jibba jabba and stinky feet

Oh, hi.

2011-02-07T16:45:00.000-08:00

Been awhile. I am fresh out of my usual clever wit today but I will be back. Soon. Meanwhile, feast your eyes on the awesomeness that is my group of tiny humans.

When having brown eyes is a bad thing

2010-05-11T12:46:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,
I am sorry your the only one in the famly with brown eyes. The good news is, your still in the famly! Hopefully you have a good mothers day and I promise to do what ever you tell me to.

Love, [the eldest]

P.s. I hope your feet don't stink!

Also, both boys expressed their gratitude for a mom that is so nice because "she plays video games with us all day long." I must have blushed when the preschool teacher showed me the middlest's drawing and sentence. She replied with, "It's when they say they love watching their parent play video games that's the problem. " Sweet, Super Mario Brothers gets to stay!

The strike is over

2010-04-27T09:31:00.000-07:00

and I have a heavy heart. The same teachers that were trying to block students from coming to school yesterday were welcomed back with flowers and smiles today. I, on the other hand, was glared at and snubbed as I walked my son to school. I now get to finish out my years at this elementary school as "the mom that crossed the lines". I don't regret my decision at all and will accept the continued intimidation. A friend told me that she had never seen my kid so happy at school as when I was his teacher. This is all worth it.

But! The scale has been tipped toward homeschooling once again. We'll see...

Day 3 as a scab.

2010-04-25T12:51:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday, our teacher's union decide to strike. The teachers in our district were asked to leave their classrooms and stand out front, in a show of solidarity, to let the community know that they believed they had been wronged by the governing school board. These teachers were faced with a tough decision: Strike with their peers or cross lines and teach.
Last Tuesday, I was called and asked to substitute teach. I had a decision to make: To cross lines and teach, or to stay out of it. Staying out of it caused another decision making ordeal: would I send my kid to school across picket lines. Teaching meant that my kid would have a decent sub (me) and that his peers wouldn't be left to sit in the multi-purpose room all day because no one stepped up to teach. The decision was easy. My kid wins, always.
I was to report to school at 6:45. By that time, there was a group of picketers already assembled. I had to cross their lines to do my job. I know these teachers and they know me. I was taunted and yelled at as I tried to make my way into the parking lot. I had teachers stand in front of my car and block my entry. I hadn't expected this reaction and I was so disappointed.
Once inside the school, this were organized and calm. There were 8 teachers that had stayed behind for various reasons while their colleagues were just yards away holding signs and doing what people on strike think they're supposed to do. They knew that they risked much by staying in the classroom but they did it (and continue to do it) anyway. The day went off without a hitch. My goal was to make sure that these kids felt no effects of the adult situation even though their teachers had earlier blocked their parents from dropping them off. Kids were confused and scared but soon calmed and had a great day. We are fortunate to have administrators and teachers that had planned and organized so well. The kids came first once inside the walls of the school. Refreshing.
I have been so conflicted about taking sides and by sabotaging the plight of the teachers by crossing lines. Panic and anxiety have dominated my thoughts and have trickled down to my son. I hate that this is happening and that kids are seeing a negative side of people they trust. It's disheartening, to say the least. I've thought of backing off and calling in sick. Then I wouldn't have to take sides. My life would certainly be easier.
God is good though. Today in church, our pastor brought up the strike and talked about not having to take sides. SO true! My allegiance isn't to the teachers or the school board or to the union. My heart had been grappling with that concept for days! Whose side was I on? This made it easy: My heart is with those kids. As long as they show up for school, I will be in the classroom. If I hold my head high and stand firm, I will not regret anything. And I will be teaching my son a lesson as well. I had been panicking and hiding and he saw it. No more. For if God is with me, who can be against me? This political issue has become a God issue. Amen!

The Phantom Hot Dog

2010-03-07T21:25:00.000-08:00

The other day I went to work with the kids in Oldest's classroom. I thought I'd be an awesome mom and brought him a hot dog, all warmed up and foil-wrapped, and stick it in his lunch bag. I didn't tell him what I'd done because I was really proud of myself and really, how cool is it to have a warm hot dog show up in your lunch? Next to your peanut butter sandwich?? Score!!!

I was still proud of myself after school when Oldest came home in a great mood. It had to be the hot dog. Had to be. So I asked him about it so that he could thank me and hug me and we'd have a sweet moment and I could re-display my Mother-of-the-Year-plaque.

Yeah, he never ate it. I was dumbfounded. How could you not eat a delicious, warm hot dog that mysteriously shows up in your lunch?? How?

He replied, "Mom, would YOU eat a random hot dog that showed up in YOUR lunch for no reason? I thought some kid shoved it in there. I wasn't gonna touch that thing."

Lesson learned: The element of surprise, when hot dogs are involved, is not such a good thing.

This one ain't for the faint of heart.

2010-02-19T08:14:00.000-08:00

Reason 1: You may die from this cuteness.

Reason 2: the above picture shows a grown Pink Baby with a vocabulary well beyond that of a 12 year old girl. Well, a 12 yr old with a baby voice. And the things that PB comes up with are quite imaginative.

Case-in-point: She has an obsession with TinkerBell. Everything she thinks of is somehow labeled or prefaced with some TinkerBell reference.

1. She thinks she goes to school- TinkerBell School. Lord knows what kind of learning takes place there.

2. Her food is all TinkerBell food. "TinkerBell _________ (insert anything: doughnuts, rice, nuggets, steak...)

3. All of her shoes are her "TinkerBell ones". Not one pair depicts TB in any way.

I'm sure you get the picture without me having to bore you with the rest of the details but I will leave you with one last one. The best one. The one that may make you die from laughter or make you strike me from your friends list because it's that strange.

4. When taking a bath with the middlest recently, she brought up that she does not have a penis. (this actually comes up a lot since she is surrounded by boys and their parts) I'm sure you can see where this is going. So I say, "No baby, remember YOU don't have one and that's how it's supposed to be." To which she replied, "That's okay, Gramma's gonna bring me one tomorrow. It's a TinkerBell penis and she has it in a baggie for me at her house."

I'm really in for it with this one, aren't I?

Breaking the streak!!

2010-02-11T11:44:00.000-08:00

The Mr. said to me the other day, "You know, you haven't posted since August." This conjured two thoughts: 1. Shoot, he reads this thing and I need to mind my p's and q's, and 2. Dang, I am a lazy blogger. Need to do something about that.

I am breaking the streak with a good one.

Speaking of the Mr., today marks 15 years that we've been together. "Fifteen?! How can that be possible, you ask? You must have met in Kindergarten!" I know we seem far too youthful to have been in a relationship that has spanned a decade and a half.

In fact, we did meet in kindergarten but sadly, I moved putting the kibosh on any sparks that may have developed then. God tried again when in the early 90's and we found ourselves in middle school together. Nothing came of that except the memory of having apples hurled at me and that one time the freckle-faced kid was pushed into me by his buddy, nearly knocking me over. (We girls know what those things really mean.) Finally, God tried one more time by putting us in a night class together. It wasn't love at first sight since he spent most of class time flirting with my best friend at the time. He now says it was part of his strategy to "confuse the enemy". Nice try, Babe. You were just a big fat flirt, and wait, what's this "enemy" business? What it the same "enemy" that cooked you that fat steak dinner last night?

I spent the better part of a month trying get that freckled kid to call me after class had ended. I guess he was playing hard to get. It took a good amount of manipulation on the part of my current best friend (Thanks K!) to get us alone long enough to decide we liked each other. We unofficially decided on the 11th to be "going out" (what does that term mean anyway? Do kids still say that they are "going out" or have I just made myself sound ancient?).

Valentine's Day 1995 was our first big date. I can remember what I was wearing and how nervous I was. The coolest thing is, that 15 years later, he can still make me nervous and I am way more attracted to him today than I was back then (Sarah's School of Cool for Nerdy Boys helped tremendously).

Our friend Paul (or Paularino as our kids know him) has a song on his CD that makes me think of my freckled boy. In it Paul sings, "I'm right here, no matter how far. I'll always be... the boy that won your heart".

My heart has definitely been won over. For good.

Shoo, Ice Cream man! No bodder me!

2009-08-23T14:09:00.001-07:00

This a dual-purposed post. I'm combining my dislike for our local ice cream truck entrepreneurs and my sassy Pink Baby's new phrase vocabulary.

A friend recently asked me what the PB's word count was at. I really have no idea. 100, 1,000? I'm not trying to talk up how smart my kid is, I am merely trying to paint a picture of my daily word intake, why my brain is almost always mushy, and why I may not return your phone calls, like ever. Too Many Words.

