“Get off his head”
“Don’t jump on the baby!”
“Crap, the baby’s eating trash again”
“Get down off the wall” (Yes, my boys can physically climb a wall!)
“Get that chicken out of here!”
“Don’t put your cereal in the VCR”
“Does anyone know where the baby is??”
“The baby is hanging on the DVD drive again”
“How much is a new DVD drive?”
“I know it’s yours but just let him have it so he’ll stop screaming!”
“If you kick his seat one more time I’ll cut your legs off at the knees!”
(Don’t worry, this is usually followed by their peals of laughter – and more kicking of the back of the seat)
“I know they’re all crying, just take the picture anyway so we can get out of here.”
“I’m pregnant AGAIN?!?” (Followed by an intense scowl at my very bewildered husband)
“Just leave it on the floor, the baby will eat it.”
“Is it possible to completely eliminate the hours between 4 and 9pm?”
“I wish I drank alcohol”
“No, but I think their mom’s around here somewhere” (In response to an incredulous looking woman at Target asking if the boys running around the toy department were mine)
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Friday, December 14, 2007
Confessions
I let my potty training toddler go naked most of the day. Not only does this cut down on a crucial, timesaving step when it’s time to go potty, but it also almost eliminates his mark on my laundry load.
I let Sam drink from warm bottles.
I purposely tell my kids to clean up their rooms knowing that they will then play as nicely and quietly as they can to not bring attention to the fact that they are disobeying me.
Sam gets upset when I sweep the floor because I’m eliminating a crucial element of his dietary sustenance (I let him eat off the floor).
I don’t let my kids dress themselves when we go out because I care what others think of me.
I tell my kids that mommy is ‘working’ when I am reading the news or blogging on the computer.
My kids often have string cheese and apples for lunch because they can get it themselves.
I will often dress in baggy knit pants and a comfy T-shirt, then wear it to bed that night and then again the next day. Again, this dramatically cuts down on my laundry loads.
I believe that Hawaiian pizza and a milkshake covers all 4 food groups and is then, in fact, a healthy meal.
I rub spit up into the carpet with my sock.
I do cry over spilled milk.
I will take a binky from my toddler’s mouth and give it to the baby.
My 6 and 7 year olds have BB guns, throwing knives and are getting bows and arrows for Christmas.
My 3 year old still calls the baby “Baby Wham” and I think it’s cute.
I have let my kids help themselves to cupcakes for breakfast so that I can sleep a few minutes longer.
The real purpose of these confessions is that I hope my mom will read them and immediately make a plane reservation to come out here and take ‘proper care of these poor babies!’
I let Sam drink from warm bottles.
I purposely tell my kids to clean up their rooms knowing that they will then play as nicely and quietly as they can to not bring attention to the fact that they are disobeying me.
Sam gets upset when I sweep the floor because I’m eliminating a crucial element of his dietary sustenance (I let him eat off the floor).
I don’t let my kids dress themselves when we go out because I care what others think of me.
I tell my kids that mommy is ‘working’ when I am reading the news or blogging on the computer.
My kids often have string cheese and apples for lunch because they can get it themselves.
I will often dress in baggy knit pants and a comfy T-shirt, then wear it to bed that night and then again the next day. Again, this dramatically cuts down on my laundry loads.
I believe that Hawaiian pizza and a milkshake covers all 4 food groups and is then, in fact, a healthy meal.
I rub spit up into the carpet with my sock.
I do cry over spilled milk.
I will take a binky from my toddler’s mouth and give it to the baby.
My 6 and 7 year olds have BB guns, throwing knives and are getting bows and arrows for Christmas.
My 3 year old still calls the baby “Baby Wham” and I think it’s cute.
I have let my kids help themselves to cupcakes for breakfast so that I can sleep a few minutes longer.
The real purpose of these confessions is that I hope my mom will read them and immediately make a plane reservation to come out here and take ‘proper care of these poor babies!’
Friday, November 30, 2007
Products We Mommies Really Want
Closed Captioned Cameras
I have a confession to make: I’m a bad news junkie. I know that there are many women out there who prided themselves about being informed of the events of the day, but once their babies were born, became unable to emotionally handle all the horrible things happening in the world. I, on the other hand, seem to be more drawn to these horrible stories now that I’m a mom because it keeps me in a proper state of panic.
Gone are the days of ‘Stranger, Danger’, I now have myself convinced that the guy reading our meter is secretly plotting some heinous crime.
You can imagine my devastation the first time my 6 and 7 year old sons insisted they were old enough to go in the Men’s Room at Walmart by themselves. “Not until you have a whistle.” I insisted.
Upon deeper reflection, I realized that in this day of digital everything, why not combine the electronic masterpiece of Closed Caption TV with the ingenuity of digital cameras. A Closed Captioned Camera. Just point and click and a caption about that person will appear at the base of the photo.
Snap! DIRTY OLD MAN WHO LOOKS AT NASTY MAGAZINES
“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to wait out here until my sons are done in the bathroom”
Snap! RETIRED NAVY OFFICER BUYING CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR SHUT-INS
“Thank you sir, you may proceed…Er, and will you please make sure my boys aren’t having a water fight in there?”
This device would also be very helpful at the park and playgroups. Just hang back and start taking pictures so that you can direct which group of children your kids should play with.
Snap! OBEDIENT LITTLE GIRL WHO LOVES BABY DOLLS AND WANTS TO MARRY A MISSIONARY.
“Josh, go play with her and BE POLITE!”
