to have to spray my husband down with Lysol when he enters the house after work.   Since he works in health care he is most certainly covered in it.  

Oh Lord, Oprah! Why do you do it to me?  

I already think that anyone and everyone is out to steal my children when you come at me with even more tales of pedophiles! Most of them in my state!  Yes! Yes!  I emailed my Congressmen!  I will do whatever you want just start doing more Mommy makeovers so I can stop having nightmares about Pedophiles covered in flesh eating bacteria coming after my kids!!!  No, I am not sticking my head in the sand.   I talk to Maddox all the time about stranger danger and how private parts are called that for a reason.  This is something I worry about constantly.  I actually asked my husband if I couldn't home school the kids to avoid the sickness and the child predators since I am certain both are lurking around every corner.  Yeah, he said we cant have any more children.  He said he cannot stand to listen to me worrying about a third.  Whatever.

Now, if you will please excuse me I have to go hermetically seal my children in a bubble.  Right after I take them to be implanted with GPS locating devices.

Pig Flu What??

After seeing nothing but Swine Flu on TV this jaded wife of a husband who works in the health care field decided that the Swine Flu really did need a song.  Since I like to be silly and sing to my kids I came up with this little diddy sung to the COPS theme song...

Swine Flu, Swine Flu, watcha gonna do?

Watcha gonna do when it comes for you?

Swine Flu, Swine Flu.

Oink, Oink!

Yes, I have a lot of time on my hands.

Child Abuse! Child Abuse!

For some reason every time I take my son to the library he loses his frik frakkin mind.  Usually it is on the way back to the car.  There is something about that parking lot that I cant quite put my finger on... but what ever it is causes my boy to turn into, well, a crazed midget ninja every time.   I know 'midget' isn't nice, but he is one so there.  He is all 3 feet of crazed arms and legs trying to land a round house kick on the woman carrying a 40 pound bag of library books and a 20lb 9 month old.  As I go to strap him in the car he tries to head butt me.  Did I mention he is screaming at the top of his lungs?  Yeah, he is not going to go quietly.  When he finally does connect his foot and my face I lose my cool and start smacking his little thigh and shrilly tell him "Hitting hurts!  We don't hit!  Hitting hurts!"  Oh, yes.  I see the irony.  No need to point out the fact that I am hitting his little leg while screaming about not hitting.  But my face hurt from where he kicked me, I am sweating and there are library books strewn over the parking lot.  I am losing my shiz-niz here.  In my defense I didn't smack his little leg hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to get his attention and for him to stop kicking me and start trying to bite me.  Mmmmm, this is looking a lot worse in print... I truly am not a spanker...crap there is no making this look good.

Anyways, I finally get into the drivers seat still ranting about hitting and how we don't act that way and as I put my key in the ignition I come face to face with the woman who has parked in the space opposite mine.  She is staring in abject horror and all of the sudden I remember that poor Irish Traveler woman from years ago.  The one who got caught on the mall security cam going medieval on her kids in a van.  Oh, crap I am that woman.  I am sure she is taking my license plate number and calling protective services as I pull out.  

It is here I decided not to threaten spankings anymore...now we are going to call it Child Abusing...that's right "Don't make me Child Abuse you!"  "Son, if you hit your sister in the head I will Child Abuse you."  "If you run out into the street I will Child Abuse your bottom!"

A girl friend of mine says this way when they scream in a store- "Don't Child Abuse me!"  and run in the other direction, as you are trying to wrestle them back into the cart after they bean you in the face with a sippy cup, people will laugh instead of calling the authorities. 

All of the sudden I am feeling really sorry for that Irish Traveller chick.

We got trouble...

We got trouble, right here in River City.   Trouble with a capital T and that ryhmes with P and that stands for....Pain in my big white bahookie!  Sibling rivalry...oh, my we've got trouble all right.  Maddox is seriously having issues with a mobile little sister.  Anything and everything she touches is met with a "that's mine!"  and did I mention he likes to growl.  I'm not just talking about toys either.  I am talking everything from the vacuum cleaner to the throw pillows on the couch.  I think he is just ticked she is here.  Honestly, I expected this to happen when she came home from the hospital, not nine months later for crying out loud!  Delayed reaction much?

I would think that it was cute that he is always watching out for his sissy, except for the fact that he is always watching out for his sissy. 

 

"Don't touch that! Don't do that!  That's my Mommy!"  Oh, Lord!  What is going to happen once she starts walking?  He already whacked her in the face with a frog balloon just for moving towards it.  

Let's just go through the list of conversations that are repeatedly had with the Boy through out the day, shall we...

1.  The Sharing Talk

2.  The You Don't Hit Your Sister/Dog/Mommy Talk

3.  The Don't Scream In Your Sister's Face Talk

4.  The Where Are Your Pants Talk (A little off topic, but I have this one about 16 times a day so I thought I might throw it in there)

The poor kid spends his entire day worrying about what his sister is doing, getting, moving towards that I think he is going to, or already has had, a mental break!

Dude, let Mommy worry about sister, you worry about yourself.  For example: where the heck have your pants gone and what are you doing with that spatula?

My First Ever Give Away!!!

To celebrate the fact that SITS chose me as a Saucy Blog (I am overly excited here!) I decided to do my first ever Give Away and the wonderful girls at Chic Bebe Boutique were kind enough to offer up a prize!  

All you have to do is click here and go to  chicbebeboutique.com and sign the guest book (the link to that is on the far left hand side on the bottom).  Dont forget to leave a comment about their adorable products!  I will close the Give Away on Friday May 1st at 8pm and then pick a name at random and then a Chic Bebe gifty will be on its way to the winner!  Soooo excited!  Thanks to all you SITS girls for stopping by and thanks to the Chic Bebe girls for donating the prize!  

Intervention needed please.

"Welcome to Starbucks what can I get you?"

Mmmm, I'll take  a triple venti, two splenda, soy, latte and an intervention please.

Okay, so you know it is bad when your 3 year old pretends to drive his little car around the backyard while holding an imaginary cell phone to one ear and places a perfect Starbucks order to an imaginary Starbucks employee.

Yeaaaaah, I am going to want to put the phone down while driving and ween myself off the lattes.  But I warn you it isn't going to be pretty.  I am going to suffer withdrawal symptoms.  Bad.  Withdrawal.  Symptoms.  

This is seriously not my fault though!  Those Starbucks people are putting an addictive additive into their coffee.  I know what you are thinking.  Yeah, its called caffeine dummy!  No, it is more than that!  I think it is akin to crack!  Those  people are putting crack rock in their coffee!  I crave it.  My own coffee tastes nothing like it.  If I don't get it I still end up thinking about it all day.  I even have that stupid VIP card they offer.  Just so I can feel better about saving 10% when buying a $5 latte every morning after my workout!  Holy Hell, I am spending $5 every morning in addition to my gym membership!  My husband is going to kill me!