The PB is a sass and a half (a sassy senorita as Kendra would call it) and is constantly telling us where something is, or isn't ("[Oldest] not in his room." [middlest] es over der") like a dang play-by-play you didn't ask for. I love it and it makes me want to squish her up but 3 talkie-talkertons x's seven million words a day makes me a little nuts. Her current phrases include, No Way!, No! Jose!, Shoo fly, no bodder me, Get OUT!, Holy Cow!, and a version of the ABC's that almost sounds like one long word and gets hung up on W. (QRSsssTUVeeee, W....w...w..w..W!)

Part two:

The ice cream truck duel. One is bright yellow and is driven by a nice Latina. It has an alien eating an ice-pop painted on the side and is by all accounts, the type of truck I occasionally let my kids buy from. It isn't scary and I really doubt she'd sell any popsicles laden with staples or razor blades.

The other is, well the type that we steer clear of. I'm sure the person at the wheel is a nice gentleman but I'm not giving my kids the chance to find out. The reason isn't that he's scary. It's the scary song he blasts by mega phone that keeps us indoors. I wish I could record it but I'll do my best to re-create it here:

It's a music-only version of "Oh Susanna" with a hose whinny added in for effect. "Oh Susanna, oh don't you cry for me, {NEIGH, SNORT} I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee.{WHINEEEEEEE, clomp clomp}"

It repeats over and over until your kids are so confused, they forget the dollar and run outside with a rodeo hat, chaps and a carrot. A carrot ain't going to buy you a Sponge bob Popsicle with black gum eyes. No sir.

My sister's mother-in-law (got that?) used to tell her kids that the ice cream man turns on his music when he's out of ice cream. :) I'm thinking of telling mine that horse sounds coming from an ice cream truck mean that a horse is in there eating all the ice cream and you better stay back because he'll nip at you too. I'm setting them up for therapy later on, aren't I?

"Don't worry Mom,

2009-08-12T20:04:00.000-07:00

when I say that he's stupid, it's not bad. I only mean that he's like really dumb and like, not smart like me."

Oh good, I thought we were going to have that talk about humility again.

So...

2009-07-31T21:52:00.000-07:00

I was thinking it was about time to bump Mr. Mays down the list but I cannot seem to wrap my brain around any one thought long enough to get it typed out. Plus! My camera is so full of images that I am scared to look through one for fear that I will catch "blogging diarrhea" and not be able to stop my posting.

Trust me, they don't make cyber-meds for that type of affliction. You're better off.

R.I.P. Mr. OxiClean

2009-06-29T08:45:00.000-07:00

Of the recent rash of celebrity deaths, perhaps one touched our hearts and home more than the rest. The death of Mr. William Mays, pitchman for such infomercial products as OxiClean, Mighty Mendit, Mighty Putty, etc. left us with a huge hole in our hearts and a shelf full of products bearing his likeness.

To bring to light the effect Mr. Mays had on our household, I only need to recount several recent conversations that took place under my roof.

The middlest and oldest:

"Man, you're going to be in so much trouble when Mommy sees that stain on your shirt."

"Don't worry, she can get it out with the amazing oxygenating power of OxiClean."

"Hey, [Middlest]! You broke my toy!"

"Oh, don't worry! We can fix it with Might Putty! It's as easy as 1, 2, 3! Cut, knead it to activate and then we can fix your toy! It holds up to 350 pounds!"

"Hey Mom, that fwag (flag) is wipped (ripped). They should bwing it down and fix it with Mighty Mend It. It can withstand huwicane-force winds!"

And the Husband:

"Hi, Dad here, with another amazing product! It's called Dad Clean. When your dad is super stinky, use this powerful product to get the stink out!"

And, to bring it home, the middlest who has a firmer grasp on his faith and what death means said, "Mom, I hope the OxiClean guy left some OxiClean here for us to use. And also, I hope he took some with him. God could reawy use it to get His cwothes whiter and cweaner. It will boost the laundwy soap he was alweady using."

Have you met Mike?

2009-06-25T11:15:00.001-07:00

This is Mike

(the yellow one)

Mike and the pink baby are inseparable. No one knows the origin of the name "Mike" for her blankie, but you have to admit, it's unique.
The only problem we've run into with this arrangement is when we're in public and say things like, "Do you want to go snuggle up with Mike and take a nap?" That sounds a bit weird, even to us.

We heart Craigslist!

2009-06-15T15:49:00.000-07:00

A week and a few days ago our dryer took a dumper. Grandma has been so nice and has laundered our dirties and shuttled them back to us (gotta say that hiring a laundry service is not a terrible idea). We have no money to allot to this type of expense so Husband got all brilliant and listed 3 big-ticket items Saturday morning.

By 10am we had a call and by noon we had made $250.

By 2, another sale. This time $150.

Lastly, the item that we thought wouldn't sell, the washing machine, was loaded onto a truck along with it's broken counterpart and we were another $120 richer.

Oh and Craigslist's wonderfulness didn't stop there for us, oh no! We found a two year old washer/dryer set for $350. Husband talked the guy down to $300, got him to deliver it, and taught the boys the "art of negotiation" in the process. It was a win, win win.

If you can count, it would seem that we were "up" for the day. Sadly, due to last weekend's heinous bachelor/bachelorette expenses, the remainder of our earnings went to the American Express card.

Maybe one day we'll recoup what we are out from Tim's brother and his new wife. Is it tacky to send a bride and groom a bill for $1000 instead of a wedding present. Yeah, probably.

But Yay! Craigslist. Now if only the excellent CL could work it's magic and find us a buyer for Husband's new/old truck. That would truly be the greatest Craigslist miracle of all.

Overheard

2009-06-12T16:55:00.000-07:00

Oldest: What ARE you doing? That looks weird. Why are you giving yourself a wedgie?

Middlest: What? I'm tucking in my fart.

Oldest: Gross!

Middlest: I'm afraid if I don't I'm gonna smell it.

Middlest: Oh darnacles, it doesn't work. That smells.

Boys are gross and weird, for sure.

When it rains... things break

2009-06-12T10:44:00.001-07:00

"When it rains, it pours" didn't seem to fit.

I could have also given this post the title, "When it rains, our savings gets drained."

And really? Our issues have nothing to do with rain, except that it has been rainy and drizzly and just plain soggy for the better part of May and June. Popcorn, hot cocoa and a movie under a big blanket is all that my brain craves. No time for that. And isn't it almost summer? My body is confused. Hmmm...

Anywho, we sold our high-payment, just had to buy new! car and took out a small loan to cover what we were upside-down and to buy a beater to get the Husband to work. Cut our monthly car payment in half. Yay! A step in the right direction, right? Would have been except the Husband and I are incredibly trusting individuals and got royally duped by the sweetest dad of four with the paperwork of EVERYTHING that had ever been done to the car, and the story that the money from the sale was going to fund his vasectomy. We bonded and got a cool new/old car, to boot! We lamely overlooked the fact that every time we looked at the car, the guy had it running. We never actually started it ourselves. Dude, we are NOT people with any sort of knowledge of anything to do with cars and we want to see the good in people always- which turns out is a terrible recipe for getting suckered in the auto department.

When the Mr. got it home and started it, white smoke. Hmmm... take it to the mechanic just to have it looked over, maybe have some hoses or belts replaced. Yeah, the heads were bad. Pretty much the WORST thing to have to fix on a car you just bought. A measly two-grand would have it up and running. That's two-thirds of what we paid for it. Sweet! Score one for the car dummies!

Long story longer, my sister's boyfriend offered to make it his project for a fraction of the cost. More than just the heads were bunk (including a full rat's nest nestled snugly in the engine and a goopy jell-like substance in the radiator, a clutch that needs replacing...etc.) but James worked his car magic and we have it back at our house and listed on Craigslist! I'm pretty sure James won't speak to us again because of the headache we caused him. At the very least we had to sign a document and have it notarized that "We, the aforementioned car dummies, do solemnly swear to NEVER purchase a car without the consent of an outside person containing half a brain. "

It feels really cool to be in our thirties and learning these types of lessons. Really cool. Doh!

So now that the car is "fixed" we are on the prowl for a super cheap washer and dryer set since ours decided to die this week. AND, we just got our refrigerator fixed for the second time in a year, so we're really excited about that.

Things happen in three's right? We're done with this stuff, right? Right???

Easter babies.

2009-04-15T23:20:00.001-07:00

Easter Hunt.

Easter Loot.

Easter Scowl.

Easter was a lot more colorful than I'm eluding to here. In fact, I am trying to escape pastels for a bit. Black and white is what you get.

If you think I'm lazy

2009-04-08T10:34:00.000-07:00

and just haven't posted the dramatic conclusion of the Marble Saga you're just too impatient. Keep holdin'. That's what my kid is doing. 14 days and counting. Miralax does nothing for marbles.

Waiting on marbles.

2009-03-27T20:00:00.000-07:00

Or, if you like: Poop Watch 2009.