Snap! NAUGHTY LITTLE BOY WHO GOT A BB GUN FOR HIS BIRTHDAY
“Will, don’t play with him, but let’s see….” Snap! VERY SAD BOY WHOSE PUPPY RAN AWAY “go share your cookies with that little boy over there”
Of course I realize that this device could backfire on me. I’m sure at some point I will be the unknowing subject of another panicked mommy at the park.
Snap! STAY AT HOME MOM DESPERATE FOR ADULT CONVERSATION. WARNING! WILL SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF YOU!!
I have a confession to make: I’m a bad news junkie. I know that there are many women out there who prided themselves about being informed of the events of the day, but once their babies were born, became unable to emotionally handle all the horrible things happening in the world. I, on the other hand, seem to be more drawn to these horrible stories now that I’m a mom because it keeps me in a proper state of panic.
Gone are the days of ‘Stranger, Danger’, I now have myself convinced that the guy reading our meter is secretly plotting some heinous crime.
You can imagine my devastation the first time my 6 and 7 year old sons insisted they were old enough to go in the Men’s Room at Walmart by themselves. “Not until you have a whistle.” I insisted.
Upon deeper reflection, I realized that in this day of digital everything, why not combine the electronic masterpiece of Closed Caption TV with the ingenuity of digital cameras. A Closed Captioned Camera. Just point and click and a caption about that person will appear at the base of the photo.
Snap! DIRTY OLD MAN WHO LOOKS AT NASTY MAGAZINES
“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to wait out here until my sons are done in the bathroom”
Snap! RETIRED NAVY OFFICER BUYING CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR SHUT-INS
“Thank you sir, you may proceed…Er, and will you please make sure my boys aren’t having a water fight in there?”
This device would also be very helpful at the park and playgroups. Just hang back and start taking pictures so that you can direct which group of children your kids should play with.
Snap! OBEDIENT LITTLE GIRL WHO LOVES BABY DOLLS AND WANTS TO MARRY A MISSIONARY.
“Josh, go play with her and BE POLITE!”
Snap! NAUGHTY LITTLE BOY WHO GOT A BB GUN FOR HIS BIRTHDAY
“Will, don’t play with him, but let’s see….” Snap! VERY SAD BOY WHOSE PUPPY RAN AWAY “go share your cookies with that little boy over there”
Of course I realize that this device could backfire on me. I’m sure at some point I will be the unknowing subject of another panicked mommy at the park.
Snap! STAY AT HOME MOM DESPERATE FOR ADULT CONVERSATION. WARNING! WILL SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF YOU!!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Broken Trust
**The following events have been given a small amount of artistic license, however, this is an accurate account of events as they happened…in my heart**
Brett and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary this year. It is a momentous occasion to be able to claim a full decade of marriage and I’ve been looking forward to this landmark for, well, the past 10 years. However, all of this was put into jeopardy just this morning.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning and as last night was daylight savings, we got a full extra hour of sleep. What could possibly be wrong with the world when you can actually wake up feeling somewhat refreshed? We decided to stay home from church and have a nice breakfast and just hang out with the kids. After a big family breakfast, the boys decided to go outside and bury the little money they had in the backyard. Brett and I spent the rest of the morning hanging out on the couch and enjoying the quiet.
I got up to go to the bathroom and in the one moment it took for me to glance in the mirror as I passed, the entire trust structure of my marriage crumbled. There on my chin was the biggest, most bulbous whitehead I have ever seen on anyone’s, much less my own, face!! This thing could have been charted on a topographical map and given it’s own coordinates!
As alarming as the discovery of something so heinous on my face, the true devastation was in the fact that I have spent an entire morning with a man who did not deem it necessary to inform me that a creature must have drilled into my face and laid an entire nest of eggs underneath my skin as I slept!
After collecting the shards of my broken heart, I marched into the living room, and through a bevy of tears, confronted this man I once trusted with my life.
“How (sob!) COULD you?!?” (hiccup!)
He slowly diverts his eyes from his book and looks up at me like a man who has no idea his world has crashed around him.
“What?”
I remove the wad of tissue from my now bleeding chin and let the crater speak for itself.
“Oh, that. I thought you knew”
“THOUGHT I KNEW???? Do you not know me at ALL??”
It is now that it begins to dawn on him, that all may not be well. Concern begins to wrinkle his brow and he gets the glazed look that indicates his desperate search for the right thing to say. After several agonizingly silent moments, it becomes clear to me that he is not going to find it.
With resignation and deep hurt I whisper “I trusted you”.
“You CAN trust me!” he desperately responds, “I just thought that you already knew about it and decided to leave it alone for once.”
“So, it’s come to that has it?” My deep wounds begin to numb with the balm of anger, “You think I no longer care about how I look? That I don’t care if you’re attracted to me??”
“NO! I know you care about how you look!”
“OH! So YOU don’t care about how I look! You’ve given up on me??” Pause. “Is there someone else?”
“Andrea, come on, this is ridiculous, it’s just a pimple!”
Incredulous, I respond “A pimple? You really think this is all about a PIMPLE?? It is our marriage and the fact that the basic foundation of trust has been completely SHATTERED!”
He drops his head as he has a hundred times in the past and resignedly states “Ok, what’s it gonna take?”
I stand up straight and with as much dignity as I can muster, state “Dinner AND a movie.”
Heavy sigh, “Ok. When?”
My anger flares, “I think under the circumstances as soon as possible!" I calm down a little and decide to drop the bomb, "That’s not all. I want the movie to be a romantic comedy.”