I would give up the coffee altogether but then who would take care of my children when I couldn't get out of bed?  It has gotten to the point that I drink that shiz all day long just to function.  And if the pot goes cold, well yippee we have iced coffee for later.  Oh, lord!  Is there a twelve step program somewhere?

"Hello, my name is Kari and I am addicted to Starbucks, my cell phone and the computer (damn you Facebook!).  While, I should be cleaning my house and making sure my son isn't stuffing rocks up his nose I am checking my email, drinking coffee and talking to my sister on my cell phone."

Like any good addict I am not going to go into the glass of red wine that has a standing appointment with me everyday at 5pm just so I can make it till Daddy comes home and not end up twitching and muttering to myself in the corner while my children set the house ablaze.....

Dear Walmart,

I am writing this letter to let you know that if I didn't have to shop at your store I wouldn't.  I am feeling  malice beyond the usual love/hate relationship that I have with you normally.  Please allow me to tell you why....

It isn't enough that you never open up more than 2 lanes even though your store is slammed.  And it isn't enough that you put all the As Seen On TV stuff and candy at the cash register for my child to man handle and beg for.  Nooooooo, you went ahead and put candy, gum, and crappy toy machines at the bathrooms.  Not only that but you put the bathrooms in the TOY SECTION!!!!!

Walmart, you suck.

Obviously you have never taken a 3 year old freaky lil monkey through the toy section when he already is cranky and about to pee his pants.  Yes, he would rather pee himself if it means he can catch one more feel of that Sponge Bob toy. 

How could you?  Oh, wait....I know how you could.  Because somewhere in some glass encased office at the top of some building your Exec's are sitting there in their really expensive suit and it came to them.  

"Hmmmm, how to get more kids into the toy aisle when their parents don't want to take them?? Well hell, kids always have to pee the minute they get somewhere!!!  We'll put the bathrooms right there in the toy section!  I am brilliant!  I think I will give myself another $500 thousand dollar bonus for screwing the parents shopping at  Walmart!"

Well, if it wasn't for your really good bargains and the fact that you carry just about everything so I can do all the shopping in one go (yes, I love being able to buy my spray paint, avocado's and shotguns all at the same time) I would never see you again.  

Sincerely,

One P.O.'d Mommy

PS  

I will see you tomorrow.  I forgot to pick up toilet paper.

PSS

I still hate you.

The Replacement

It has happened.  The thing I feared.  I am no longer the boy's BFF.  I was so touched when he looked at me with those deep brown eyes and said "Mama, you're my best friend."  I felt so special.  Yet, all at once it is gone. 

We were outside swinging on the play set (Auntie Lala- that is the rocket ship to you) and Maddox saw the kitty wander by and said,

"Hey, Linus!  You are my best friend in the whole world!"  Somehow that minimizes my best friend status.  Stinking cat.

Pee Pee Predicament

Okay, so the Boy has been using the potty for almost a year now and it has been really great to be diaper free.  I celebrated, hell, I took pictures when he first took a poop in that darn potty seat.  Why?  He was the most miserable kid when it came to changing his diaper!  I would let him get to the point where that bad boy was swinging between his legs it was so full.  I would literally have to sit on him and hear him scream bloody murder to get him to let me change it.  Freaky Lil monkey.  I mean who wants to sit in a poo filled diaper?  My son evidently.

So, like I say, I was ecstatic to be rid of the diapers.  That is to say I was ecstatic until about a week ago.  That is when Maddox started peeing the bed.  At first it was just an accident, but after the third night of wetting the bed all night long (and completely soaking through the pad that is supposed to stop this from happening) and not waking up I knew we had a problem.  So now his room smells like pee.  Fun.  I tried spraying the mattress with cleaner, sprinkling it with baking soda and nothing has worked.  But the bigger problem is Mad is no longer waking up in the middle of the night to pee.  He is sleeping right through for some reason.  Hence we are back to the Pull Ups.  Ugghh.  I am struggling with this hard core.  I feel like I am taking a huge step back here.  He knows it is not a diaper and I tell him "do not pee in this!  This is just in case you have an accident."  And he did wake up last night and go pee but that damn Pull Up was already soaked at 1am!  Why!!!  I thought it was annoying that he woke me up five times a night to use the bathroom.  Never mind that he uses it on his own all day long without me.  At night the boy wants an audience.  But this is just so much worse.  

The day I finally broke down and went to Target and bought more Pull Ups was the day he woke up having peed the bed all night long again and was so wet with pee that he had developed a rash where the elastic on his pants was rubbing.  I mean for crying out loud boy!  Don't even get me started on how he doesn't want to take a bath first thing in the morning.  Soooo, my choices are a 7 am bathtub wrestling match or smelling him and his stank (because at this point it stinks so bad it is like a separate entity and we should probably name it....I am thinking Duane sounds good or maybe Neville- those sound like nice stinky names)  until.....oh, about 10am when he finally acquiesces to being scrubbed!  Yeah, that's right, if we don't have anywhere to go some times I will let the boy smell like pee until I have had at least two cups of coffee and can face the screaming mimi that will be the morning bath. 

But, oh for the love of all that is holy, what am I going to do about the bed wetting!!!  I just know that Pull Up is going to be soaked......

Calm and Serene? Who me?

I was having a play date with a girlfriend and her children the other day at a hellish place called Ollie Koala's (basically a local kid spot in the Chucky Cheese vein) while I tried to eat and feed my daughter my son ran around completely not listening to me.  He would not come sit down and have lunch.  I cajoled, I ordered him, I was stern.  Finally I dragged him over and listened to him scream and try to scramble out of the booth.  I knew it was just going to get worse the longer he went without food.  But does he want to stop to eat?  No.  It got so heated that I had to take him to the bathroom to talk to him.  Okay, so I talked and he screamed at the top of  his lungs and flung himself around a public restroom.  By the time he finally calmed down enough so that I could take him back to be around normal children I was an inch away from having a panic attack right there in arcade hell.   
This is not me. Panic attacks, my blood pressure rising to the point I think my head is going to explode.  Are you kidding?  When I had my daughter I had some pretty strong postpartum depression and went on Zoloft.  It helped a lot.  I stopped feeling empty and distant from my baby and felt like me again...and then the panic attacks started.  I started getting up at 5 am to work out- thinking that exercise would help release some of the tension.  Sure I fit into my pants better but I am still struggling to stay calm in the face of my son's temper tantrums or constant whining, tormenting the dog, whatever it is all while the baby is crying.  It takes everything I have to not scream most times.  