Someone in this house swallowed one of those metallic marbles that belong to a magnetic set. Someone else has to find a way to collect and sort through each bowel movement. If not, the next post will be entitled, "Mega X-Ray Monday".

Husband suggested I glove up and fish it from the toilet. (Ranks up there on my list of WORST IDEAS EVER) Others have suggested potty chairs, plastic wrap the bowl, catch it in a Tupperware. A brilliant woman suggested using a stick to break it apart while still in the toilet. She wins.

And no, it wasn't the Pink Baby. If it were, it would make too much sense to have happened in my house. I would also have the benefit of the diaper poop-catching system. No, it wasn't the middlest. Again, that would make sense. I won't say who but in all his six years, he has never swallowed anything foreign. That I know of.

Stay tuned. Poop Watch 2009

Mega Milestone Monday

2009-03-16T22:17:00.000-07:00

So maybe technically it should be a milestone Saturday and Sunday but I'm posting this on Monday and I love alliteration. Sue me.

The boys have been separated. No, they were not conjoined twins. They have shared a room since the middle one was old enough to be in a bunk bed. Age two, maybe? We had been holding off but it was becoming more and more of a hassle at bedtime and all the time, really, so we cleared out the playroom and now each kid has his own room. The oldest loves that he doesn't almost get his head chopped off by the ceiling fan on the top bunk and the middlest loves not having a mattress and a snoring brother over his head. And I love having a place to send each of them when things get a little testy.

So milestone one: big boys in their own big boy rooms.

Milestones two and three: Husband actually running!

Kidding, it's the oldest riding a bike sans training wheels!

Milestone four: Middlest trying to do the same. Don't let this picture fool you, he was actually pretty good at it. He was just equally as good at falling on his head.

BTW, I think he may not have any pain receptors in his nerves or wherever they are supposed to be. It might be a genetic thing judging by his little sister's reaction to injury as well.

And for good measure, the pink baby, in pink.

My top five reasons why the time change is the devil

2009-03-09T17:42:00.000-07:00

5. Putting the kids down to bed when it's still light. They hate it.
4. Forgetting to make dinner until it gets dark which is now too late to be starting dinner.
3. Having to watch the kids in the front yard now for a longer period of time.
2. It gives me a premature case of spring fever, but we're stuck with winter weather.
1. WAKING UP AND IT'S STILL DARK!

Today the Mr. and I were awakened by the oldest who started with a "Wow, I really slept in." which normally would be great but today was a work day and YIKES! we all slept in. Husband and I practically ro-sham-bo'ed for the shower. I let him have it.* I threw on some clothes and slicked back my greasy hair, slapped on some make-up and my BIG hoop earrings, hoping to distract from my slick hair, grabbed a lunch and ran out the door.

I thought, Ha! Five minutes to get ready and I look great! until I was greeted at the door by a 6 year old who put me in my place. "Mrs. C., WHY do you look so weird today? And what's up with those huge, weird earrings?"

Guess not.

By 9 am I was almost legally dead so I called my mom and she brought me some coffee. Yes, I'm spoiled but really, it was a matter of life and death at this point. And it was in her best interest to go ahead and bring me the coffee. If I had died, she would have been stuck with my kids for who knows how long. Brewing the coffee and packing the kids up to come down the street and deliver it was the right choice. I mean, did you see my Ode to Coffee post?

*it's way more embarrassing t o be the wife of the stinky person than to actually be the stinky person. Plus, I work with kids. They always stink worse.

Paularino

2009-02-23T20:58:00.000-08:00

We have this friend, Paul, who we've known for probably forever (realistically 9 years or so) and he's one of these really cool, understated guys. He's always in the background, helps with video and sound stuff at church and is just cool.

His real name is Paul but I took to calling him Paularino after the street my dad's business was off of when I was a little girl. The connection there? There isn't one. I had just been waiting my all my life to that point for someone to call "Paularino". Sad and weird, I know.

Anyway, Paul's young but he's lived a lot of life to this point. Some of it good and a lot really not so good. I bumped into him a few days ago (despite "seeing" him each week at church) and got to talking to him. He's got all this really great stuff on the horizon and it makes me happy. The one that makes me sit and actually type out a post is his band. We've always known he was a talented guy and that music was big for him but we weren't ever really clear on what he was doing with it. So (Get to the point Wordy McWordyton!) come to find out that he's got this band and they've been playing shows and they have a demo CD. He gives me one and I listen to it on the way home. I haven't stopped listening to it and it's been days and days. We love it! Man, it's so cool to see the talents that some are given come to fruition. We're the types to share what we love so here it is. Listen and check it out. It's awesome stuff and I think we're pretty much the king and queen of the Paularino/Modern Subject Fan Club. Applications for membership can go through us. :)

Want some new cool tunes? Check it!
http://www.myspace.com/modernsubject

Dear Pink Baby,

2009-01-13T21:35:00.001-08:00

I want to write to you so that even the smallest details of your life are recorded so that you know how much we loved you as a baby.

Tonight, as you slept peacefully, your father snuck into your room and farted loudly into the baby monitor so that I got the scare of my life while washing dishes in the kitchen next to the speaker.

I apologize.
Love,
your mother

Story time

2009-01-13T20:21:00.000-08:00

I love story time. It's mellow, the boys laugh and snuggle in with their dad, and I get a chance to catch my breath.

When did children's book authors become so great? This is what I heard from the couch just now:

My older sister thinks she's so pretty. I told her that no matter how much time she spends looking in the mirror, her face will always look just like her rear end." -Diary of a Worm

How many times have you wanted to say that to someone?

Walk, don't run.

2009-01-13T10:58:00.000-08:00

or crawl, even.

What is it about the third kid that makes them grow and develop in fast motion? I think the elapsed time between learning to crawl, then walk, and now run is like a nanosecond and I fear she will be riding a bike and driving by the end of the week. The oldest was 15 months before he showed us that he knew how to walk (I say this because we set him down to get him to take a few steps one night and he took off all over the apartment and never stopped). The middlest walked somewhere between 12 and 13 months and the pink baby has been walking for a few weeks already.

I was reminded quickly how much I hate this stage. Yeah, it's cute that she's wants to toddle all over the place with the drunken-sailor swagger and Frankenstein arms. But really, it's a nightmare because she wants down ALL THE TIME. And you know, sometimes it's just not safe or convenient even to have a one year old cruising the area. And the level of sass she's already exuding and the screeching (oh the screeching!) make the matter worse.

The routine goes something like this:
*Pick PB (pink baby) up
*She arches her back
*She screeches
*She wiggles
*I loose my balance

*More arching and screeching
*I give in and set her down
*She laughs and runs away
*I remember that she's only one and smile
*I realize that, Dear Lord! SHE'S ONLY ONE! and I have years and years of this to go.
*I hold back tears and suppress the panic attack.
*and pick her up... wash, rinse, repeat.

How did this happen?

2008-12-22T12:03:00.000-08:00

Thanks for the photo, Auntie Kendra.

The key to making perfect sugar cookies

2008-12-15T14:57:00.000-08:00

with your two rambunctious boys:

1/2 c red wine

scandalous, I know. But now the flour all over the floor isn't a big deal.

Boys and Christmas

2008-12-12T12:44:00.000-08:00

Everything is, "Merry Poop-mas" and "Jingle Toots" and also sorts of potty-themed festivities. I'll brighten your holiday with the oldest's version of "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer":

...Rudolph with your butt so bright

Won't you fly backwards tonight?

Then all the reindeer tooted

As they pooped around and peed

Rudolph the red butt reindeer

You'll get flushed down the potty!

Clever, huh? I bet the next time you hear the original song, these lyrics will overpower the real lyrics. Just don't sing them out loud.

A Haiku about pinkeye

2008-12-10T22:21:00.000-08:00

Mandi reminded me...

eyes crusty, goopy

hand sanitizer galore

eyes drops make me scream

And another:

contagious and gross

house-bound, kids fighting, I'm done.

Lysol is my friend

The middlest gooped up on Sunday and the Mr. and I have had some major hypochondriac eye-itching going on since then. The oldest got all pink in the eye this morning (along with the pukies) and if the baby gets it I will scream.

Here's a helpful tip: Drop the eye drops in the corner of the kid's eyes while they have them closed. When they open them, the drops run into their eyes. That way you don't get kicked in the stomach when you drop them directly in. :)

Never fails.

2008-12-10T08:03:00.000-08:00

A mathematical equation:

Daddy going on a business trip + mommy having to work= someone becoming disgustingly sick/ Daddy returning to once-again healthy family.

He's gone for 5 days which is just enough time for this nastiness to cycle through the 4 of us. Hallellujah.

Off to wash sheets...

The way God gets through to me

2008-12-02T21:51:00.000-08:00

is usually pretty immediate if I'm going to let Him get through at all.