It is here that he finally comes alive, “What?! A click flick??”
I slowly lower the blood soaked tissue and reveal the gash that is clearly in need of stitches and raise my left eyebrow.
He is beaten and he knows it. He begins to slowly nod his head and quietly says that he’ll call his mom to see if she can watch the kids. He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind, gets up and walks across the room to the phone.
I turn my back to him and walk to the window and look out at our children shoving dollar bills into the muddy depths of the sandbox. A weary sigh escapes me and I look over my shoulder to see my husband talking on the phone in hushed tones.
A disaster averted. A marriage saved.
I turn back to the window and focus on the falling leaves of the trees, ‘But for how long?’ I think. ‘Until the next salad I eat? Will I always have to wonder if there is spinach in my teeth? Chocolate on my blouse?’
I straighten at the sound of Brett hanging up the phone. He comes to my side and takes my hand.
“It’s all arranged” I turn toward him as the sun breaks through a cloud and bathes our silhouette in soft, warm light.
Brett gazes deeply into my eyes and lovingly says “You have a big piece of goop in the corner of your eye”.
I try to choke back my tears of gratitude and put my head on his shoulder.
All is well. All is well.
Brett and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary this year. It is a momentous occasion to be able to claim a full decade of marriage and I’ve been looking forward to this landmark for, well, the past 10 years. However, all of this was put into jeopardy just this morning.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning and as last night was daylight savings, we got a full extra hour of sleep. What could possibly be wrong with the world when you can actually wake up feeling somewhat refreshed? We decided to stay home from church and have a nice breakfast and just hang out with the kids. After a big family breakfast, the boys decided to go outside and bury the little money they had in the backyard. Brett and I spent the rest of the morning hanging out on the couch and enjoying the quiet.
I got up to go to the bathroom and in the one moment it took for me to glance in the mirror as I passed, the entire trust structure of my marriage crumbled. There on my chin was the biggest, most bulbous whitehead I have ever seen on anyone’s, much less my own, face!! This thing could have been charted on a topographical map and given it’s own coordinates!
As alarming as the discovery of something so heinous on my face, the true devastation was in the fact that I have spent an entire morning with a man who did not deem it necessary to inform me that a creature must have drilled into my face and laid an entire nest of eggs underneath my skin as I slept!
After collecting the shards of my broken heart, I marched into the living room, and through a bevy of tears, confronted this man I once trusted with my life.
“How (sob!) COULD you?!?” (hiccup!)
He slowly diverts his eyes from his book and looks up at me like a man who has no idea his world has crashed around him.
“What?”
I remove the wad of tissue from my now bleeding chin and let the crater speak for itself.
“Oh, that. I thought you knew”
“THOUGHT I KNEW???? Do you not know me at ALL??”
It is now that it begins to dawn on him, that all may not be well. Concern begins to wrinkle his brow and he gets the glazed look that indicates his desperate search for the right thing to say. After several agonizingly silent moments, it becomes clear to me that he is not going to find it.
With resignation and deep hurt I whisper “I trusted you”.
“You CAN trust me!” he desperately responds, “I just thought that you already knew about it and decided to leave it alone for once.”
“So, it’s come to that has it?” My deep wounds begin to numb with the balm of anger, “You think I no longer care about how I look? That I don’t care if you’re attracted to me??”
“NO! I know you care about how you look!”
“OH! So YOU don’t care about how I look! You’ve given up on me??” Pause. “Is there someone else?”
“Andrea, come on, this is ridiculous, it’s just a pimple!”
Incredulous, I respond “A pimple? You really think this is all about a PIMPLE?? It is our marriage and the fact that the basic foundation of trust has been completely SHATTERED!”
He drops his head as he has a hundred times in the past and resignedly states “Ok, what’s it gonna take?”
I stand up straight and with as much dignity as I can muster, state “Dinner AND a movie.”
Heavy sigh, “Ok. When?”
My anger flares, “I think under the circumstances as soon as possible!" I calm down a little and decide to drop the bomb, "That’s not all. I want the movie to be a romantic comedy.”
It is here that he finally comes alive, “What?! A click flick??”
I slowly lower the blood soaked tissue and reveal the gash that is clearly in need of stitches and raise my left eyebrow.
He is beaten and he knows it. He begins to slowly nod his head and quietly says that he’ll call his mom to see if she can watch the kids. He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind, gets up and walks across the room to the phone.
I turn my back to him and walk to the window and look out at our children shoving dollar bills into the muddy depths of the sandbox. A weary sigh escapes me and I look over my shoulder to see my husband talking on the phone in hushed tones.
A disaster averted. A marriage saved.
I turn back to the window and focus on the falling leaves of the trees, ‘But for how long?’ I think. ‘Until the next salad I eat? Will I always have to wonder if there is spinach in my teeth? Chocolate on my blouse?’
I straighten at the sound of Brett hanging up the phone. He comes to my side and takes my hand.
“It’s all arranged” I turn toward him as the sun breaks through a cloud and bathes our silhouette in soft, warm light.
Brett gazes deeply into my eyes and lovingly says “You have a big piece of goop in the corner of your eye”.
I try to choke back my tears of gratitude and put my head on his shoulder.
All is well. All is well.
Friday, October 26, 2007
About Me
I got this email from a friend today. The point is to read their answers, then return the email with your answers so that you can learn more about each other. Since I’ve been out of the blogging loop recently, I thought for my return I would post my answers for all of you to learn more about me.
WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?
