Moms! Has this ever happened to you?

It is the end of the day, you just wrestled three kids into bed and you collapse on the couch in a heap. You feel drained of all energy and find you can't even hold your head up properly. You decided to let your heavy cheek fall into your hand in an effort to keep your noggin looking up. That is when you soon discover that your hands have the strange odor of soap and poop.

While a normal person would remove their hand in disgust you find you are too tired. Instead you start to ponder how a smell like that could even come to be? Wouldn't the soap wash away the poop? Is there poop somewhere else besides my hand you could be smelling?

I'm just saying, these are questions a Mom asks herself.

Fall, Fun but Dangerous

We decided a great way to spend a weekend in October would be to go to the dairy farm festival. They had a hay mound to climb, a corn maze, a tiny train for the kids to ride, a hay ride, not to mention being able to see the baby and grown up cows. It was a lot of fun.

One of the attractions that particularly entertained my children was the "Corn Crib." The corn crib was a barn that had two giant boxes like sand boxes only instead of sand they were filled with corn. You could dig and slide and have a great time in this corn. Lady Jane even informed me that one little girl jumped into the corn with a skirt on and when she stood up the skirt was no longer. Now that is fun.

When the corn crib had lost it's appeal we moved on. We spent hours doing different activities they had on the farm. Before we left we decided we would let the kids play on the hay mound one more time. Hubby and I sat blissfully on the side as our children played. Suddenly, we were snapped out of our blissful state by the cry of baby girl running over, "My tush hurts!"

"OK, did you fall down on it?"
"No"
"Did you poop in your pants?"
"No"
So the mystery of the hurting tushy was not solved there. We did, however, decide that this would be a good stopping point and to top the afternoon off with a trip to Dairy Queen. On the car ride to Dairy Queen, Baby Girl continues her screams, "MY. TUSH. HURTS!" I felt baffled, I didn't know what to do for her.

When we arrived at Dairy Queen we soon discovered that several sports teams had also settled on an afternoon at the Queen and the place was packed. After we got in line I quickly informed my husband I was going to take Baby Girl to the bathroom. This is when she yelled, "I DON'T HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM, I JUST NEED TO GET THIS CORN OUT OF MY TUSH!"

The record player scratched, both the football and softball teams stop and look. I gave them the look of, 'What? You've never had corn in your tush?' then push past them into the bathroom. I pull down Baby Girl's pants and like machine gun fire kernels of corn hit the floor of the bathroom.

Mystery solved.

From the Mouths of Babes

Me: "Baby girl, go put on some underwear."

Baby Girl: "Why? Are we going somewhere?"

Me: "No, it's just that wearing underwear is a good thing to do."

An Actual Conversation from My House

I received a Victoria's Secret catalog in the mail

"Why are all these Mommy's only wearing underwear?" Buster Brown asks so innocently.

"Oh my son, I am pretty certain that those are NOT Mommy's!"

Be Still My Heart

Baby Girl is getting her first taste of being away from Mom. If you consider twice a month going to class in the same school where your Mom is teaching P.E. away. It turns out this is starting to get hard for her. I have never had this problem with either of my other kids, no separation anxiety, nothing. So, this is all new to me.

The other day I was coming in from recess duty as Baby Girl was going out with her class. One look at me and she fell apart. It was not an obnoxious cry, it was a genuine cry of her wanting to be with me. I have seen other children do this with their parents and I would silently judge, "come on, just pry them off your leg and get on with it!" I would yell in my head. In the moment it happened to me I realized that it is not that easy, at least for me it wasn't. I put on a brave front and gave her a quick squeeze and kiss then gave her to her teacher. I really did have to fight back tears as I did this. I knew this was what was best for her, but it still hurt. There is something about knowing that you are the only comfort this little being you love so much wants, and for their own good you can't give it to them.

So I did what any Mom would do, I pretended it didn't bother me than quickly ran to the nearest window to spy on her and make sure she was O.K. When I got to the window I saw Baby girl and Buster Brown in conversation on the playground. It brought me so much happiness to know that even thought Baby Girl is not his favorite person, when push came to shove he loved her and didn't want to see her upset.