#1
Tonight was a rough night with the middlest. After a lot of unpleasantness (and MAJOR grumpiness and meanness on my part) he ended up in his bed sobbing. I had planned on leaving him in there to fall asleep and I sat on the couch. I felt terrible pretty quickly and got up to check on the kid. I sat on his bed and without even turning around to look at me he said, "I love you to the stars and back. Twice." Yes, I started crying.

Here is a tiny kid who was lovin on his mean, mean momma despite the fact that she was just a raging jerk to him just minutes before. I thought about how as a Father figure, God wants us to come to Him after we've been jerks and He'll tell us He loves us to the stars and back. Twice. But here it's the child so willing to do the same thing to his mom. Maybe this doesn't sound right- I can't fully wrap my brain around it tonight. I learned something tonight- or re-learned it. I hope I don't soon forget it.

#2
Within seconds of sending a snarky e-mail in response to one I'd received, I opened another e-mail with a daily bible verse. It was an immediate smack on the hand.

"But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned." Matthew 12:36-37

Dang. God-smacks. Sometimes they're necessary.

Things I want to remember for a million years:

2008-11-29T01:14:00.001-08:00

I swear, there are at least seventy really great things my kids say in a day that I think I should write down but I don't. Here's what I've got swirling around in my head at the moment:

The oldest:
In a discussion about why Christmas is called Christ-mas I explained to the oldest that Christ is another name for Jesus.
A long silence and a few minutes later he came up with, "Maybe I'll just call it Jesus-mas then."

I am dying for him to reply to Department Store Santa, "Yeah, merry Jesus-mas to you too."

The middlest:
The backpack on Dora the Explorer frequently says, "Yum, yum, yum, deliciouso!" The middlest's translation is something like weddisauso- as in, "Mom the quesadilla is so weddisauso."

Quesadillas remind me that he told me the other day that they were out of season and that I'd have to think of something different for lunch.

And just tonight as we were playing a game of Memory (Or Renembory) he made us say a magic word before we chose cards on our turns. With a wave of our hands and a chanting of "Zuckerman's Famous Pig!" we'd almost always choose the wrong card. And then team Daddy and the Oldest would steal our match.

The pink baby:
At nearly a year this girl is a hoot. She's almost walking and has a few words down pat. She knows mommy, daddy, more, areyou? (which comes out just like that-oneword). She has her own version of her brothers' names and loves, loves, LOVES to sneak in their room and play Legos.
She's like the little puppy we've never had (and never will have). She is always crawling around with something in her mouth and she chews up everything.

Rock the vote!

2008-11-10T17:32:00.000-08:00

This kid is rad.

They must have done something in kidergarten to celebrate the election because the oldest came home asking if "his guy" was winning and could I please turn on the news so he could see what the vote count was.

I asked him who "his guy" was and he had me name both candidates. I told him that there was a man named Barack Obama and another named John McCain. He said, "Yep, that's him, the first one you said."

"Obama?"

"Yep, Obama."

Really? I thought it was cool that he had his own little reasons for choosing of the two. So I asked him.

"Why is it that you like Obama?"

"You know Mom, he has a really nice sounding name."

Then we turned on CNN and watched for a few minutes to see that Obama was winning the popular vote. The oldest cheered, stole my "I voted" sticker and then went in the other room to play. Got to love kindergarten logic.

A note about our presidential election:

2008-11-03T11:49:00.000-08:00

So yeah, I'm not the one that is quick to let my relationship with God show that much. It's there but I'm not comfortable being that vocal about it. Sometimes I get brave but mostly I'm a scaredy pants. But I feel that this needs to be said in light of tomorrow's events.

I know a few people who have a real strong conviction as to who needs to be in office. I'm not like that. I don't really subscribe to any one political party and I feel that the person who is supposed to win will and that God will use that person to do what HE wants to have done. Anyway, I worry about these people (and I'm related to a lot of them) that they might have some serious issues when their candidate is not elected.

Our pastor said something really cool yesterday that hit me. It was one of those DUH! moments; I already knew this but I guess my brain never really formed it into a concrete thought. Pastor George said that we shouldn't overinvest ourselves in the election, propositions, candidates: they are simply mechanisms of governance that GOD uses on earth. Don't worry about the choices set before us. They aren't our only choices. We are citizens of heaven which is neither republican nor democrat, liberal nor conservative. Don't be discouraged, do your best and pledge your allegiance to God in heaven. If your candidate doesn't win, pray about it, dust yourself off and move on.

God is sovereign and He will work things out.

Check out the first 5 minutes of the sermon if you want to hear George's actual words since I probably botched them up in my paraphrasing of them.

http://www.theshoreline.org/content.aspx?id=308

You will probably get this in e-mail form today. Sorry. :)

Will this do for now?

2008-11-03T00:04:00.000-08:00

I am attempting to break my non-blogging streak by at least throwing a picture of the buggers at you. More to come...

2008-10-01T15:38:00.000-07:00

Oh coffee, how do I love thee?

2008-09-12T17:25:00.001-07:00

To my beloved cup of joe,

'Tis true my love for you was not born at first taste, rather it has grown with the years. I was naive and young and lacked depth of mind to partake in your aromatic goodness. Now that my love for you has matured, I am able to see the errors of my ways; the coffee lover has emerged from my old self.

You have warmed my soul on a frigid day and given me energy when I have been sluggish. You have awakened understanding in a way that therapy and medication could not- I now have total awareness of why my mother was such a raving lunatic until she had that first cup of morning wonderfulness.

Thank you for keeping me sane, giving me the pep I need to clean the house, pay the bills, blog about foolishness and to play with my children on days where it seems the couch has been coated in super glue and I have become its captive. To you, I am grateful. And so are my children.

The end.

Hottie at Wal Mart, aisle 9

2008-09-03T15:00:00.000-07:00

or, you may call this post "Game Time at Wal-Mart" because I brought my camera into the super store and made a game out of it. I take pictures and Husband gives me the look. Take pictures, more dirty looks. :) I won the game.If you've never taken your camera into a Wal-Mart, I suggest it. The lighting is terrible and the customers have obviously been bussed in from Middle America but you'll have so much fun these things won"t bother you. The middlest totally fitting in.

Negotiations over the Pringles that are "made with real pizza in dem"

We won the argument over why we needed this packaged pastry. Luckily, this was food for horses, not people. (White lie but BRILLIANT parenting tactic. Also try: "No this candy at the check out counter isn't for us. They use this space for dog treats. Bummer, huh? They do look kinda good.")

The highlight of the day for this guy was finding the new Cool Whip can has a top that looks like swirled Cool Whip.

The highlight of our shopping experience for me was not the one armed man with the stickered prosthesis or the Middle American-ish women flirting with my husband in line. It was following this around the store.

The witch has an itch!

2008-08-30T23:01:00.001-07:00

Holy man! I have several bug bites on my right foot and I am pretty much ready to either a) gnaw my foot right off with my own teeth, or b) have someone else gnaw it off with their teeth. At this point, I don't care. I wake up in the middle of the night because, HOLY BEJEEZ, this is the worst torture ever!

Reminds me of the time I got stuck in a patch of fire ants in Florida. Floridian fire ants are particularly itch inducing. I cried myself to sleep at night for a week and dabbed bleach on them to make them stop itching (by the way, I don't recommend this because it didn't work). I think I counted at least 15-20 on each leg.

No picture on this one. I might send a subliminal itch over the internet.

Animal lovers we are not

2008-08-27T23:42:00.000-07:00

No offense and I certainly don't want PETA mad at me but our genes do not breed animal lovers. I can tolerate them better than the rest of my brood, except for the pink baby. She loves animals but I think it has more to do with trying to get her mouth on them than actual like.

Anyway, today we had an encounter with a Praying Mantis. I went to close the sliding screen and there it was on the handle. I almost screamed a very bad word but the filter kicked in and it came out a very muffled "ffffff". Score one for mommy brain. The boys flipped their stuff. We do not like animals but we DO NOT like bugs even more (or even worser as it was today). The boys quickly devised a plan while I used a stick to gently guide the critter to our hibiscus bush.

Unfortunately for the boys (and luckily for the mantis) the only plan they conjured up looked exactly like the plan of attack Mommy has for spiders when Daddy's not there. 1. SCREAM, 2. Smash with shoe, 3. Toilet paper pick up and flush. This was a large bug. Mommy's bug default plan should have been tossed out.

Little brother, you get the long toilet paper and I'll get Dad's shoe. When I whack it, you grab it! On second thought, I'll watch while you whack and grab. Sound good?

Screw the TP, we're doing this my way. I will whack and smash and whack again.

Never mind, toss and run! Toss and RUN!

The logic here is that the mantis will crawl under the shoe and smash itself. Perfect!

And the mantis gets to live another day which is a good thing for all involved. The thing was so big that it would have been a nasty mess if it had actually been smashed. Ick.