My children leaving home and my children coming back.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?
Well, I would have to just stick with the general title of ‘Food’. I’m no longer very picky.
WHAT IS YOUR NATURAL HAIR COLOR?
A rich chocolate brown with soft auburn highlights. Ok, so I haven’t seen my natural color in about 15 years, but I can dream can’t I?
HAVE YOU TRAVELED?
I’ve tried, but Brett has given my photo to all Border Patrol Agents as a runaway mom and they keep making me go back home.
DO YOU SCRUNCH OR FOLD (TOILET PAPER)?
So, we are operating under the assumption that the children haven’t used all the remaining toilet paper to mummify each other and that I’m not forced to drip dry? Definitely scrunch – who has time to fold?
HAVE YOU LOVED SOMEONE SO MUCH IT MADE YOU CRY?
I love them so much, that is WHY I cry.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN A CAR ACCIDENT?
Er, next question please….
MERCEDES BENZ OR LEXUS?
Clearly my friends are more upper scale than I. I’m afraid I’m going to have to stick with what I know – DODGE!
FAVORITE DAY OF THE WEEK
Sunday, Monday and Tuesday (Brett’s days off). Er, unless he’s in a bad mood, then my favorite days are Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday.
FAVORITE RESTAURANT
Anyplace where I don’t have to cook or do dishes!
FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH
The WWF that occurs in my house everyday.
FAVORITE DRINK
DOUBLE SHOT MOCHAS!! However, I’m desperately trying to acquire a taste for whiskey
FAVORITE ICE CREAM
Starbuck’s Java Chip. Not only is this the best ice cream on earth, but my husband hates coffee and I’d rather die than give my kids caffine, so it’s AAALLL MINE!!
FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT
Whatever is fast and, er, food.
WHAT COLOR IS YOUR CARPET?
“Watch out that’s my coffee!! Aaahhhhh….”
“Mama! Baby bahf!”
“Oops, I poo poo’d”
“Run to the potty! Run to the potty! Run to the…. Crap.”
Who on earth knows what the original color was?
WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?
Are you serious?? I’m a stay at home, homeschooling mom to 4 boys. Whatever hobbies I once had were wrenched my limp and lifeless hands 7 years ago.
BEDTIME
Well, MY bedtime is supposed to be 10pm, given that the children’s bedtime is 8pm, but since most nights the children don’t get to bed until 10pm, that means I usually don’t get to bed until sometime between 12am-3am depending on how many kids and how many times they attempt the ‘I need a drink’, ‘I have to go potty again’, ‘What day is tomorrow?’, ‘Is that a movie you’re watching?? Can I watch it too?!? Is it appropriate for kids?? Why do you watch movies that aren’t appropriate for kids? Shouldn’t it be inappropriate for you too?’
WHAT MEANS THE MOST TO YOU?
Having a friend that will let me crawl through her door with 4 rowdy kids and watch 17 episodes of “What NOT to Wear” then promises to turn me in so I can go shopping in New York for 5 days without any kids. Oh yeah, and World Peace.
FAVORITE TV SHOW
I like to watch the news. It makes me feel like my life isn’t nearly as sad as I think.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?
Yellow. It’s the color of sunshine. It’s the color of hope.
WHAT DO YOU ANTICIPATE MOST IN YOUR FUTURE?
Knowing that someday I will only be responsible for wiping 1 bottom and cutting 1 plate of food – MINE!
WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
On 1 acre in NW Montana. I’ve been trying to get my own apartment in town for a few years, but they won’t let me leave.
HOW MANY PETS DO YOU HAVE?
Are we talking pets or actual animals that live on my property? We have 10 goats, 25 chickens, 738 mice and 1 good for nothing vegetarian cat.
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO ACCOMPLISH BEFORE YOU DIE?
My aspirations aren’t very high – I’d just like to die with the same amount of sanity that I entered parenthood with.
WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?
My children leaving home and my children coming back.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?
Well, I would have to just stick with the general title of ‘Food’. I’m no longer very picky.
WHAT IS YOUR NATURAL HAIR COLOR?
A rich chocolate brown with soft auburn highlights. Ok, so I haven’t seen my natural color in about 15 years, but I can dream can’t I?
HAVE YOU TRAVELED?
I’ve tried, but Brett has given my photo to all Border Patrol Agents as a runaway mom and they keep making me go back home.
DO YOU SCRUNCH OR FOLD (TOILET PAPER)?
So, we are operating under the assumption that the children haven’t used all the remaining toilet paper to mummify each other and that I’m not forced to drip dry? Definitely scrunch – who has time to fold?
HAVE YOU LOVED SOMEONE SO MUCH IT MADE YOU CRY?
I love them so much, that is WHY I cry.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN A CAR ACCIDENT?
Er, next question please….
MERCEDES BENZ OR LEXUS?
Clearly my friends are more upper scale than I. I’m afraid I’m going to have to stick with what I know – DODGE!
FAVORITE DAY OF THE WEEK
Sunday, Monday and Tuesday (Brett’s days off). Er, unless he’s in a bad mood, then my favorite days are Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday.
FAVORITE RESTAURANT
Anyplace where I don’t have to cook or do dishes!
FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH
The WWF that occurs in my house everyday.
FAVORITE DRINK
DOUBLE SHOT MOCHAS!! However, I’m desperately trying to acquire a taste for whiskey
FAVORITE ICE CREAM
Starbuck’s Java Chip. Not only is this the best ice cream on earth, but my husband hates coffee and I’d rather die than give my kids caffine, so it’s AAALLL MINE!!
FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT
Whatever is fast and, er, food.
WHAT COLOR IS YOUR CARPET?
“Watch out that’s my coffee!! Aaahhhhh….”
“Mama! Baby bahf!”
“Oops, I poo poo’d”
“Run to the potty! Run to the potty! Run to the…. Crap.”
Who on earth knows what the original color was?
WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?
Are you serious?? I’m a stay at home, homeschooling mom to 4 boys. Whatever hobbies I once had were wrenched my limp and lifeless hands 7 years ago.
BEDTIME
Well, MY bedtime is supposed to be 10pm, given that the children’s bedtime is 8pm, but since most nights the children don’t get to bed until 10pm, that means I usually don’t get to bed until sometime between 12am-3am depending on how many kids and how many times they attempt the ‘I need a drink’, ‘I have to go potty again’, ‘What day is tomorrow?’, ‘Is that a movie you’re watching?? Can I watch it too?!? Is it appropriate for kids?? Why do you watch movies that aren’t appropriate for kids? Shouldn’t it be inappropriate for you too?’
WHAT MEANS THE MOST TO YOU?
Having a friend that will let me crawl through her door with 4 rowdy kids and watch 17 episodes of “What NOT to Wear” then promises to turn me in so I can go shopping in New York for 5 days without any kids. Oh yeah, and World Peace.
FAVORITE TV SHOW
I like to watch the news. It makes me feel like my life isn’t nearly as sad as I think.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?
Yellow. It’s the color of sunshine. It’s the color of hope.
WHAT DO YOU ANTICIPATE MOST IN YOUR FUTURE?
Knowing that someday I will only be responsible for wiping 1 bottom and cutting 1 plate of food – MINE!
WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
On 1 acre in NW Montana. I’ve been trying to get my own apartment in town for a few years, but they won’t let me leave.
HOW MANY PETS DO YOU HAVE?
Are we talking pets or actual animals that live on my property? We have 10 goats, 25 chickens, 738 mice and 1 good for nothing vegetarian cat.
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO ACCOMPLISH BEFORE YOU DIE?
My aspirations aren’t very high – I’d just like to die with the same amount of sanity that I entered parenthood with.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Our Family Bed
I recently read that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had a 9ft bed specially made so that it would fit themselves and their 4 children. Brad was then quoted as saying that they would soon need to move up to an 11 ft. bed.
As flawed as my imagination might be, I couldn’t help but picture a stunning Angelina in satin nightie and flowing hair propped up on her elbow looking lovingly across 4 spread eagled children towards an equally handsome and well coiffed Brad. They reach out their hands to try and touch fingertips together but come up several feet short, smile fondly and then stretch out with infinite space in which to seek restful sleep.
I actually felt a little sad for them as I lay tightly snuggled against my husband’s back in our full sized bed. The baby, having gotten up 20 minutes earlier, was tucked into the crook of my arm with his head resting on my shoulder. I sigh contentedly.
I hear footsteps and Joshua appears at our door. He sees us still sleeping and comes and climbs in at the bottom of the bed. He intertwines his body around our legs and quietly snuggles in. The baby begins to thrash and whine a little as I adjust my body to accommodate Josh and the disturbance brings a grumble from my husband’s back.
We re-adjust and everyone quiets down again.
The door creaks and I see Ben sneaking in with his arms laden with 2 stuffed animals, a sippy cup, book and his Buzz Lightyear toy that has lights that spin above his head when the legs are pressed together. He starts to chuck his paraphernalia into the bed hitting Brett in the back with his sippy cup and the baby in the head with the book. The quiet is now officially broken. He hoists his body into the bed and seeing that all horizontal space is taken, firmly positions himself on my face.
Brett glances over his shoulder with a scowl and scoots closer to the edge so that the ice cold sippy cup is no longer pressed against his back, but now falls into a crack to begin rapidly leaking onto the sheets. I move my head to find an air pocket and re-adjust the baby so I can rub the tiny bump developing on his forehead. I no longer have a view of the door but become aware of the presence of another child when the mattress dips heavily and my chest becomes uncomfortably restricted. I adjust my breathing to take shallow breaths and fight desperately to keep my air pocket open when Josh starts screaming “OW! Mom, you’re kicking me!!”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to breathe.”
“Why can’t they sleep in their own beds?” comes the cranky response from the shivering mound now desperately trying to fit his 6ft frame into the 4 remaining inches on the side of the bed.
“Josh! I want some covers, you can’t take them all!” whines Will and begins a tug of war that quickly removes all remaining air from my lungs.
I feel a warm, oozy sludge run slowly down my neck and into my hair as I begin to lose consciousness.
I’m in a tunnel now and see light up ahead. It is flashing and colorful and I begin to run towards it. I reach up and feel something hard and cold. I crack and eye and realize that it’s Buzz Lightyear with his lights buzzing wildly above his head.
Brett has finally given up his attempt to ignore the 4 children screaming and jumping on his bruised and battered body and rolls off the last 2 inches of mattress and onto the floor. The shift sends the mountain of children falling off my chest and oxygen floods back into my lungs.
I’m laying in the cold, wet remnants of the emptied sippy cup with spit up plastered and crusting in my hair. The kids are still fighting over blankets at the foot of the bed and Ben is animatedly playing with his 2 stuffed animals. Desperate for some of the tranquility I woke up with, I seek out Sam and lovingly cradle him on my chest. He looks at me and smiles past his pacifier. I smile back as he reaches up and removes the drippy, drooly binky from his mouth and firmly shoves it in my mouth.