That is when it happened, he leaned over and gave her a hug then invited her to play with his friends on the playground. I don't know many other parenting moments that have brought me so much joy. That is a memory that I hope I will always have with me to bring out when I am having a ruff day.

I'm Just Not Feelin' it

Let me preface this post by saying I am very grateful for my children and think life would be painfully boring if they were not around.

However, there are some days when I am just not feeling it. What I would give just to have one day where I could pull the covers over my head and stay in bed. I would love to have one day where I would pick up the house and everything would stay where I had put it. One day where I just wouldn't make lunch because I wasn't hungry and didn't feel like making lunch.

I imagine having a day like this, one day off. Then, the next day, when I saw my children again I would be refreshed and recovered and healed. I would be a better mother to them because I had one day off. Today I am longing for one of those days.

An Actual Coversation From My Car

Lady Jane asks, "Mom, what is a sexual organ?"
To which Buster brown replies, "a saxophone."
There is silence, which says to me that this answer has satisfied her and so I leave it at that.

These Kids, no respect

Now I know I haven't mentioned this but I took the position of P.E. teacher this year at my children's school. My husband calls this stalking, I call it being "involved". Anyway, our gym is a cafeterium. Meaning we do everything there, eat breakfast, lunch, have gym, assemblies, etc.

So, yesterday I was putting up tables and getting ready for class when I saw another sweatshirt on the floor. I feel like there are always like five sweatshirts on the floor in the gym. In my head I am cursing the child who has left their sweatshirt on the floor like this is their house and I am there mother picking up after them. I get enough of this at home I don't need to bring this to my place of employment.

I make my way over to the sweatshirt and flip up the tag hoping the name is in there somewhere so I can return the sweatshirt and enlighten the owner to pick up their clothes. I look down only to see my own name staring back at me. So, it was my child's sweatshirt and I was their mother picking it up. They are going to hear about this. I know they love having me around at school more!

Riddle me this Batman

I am sitting on my computer, minding my own business when a bottomless two-year-old marches up to me and says, "I didn't poop in my pants it was an accident." toddlersayswhat?!

I decide I should inspect the nearest bathroom. I flinch and heave as though I have just wandered onto a murder scene. There were poopy undies on the floor, but the dog had taken care of it and now neither the dog or the poop was anywhere to be found.

Parenting lesson 2345: I tuck away in my memory bank that when baby girl ends anything with, 'it was an accident' that means to ignore whatever she has said previously and quickly get the dog outside.

by the way, my camera may have broke for the final time yesterday so my posts will be depressingly sans photos.....at least until christmas I hope

Look at what a great mom I am!

The other day when I had just laid baby girl down for her nap. I hurried to the shower to take advantage of my free moment. While I had been unable to take a shower the day before I found this shower to be particularly relaxing and I was relishing every moment of the hot water.

That is when Buster Brown peeked his head in as he usually does. "Mom, is it OK if I make a sword?" He asked in his sweetest little boy voice. "Of course, sweet heart." I replied still feeling the effects of the soothing shower. I knew that we had just read a story yesterday about Franklin the turtle making a sword from cardboard and my boy found that particularly amazing.

I continued to let the hot water wash over me and was particularly pleased with my parenting skills at the moment. I was able to have some free time and my little man was entertaining himself not with the TV but with a craft.

When I got out of the shower I was a little shocked when Buster revealed his craft. Apparently he had gone to the best place to get craft materials in our house, the recycle bin. His sword was made of empty beer cans and a wrapping paper roll. My dreams of becoming Mom of the year quickly faded. While I let him play with it for a while we did make him disassemble it on trash day.

Parenting Happiness

Since school has started we have been particularly busy. There are cross country and flag football practices, girl scout meetings, birthday parties, meets and games, and the list goes on and on.

What I have noticed is despite the hectic schedule, I am loving it. I am loving this phase of life when I am up to my ears in sewing badges on sashes and Tae kwon do uniforms. I love cheering them on at their games. I love taking them to the playground and just spending time with my kids. I love their contagious belly laughs. I love sleepovers, OK maybe not the sleepovers so much (it can't all be blissful).

They are getting so big and I hope I appreciate every minute, because when we are at Holiday World or cooking out in the backyard I look around and think there will come a time when they would rather be with their friends then with us, so for now I will soak up every minute of their time with me.