I am telling my girlfriend this as my son freaks out on our play date and she sagely tells me-

"I don't believe in calm and serene without medication"

I love her for telling me I am being too hard on myself.  So, both she and my prescribing physician tell me that I need to adjust my sense of normal.  That there is a new normal now, one that involves two kids who are needy.  One that involves twice 

the amount of laundry, dishes, mess, and attention.  That is not to say that he didn't adjust the milligrams of Zoloft I am taking, he did.  But he also let me know it is okay to want to scream and freak out on the boy when things have been especially hairy and he is out of control.  Now I just wait to see if the meds will work and try to cut myself some slack and learn how to take deep breaths again.  That is after I drag my son kicking and screaming out of Ollie Koala's with one hand while carrying my daughter and a giant diaper bag with the other.

I gotta get me some Big Love

I was watching Oprah the other day and she was visiting the Waiting for Zion Ranch.  You know that polygamist ranch out in Texas that the government raided because of all the suspected underage marriages.  While at first the idea of polygamy is disturbing, it did get me thinking- as I folded my five hundredth load of laundry and surveyed my own little compound, which was littered with toys and magazines, the sink full of dishes and dinner waiting to be made.  I stood there all greasy and wishing for a shower, tired from dealing with a psychotic kid and a needy baby and I started thinking that it would be kinda nice to have another wife around this joint right about now.  Well certainly there would have to be some ground rules.   No long dresses and poofy hair- I don't know what that is about.  And then there is the issue of sharing my husband with another woman- hmmm, that probably should have come before the dress and the hair?  Anyways, the second wife would have to remember that I, as first wife, have hierarchy in Chez Jenkins.  Second Wife would get all my least favorite house chores- she would have to fold and put away the laundry, mop the floors and do the dishes.  ALL THE DISHES!  I on the other hand am happy to clean the bathrooms, dust, cook and basically do everything else.  But think about it- you want to go get your hair done during the week- that's fine, make Second Wife watch the kids.  You want to go out on the weekend for drinks with your girlfriends?  Vacation with your husband?  Oh, Second Wife!  

I am serious, if the mere thought of having to share my husband with another woman didn't make me want to bury him and the imaginary Second Wife under a concrete slab in the backyard I would so do it.  As it is I am thinking I am going to have to wait for someone to invent me a robot like our girl Rosie from the Jetsons.

A long time coming

I have been putting off writing this post.  I might even say that I have been too afraid to write it.  

But here it is, I am saying it out loud for the world to hear. 

 I HAVE AN EATER!  MY DAUGHTER EATS EVERYTHING SHE CAN GET HER LITTLE GRUBBY HANDS ON!  

Whew!  

I will admit that, not unlike one of those Chinese mothers from a Pearl S. Buck novel, I have worried that if I say that my child is a wonderful anything that the Gods will smite me. 

 "No, no, she is an awful eater, so skinny.  She hates everything." (Just a little protection, you know, in case those spiteful Gods exist.)

 After dealing with the starving Marvin that is my son, I am in awe of a child who actually enjoys eating.  Maddox would rather not be bothered.  If it didn't hurt to be hungry I truly believe he wouldn't eat.  In fact he largely finds any excuse not to.  I would find this strange except for the fact that my husband feels the same way.  Did I ever mention that there have been times after my pregnancies that I couldn't wear his t-shirts or boxers cause they were so small.  He's 6 foot and about 150 lbs soaking wet.  I'm 5'3'' and I couldn't get those boxer shorts above my knees.  Ouch, so not fair when your hubby's thighs are more slender than your own.  Did I also mention that he doesn't seem to age?  That he gets carded for lottery tickets.  I could buy a fifth of tequila and no one would bat an eye.  But I digress....back to my wonderful eater....

  

I worry that now that I have announced that Bodhi Mae is the best eater I have ever seen that I am tempting the Fates.  

So, with my own twisted neuroses, I am throwing caution to the wind and am going to write all about it....

Let me first say how much I love to watch her eat.  I love the little "Mmmmmm..."  sounds she makes as she stuffs her mouth full of peas and carrots.  I love that I have yet to find food that this kid will not eat.  Broccoli, collard greens, yes collard greens, asparagus, brown rice, chicken, cauliflower...the list goes on and on.  I love that when she is close to running out of food and is still hungry she squeals and starts banging her little fists on her tray until you give her more.  Did I mention that she only has two teeth?  She eats everything with only two little teeth!  

Bo refuses to be fed, she wants to do it all on her own.  And I must say she is quite adept too.  I wouldn't have believed it after Mad.  The boy who wouldn't feed himself until he was at least 2 years old.  But that girl can drink out of a water bottle and hold her own sippy cup already.  Give this child one of those Gerber cheesy puffs and she is happy.  

As a result of all this wonderful eating I have a chubby little princess.  Her chunky little butt just cracks me up as she hangs onto the side of the tub while I am getting her bath ready.  Maddox had no booty to speak of- when he was her age the skin hung off of it like a 90 year old man he was so skinny.  

It is such a simple yet amazing thing to have a kid that eats and is happy and interested in it too! I am sure my girlfriends and family are sick to death of getting phone calls that are singularly about what my daughter is eating..."Yeah, you heard me, she is eating pineapple!  I am watching her put it in her mouth by herself! Oh my god!  She just ate a carrot chunk!"  

I have been blessed.  I think that those sick and twisted gods must have given me Maddie and his sad eating habits so that I would sing hallelujah when my daughter came along.  What ever the reason I don't care!  I am thrilled to find new things to feed that kid!  Next on the menu...Thai food!

Yes, I am THAT Mom...

Last weekend we did a impromptu visit to Disney World and I did the unthinkable.  I put my kid on a leash.  Granted it looks like a friendly little monkey backpack, but it is still a leash.  I am now that Mom.  If you too are that mom, know that I used to mock you, I used to make fun of you and look down on you. I used to talk about you. I used to say that I would never, ever be you.  Now I am you.  Ain't karma a bitch?!  

Yes, I suffered the looks of disapproval and laughing.  I heard people plainly talking about my kid on a leash- not even bothering to lower their voices to keep me from hearing them.  So you know what I did?  I handed that leash to Brian and pretended that I didn't know either of them.

No.  Actually I held my head high and proceeded to enjoy letting my little man walk next to me without having to worry that he is going to make a break for it.  Say what you will, but that dreaded leash was really nice.  Luckily Maddox is still too young to understand the irony of that monkey on his back.