I bolt upright sputtering and spitting with children flying everywhere as I jerk pillows and blankets out from under them to try and wipe out my mouth. I barely grab Sam’s leg as he begins to topple over the side and the incensed cries and yells from fallen children fill the room. Breathing heavily I look over at my husband who still has a sour look on his face and firmly declare “I want a 9 foot bed!”
As flawed as my imagination might be, I couldn’t help but picture a stunning Angelina in satin nightie and flowing hair propped up on her elbow looking lovingly across 4 spread eagled children towards an equally handsome and well coiffed Brad. They reach out their hands to try and touch fingertips together but come up several feet short, smile fondly and then stretch out with infinite space in which to seek restful sleep.
I actually felt a little sad for them as I lay tightly snuggled against my husband’s back in our full sized bed. The baby, having gotten up 20 minutes earlier, was tucked into the crook of my arm with his head resting on my shoulder. I sigh contentedly.
I hear footsteps and Joshua appears at our door. He sees us still sleeping and comes and climbs in at the bottom of the bed. He intertwines his body around our legs and quietly snuggles in. The baby begins to thrash and whine a little as I adjust my body to accommodate Josh and the disturbance brings a grumble from my husband’s back.
We re-adjust and everyone quiets down again.
The door creaks and I see Ben sneaking in with his arms laden with 2 stuffed animals, a sippy cup, book and his Buzz Lightyear toy that has lights that spin above his head when the legs are pressed together. He starts to chuck his paraphernalia into the bed hitting Brett in the back with his sippy cup and the baby in the head with the book. The quiet is now officially broken. He hoists his body into the bed and seeing that all horizontal space is taken, firmly positions himself on my face.
Brett glances over his shoulder with a scowl and scoots closer to the edge so that the ice cold sippy cup is no longer pressed against his back, but now falls into a crack to begin rapidly leaking onto the sheets. I move my head to find an air pocket and re-adjust the baby so I can rub the tiny bump developing on his forehead. I no longer have a view of the door but become aware of the presence of another child when the mattress dips heavily and my chest becomes uncomfortably restricted. I adjust my breathing to take shallow breaths and fight desperately to keep my air pocket open when Josh starts screaming “OW! Mom, you’re kicking me!!”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to breathe.”
“Why can’t they sleep in their own beds?” comes the cranky response from the shivering mound now desperately trying to fit his 6ft frame into the 4 remaining inches on the side of the bed.
“Josh! I want some covers, you can’t take them all!” whines Will and begins a tug of war that quickly removes all remaining air from my lungs.
I feel a warm, oozy sludge run slowly down my neck and into my hair as I begin to lose consciousness.
I’m in a tunnel now and see light up ahead. It is flashing and colorful and I begin to run towards it. I reach up and feel something hard and cold. I crack and eye and realize that it’s Buzz Lightyear with his lights buzzing wildly above his head.
Brett has finally given up his attempt to ignore the 4 children screaming and jumping on his bruised and battered body and rolls off the last 2 inches of mattress and onto the floor. The shift sends the mountain of children falling off my chest and oxygen floods back into my lungs.
I’m laying in the cold, wet remnants of the emptied sippy cup with spit up plastered and crusting in my hair. The kids are still fighting over blankets at the foot of the bed and Ben is animatedly playing with his 2 stuffed animals. Desperate for some of the tranquility I woke up with, I seek out Sam and lovingly cradle him on my chest. He looks at me and smiles past his pacifier. I smile back as he reaches up and removes the drippy, drooly binky from his mouth and firmly shoves it in my mouth.
I bolt upright sputtering and spitting with children flying everywhere as I jerk pillows and blankets out from under them to try and wipe out my mouth. I barely grab Sam’s leg as he begins to topple over the side and the incensed cries and yells from fallen children fill the room. Breathing heavily I look over at my husband who still has a sour look on his face and firmly declare “I want a 9 foot bed!”
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
A Day in the Life
Its 5am and I’m awakened by the rapid pattering of barefeet. Seconds later my two year old hoists himself and his bevy of bedtime essentials into our bed. He snuggles in and I hope for another couple hours of sleep. At 7am I waken again after a fitful attempt to sleep with a thrashing toddler and realize that I’m wet. I’m hoping this is due to a leaky sippy cup as opposed to a leaky diaper but I am not so lucky.
I put on a clean pair of pajamas (getting dressed means I’m ready to be productive, and I’m just not there yet), and start making breakfast for the other kids groggily emerging from their rooms. I’m feeling industrious so I make bacon and eggs.
The boys sit down at breakfast and begin complaining that they wanted cereal. “Children all over the world would love to have bacon and eggs for breakfast. You’re lucky to have food at all!” I respond.
Halfway through breakfast I realize that Ben has not touched a single bite of his food but has opted to grab the dry cereal off the baby’s tray and shove it in his toy sharks mouth and pulverize it to dust. He then takes his toy truck and begins running it through the remnants in order to assure maximum destruction. My husband looks contemplatively at his son and his untouched food and says “How does he grow?” “I have no idea” I respond.
Seven complaints and a tantrum later, breakfast is cleaned up and Brett is off to work. I start a pot of coffee and inform the troops that they are to get dressed, brush their teeth and make their beds.
I settle down in front of the computer to read the news with my cup of coffee and, upon hearing ten pounds of Legos being dumped on the floor, realize that it has been 20 minutes since my last finger sweep of Sam’s mouth where I find a mangled mass of cardboard which I soon identify as a puzzle piece.