The Pinch Heard 'round the World

OK, every family has a dirty little secret, some little bad habit that goes on behind closed doors. Some may burp at the table, some may fart at will, others like to walk around in their underwear. What is ours you ask? We pinch each others buns. Dad pinches Mom's, Mom pinches Son's, everyone pinches Baby Girl's and Baby Girl pinches Dad. Well, you get the idea.

Yesterday our Dirty little secret was exposed. Buster Brown pinched one of his classmate's buns. As a Mom this is when I know a bad habit has gone too far. I just kept thinking of his poor kindergarten classmate who may not be used to bun pinching and doesn't know that in the eyes of Buster Brown this means I like you and you are officially my buddy.

The teacher told me what had happened and I wanted to blurt out, "I don't know where he learned that! Probably his father." But I kept my mouth shut and shoved my pinchers in my pockets.

So, last night at dinner we made a conscience decision to lay our pinchers to rest. There will be no more red buns in our home.

We should be living in the country because...

when my husbands truck backfires the neighbors think there has been gunfire and call the police.

It's a twister!

Let me preface this story by saying that for about one week in a row we were having bad storms triggering the tornado warning siren to go off. While tornadoes are something that I don't take lightly, when you hear a certain siren everyday you start to loose the urgency you once felt.

One night I had apparently gotten the flu (who gets the flu in the summer!?) anywho the next day I was totally wiped out and just trying to get by let alone take care of my kids.

On this day, I was using every once of my energy to walk into the house from the car, and the siren goes off for the umpteenth time this month. Lady Jane turns to me and asks,"since we don't have a basement should I go in the closet?"

I found myself unable to utter anything but, "yes, go in the closet." Then I proceeded to drag my body to my bed where I heard the whole scene play out.

Lady Jane insisted that baby girl get in the closet with her. Baby girl soon found that getting into the closet wearing her cinderella plastic shoes was more of a challenge than she had anticipated. Soon I heard a giant crash followed by a tiny voice, "Holy Smokes!" Normally, such a crash would have sent me running toward the noise but I lacked the energy and so the scene continued.

Now that Lady Jane knew her sister was somewhat safe on the closet floor she decided to set her sights on the dog. Using grapes to lure him she eventually did manage to wrangle him into the closet and shut the door with the three of them inside. Soon after my husband came around the corner just in time to see the scene.

Apparently being shut in the closet with two little girls sent the dog into a sort of a panic. Hubby saw the closet door fly open and the dog with his forehead on Lady Jane's stomach catapulting her out of the closet.

There never was a tornado, but my mind has been put at ease knowing we have had that little drill.

Have you noticed?

First of all, I know it's been a while but I got a bit caught up in the summer maddness lately. Besides our vacation I am finding summer to be exahsting. Keeping the kids entertained running from activity to activity. Only 8 more years and Riley can drive herself!

Ok, I'm getting off of my negative wagon. Lately I have been making an observation about my sleep habits. When I was in High School or even college I would go to sleep because it was bedtime or I was thinking that I need to go to sleep now to get enough sleep for the night.

Now-a-days I collapse into my bed and exhausted heap. I go to sleep because I find it exhausting to keep my eyelids open any longer. Gone is the eternal energy of my youth. I would really like some of that energy back. Perhaps it is my age or perhaps it is the the energy parasites I hang out with all day. I mean don't get me wrong, I have a lot of fun hanging out with my kids and even am making a concious decision to be home with them, but even during the fun times they are EXHAUSTING!

I would write more but I am too tired.

Hallelulerrr!!!

We have had a breakthrough at our house. The poops are actually making it in the potty! How did we get baby girl to use the pot, you ask? Lollipops. I was hesitant to use this technique, but was reaching the end of my rope. I was sick of changing poopy underwear about twice a day.

Yesterday I was feeling particularly desperate to get the poops in the potty so I took a gamble. I let her go buck naked. This way she had nothing to poop in, although I was risking finding a log somewhere on the floor. I decided it was worth it.....and it worked. The poop landed in the potty. We whooped, danced, called daddy and gave a sucker. I made sure she knew it was because she pooped that she got a sucker.