Warning!!@#$%@#

Mandarin oranges should come with a warning label.  Something like this would be appropriate...

Warning- these tiny, little, unassuming, oranges may cause your baby's butt to explode.  There is a very good possibility that you will spend time cleaning bits of poopie orange out of your child's hair as the possible/probable butt explosion will be so large it will migrate up the kid's back and into the nape of the neck.  You will gag.  Please be aware you are likely to experience anger at the oranges.  Please try and remember it is a fruit and be happy your child is ingesting fruit at all.  Thank you, the Mandarin Orange People.

Can you tell I am not used to cleaning up after a kid who actually eats something other than hotdogs?

The best present a Mommy could get.

When my parents travelled to New York City on vacation last year they brought Maddox back an I Heart New York shirt as a present.  For some reason kids love these shirts.  Maybe it is the giant red heart emblazoned on the front, but both my nephews loved them when I gave them to them and Mad's friend Evan has one and he loves it too.  
Maddox loves his so much he wanted to wear it to bed last evening.  It was so dirty from a day of hard play that the thing was standing on its own.  As I cajoled and begged for him to take it off in favor of some construction truck jammies he changed the conversation (as he so often does when he wants to avoid doing something I ask of him).

"Mama, I have present for you," Okay I'll admit I was intrigued, as a rule I do love presents.

"What is it, baby?"

"I'm giving you my heart, I am taking my heart off!"  He looked down and tugged at that giant red heart on his shirt and pretended to rip it from his shirt and hand it to me.

My eyes welled up with tears as I hugged him a little too tight.  

"Maddieeeeeee!  That is the best present you could ever give me!"

Yeahhhhhhhh, so he slept in the dirty shirt.

Does that kid know how to play me or what.

A new one act play...

Coming to a theater near you-  the all new one act play "Balls" starring that titans of tantrums - Maddox and that Zany Lady of Zoloft- Mama! 

As we open our scene Mama is getting undressed to enter the shower, she is careful not to make eye contact with the forces of evil known as "mirrors" while naked.  

Enter Maddox:  "Mama, is that your pee pee?"

Mama:  "Yes, Maddie, that is my pee pee,"

Maddox:  "Mama, where are your balls?"

Mama:  "I don't have balls, Mad.  Girls don't have balls."

Maddox: "Oh.... we need to buy you some at the store,"

Mama:  "Sorry, buddy, they don't sell those kind of balls at the store,"

Maddox:  "Why not?"

Mama:  "Ummmm.....oh, hey, do you want to play with my eye lash curler?"

Maddox- face gleeful at the thought of playing with previously forbidden makeup 

item immediately forgets the previous conversation:  "YEAH!"

Mama makes a mad dash for the shower as Maddox exits clutching his prize.

The End.

Stuffed Up

What is it with kids and sticking things up their noses?  I just had to pry a pebble out of my son's honker.  Last week his teacher at playschool had to do the same with a cheerio.  What exactly is it about the nose that attracts small objects like a magnet?  My son is certainly not alone in his fascination, or compulsion, to stick things up there.  I too am guilty of "stuffing" as it were.  I think I was 4 and the offending item was a Barbie tea pot top- we were half way to the hospital when I worked that pink plastic top out of my snout. As a toddler my husband evidently thought that knowing M&M's melt in your mouth and not in your hands, wasn't good enough.  He decided to see if they melted in your nose...turns out they do.  And it isn't just noses.  My sister once shoved and earring back into her ear canal.  I don't remember what the fascination felt like, why it seemed like a good idea at the time to jam something up there.  Maybe cause it fit just so...maybe my boy just likes to hear me say "how on earth did you get that up there?!"  Whatever, it is certainly is interesting to see what he will jam up there next.  Let's just hope the next time doesn't see me driving a screaming kid to the doctors office because I cant get a die cast monster truck tire out of his beak!

BFF

As much as my son and I butt heads and I think that I cannot wait for him to emerge from this difficult stage that is the terrible 2's...ummm, okay 3's....I also want him to stay a baby so very badly.  Just when I think that I cant take another tantrum, another fight over, well, everything, he looks at me with his big brown eyes, hugs me and says,

"Mama, you're my best friend,"

Seriously?  Don't ever grow up.  Don't grow up and forget that you loved to play dance party with Mama.  Don't forget that you used to call me "Mama" and not Mom (said in some exasperated tone).  Don't forget that you used to think all my jokes and funny faces were hilarious and not embarrassing.  Please don't forget that all you wanted in the world was for me to lay in your bed next to you until you fell asleep.  Don't forget that Mama could fix anything and everything with a kiss and a hug...don't stop wanting those kisses and hugs, don't stop wanting to hold my hand or sit on my lap.

Next time I am taking the boy to get his hair cut somebody please remind me how quickly my little man will grow up and soon I wont be his BFF anymore.  

Sniff....Okay, I am off to watch my best friend sleep, listen to him breathe and pray that for just a little bit longer he will think of Mama as his "Best Friend". 

Hair Cut Hell

My son has been sporting the surfer/skater look recently.  This wasn't a fashion statement.  He could care less.  I am not even sure he knows that he has hair on his head, let alone that there is a style to it.  The reasoning behind his increasingly long locks is simple.  The boy detests getting his hair cut.  It is an exercise in terror.  Mainly for myself and the poor people at Sports Clips.  Now, let me be very clear -I have read the parenting books and scoured websites for advice on how to make the haircutting experience a less stressful one and somehow these techniques fall short of working with my son.  

Last weeks haircut went something like this-

"Hey, Maddie!  Guess what!  Today we are going to get your hair cut!"  I say this in a saccharine sweet voice, dripping with as much excitement I can muster.  I am trying to make this sound like he is getting the treat of a life time.  

"No, I'm not getting my hair cut,"  he tells me flatly.

"Now, Maddox, if you are really good for the hair cutting people Mommy will take you to Putt-putt golf!"  

Mad tilts his head to the side thinking and then says "No, I'm not getting my hair cut."

My books all tell me not to worry about bribing your kid for good behavior because the important thing is they are doing the good behavior.  But what do you do when your kid could care less about the bribe?  He would rather freak out!  What do you do? 

Well, I will tell you what I did.  I shaved his head.  

I know it sounds cruel, but the boy left me no choice.  I had brought in a picture of a cute little doo.  Buzzed on the sides and enough hair on the top to style it spiky.  But when your kid is flailing around, screaming and spitting at the hairstylist you really aren't left with many options.  This is the second stylist as the first refused to cut the boys hair.  