Overall, the morning is quite peaceful as the boys are careful not to fight because they know that at the first signs of discontent, they will bring to my attention their blatant disobedience to get ready for the day.
After working at the computer for a bit, I decide it’s finally time to get dressed but at the sight of Ben’s soaked diaper hanging between his legs, I chose to change him first. It is only hanging mid-thigh and I usually try to wait until it hits his knees but I’m feeling industrious. For good measure I grab Sam as well and secretly praise myself for being so efficient. I grab 2 diapers and set them both on the hallway floor for changing. Upon opening Sam’s diaper, I am met with a pungent odor I had not expected. “UNDIAGNOSED POOP! UNDIAGNOSED POOP!” I shout. The alarm is sounded and my boys respond with the efficiency of soldiers at the wail of a bomb raid. William runs and throws his body across Sam while I struggle to keep his legs and hands from spreading the mess. Josh runs for the box of baby wipes and Ben lays in utter stillness and silence. It is a serious moment and we all exhale a sigh of relief when it is over.
When I come in from disposing of the soiled diapers, I find Sam sitting in front of the computer as if waiting for my presence before he reaches up to push the power button. As I am ½ an hour into writing a 45th Anniversary letter to my parents, I streak across the house and dive for his hand. In the scuffle, it is MY hand that brushes the power button and deletes all my heartfelt musings. I teach Ben a few choice words to reveal in front of company while I do another finger sweep of Sam’s mouth to discover a honey roasted peanut and a wadded mass of paper that looks a lot like a check stub. I remove the paper and give him back the peanut.
I make lunch then put the younger two down for a nap while the older two escape outside and begin digging a trench in our newly seeded yard. I sigh and decide to be content that at least they aren’t trying to dig up our dead cat again and that the house is quiet.
I start washing sheets and realize that I can no longer put off cleaning the bathrooms as I find that the toilet in the boy’s bathroom is no longer fit to urinate in.
While hanging the sheets on the clothesline, I see the boys have created a small pond in their trench and have taken their $30 Playmobile Pirate ship to sink into its muddy depths. I close my eyes and decide to go inside and clean the kitchen then start in again on my 45th Anniversary tribute to my parents (“Congratulations guys, I think you’re neat” is all I seem to manage). I hear whoops and hollers outside and see that the boys are now jumping on the trampoline – naked.
Ben wakes up from his nap and staggers out of his room, also naked. I go to investigate and find a completely dry diaper sitting on the floor and his bed completely soaked from mattress pad to comforter. I strip the bed and begin yet another load of laundry.
By 5:00, the boys beds are still unmade, their teeth unbrushed and I’m still in my pajamas. Ben has dumped all his toys bins so I call the boys in to begin cleaning up the mess. There is much protesting as they begin to whine that it is Ben’s mess so I take the much anticipated moment to delve into my speech of how I clean up their messes all day long and maybe this will help them to have a little more appreciation for what I do. They roll their eyes and decide to just clean it up before I can start in on my “You should be thankful to even have toys” tirade.
Brett calls from work to tell me he is going to be late. I’m bummed but decide to look on the bright side that I can just throw some granola bars and bananas at the boys for dinner.
It’s 7:00 and we’re approaching Zero Barrier. Bathtime.
I attempt to stem the flow of disaster by informing the boys that they are to get in the shower, get wet, soaped, rinsed and OUT of the shower. There is to be no splashing, playing, yelling or fighting.
An hour later, the boys are running around the house naked and screaming. I’m trying to sop up the water on the floor and wipe the water droplets ominously hanging from the ceiling like stalactites while yelling over my shoulder at several sets of deaf ears, “Just how hard is it to keep the water INSIDE the tub??”
I’m harried and ready for the house to be quiet again and try to rush through bedtime prayers, but Ben finds it necessary that every item in his bed, including the Spiderman on his pajama shirt, has a turn to pray and the quickie ritual is stretched out an agonizing 20 minutes.
The baby starts crying and Josh begins praying for the safety and provision of the whole world. I sigh heavily and try to get my mind on what is important (the spiritual growth of my son) but after he begins to pray that everyone he knows does not have nightmares that night, I begin to get antsy. Sam is still crying when Josh closes his prayer “Thank you God that I have such a good mommy who is pretty and smells good. Amen.” I silently leave his room and return with a package of cookies for him to sleep with and then go and put the baby to sleep. From the rocking chair I see the stack of inedible items on the counter that I rescued from his mouth – an eraser, 3 legos, a piece of plastic, a knarled up page from a book, 2 more puzzle pieces and a baby wipe which I desperately hope was nicked from the wipes box and not the trash.
By the time Brett gets home, I am sitting down on the couch for the first time that day. “So, what did you do today?” he asks. I look around me and realize that the house looks as though I’ve been in bed reading romance novels all day. I give a heavy, defeated sigh and respond, “Nothing.”
I put on a clean pair of pajamas (getting dressed means I’m ready to be productive, and I’m just not there yet), and start making breakfast for the other kids groggily emerging from their rooms. I’m feeling industrious so I make bacon and eggs.
The boys sit down at breakfast and begin complaining that they wanted cereal. “Children all over the world would love to have bacon and eggs for breakfast. You’re lucky to have food at all!” I respond.