*** Critter lovers: I was in no way going to let them smash this thing. I have issues with smashing anything larger than a dime.

My husband gets to keep his job.

2008-08-21T16:33:00.000-07:00

(Hi Baby!)

Not because he was in danger of losing it or anything. No, He's rocking the communications dept. in a major way (along with a real cool chick :)). I don't think they can afford to lose him at this point. I decided he gets to keep his job. Yes, it's completely up to me, what major life-decision concerning this family isn't? Sure it's a long commute and costs the GNP of all of Africa to fund the fuel for so many miles. Yes, he's asked to travel- sometimes at the drop of a hat and maybe he has to do some crazy illegal 18 hour drive days across country and pee in a Gatorade bottle. He does have to (I say gets to) travel to London and Italy and Spain in the next few months without me (BOO!).
His job can be a real pain in the butt for scheduling family life around and he's always home later than he'd like to be. But! Yes there's a But!- when you are pulled across stage by a (guitar, keyboard, bass, drum?? tech?) in front of thousands of adoring fans waiting impatiently for their favorite band to come out- and THEN get to stand on-stage for the entire set because your husband made friends with the guitarist through work? You don't mind the commute so much. And when you spend the day in the tour bus of the same band (for the second time!) and drink their beers (water for me) and cool off with their A/C and watch their direct TV while they sign autographs, you don't mind the travelling. And when you are invited to see them again in a few months because they are touring with a band you've loved for years and years, well, pretty much anything goes with Husband's work and it's all good.

So, Mr. Man can never quit, even if he wants to. MY perks are just too good!

Thanks to these two for joining us and for providing these pictures. :) Hopefully Wendy's new love interest and Jun's business contacts gained are enough to keep them friends with us.

*This guy had Wendy in a tizzy (j/k) and will hopefully make Jun look good at work. :)

Fun at the lake

2008-08-19T10:14:00.000-07:00

We visited the lake with some friends last weekend and had a blast. All the kids get along really well and always have a great time together. We are so fortunate to have some really great friends with even cooler kids. We bbq'd some hamburgers and hot dogs and stayed until the lights came on. It was a great opportunity to shoot some pics of all the kiddos. These kids are pretty gorgeous so I was having a good time

the dreaded accronym

2008-08-15T15:02:00.001-07:00

I schlepped the kids to the Dr. for regular visits today and discussed the middlest's behavior. The pediatrician's face started turning upward into one of those awkward almost-smiles. "Well", she said, "he's three so it's hard to say anything definite. The sleep issues coupled with the anger and the hyperactivity... well, it's raising some red flags for me." ( I knew where she was going and could have almost said her next sentence for her), "Does anyone in your family have ADD?"

I wasn't shocked at the mention of this, the kid is part monkey. Angry monkey sometimes, without the poo flinging. And yes, he is a bear to get to sleep. It's the same thing every night. But, I had thought of his behavior as normal hellish three year old antics. Times seven at least. He gets cranky and wiggs out when he's tired and has a hard time following directions (although the Dr. commented on how well hid did listen today). But again, totally normal three year old.

But it was mentioned. ADD. She said that we'd have to wait for kindergarten to know for sure, until then we wait. I flashed to all my classes and my mind zeroed in on all the ADD and ADHD labeled kids I've had over the years. Some were nutso and some were fine. Some were in the process of diagnosis and some were trying out meds and some parents were dead set against meds and behavior was either being managed through diet or not at all. Huge spectrum.

I have always had opinions about medicating kids with attention problems and have concluded that there is no one way that is the one right way to treat this. I have seen kids that couldn't sit still and were making C's turn around and end the year at the top of my class because they found meds that worked. Their self esteem increased as did their social skills. I've also seen kids become zombie-like versions of themselves. It's a crap shoot, I think, until you find something that works.

So with the middlest, we shall wait. I plan on educating myself a bit more in the next two years before he enters school. Maybe we'll try some diet and behavior modifications until then so that he has some sort of chance at success once he starts school. I feel bad because I know how kids are labeled and how that label precedes them into the next year's classroom. I've had class lists where I thought, "Oh man, I got the ADD kid." Terrible, I know but the perspective I'm gaining is incredible.

The Collins, in olivine

2008-08-13T23:23:00.000-07:00

We were in my cousin's wedding, Tim and I, and had a great time. The difficult thing about being in a wedding together when your kids are not in the wedding is, well, the kids. Even getting ready for the wedding proved a challenge. What DO you do with 3 little monsters while you're stuck up front for an hour, not to mention the hour for pics, the reception duties... Luckily I have wonderful parents and step-parents that towed the line. They sat in balcony seats then rushed outside when the middlest's peeps were too loud and echoey. They fed dissolving baby puffs to a squirmy baby girl to keep her satisfied (and quiet). They even rushed out the doors with poopy baby in hand to save the other wedding guests from the wafting smell of a nasty diaper. They're saints.

The kids always seem to put on their best snarkiness when we're unsure ourselves of the day's events and how they will play out. The middle kid shaved his head by himself while Daddy was busy getting ready and had to have his head shaved again before they left. The two boys kept disappearing up the steps to the choir balcony at the church and shouted NEVER! when asked to come down. The baby did well. She doesn't have fully developed snark yet. We have some time with her.

(the real Collins)

Anyway, this is us in olivine. I say green but according to the bride, it's olivine. I guess it sounds more romantic to say olivine. The olivine dress was tight and gave me a bad case of back fat overflow but it zipped so who's complaining. The Mr. looked very handsome in his tux and olivine vest. The bride was stunning, of course. I managed to get a few shots of her while out taking bridesmaids shots. All in all (snarky children and all) it was a great day.

Bummed about my situation.

2008-08-11T11:33:00.000-07:00

I have to find a job. I am putting the kabosh on my career as a teacher, well, at least within my school district. I lose my position every summer and I stress and stress that I need to find a job only to be called back to yet another school and usually just days before school starts. That's getting used to a new staff, new school policies and guidlines, a new boss, yadda yadda EVERY YEAR. I shouldn't complain, at least I've been called back but still. It takes its toll.

So now I am searching for work. Only it isn't as simple as finding a job I might like and applying. I have parameters and restrictions not on the type of job but the hours. My husband asks, "Well, what do you want to do?" Man, if it were only a question of finding what I want to do, I wouldn't be such a nutcase about this. I would love to find something I want to do only I have all these things holding me back, namely:

Not that they are keeping me from doing anything because I'd rather be with them than have any career in the world. But, when you need to make mortgage payments Momma's gotta bring in some dough.

I thought about working an early shift at Starbucks or something but husband leaves for work early and there's no way we're dropping the kids off somewhere at 6:30 in the morning.

I thought I'd find a job working in the evening but husband doesn't get home til after 7pm most days and he travels- sometimes last minute. Makes childcare difficult.

I could work while the kids are in school and have my mom watch the baby but that gives me Tuesday and Thursday from 9-12. Hm.

I know my best friend is in a similar predicament so I can't be so lame as to feel too sorry for myself. Heck, most moms I know have faced these challenges. I would like to find something I could do from home but most things like that seem like scams. Oy. I trust that the right thing will come along but if that job could hurry up and reveal itself to me, that would be great.

chubby knuckle dimples

2008-08-05T10:43:00.000-07:00

Man, I love this baby. Her hands are so sweet- a very different sort of delicate hand than the boys had. Theirs were comparable to small catchers mitts, even at birth. Hers are tiny and sweet and just as capable as her brothers' hands were. I especially love the dimples where her knuckles are supposed to be.

I am usually knee-deep in "Oh my gosh, I have three kids!" and feel like I miss out on the little things a lot. I try and catch as many details as I can but I'm sure there are a million bazillion sweet moments that pass me by daily. I had a rare chance to sit with my baby in the grass the other day and watch her explore.

It was a sweet moment that made me realize that I don't need to worry about catching the missed moments, it's about making the most of the moments I happen to catch.

Just to be fair...

2008-08-01T17:49:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night I flew the coop and escaped to the OC fair with my best friend, Kendra (hi girl!). She picked me up and we hit the drive thru at Taco Bell and gorged ourselves on frijoles and headed to the fair. I had entered a photo and it got accepted so Miss K graciously agreed to go check it out with me. Of course we brought our cameras because 1. We're both amateur photo nerds, 2. We had no kids. 3. WE HAD NO KIDS! There are 6 kids between the two of us so we rarely get to finish a conversation let alone work on our photography skills.

We always have a great time together. That may be a result of the fact that we have known each other for 25+ years. I've known her longer than one of my sisters, my step-dad, step-mom, my kids, my husband- you get the point. She's seen me through it all.