There I was basically sitting on my child, trying to hold him still.  Bodhi Mae is in her stroller, screaming because Maddie is screaming.  And after several attempt to get near my son with the clippers the barber flat out refused to continue.  Well, you can only imagine my sweaty humiliation.  My child, who was also sweaty from thrashing at this point, has so much hair he cant see past it any longer and since he refuses to let me brush it walks around with a rat's nest in the back.  He has got to get it cut or soon I will be putting it in a ponytail!  

But, seriously, I am being thrown out of the place who's most expensive cut is $14 bucks???  As I throw my child over my shoulder like a screaming sack of potatoes and try to muster what dignity I have left while pushing the stroller one handed towards the exit I hear the voice of an angel.

"I'll cut that baby's hair!  You bring him over here Mama.  We'll get him cut!"

I look over to see an Amazonian woman standing by her work station.  She sits us down and has me sit on the boy again and then using hands the size of dinner plates went to town with the clippers.  There was no styling, this poor woman was just trying to get it even.  Mean while Maddox is screaming, mouth wide open and full of hair.  I am trying to calm him down, but really, what can you say at this point.  I know, some may say I should have just left when the first guy refused and tried again at a later time.  But I didn't.  I had her buzz the kid.  After

 she was done I got up and set Mad down.  I tried to brush the hair off of him (he had refused to let her put the cape on us, so the amount of hair covering us both was considerable) but he set off running.  I thought he was making a break for the door so I ran after him.  There he was squatting in a corner of the waiting area screaming at the top of his lungs- "I wanna go!  I wanna go!"  

You and me both, kid!  I paid my fourteen dollars and tipped that Amazon $10.00 and high tailed it out of there.  

So, my skinny little man looks like he just escaped from a concentration camp, but at least there is no fight in the morning about brushing it and washing it has become less of a trial as well.  Did I mention he screams about that too....that will have to be for a different blog.  I am exhausted just reliving this one.  I will have to post a pic as soon as I am fully recovered from the ordeal.

What's in a name?

When I found out I was preggo one of the first things I did was go out and grab myself a baby name book.  I was so excited to talk about names.  I would spend hours with my name books and a highlighter.  It was like I was back in middle school.  I would surround myself with sheets of paper, lovingly writing out names over and over.  The only thing missing was my New Kids on the Block Trapper Keeper.  Full names, just the first, the first and the middle together.  I would write notes to the names, just to see how it looked in a sentence.  I would imagine my little one writing their names at the top of a spelling test, on an art project.  I was in love with the naming process.  I was in love, but at the same time this was a heavy responsibility- naming someone.  They are going to have that name for the rest of their lives!  I will say there was a wee bit of headiness that went along with it too. Someone should have told me that would be the last thing I would be able to control about the baby.   

Now, I am a girl who likes an unusual name.  My own name, while not unusual by any means, does have a semi-unusual spelling.  Growing up as a kid there was no getting "Kari" on a personalized key chain.  Of course looking back I am not sure why I wanted said key chain.  But I digress.  My point is when I started the naming process with my son I "tried on" several names.  I would go around for weeks at a time calling the little guy something new.  All of them unusual names and from this I learned a very important lesson.  Don't tell anyone your baby name unless you want to come face to face with the stupidest comments you will ever hear coming out of strangers, your friends, your loved ones, your family, or the mailman's mouth!  I mean it.  If I were you I wouldn't even tell your family members.  People will say the most awful things and not even realize they are being offensive.  It is amazing.

When people find out what you are having or even that you are pregnant they will inevitably say "have you thought of any names?"  Sure, it is the next logical question after "when are you due?"  And I get it, they want to know who this little person is going to be.  What I don't get is why they feel it is okay to tell you how stupid or ugly or unusual (note- this is the same as stupid when they have a pinched look on their face while saying it) your baby name is right to your face.  I mean, when they walk into a meeting at work and someone introduces their coworker- "So and So I would like you to meet my friend Wynter (one of the "strange" names I tried on for my son)."  Do you look at the person and say "Uggh, Wynter?? Really??  Wynter?"  NO!! So why on earth would you look at a pregnant, highly emotional woman, (one who could possibly bite your head off, pour a concrete slab over your insensitive body and lie straight faced to the police without blinking an eye) and say "Ugghh"  about her baby name?

I wonder.  Do people think it is okay because the name is not set in stone?  Do they think that because the baby is not here, that it is not real yet?  Better give them the benefit of the doubt and say they are not thinking at all.  Yes, better to look at their pinched faces and say "Yup, Maddox (insert your baby name here).  Uggghh, right?  But you know we really thought that torturing him with a unusual name was the way to go."  Then tuck your napkin into the front of your shirt and bite their head off.

The Stinky Eye gave him the Pinky Eye

It has finally happened.  I have been saying it was gonna happen for months now.  Mr.  Can't Keep His Hands Out Of His Pants has given himself PINK EYE!  Is there a dirtier child anywhere?  No, I don't believe so. Joy of joys, the poor boy cant go to school or see his little friend Evan- which is like water to the monsta.  Should make for an interesting week.

On a side note.  I am currently unsure if he has transmitted the dreaded gooey eyeball to me or if I am having a psycho-somatic response and that is why my eyes are itching. Just wait until he gets a load of the burning eye drops that I will be picking up from the pharmacy later.  Perchance this will get him to keep his hands from constantly fondling his junk?  Huh, long shot there.  It is going to take two parents to hold Mr. Thrashy Pants down for the eyedrops of doom.

One question.  Why is it always my kid?

Its been a hell of a day at sea sir!

It was one of those days.  Maddox has a sinus infection.  It is on the mend with antibiotics and he is better each day but still having some crankiness.  So on Friday, the day of his class Valentines Day party, it was a struggle to get him dressed and into the mindset of leaving the house.  After a couple of fits he and Daddy were off to school toting a box of heart shaped cookies and some Mickey Mouse valentines for his fellow students.  Unfortunately his day didn't pan out so well.  It went something like this...

Once at school Maddox fell on the playground and scraped his face incurring a large bump on his forehead.

If that weren't enough he proceeded to stuff a Cheerio up his nose.  It took his teacher quite some time to coax it out again.  

By the time Mommy came to pick him up he had reached his thresh hold and was OVER it all.  Several fits later he was home and out for the count.  

Nana came over to sit for him while Mommy and Daddy did date night (Yippeee!) and Maddox proceeded to lock himself and Nana in his room....for 2 hours.  Luckily Bodhi Mae was already down for the night and didn't wake up.  Mommy will take full responsibility for this one.  It was me who turned the lock around because I got tired of him locking himself in his room.  Yeahhhh, well now he locks other people in there.  