It worked so well that her second poop of the day also made it in the potty, so I gave her another sucker. Then, later on, she decided she wanted to go for round three. Three poops in one day? I thought this was pushing it a bit. She sat down on the potty and went to work. I was thinking, 'man, she sure does want a sucker.' Then I started to worry she may give herself some hemorrhoids. It turns out she was unsuccessful in willing herself to poop but I am proud to say she has made it in the potty every time since! It is a happy day.

Ahh, summer

As school wound to a close I found I was looking forward to the freedom of sleeping in, if you believe that sleeping until 7:30 is sleeping in. I was also looking forward to living in the moment and doing as we pleased. If the weather was nice we would go to the pool. If we had time in the day we would wander over to the library. If it wasn't too hot we could play at the park. This type of attitude does not fly with Lady Jane at all.

I soon discovered that I would be awoken every morning at 7:00 just as I was during the school year with an eight year old face in mine shouting, "What are we doing today Mom?" To which I would reply, "I don't know! I just don't know!" another fine parenting moment.

I soon came to realize, and it took me eight years to figure this out, that Lady Jane craves structure. No, she NEEDS structure. When school is out she longs for the strict schedule, social interaction and mental challenges she faces when she goes to school everyday.

I noticed I would not be able to have the laissez faire summer I was dreaming of. I need to make her a schedule. Without it she feels as if she is in a free fall with nothing to stop her. So if you will excuse me I am off to schedule in some quality time at the pool.

Should be doing laundry....but I'd rather be blogging

So when I went to get baby girl up from her nap it seems she had gotten into her sister's nail polish. This has happened once before and I have been very dilligent about making sure sisters closet is closed and locked before nap time. I forgot one time, ONE TIME!

The last time I forgot to lock the closet she got the nail polish and put it all around her lips. When I went to wake her up I thought she was foaming at the mouth and paniced for a moment before I realized what it was.

Even Superman had his Cryptonite

I have made an observation lately. When I get into my bed in the evening I am exhausted. I collapse into the comfort of my covers and easily fall into a deep sleep. Now, I remember when I was in High school or even college. I would go to sleep because it was time for bed and I was a bit tired. A far cry from barely able to move your extemities exhausted after you hit the sheets.

I have come to the conclusion that children suck the energy right out of you. They don't have to do much, juat merely have to be in your presence and they will channel all their energy right out of your body and into theirs. This is mostly done through the whining method. I find that whining for more than a minute is the most effective way render me exhausted. Whining is like my cryptonite. Just as Superman would, I begin to curl up into the fetal position on the floor and wince in pain when they break out the dreaded whining.

The second energy sucker is the asking for something multiple times. They use this method in the hopes that I will a.) eventually give in or b.) tune them out (as occasionally happens) and agree without fully knowing what I just agreed to. I am bound and determined to be consistant with them, so if I tell them no that is the way it is going to be. I use my consistancy as a sheild that I hold up whenever I feel a no coming up my throat and out of my mouth. It turns out, however, that my shield is weak and has may holes and will not protect me from losing my most valuable commodity, my energy.

Unfortunately, just because I recognize what is depleting me of my energy there is nothing I can do about it. If I am going to look on the bright side, I should be happy for now that I can fall asleep so easily. I imagine when they are teenagers whatever they are doing is going to be keeping me up all night.

Don’t Fight the Justice

I don’t understand how it happened, but I guess Lady Jane has officially become a tween. How do I know this has happened you ask? Because she has a new obsession with a little store called Justice. Apparently, if you are cool, you shop there.

One fine evening, hubby was away at work, and Buster Brown was on his very first sleepover. Lady Jane and I (and baby no pants) found ourselves alone. “A girls night!” Lady Jane declares with fist high in the air. “Lets go to the mall!” She announces with the conviction of judge. Finding myself with no reason not to go to the mall (despite the potty training tyrant) we load ourselves into the car and head over to the mall.

“CanwegotoJusticefirst?” The words explode out of her mouth as she hops out of the car. Fortunately for her, I do speak tween and I agree to her barely comprehendible request.

As we stroll the mall trying to determine where said store is located, Lady Jane declares, “I smell Justice!” as the store comes into sight. Unable to fight the pull of the neon colored clothes and teenybopper music she breaks into a run and nearly knocks over the poor elderly person who happens to be in her path to coolness.