So anyway, she posted a lovely post about me and our time together and she challenged me to put some of my fair pics up here so there you have it. I always try to be fair, especially when it comes to the fair. :)

I like this image for three reasons. First, I took it on the sly- these two didn't even know I was there which wasn't a difficult task since they pretty much didn't know there was anyone at the fair at all. Second, The background looks as though there is motion of some sort, spinning maybe? Third, I noticed the kids shirt says something about Jesus. I hadn't seen this until I worked on the image. Cool.

This is the standard Ferris Wheel
picture. Everyone has taken one,
right? Looks a little flat in black and

white but I dig the contrast.

These guitars were prizes for a game. Cool prize but I'm fairly sure that to win one that you would spend more on tickets to play than for the guitar if you were to buy it yourself.

Oh, the picture I entered in the Visual arts exhibit at the fair? It's the feet picture on the heading of my blog. :) It was cool to see it hanging among other great black and whites.

Man, he's good.

2008-07-25T10:19:00.000-07:00

The middle child has found that if he prefaces his admission of guilt with, "Oh mommy, I'm reery, reery sorry. It was reery just an accident." that I will not go into default mommy freak out mode, regardless of the offense. His little brain cooked up the scheme once and he tried it out with major success. Now it's standard.

Adds to my theory that manipulation might just be innate.

The Moozle

2008-07-22T00:23:00.000-07:00

She has terrible hair

her daddy's eyes and mommy's lips,

a fair amount of sass

and two of the best brothers a girl could have.

She is blessed.

Sad realization

2008-07-09T15:15:00.001-07:00

I was out washing the car today. I was feeling pretty cute- we had just come back from the waterpark and I had on a sundress and my Astars hat. I kept thinking,"Maybe I'm not such a frump." Then it hit me like the soap-filled sponge that the middle kid kept throwing at me:

I am 30 years old.

I have 3 kids.

I am washing a freakin mini-van!

Reality check. No one is cute when washing a mini-van unless you are one of those bikini models but even then you'd look like a hot bikini girl WASHING A MINI VAN! Cute days are donezo.

Sweet baby Jake...

2008-06-22T00:46:00.000-07:00

I'm an aunt again. This child's entrance wasn't quite as traumatic as the last time I became an aunt, but it was full of angst and worry nonetheless. I don't know why my sisters feel the need to scare everyone out of their ever-loving (Tim would say liver-loving) minds. I mean, everyone has to be somewhat on edge when a new baby is being brought into the world anyway without the mention of death and emergency surgery and the NICU.
The newest addition to the ever-growing gaggle of grand babies spent the first 3 days of his life hooked up to a respirator and then was extubated but was hooked up to machines making it very difficult to see him and hold him and kiss on him. I was able to sneak into the NICU with my sister and peek at the little guy for a quick 2 minutes. He was fussing in his little plastic bed with IVs and tubes hanging out everywhere. His mommy picked him up and sat in a rocker with him. He immediately settled and melted into his mom's arms and blinked his little eyes. I was so happy to witness such a sweet moment. I couldn't take my eyes off of him and his sweet little face. I kept trying to get my feet to move toward the door but my eyes and heart wouldn't cooperate. I'm smitten. The fact that Dad was waiting patiently outside the NICU doors to see his boy made my feet move.
I'm impressed by the way my little sister and her husband handled the tiny baby and the medical junk and the nurses. They were meant to bring this little guy into the world and they did a great job. He's perfect.

Want Ads: Seeking a Mother

2008-06-19T16:50:00.000-07:00

Moms everywhere know that being a mom is a full time position. I've wondered what it would look like as a want ad in the Penny Saver or on Craigslist. This is how I would list my position:

Wanted: full time help for 3 small children. Must be okay with poop, barf, snot, pee and various other bodily functions. Must be able to multi task like no one's business- running 6-7 activities (ie: laundry, cooking dinner, breastfeeding, disciplining etc. etc.) simultaneously. Plan activities to keep children occupied and prevent property damage and bodily injury. Referee experience a plus! Pay is minimal. Time off is available but a huge, huge hassle.

I could probably stop after the first two sentences and my existence would be summed up almost completely. Anyone need a job?

A few days ago I spent about an hour of my life cleaning up pee off the bathroom floor, poop out of the carpet, threw ONE child into the shower THREE times for aforementioned offences, popped a pacifier into a crabby baby's mouth 7 times, wiped another child's butt after about 30 minutes on the toilet, and ran back and forth down the hall 17 times between the three of them. That's 60 minutes of my life wasted on excrement and urine. I can't get that time back, people!

Seriously, want a job?

I know you love me

2008-05-16T17:52:00.001-07:00

My five year old is a funny kid. He's not super lovey or huggy; he certainly doesn't wear his emotions on his sleave. When you tell him you love him it's usually followed with an, "I know" or a smirk or an eye-roll on a bad day.

Today, he and I just weren't clicking. Everything I said or did made his face redder and his voice louder. He curled up in a ball and YELLED and YELLED that he hated me and that I was the worst mom ever. He wanted me to go to jail in a bad way. If we had seen the police, I assume he would have flagged them down. I needed to be out of his sight. Like... yesterday. I was stupid and terrible.

Talking to him calmly didn't diffuse the sitch. Ignoring him didn't work. He HATED me and needed me to go away but he wouldn't leave my side. He'd walk past me and hit my leg and when I caught his glance it was met with "mean eyes". But he refused to leave the room I was in.
My mother-in-law told me once that kids save up all their meanness and awfulness for moms because they feel safe with them. My kid knows that no matter how loudly he screams, no matter how many thousands of years he wants me in jail, I'll still love him. This is why I couldn't be mad at him. He felt like he could take it to the extreme with his meltdown because he needed to and I happened to be the outlet for him to do it. We need to work on the way he expresses himself but I'm glad he knows he can do it.

I'm not dumb. If the kid is 15 and screams these things at me, I'll be the one flagging down the cops. But for now, while he's still young and trying things out, I'll take it. And I'll take it because about an hour after the meltdown, he came and apologized. He told me he really doesn't want me to go to jail and he really doesn't think I'm stupid. He knows I love him- even since he was "6 pounds old" he's known it. He also said that he doesn't tell me he loves me because he is showing me all the time that he does. I should know he loves me by the things he does. That's pretty cool because I operate that way too. I'm not super huggy and I don't tell people outside of my inner circle that I love them very often, but I do. I can also be the most terrible to those I love. I guess because I know they'll love me in spite of it. It's safe.

This kid who takes after his father so much it's scary is suddenly so much more like his mother that it's scary. And cool. :) I get to know myself a little more through him.

I made them promise

2008-05-09T11:07:00.000-07:00

Today I made my boys make a promise. I know that 3 and 5 year olds aren't so trustworthy as to keep a promise just yet, but I made them do it anyway. My plan is to make them promise me things as often as possible so that there is no way they'd forget. These promises will occupy their waking thoughts. I will be that mother. Only instead of guilting them to death, I'll keep them to their promises. Which, I guess, may involve some amount of guilt later on when they realize there was just no way they were going to be able to keep Mom's ridiculous promises. No matter.

One that we've (their father and I) have made them try and keep is to stay little forever. We know this is a promise that is impossible to keep. It's a perfect plan that cannot fail. We make them promise to stay little forever and they just won't be able to do it. So they'll come and visit us often, as big people, and feel rotten that they were unable to do the one thing we'd asked of them all those years ago. We'll cry a little and tell stories of when they were little and cute and sweet. They'll feel so terrible that they'll move our old selves in with them or front the bill for a cushy rest home. Either way, we win. See guilt is involved. It's all very manipulative. Oh well.

Today I made them make a more realistic promise. While we were eating chocolate chip pancakes, and I was looking at their chocolate covered faces and their patches of freckles, I made them promise to come and visit me once they're bigger. When they're a big "worker man that builds really great stuff" and a "plan maker so that the worker man can build really great stuff" they have promised to come back and eat chocolate chip pancakes with me. The oldest made me promise not to move so that he'll always be able to find me. If I keep my promise he'll come and eat pancakes with me every day.

I hope he guilts me into keeping my promise. I don't think it'll take too much on his part. Pancakes every day with big worker men. Cool.

My kid was that kid today.