Turned out that Nana and he had gone in there to get ready for bed and my little man didn't quite feel like it so he turns, slit eyed and evil grinned, to his Nana and before she can shout "No!" he locks the door and slams it shut.  Poor Nana.  Locked in the room with the "monsta" and no way out.  Maddox evidently started to freak out after he told Nana not to worry about the locked door, "it's okay Nana, just open the door."  

"What?  Are you crazy?  You just locked us in here.  I can't open the door.  No, don't cry Maddie!  No, don't have any water.  Please stop screaming!  You are going to wake your sister!"

Like I said, two hours later and that poor woman has broken two hangers trying to jimmy the door and is contemplating peeing in the trash can.  She had to wait till Maddox had passed out to attempt her escape as everytime she tried Mad would push her out of the way, plastic screw driver in hand, claiming to be able to do a better job.  Why do I have a feeling of foreshadowing.....someday some woman is going to blame me for this behavior.  Ha! I have proof he was born this way Missy!

Well, just before Brian and I pulled into the drive she escaped.  It had been one stinker of a day.  I am wondering if she is going to come back???

Hug your babies

I just want you all to drop what you are doing and go hug your babies.  Go ahead, I will wait....now that you have hugged them tight be thankful they are healthy.  I came across this blog the other day, http://themcclenahans.blogspot.com/ and it has completely devastated me.  This couple has just lost their 11 month old little girl, Cora Paige, to cancer.  She was brought in for an ear infection and some other strange symptoms and diagnosed with cancer.  Two weeks later she was gone.  I don't know the Mcclenahans, but I can only imagine the pain that they are  in.  I haven't been able to think of much else lately.  So, all I can say is no matter how frustrating, whiny, or angry the kids might be I know that these parents would give anything to have that with their little girl.  I am going to try and remember that more often and practice more patience with my babies.  I am going to hold my babies in my arms and feel their weight and realize how fleeting these moments are.  I am going to remind myself when things are absolutely hectic and I am about to have a panic attack because I don't think I can take anymore just how empty my arms would be without my babies.  Just how much I would ache to hold them in my arms, to hear them cry, laugh or even whine...I am going to be more grateful.

Mourning sickness

Morning sickness.  In a way its wonderful.  It means you are on the beginning of a wonderful and exciting journey.  Your body is telling you that you are changing, you are fostering life.   Even your doctor will tell you it is a good sign, that your pregnancy is taking.  And then again... it is a misery.  Once the first flush and excitement abates you cant wait for this good sign to go away.  If you are anything like me you were sick to your stomach right up until you were 3 or 4 months along.  Maybe you were or are sick even longer.  My poor mother in law was sick all 9 months with both her babies.  

Bet you never thought you could be so ill that your toes, finger nails and even your hair would feel nauseous.  Even scent can even set you throwing up.  Smells you never even noticed before can make you toss your cookies.  Suddenly the world is a very stinky place.  I couldn't do the dishes without gagging, although my husband was convinced that I was making this up to get out of dish duty.  But I swear to you I could be on the freeway, windows rolled up, driving 75 miles per hour and smell the cigarette smoke from another vehicle  5 cars away!  So sick to your stomach that you cant think of anything else.  I refused to eat anything that wasn't white.  Don't ask me why, white food was the only thing that didn't sound like it was going to come right back up.  

And it really isn't morning sickness since you can have it anytime of the day or night.  I would venture to say that we should respell it mourning sickness.  Because in a very real way, no matter how excited you are to be pregnant I believe our bodies are in mourning.   We are mourning for the way our bodies used to look, our freedom, our sleep, we are mourning the loss of our sanity (damn hormones).  We are mourning because the minute before we peed on that stick was our last moment without worry.  We will never be alone again.  So our doctors can go on and on about changes in our chemistry and hormones, but I for one am under the firm belief that subconsciously we are mourning for the change in our life, no matter how exciting and joyful.  No matter how long we tried to get preggers.  

All of this being said...the minute you hear that baby cry, the moment you hold him or her in your arms your mourning sickness becomes a hazy memory, a badge of courage and honor. You will slowly begin a new kind of mourning as you realize this sweet creature you and your honey created is going to someday grow up.  That someday, all too soon, your little one wont need you like this anymore.  They wont want to be held and cuddled.  And before we turn around they will be driving off.  And that is the real mourning sickness.  So I guess I can kinda understand that Dugger woman and her 18 kids after all....

The Frustration Train

There seems to be a recurring discussion amongst my girlfriends which involves their husbands and the topic of patience.   Or rather what little we have with our children.

My own story goes something like this...

My son has been on the war path since he got up in the morning.  The day has consisted of whining, a variety of fits, refusing to eat, refusing to nap, refusing to get dressed, more fits, and finally Daddy walks through the door.  Now Mad is ecstatic to see his father so he runs to him gleefully throwing his arms around daddy's legs.  I feel like, if not necessarily look like, road kill.  So when we sit down to dinner and Maddie refuses yet again to eat and begins to whine.  I snap at him.  Its not pretty, and I am not proud of it, but it happens.  The only whine I want at that moment is Cabernet.  My dear sweet husband turns the look of disapproval on me and says aside to me that I am being a little harsh and that I would do better to practice more patience with the boy.

OH MY GOD!  I don't even want to admit to you that I lost my shizniz.  

"You try staying with the kid for 10 plus hours and see how patient you are.  You are here for 5 minutes, of course you are going to have patience with him.  Get back to me when you have put up with it for another 9 hours and 55 minutes.  You know, babe, I was a completely different person when he was acting like this first thing this morning and yet, some how, over the course of the entire day I have lost it.  So yes, right about now I am riding the frustration train.  Your son is the freakin conductor."

What I really wanted to say went something like this- "Shut up and eat the dinner that I made while holding our 6 month old on one hip while keeping your son from bludgeoning the dog to death with a foam golf club.  I am taking this bottle of Cabernet to the bathroom and will not be coming out until 1. I am a prune and 2. both these children are in bed.  Peace out!"

This aint no beauty treatment

As far as I can remember no one every told me that having kids would do wonders for my complexion.  This being said I would distinctly remember if some one would have told me that I would be getting on the road to looking like Danny Devito.  Sorry to you Danny, but you would make an ugly drag queen.  

Lets see here...I gained an obscene amount of weight and then couldn't get the last ten pounds off after each child.  So there is 20 extra pounds towards Danny-dom.  

Around the time my son was 4 months old I started losing my hair.  That's right, male pattern baldness, up front.  I know, everyone goes through periods of hair loss, but not like this.  I am talking hand fulls of hair falling out here.  Even my hairstylist said something to me.  You know its bad when the woman who does hair for a living thinks that something is wrong with you.  