I enter the store and my senses are assaulted with Justin Beiber playing so loud I quickly check my ears for blood. The shockingly neon clothing that makes me want to grab my shades. Then I realize when they were planning the layout, they really did not care if a stroller would fit through their maze of day glow.

I did, however, have to take a moment to recognize that the clothes were strikingly similar to what I wore when I was growing up in the ‘80’s. The neon, the peace signs, the three ruffled skirts all look like what I wore when I was, gasp, her age. While none of these fashion statements appeal to me now, I am nostalgic and reminded that at one point I wore clothes like this and sprayed my hair for height, so I must be patient.

I push mini tween through the store who now has her arms out intending on knocking as much as possible off the racks as we pass. Needless to say, it took me a good ten minutes to make it all the way into the store because I had to keep picking things up and hanging them back on the rack.

Finally! I find Lady Jane browsing the crap table. You know the one, filled with light up journals, nail polish, and glitter lip-gloss. Girlfriend NEEDS clothes! “Lady Jane!” I bark as I park mini tween and walk over to help redirect her to the clothing. We discuss outfit options for a moment, which goes a little something like this:
How about this one? No.
Do you like this shirt? No.
I begin to wonder if she really doesn’t like them or if it is the mere fact that I liked them that makes her decide that they are not cool enough. I surrender and walk back to mini tween in defeat. I notice that I did not pay attention to the fact that I had parked her in front of a bracelet display and she is now up to her elbows in glittery bangles.

Lady Jane finally finds an outfit that she deems acceptable that, of course, has the words Justice splashed all over it. We head to the counter to pay for our purchases, only to discover that there are no salespeople. We wait, and wait. Finally, a girl walks up. She looks as though she is even less thrilled than me to be in that store. She actually acts like she is doing me a huge favor by allowing me to buy the clothes. I am tempted to walk behind the counter and remove the stick from her ass, but refrain as the last thing I would want to do is embarrass Lady tween.

As we are about to walk out of the store, Lady Jane is so excited about her new outfit she asks if she can change into it right now. I reluctantly agree, not knowing how much more of this store my body can take.

Lady Jane walks out of the dressing room so proud of the way she looks. I can’t help but smile 1.) Because she actually cares how she looks, perhaps this will even lead to more teeth and hair brushing, gasp! 2.) Because I can’t believe how big she is getting.

It was all worth it to see her so happy. Even if this store doesn’t hold a candle to my beloved Target. I think I am beginning to understand where she is coming from.

Who are you and where are my children?

Last night the kids were very well behaved, I mean very well behaved. In fact, they were being so good it was making me uneasy. As I was making dinner and they were all in the family room playing with the Legos.

For a moment it was so quiet I had to peak my head in the room and make sure George was not smothering Sammy in a pillow and that was the reason for the silence. The art of peaking your head in a room has to be done very delicately. If they spot you the moment is ruined and the chances that they will go back to what they are doing is slim to none. My swift glimpse into the room confirmed that they were indeed playing nicely together.

They actually built a Lego village and let Sammy be a part of it and build her own little contribution. Things were going too smoothly. I thought to myself, if they eat my dinner I am really going to wonder if they are my children.

To my relief they turned up their noses at what I had spent the last hour making for them. Homemade mac and cheese. WHY WILL THEY ONLY EAT IT IF IT COST $.5O AND COMES OUT OF A BOX? But I digress. They redeemed themselves for being too good and all is right again in the world.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I find myself wishing and counting down the years until all my kids are in school and I will have all the free time to pursue whatever avenue I choose.

Sometimes I just get tired of my spending my entire day making sure that everyone else's day runs smoothly.

Sometimes I wonder if cleaning my house is a HUGE waste because it will be trashed as soon as I turn my back.

Sometimes I wonder if it is worth it to spend so much time planning and making dinners that my children rarely eat.

Although, lately I have noticed how fast time is flying by. I recognize that I do not want to wish away these precious years with my kids. In the grand scheme of things 10 years is not a long time to set aside my goals in an effort to make their lives better.

I am thankful that I am allowed the opportunity to stay home for them and be sure that their day goes well. I am thankful that they can always count on me to be there to pack their lunch and pick them up from school if they are sick. I am there for them when they leave for school and I am there to pick them up. It is worth it to me to know that if everything else in their world is crashing down they will always know I will be there.