Halfway through breakfast I realize that Ben has not touched a single bite of his food but has opted to grab the dry cereal off the baby’s tray and shove it in his toy sharks mouth and pulverize it to dust. He then takes his toy truck and begins running it through the remnants in order to assure maximum destruction. My husband looks contemplatively at his son and his untouched food and says “How does he grow?” “I have no idea” I respond.
Seven complaints and a tantrum later, breakfast is cleaned up and Brett is off to work. I start a pot of coffee and inform the troops that they are to get dressed, brush their teeth and make their beds.
I settle down in front of the computer to read the news with my cup of coffee and, upon hearing ten pounds of Legos being dumped on the floor, realize that it has been 20 minutes since my last finger sweep of Sam’s mouth where I find a mangled mass of cardboard which I soon identify as a puzzle piece.
Overall, the morning is quite peaceful as the boys are careful not to fight because they know that at the first signs of discontent, they will bring to my attention their blatant disobedience to get ready for the day.
After working at the computer for a bit, I decide it’s finally time to get dressed but at the sight of Ben’s soaked diaper hanging between his legs, I chose to change him first. It is only hanging mid-thigh and I usually try to wait until it hits his knees but I’m feeling industrious. For good measure I grab Sam as well and secretly praise myself for being so efficient. I grab 2 diapers and set them both on the hallway floor for changing. Upon opening Sam’s diaper, I am met with a pungent odor I had not expected. “UNDIAGNOSED POOP! UNDIAGNOSED POOP!” I shout. The alarm is sounded and my boys respond with the efficiency of soldiers at the wail of a bomb raid. William runs and throws his body across Sam while I struggle to keep his legs and hands from spreading the mess. Josh runs for the box of baby wipes and Ben lays in utter stillness and silence. It is a serious moment and we all exhale a sigh of relief when it is over.
When I come in from disposing of the soiled diapers, I find Sam sitting in front of the computer as if waiting for my presence before he reaches up to push the power button. As I am ½ an hour into writing a 45th Anniversary letter to my parents, I streak across the house and dive for his hand. In the scuffle, it is MY hand that brushes the power button and deletes all my heartfelt musings. I teach Ben a few choice words to reveal in front of company while I do another finger sweep of Sam’s mouth to discover a honey roasted peanut and a wadded mass of paper that looks a lot like a check stub. I remove the paper and give him back the peanut.
I make lunch then put the younger two down for a nap while the older two escape outside and begin digging a trench in our newly seeded yard. I sigh and decide to be content that at least they aren’t trying to dig up our dead cat again and that the house is quiet.
I start washing sheets and realize that I can no longer put off cleaning the bathrooms as I find that the toilet in the boy’s bathroom is no longer fit to urinate in.
While hanging the sheets on the clothesline, I see the boys have created a small pond in their trench and have taken their $30 Playmobile Pirate ship to sink into its muddy depths. I close my eyes and decide to go inside and clean the kitchen then start in again on my 45th Anniversary tribute to my parents (“Congratulations guys, I think you’re neat” is all I seem to manage). I hear whoops and hollers outside and see that the boys are now jumping on the trampoline – naked.
Ben wakes up from his nap and staggers out of his room, also naked. I go to investigate and find a completely dry diaper sitting on the floor and his bed completely soaked from mattress pad to comforter. I strip the bed and begin yet another load of laundry.
By 5:00, the boys beds are still unmade, their teeth unbrushed and I’m still in my pajamas. Ben has dumped all his toys bins so I call the boys in to begin cleaning up the mess. There is much protesting as they begin to whine that it is Ben’s mess so I take the much anticipated moment to delve into my speech of how I clean up their messes all day long and maybe this will help them to have a little more appreciation for what I do. They roll their eyes and decide to just clean it up before I can start in on my “You should be thankful to even have toys” tirade.
Brett calls from work to tell me he is going to be late. I’m bummed but decide to look on the bright side that I can just throw some granola bars and bananas at the boys for dinner.
It’s 7:00 and we’re approaching Zero Barrier. Bathtime.
I attempt to stem the flow of disaster by informing the boys that they are to get in the shower, get wet, soaped, rinsed and OUT of the shower. There is to be no splashing, playing, yelling or fighting.
An hour later, the boys are running around the house naked and screaming. I’m trying to sop up the water on the floor and wipe the water droplets ominously hanging from the ceiling like stalactites while yelling over my shoulder at several sets of deaf ears, “Just how hard is it to keep the water INSIDE the tub??”
I’m harried and ready for the house to be quiet again and try to rush through bedtime prayers, but Ben finds it necessary that every item in his bed, including the Spiderman on his pajama shirt, has a turn to pray and the quickie ritual is stretched out an agonizing 20 minutes.
The baby starts crying and Josh begins praying for the safety and provision of the whole world. I sigh heavily and try to get my mind on what is important (the spiritual growth of my son) but after he begins to pray that everyone he knows does not have nightmares that night, I begin to get antsy. Sam is still crying when Josh closes his prayer “Thank you God that I have such a good mommy who is pretty and smells good. Amen.” I silently leave his room and return with a package of cookies for him to sleep with and then go and put the baby to sleep. From the rocking chair I see the stack of inedible items on the counter that I rescued from his mouth – an eraser, 3 legos, a piece of plastic, a knarled up page from a book, 2 more puzzle pieces and a baby wipe which I desperately hope was nicked from the wipes box and not the trash.
By the time Brett gets home, I am sitting down on the couch for the first time that day. “So, what did you do today?” he asks. I look around me and realize that the house looks as though I’ve been in bed reading romance novels all day. I give a heavy, defeated sigh and respond, “Nothing.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