Yup, it ain't no beauty treatment.  Lack of sleep and worry causes dark circles, wrinkles, and grey hairs (if you have any left).  I don't get to wash my hair, let alone style it, as often as I would like.  My hands are peeling from washing and washing from all the diaper changes and boogery noses.  It looks like someone drew all over my rump with a red Sharpie- oh the stretch marks, what I affectionately like to call "kid graffiti".  I am developing a Maddox wrinkle between my eyes.  This is a wrinkle caused specifically by my son when he does something that makes me frown or worry.

Don't get me wrong, I love my babies more than my life, let alone more than my vanity.  However.... it seems unfair that while I continue to spiral down the fun house slide of sagging skin, botox, grey hair, and I'm not just a member I'm also the president of baldness, my husband continues to get carded for lottery tickets.  Punk.

Six Random Things

So my friend M.  tagged me in her blog, http://talledega.blogspot.com/and named six random things about herself and I am supposed to do the same.  Hmmmm, you wouldn't think that this would be so difficult.  Okay, here it goes Six Random Things about the Mommy....

1.  I still sleep with my baby blankie.  Yup, you heard it right, I never gave it up.  My husband and son have learned to accept it and know not to touch it.  I snuggle under it every night.  The flannel side has to be facing me and blankie must be tucked under my chin before I can sleep.  I don't travel with my blankie for fear of it getting lost or stolen.  That's right people...the maids at hotels are always on the make to steal a 30 year old ratty blanket.

2.  I am a plan-faker.  Let me define that for you.  I love to make plans!  I make all kinds of plans to go out.  It could be dinner, shopping, drinks, a party....you name it and I am game.  Well, right up until the hours before hand and then it is all down hill.  I would rather stay home... I could be using the evening to clean the baseboards, or to organize my collection of BH&G magazines.I start thinking of anyway of getting out of going.  Don't get me wrong, I always end up going and having a great time.  I just have to go through the motions first.

3.  My New Year resolution is to have an clean kitchen sink.  Since I hate doing dishes there is constantly a pile of them in the sink and that is just gross.  Not to mention unsanitary.  Oh, crap I just broke my resolution....there are dishes in there now!

4.  I think life would be much better if it was a musical.  There it is....I am a closet singer.  At home, in the car, the shower, while making dinner.  My poor husband has learned to turn a deaf ear.  Maddox however would like me "stop singing Mama"!  Bodhi Mae likes it though and will go all giggly when I break into "Think of Me" from Phantom of the Opera.  Maddie just smiles when while brushing his teeth I sing to them.  I sing all day long, most of it off key.

5.  I have weird allergies to all sorts of things...latex, penicillin, codeine, beer, milk, Jamaica, sodium lauryl sulfate- which is in everything from toothpaste to face soap and shampoo  (I do use toothpaste- but it has to be low foaming and stupidly expensive because of it, otherwise my lips and gums threaten to fall off).

6.  I hate surprises.  I can't stand not to know.  Anticipation is the worst, whether it is something fun or daunting.  Anticipation makes me sick to my stomach regardless of what I am waiting for.  Wait- maybe I am just impatient???  Crap! Okay so instead of clean dishes maybe I need to learn to be more patient.....

Waiter there is a kid in my soup

The other day my girlfriend Christine and I took the kiddos to lunch at an Applebee's down the street.  While I am not a huge fan of this restaurant it is kid friendly and they have lunch specials.  While Christine's son Evan sat quietly eating everything put in front of him, my child struggled to get out of his seat, wouldn't eat any of his lunch (I don't know why I bother to order him food at restaurants.  I think I just like to throw money down the drain...) and started screaming at the top of his lungs when I informed him that No he couldn't get down every one else was still eating.  

Please be aware that I carry what I like to call a boredom kit in my baby bag.  We are talking coloring books, crayons, stickers, books, trains, cars, you name it and I have it in that damn bag.  But was he interested in any of that? Noooooooo!  He wants to get down and inspect the fake tree behind the table.  I know what you are thinking, let the kid down for a second, look at the frikkin tree and be done with it.  But the kid was being so annoying that people at other tables were telling me to slip him a mickey.  It was happy hour after all, 2 for 1.... hmmmm a margarita for him and one for me....

Don't bother calling CPS, I didn't give him a drink.  Wanted to, but I didn't.   Instead when Evan was allowed out of his seat and standing nicely at the end of the table Christine suggested that I allow Maddie to join him.  Thinking that they would stand there together and play I relented and unleashed the beast.

BIG MISTAKE!  

And we're off!  It's Maddox out in front!  He's running down the middle of the restaurant, past the waiter....Mama is following close behind, oh poor gal looks pretty harassed!  And its Maddox making a right hand turn into the kitchen!  You heard right- the Kitchen!  And it is Mommy close behind, and she has a hand on his collar and the chase is over!  

Let me tell you the kid is fast!  So, there I was red faced saying hello to the kitchen staff as I struggled to pick Maddox up and get out of there.  

Note to self- Maddox is not to be let out of the high chair.  We may even have to wait a few years before we take the lil monkey back to a restaurant.

It is tough to keep him entertained anywhere but the Hotdog Hut at this point.  Mmmmm, I do love the Hotdog Hut.  So I guess that's okay too.

Munchhausen bi-mommy

There is a funny balance between being a concerned mother and being the frequent flier at your pediatrician's office.  I find myself being of the latter kind.  I don't hesitate to pick up the phone and bug the kid's doc, in fact I am on a first name basis with the reception crew.  I know that they are annoyed by what some would call my "new mommy syndrome".  My husband says that I see pneumonia in every cold, and a genetic disorder in every growing pain.  I probably am over cautious when it comes to my babies, but they are my babies and I make no apologies.  I will gladly shell out that co-pay in exchange for some peace of mind.

So, when recently Bodhi Mae caught a cold and developed a nasty cough on the tail end of our family vacation I knew we were going to end up at the doctor's office.  Her cough worsened and she started sounding wheezy while in the air.  As soon as our plane landed I called the pediatrician and got her in.  

Let me first say that I love the kids doctors.  They are always open!  24 hours a day, 7 days a week!  They even have a mini E.R., so if the kids need IV fluids I can go there rather than the hospital emergency room.  This was a Saturday so it was wonderful to not have to worry about taking her to a walk-in clinic but to be able to see one of her regular doctors.

Taking Bo in I wondered if this was another case of my over reacting.  Would they tell me it was nothing but a cold and tsk, tsk, at my over reaction.  We have been sick in this family one way or another since October and I was starting to worry that they might think I am a Munchhausen mommy with these kids.  Like I said, my co pays are keeping this office open.