That is more valuable to me than any doubt that may cross my mind about my career. My time will come to follow my dreams and when it does I will be thankful for the chance I was given to stay home with them.

Reasoning with a Two-Year-Old

Recently, while driving with Sammy Rose, she declared, "I want a cheese stick!" I look to my left and right for the refrigerator. Oh, that's right, we are in THE CAR there is no refrigerator here.

I calmly begin to explain to my sweet toddler that I don't have a cheese stick and since we are in the car I can not get one. She seems to be satisfied by this response...for a second. "I want a cheese stick!"

I begin to feel a little desperate. How exactly do you reason with a two-year-old as to why you can not just pull a cheese stick out of thin air? Then I realize that you can't. There is no explaining to her. Two-year-olds are tricky. They have the ability to articulate what they want, but not the ability to understand explanations such as time, or that you are in the car and it is simply impossible.

I decide to just submit to the screams and continue on my way, defeated.

A Banking We Will Go

On Easter, my daughter hit the mother load. She won the money egg at the Easter egg hunt with $20 in it. In an effort to have her not turn around and spend the money at Justice the next day, I foolishly suggested that she start a bank account.

Ever since that day she has been hounding me mercilessly to take her to the bank to start her account. This is why I banking is not my favorite thing, we always have to go as a party of four. There is a bank teller that our family LOVES. She is a grandmother and she treats my children as if they were her own grandchildren. Meaning, she gives them each three suckers, cookies, and any other candy contriband she may have behind her desk. This means that the visit will begin well, but if we need to be there for more than five minutes the kids will begin running and will not stop just because they hit a wall, they will simply change direction.

So one afternoon, I was feeling like I needed to be punished, so I dug up their social security numbers and took the whole gang to the bank. They ran up to their favorite tellers window and she loaded them up with goodies. Then I found out I had to wait to see the woman that could help me open the account. This gave them plenty of time to not only finish their suckers, but for the teller to notice and give them more. I could feel the tension building inside my body.

Finally! It was our turn. The kids instantly take a seat and begin to crawl and scoot all over the poor unsuspecting woman's desk. I plead my case to her as I take her stapler from my son and replace it on her desk. I pray for her to be speedy like I have never prayed before.

"Has this bank ever been robbed?" George blurts out.

"Unfortunately, yes." The woman replies sheepishly.

"How many times?" George is a persistant little thing.

"Two." The woman answers in almost a whisper. In my mind I am yelling HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO OPEN UP A BANK ACCOUNT!? And when I thought things couldn't get any worse, someone from my party farted. I though I am just going to pretend that didn't happen and hope she does to.

When suddenly in a high pitched voice that only has one volume comes, "Sammy toot! Mom, mom! Sammy toot." Yes, yes I heard you Sammy. I am busy right now looking for a hole to crawl into.

In the end, we got the accounts opened and all it cost me was my pride.

Me and My Shadow

My daughter and I are very similar. Perhaps too similar. I read somewhere once, in one of my parenting books, that any traits you have will be shown in your kids only magnified. Unfortunately, I have some nasty traits. Yelling is one, the occasional freak out is another. Sure as the sun comes up, I have seen these traits thrown back in my face like a vengant boomerang.

Needless to say, this can create some trying moments with my daughter and I. When she went to bed the other night, I was exhausted. Perhaps she didn't get enough sleep the night before (I let them stay up to watch Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. Crazy Friday night, I know) or, perhaps it was the two doughnuts she had had that day but she was a bear. I cried. I cried because I found that I did not even enjoy her company that day. I did not even want her in the same room as me because I knew there would be a request or emotional breakdown that would drain me of my last ounce of energy.

I just kept thinking that tomorrow would be a new day. So I put her to bed on time that night and finished the doughnuts myself (it was a sacrifice I had to make). The next day began only marginally better. I was really working to get the house looking like if a social worker walked in she wouldn't have to think twice about weather the children could stay. Just as I was making some headway, I headed upstairs to tackle that situation.