2008-04-14T16:35:00.000-07:00

We took advantage of the nice weather today and got out of the house. We met a few of the Aunties at Wahoo's Fish Tacos for some quesadillas and rice (side note: if suddenly the world ran out of cheese or tortillas or rice our children would surely perish). The patio was lovely but the "shark" room called out to us again. This is a room off to the side that holds a sharks head on the wall as well as room for us to be loud and drop rice all over the floor without dissaproving glares from other diners.
We came to the entrance of the room and noticed that it was occupied. My heart froze. A man in his wheelchair was happily eating his quesadilla and beans and rice along with his companion. This man was probably 3 feet tall with a largely disproportionate head. He did look odd but completely cognitive and "normal" whatever that means. My heart had stopped for fear that my two guys would say something. Out loud. So that this poor man might hear. Yeah, it happened. The oldest stopped, stared and raised his arm to point. I felt my heart sink as he yelled (and pointed), "Mom! That guy is really weird, right?" I quickly stuttered a n.n.no and ushered them into a booth. We had a mini lesson on tolerance and acceptance there on the spot. He seemed to understand and I think he actually felt bad about what he said.
I have no idea if this poor guy heard or not. I didn't stick around long enough to find out. I know I should have apologized but I didn't because the three year old had caught a glimpse of this guy and couldn't take his eyes off of him. This kid, while more compassionate, has like NO filter whatsoever. He thinks it- it comes out. Loudly. Besides he was doing the pee pee dance and I suggested we go outside. Only I meant let's eat outside not let's (go) pee outside. When I made it out the door, the three year old was already working on pulling his pants down. Oy vey.
So yeah, one of my kids is that kid that points and stares and the other is that kid that whips his weenie out in public. Parent of the year, here!

the smartest kid on earf

2008-04-10T17:39:00.000-07:00

My son's lucky. God gave him all the smarts in the world. Of course he doesn't know everything. God had to leave some for the not smart kids to know. So most kids are smart but he's the smartest. He's like the smartest kid on the whole English island. People on the other island speak Spanish so there might be a few smart Spanish kids. Nobody knows what kind of speaking they do on other islands.

Things he knows that prove he's the smartest kid:

1. Nobody knows why they are smart. They just are. Like him.

2. People have different smarts. God has different smarts and he gives one to everyone. Except him. God gave him more smarts than anybody.

3. People have blood to hold up their bones. And there is a special machine in your bones that makes you talk. And God has a big sheet in Heaven that is kinda skin-y and he covers your blood and bones with skin. Then you come alive and God puts you in your mommy's tummy. And God makes little babies in the tummies of girl babies and when that baby girl gets to be an adult the tiny baby grows bigger and comes out.

4. He doesn't cry at school. He's too smart for that. When he was very new at school, he was shy but he didn't cry.

5. He's smart because he's really really good at building Legos.

6. He realized that he renembers his original fourth birthday when he got cars. He's smart because he's got a really good renembery.

So I guess we'll be working on humility for the next few years. You know, "humility" as in "Do you humility with your grandma? No, she lives at her house." Humility is like living with your family. I'm not making this stuff up, folks. He's the smartest kid on Earf.

Super Captain Superman

2008-04-01T20:50:00.001-07:00

His powers of greatness will amaze you.

Super Captain Superman's alter ego.

I love this guy.

Best part of the day

2008-04-01T20:45:00.000-07:00

When we do dinner as a family, we always ask the kids what the best part of their day was. Sometimes it's something sweet, sometimes it's totally ridiculous. The best part of today for me is both.

A few minutes ago, I was sitting on the bathroom floor reading a book with one kid on my lap and the other trying to poop on the potty. As sweet as it gets... in a bathroom.

Overheard at our house #2

2008-03-31T09:19:00.000-07:00

"Hey, Owen, don't forget to water my buttcrack. "

"Look Mom, babies DO like popcorn. See, she's eating it!" (baby is 3 months old. )

"Dad that word really creeps me up."

"Look, that guy has no hair! He's totally balb!"

Love notes.

2008-03-28T08:14:00.000-07:00

It's exciting when your child grasps the concept of phonetic spelling. I mean, I'm a teacher, this is the nerdy stuff I go nuts over. The other night at dinner I recieved this note on a paper napkin from the 5 year old:

"MOM IS O PP HEDT LOV OWEN" (Mom is a peepee head, love Owen)

and on the back:

"MOM IS O BG FAT AND O PP AND POOPOO HET LOVE OWEN" (Mom is a big, fat and peepee and poopoo head. Love Owen)

Owen is the three year old. They learn to sell eachother out at such a young age.

Good thing he's cute.

I think I love you

2008-03-24T22:04:00.001-07:00

The middle one is a handful. He constantly climbing, jumping, yelling, running, pushing, fighting, wrestling, breaking and yelling. But, he can be the sweetest kid on the planet. It's like there's two midget almost-three-year-olds in his brain battling for control of the body; one you want to strangle and the other you can't squeeze tight enough.

He adds a neat dynamic to our little family. He has an awesome ability to make you feel loved, make you laugh, and make you crazy.

He'll look up at me while we're sharing cereal (MY cereal. He is The Mooch) and tell me, "I think you're beautiful." I melt every time.

We were driving around one evening and the light was beautiful. He looked out the window and said, "Oh Mom, it looks rearry rearry beautiful outside. It's so shiny." I love how he sees things. He's a neat kid, I think we'll keep him.

Trash talk

2008-03-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

We have to leave in like 5 minutes. Grab a toy (read: ONE toy) and get your hiney in the car. No, 6 toys is 5 too many. More? No. ONE toy!

I take a phone call and 5 minutes later the oldest is asking me where my purse is and didn't it used to be in your room? Hey, why don't you check one of those trash cans outside.

I follow the kid outside and he leads me to the green trash bin that holds our green waste. Inside; my Uggs, two pair of slippers, my favorite hat, and a bag of clothes (my "purse"). I tip the thing over and crawl inside. It smells. Nasty. We're late and I'm in a trash bin. I want to wring his neck. It took all the Zoloft I had in me not to. Instead we had a civil talk about how we just don't throw people's stuff in nasty trash cans. It's just not good manners.

His excuse was that since I was being the meanest I ever could be, ever, that he had to do the meanest thing he could ever do. If trashing my stuff was the meanest thing he could think to do, we must be doing something right with him.

"These are the good old days"

2008-02-18T13:20:00.000-08:00

I swear this is one of those thoughts that keeps me up at night. In the midst of diaper duty and work and vaccuuming, the good old days are quietly slipping away. These are the days that I'll look back on and become a nostalgic weepy mess. I'm sure I won't remember the constant fighting, stepping on Legos for the bazillionth time or cleaning baby poop out from under my finger nails. I won't remember the Mt. Everest piles of laundry or the sink full of dishes.

One or two older moms upon catching a glimpse of the craziness that is my life, have said, "Yes, it's crazy now but these are the good times." I've rolled my eyes (in my mind. My mother taught me better than that!) and smiled and nodded politely as I cursed them (again, in my mind).

I'm starting to realize what they were saying. Pretty soon my boys won't tell me I'm the "sweetest mommy ever" and give me monster hugs. Pretty soon the gummy smile that my baby daughter graces me with will be full of teeth... and braces. I'll be shuttling them to school and practice and eventually, off to college. Then, one day when the laundry piles are smaller, the sink contains dishes for two and we don't even have Legos in the house, I'll be wishing for the good old days, I'm sure.

I need to tuck the sweet moments from my day into the mommy pocket in my brain. Here's today's:

Rubbing O's arm until he nodded off. My crazy,

capable boy is still a sweet baby.

Chatting with L about his favorite Lego creation

and seeing his blue eyes sparkle.

And watching my baby girl have sweet baby dreams.

Size is relative

2008-02-13T21:18:00.000-08:00

On the way home tonight, Kid #1 and I debate over who was the biggest/smallest baby at birth. Since I was there at all three births (thank you very much!) I was sure I would come out on top. Nope. I was foiled by 5 year old logic (or illogic) once again.

"Mom, I know I was the biggest baby because you were the size of a large trash can when you were born."

Yeah, it pretty much got more ridiculous from there. I'll recap the conversation:

Kid # 2 was the size of one small tree with a five inch stick coming out the top.
Kid #3 was the size of one piece of steak that fits into a lightbulb.
Cousin #3 was the size of one small and not regular sized leaf.
Neighbor #3 was the size of one square mirror.
Dad was the size of one small bush.
Grandpa was the size of one medium cactus.

He's not mentally challenged by any means. Just.... creative. I hope.

The Rocket

2007-11-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

We traded in the Tundra for something a bit more... cool, I guess. We have been the proud owners of a 1990 Toyota Camry for a few months and life has been a party since. The white beast with peeling window tint and plush blue velour interior (yes, the ENTIRE inside of the car is royal blue) has been dubbed "The Rocket" and has quickly taken the Tundra's place in our hearts but not our driveway. The Rocket leaks. It's home is the street.

Chanting and hollering: "Rocket Power! Rocket Power!" with fists clenched and raised high, pounding the air in a solid salute to one of the world's coolest creations. The Rocket trumps the Magnum. The Rocket trumps just about anything. The way the tin beast climbs hills and roars so loud that it must be the engine exploding with excess power makes us cheer. It's lighting speed gets us from A to B in seconds flat. So what if there isn't really room for your legs. So what if the 17 year old interior smells like playdough. Who cares if the plushy seats make even the coolest butts sweat within a nanosecond of contact between them. It's The Rocket. The car payment free, cheaply insured, gas money saving Rocket.