Well, as it turned out Bodhi had bronchitis and was really very ill.  Her doctor spent quite a bit of time listening to her lungs and turned to me and surveying me over his glasses said in the most condescending and disapproving tone, "This baby has bronchitis!  She is very sick!"

Well, no sh*t!  Huh, I brought her in on a weekend after traveling for hours for the fun of it.  This is exactly what I wanted to be doing after being away for 9 days and dragging two kids through two airports.  Why do you think I brought her in if it wasn't for thinking that she was probably really sick.  

 He then informed me that she had a fever and to be honest I couldn't tell.  It was 100.2 and the best part is if I had called and given them her symptoms and told them her temp they would have told me to watch her and that her temp was within the normal range- call them back if it went over 101.  Where is my happy medium?

My rant boils down to this- you are either too concerned and they wonder if you are a problem mommy, the over-reactor, or you are not doing enough and your kid is going to fade away under your care.  So, over reacting mommy signing off in the hopes that my kids can stay healthy long enough for me to forget what the inside of my pediatrician's office looks like.

Who wears the pants in the family??

For some strange reason I cannot keep pants on my son. I think I may be raising a nudist. Is it still a nudist if he is wearing a shirt and socks? The disturbing thing is, and he will kill me later for relaying this, Mad has discovered his junk and will not leave it alone. I call it his "junk" because I am not one of those moms who wants to hear anatomically correct terms coming out of the mouth of a three year old. It bothers me. Maybe it is the high pitched voice?
Around here we call them balls, my sister's kids call them jimjim's (don't ask, I don't know why). We call it a corn hole, my sister's kids call it "the wrong spot" (I told you not to ask, I still have no clue over here). Call it whatever you like, I just wish I could get him to leave it alone or at the very least go someplace private inspect the junk and then remember to wash his hands before touching anything in my house.
Today I found him have a raucous time dancing naked from the waist down in front of the mirror in Bodhi Mae's room. The Junk was swinging and Maddox thought there couldn't be anything cooler than the peepee two step. And it must have been cool because I had the fire going I was so cold and I had my pants on.
My biggest problem is how am I to keep this kid from getting sick or giving the rest of us pink eye when he has his hands down his pants, or more often than not, is pant less and discovering his junk? Do you think I could tape mittens to his hands? Ah, who am I kidding. My husband discovered his junk ages ago and he still likes to do the peepee swing dance. Don't kid yourself ladies, you know your man likes to show you the peepee shuffle on the way to or from the shower. Come to think of it...they never stop putting their hands down their pants. Think Al Bundy. They all love to sit on the couch with one hand down the front of their pants watching football. The longer I raise my son the more I realize that while they get taller they really, truly never grow up. I don't care....I am fighting the good fight against the inevitable. Now where are his damn pants?!

That aint no dog that's my baby!

When I first got my dog Lucy it was love at first sight.  She was wall-eyed and tiny, a face only a mother could love.  I did absolutely everything for that dog.  When my husband, my then boyfriend, moved in to my place he was astonished to find that the dog could not jump up onto or down off of the couch.  I had always picked her up and tended to her every whim.  Needless to say out went the pink bejeweled collar and the spoiling of the pooch.  But she was still my baby.  When my sister talked about how much she hated her cats I was shocked.  Those animals had previously lived a life of luxury as the babies of her household before my nephew Jack was born.  Now she couldn't stand the sight of them.  They shed, the litter box made a mess, and  the Doctor blamed them for Jack contracting thrush.  The list of why she detested them was long.  

When Jen very gently tried to tell me that when I had children I would feel the same way about Lucy I balked!  How dare she!  My love for this dog was unfathomable.  I loved my dog just as much as she loved her son!  She obviously hadn't loved those cats as much as I loved my Lucy.  I told her as much! I told her this in no uncertain terms and not quite as nicely as I should have.  

So when my son was born I was determined that Lucy was going to keep her place as our first born.  Yeah, the best laid plans.... 

She had always barked when someone knocked on the door, but now it woke up Maddie after I had to rock him to sleep for an hour.  She had always shed something terrible, but now it ended up in my newborn's mouth.  She had always slept on my lap but now I just wanted to be left alone- I had been holding a baby all day long.  She thought all stuffed animals were hers, and now she was using my baby's toys to chew on!  She was digging in the dirt after grasshoppers and it was no longer cute how dirty she was.  Bath time was no longer fun- no, now I had to bathe a filthy dog on top of everything else!  And then wash all her hair out of the tub while holding a screaming newborn. 

 Lucy's place as best loved dog was nothing but fur in the wind.

The worst part is she knows it.  So when recently I told Maddox to get his shoes on because we were going to Granny and Granddaddy's house Lucy jumped into action.  She loves going to the Grandparents house- they spoil her like I used to.  But this time I couldn't take her with us, we had errands to run and I didnt want to leave her in the car.  After chasing her out of the garage at least three times, we pulled out of the drive listening to the mad barking of a jilted animal.

When we got home instead of jumping up at me and barking hello Lucy went slinking under the coffee table with her tail between her legs.  

"Okay, where is it?" I said knowing there was a little surprise waiting for me.  I checked on the mat by the back door- her go to place when she can no longer hold it.  She doesnt poo in the house often but sometimes the girl just cant help herself if we are gone for long periods of time.  But wait - there was no poo by the back door.  I checked the bathroom...no poo.  Hmmmm, she didnt get into the trash and there is no poo in any of the usual places so.....and that is when I saw it!  

"OH MY GOD! WHAT? WHAT THE? WHAT?" I screamed as I stared, open mouthed, at my kitchen table and the big steaming pile of poo on top of it stared back at me.  That's right, she had pooped where I eat! If that isn't a big F*** you I dont know what is!  I think that if she were capable of jumping up onto my bed she would have pooped on my pillow too.  If it wasnt the fact that she managed to poo on top of a magazine that had been left on the table she wouldn't have lived to bark again.  I honestly would have skinned her alive if I had to get rid of my kitchen table- I just know I would never be able let go of the idea of eating off a surface that had once held Lucy poo.

As it was she didnt come out from under my bed until the next day and by that time I had purchased The Cage.  She now spends a fair amount of time there and to be honest I think that she feels safer now.  Lulu has a place to hide from Maddox and from my wrath which ranges in topics from her shedding, barking, and to her very existance.  Deep down inside she is still my baby and from time to time I find myself feeling guilty- especially early in the morning when she is snuggled next to me all warm and puppy like.  She wakes up and looks at me with that walleyed  face, full of unconditional love, and it is then I remember that at one time she wasn't just a dog, she was my baby.