Really, the hero here isn't the Rocket. The true heroes are the two small boys with hearts big enough to forgive for selling the cool truck and for finding a way to make our financial downsizing sting a little less.

Halloween

2007-11-01T10:27:00.000-07:00

I am going to try and update this thing a bit more regularaly. No promises.

Last night we had a lot of fun. The boys were both Ninja Turtles. We made the costumes- and on that note, there is a serious lack of home-made costumes anymore. Anyway, there was some serious cuteness and awsomeness happening here. After each house Owen would announce, "Just ONE more house and that's IT!" and then we'd go on and he'd say it again, and again. Liam was so so proud of his costume that he was more concerned with how many people liked his costume than he was with the candy. He made my costume as well. I wore a pumpkin headband he made at school and carried a toy hammer and a toy telescope. When I asked him what I was supposed to be he said, "Just anything you want, Mom." I love that kid.

We live on a really great street. There are lots of families and people seem to be genuinely excited to see the kids come around. I guess it's a good measure of time. Each year the kids are bigger and interact more. The evolution of the costumes is fun to see too. The little boy that was Thomas the Train two years ago and a member of Lightning McQueen's pit crew last year has graduated to being a crime fighting amphibian. It won't be long before he wants to be some ghoulish figure or a mo-hawked punk rocker. I'll miss the cute stuff then.

We made it around the cul-de-sac, filled our "pumpkin baggie-bags", and headed home to spread the loot over the kitchen floor and lay in it.

Overheard at my house today

2007-05-19T23:04:00.000-07:00

The oldest was conversing with the youngest in the office. They were "fixing". What it was they were working on or why it needed work, I have no clue.

"Hey O, pass me the Allenphillipswrencher. I got some real fixing to do. It's important."

Later, "Where's my big Bible book? I want to look up Shrek the Third."

I'm not sure that Shrek is in the Bible.

"Yes mom, it is. Don't you remember that God knows everything? Of course He knows Shrek."

A few more things I want to jot down before they escape me completely. O has funny words for everything. Hopefully I'll come back and add as I remember.

chochie mooch- chocolate milk
Bunnie- Bryan

Bummer

2005-09-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my birthday and I just recieved a call from my husband, who is in Mississippi volunteering at a shelter, who told me that he won't be making it in tomorrow morning for my birthday after all. I am so bummed. I started thinking all of this really awful stuff until I realized that, hello, he is there serving people who have NOTHING left. They are living in a shelter with a few hundred others who have nothing. He said that he expected a lot of people from Texas to arrive tomorrow. I am sure that the volunteers have their hands full and I am so glad he is there to help them out. Now I am feeling pretty crappy for being so upset over this. So what if we don't get to spend the day together tomorrow. Many people are separated from loved ones and don't have any hope of being reunited any time soon. Some people lost loved ones. Who am I to complain about not going shopping with my husband or going to lunch or out to dinner? When are these people going to do these things again? God is good. He snapped me out of my pity party quicker than I wanted Him to, but I am so grateful.
So tonight I will be thinking about my husband in grubby week-old clothes, sleeping in a shelter with many many refugees, eating mass produced food, and experiencing something so big that I know he won't come home the same man at all. I can't think of a better birthday present.

The Kid

2005-09-11T21:50:00.000-07:00

Dang. Kids grow so fast. I know everyone says it but I am finding out how true it is. Tonight The Kid was playing with a neighbor and acting like such a kid and not just a baby. He was jumping and laughing and interacting and having so much fun. I love watching him play and explore and discover things that we adults take for granted as things you just know. Like last night when he blew out a candle and watched the smoke whirl in the air. He was so excited. Or the day last week when he sat in the backyard with his dad and discovered the way a roly poly bug curls into a ball. A bug that rolls into a ball? Is there anything cooler? I have learned so much from the Kid in the 2+ years he's been in my life and I've loved every single minute of it. He's taught me to move at a slower pace which is worth every painful hourI was in labor with him. Almost every hour.

Sad times

2005-09-03T21:41:00.000-07:00

It's so sad that so much is going on right now and all people want to talk (or complain) about is the politics of it all. I am never impressed by someone who is well-versed in their own brand of bias (that's all either side is anyway) sputters and spouts off about argh, blah, bleepin Bush, blah, blah, blah the right side is to blame and the left side are a bunch of liberal idiots yadda yadda yadda. It almost never sounds intelligent. All it proves is that (a) you know how to read, and (b) you know how to find information to support your side and dispute the other. Good for you.
I love coming across someone who knows both sides and truly feels torn because they can't bring themselves to choose. They are a wreck at election time and can sputter and spout off as much about the "moronic" right as they can about the "idiotic" left and all those in between. I resign myself to being a political reject. I'm fine with that. There's enough to worry about-victims and refugees and formula and diaper-less babies and unmedicated schizophrenics and total anarchy.

Multi-tasking

2005-08-31T15:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I laugh to myself when someone calls and asks. "So, what are you up to?" An honest answer would blow your mind.

Right now I am...
cooking dinner
feeding a baby
bleaching my sinks
updating my blog
disciplining my two year old
sanitizing my toilets
watching Oprah
laundering my unmentionables
having a snack

***Disclaimer: I am not a multi-day, multi-time, multi-tasker. I would better be known as a uni-tasker. Even that's debatable.

So, can we talk poop?

2005-08-30T15:47:00.000-07:00

I am a horrible blogger. I haven't updated in a looonngg time mostly because the things that have me occupied lately- er, the things that occupy my brain, not my time-aren't things that make you want to run to the laptop and type out. Life has thrown me a few curve balls and I'm learning to deal. So, for now, we talk poop.

Why is it that my baby, who usually produces foul, metallic-green poop and who also consumes the exact same thing every day, is suddenly producing mustard yellow and metallic-green poop? Still the same level of foulness, yet it is two-toned.

Still more puzzling, why is it that I am taking the time to blog about this? Oh, yes, the heinously dirty kitchen floor awaits.

Dat's dangeris, mom.

2005-07-27T23:01:00.000-07:00

Danger, apparently, lurks everywhere.

"Don't put me in da street, Mom, dat's dangerisss."
Good advice.

"Don't stand up in Grandpa's waterpool and put your face in the water and get water in your eyes. Das dangerisss. Okay, Mom?"
Makes sense.

"Don't use that one knife. Okay? Das dangeriss."
You're absolutely right.

"Don't read me dat story, Mom. It's too dangerisss."
Okay, wait a minute...

"No want brush teeps. Is too dangerisssss."
No, teethbrushing has never been considered dangerous. Well, unless you jam the toothbrush down your throat or say swallow too much toothpaste.... Hey...!

"I no want to pick up my toys, es dangeriss."
Now I know you don't get "danger", kiddo.

"Dad, you change Baby's poopy diaper. It's tooooo dangeriss for Mommy."
Okay, you totally get it.

Jibba Jabba

2005-07-26T15:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, Jibba Jabba. As in "Cut out that jibba jabba." Jibba jabba is the current theme of my life. I wake up to jibba jabba. My two year old bombards me with jibba jabba throughout the day, I partiticipate in random jibba jabba on the phone and later fall asleep after 8 1/2 minutes of quality jibba jabba with my husband. By the end of the day we're all jibba jabba'd out.

I wasn't always a fan of Mr. T. While I was saving up my allowance for a Cabbage Patch Doll -one with glasses and jeans and a windbreaker- my sister was adding a Mr. T. Doll to her Christmas list. What a nut. What would a little girl want with a Mr. T doll? When the torn Santa paper revealed the box containing Mr. T., she squealed like someone had given her a Cabbage Patch Doll- one with glasses and jeans and a windbreaker. Nope. A plastic Mr. T. complete with a painted mohawk, heavy gold chains and bare chest hidden only partially by an open leather vest. This doll/action figure/plastic hero came complete with a small tool box full of choking hazards. So now we had a mini plastic man that could fix things, presumably Barbie's pink convertible or the broken door on the barnyard stable that housed our My Little Ponies.

Soon conversation around the house contained phrases like, "I pity the foo who doesn't like tuna sandwiches." or "Whatchyou mean you won't give me back my clear red sun visor with the blinking light band and 9-volt battery pack, fool?" or "Hey sucka [insert any insult you've ever heard in a war between two smallish girls]. Mr. T. was the IT man. He fixed things, he taught us neat-o catch phrases, he was even (I still don't get this) cuddly enough to sing to and rock to sleep. Eventually I would ditch my Cabbage Patch doll- you know the one- and kidnap Mr. T. while my sister was napping. I would jibba jabba with him a bit and have him fix Hot Wheels and the Barbie convertible with his choking hazard hammers and screwdrivers and then make sure he was comfy in bed next to my sister. Mr. T became the icon of the 80's for me, for sure.