One glance at the floor revealed that my two-year-old had gotten into my scrap paper and scattered hundreds of little pieces of papaer all over the floor. This was my breaking point. I just sat down in my chair and began to cry. I just needed a moment to let it all out before I tackled this latest disaster. I was a little irked when my daughter walked in before I could compose myself. I mean crying over a mess, how old am I, really? I didn't want her to see that. But she did. She leaned over and gave me a big, genuine hug. It felt nice. It was really the first time in a while we weren't at odds. I explained to her my problem and she quickly began to resolve it. "I'll clean this room, George will clean the kitchen and you'll clean the family room. We'll have this place clean in no time!" It made my heart melt.

So we each went to our posts and she cleaned the upstairs room and she really did a good job. George, on the other hand, decided while cleaning the kitchen that he wanted a snack of oatmeal so that was really counterproductive. But her ability to see I was having a tough time and help me out touched me deeply.

My daughter has challenged me in ways I have never been challenged in my whole life. I will be a better person because of it. Tomorrow was a new day, and it was great. I love you Riley.

An Easter mass I will never forget....and it wasn't because of the homily

Riley is in the children's choir at our church. Consequently, we had to arrive at church an hour before Easter mass so they could get a quick rehearsal in before show time. Anyone who knows Riley knows that this was her time to shine and she did not mind in the slightest getting to church early to fine tune her solo. The other two little ones, however, not so siked about the extra hour. By the time church finally began George starting whining, "is church ever going to be over!?"

To which I reply,"No son, church is never going to be over and we are going to sit here forever." Mature, I know. Sammy on the other hand did not know what to do with the explosion of energy that had built up in her tiny body. She wanted me to hold her, but she did not want to be still. It took all my energy to keep her in my arms. I put her down every chance I got. So I was relieved when she was content playing in the aisle next to me. The priest began to go nuts with the incense. I mean there was so much of that stuff in the air that everything was hazy and I began to wonder if he was trying to hot box the church. Which may be what triggered what happened next.

There was kind of a fuss in the pew across from us as a mom and her son (who looked to be about four) were leaving the pew. I glanced down at Sam to find her still content playing in the aisle then back up at the kid. Suddenly, without warning, vomit spilled from his mouth. Horrified, I'm sure, the Mom knelt down in front of him and began to wipe it up. Then, this image is one I'll never forget. It turns out the first vomit was just a warm up for the mother load. He puked again. Something about children that never ceases to amaze me is the way they never seem to know when they are about to throw up. I thought, really? You didn't feel that coming at ALL? You couldn't give your Mom a little warning as she was bent down in front of you? I mean was it too much work to tilt your little head to the side. I did not see the rest of the scene as I turned away in horror, grabbing Sammy Rose from the aisle. There is no doubt in my mind that that mother got some puke on her.

Then I did feel kind of bad because for some reason I could not stop laughing. There is something about being in church, when you try to stop laughing and it just gets worse. Like your laugh explodes out of your nose when you are trying to keep it in. I don't remember what Ben did, but his witty comment did not make it easier to stifle the laugh. I thought that in retaliation I should say, "step aside, this man is a paramedic!"

To which Ben replied, "yes, a paramedic can keep people from throwing up." to shae. I consoled myself by thinking, if I were in that situation despite the vomit on my Easter outfit I would have been laughing.

That is how I deal with situations like that. When I am thinking in my head, this can't possibly be actually happening, I laugh. So if you ever meet me and some sort of kid crisis is insuing and I am sitting there laughing, don't worry, I haven't lost my marbles that is just how I deal.

Summer!

Today was the first glimpse of summer. I am not going to lie. For the past couple weeks I have been dreading summer. Summer camp sign ups, can we afford it? Should we sign up for swimming? To t-ball or not to t-ball? Above all these questions is what am I going to do with them ALL DAY!?

Then today I remembered what we do during the summer. We play. This beautiful day made me remember all the things I love about summer. The skinned knees, afternoons at the pool, corn on the cob, chicken on the grill, playing outside 'till your face is red and you are exhausted, fireflies, and sparklers. I do love summer and I am glad I had this day to remind me.

Now I am remebering the summer days when you spend the entire day outside and eat dinner then collapse as a family into a pile of freshly bathed exhaustion. I am looking forward to the hot nights and wine on the front porch with my husband.

Summer, we missed you.

Say Yes to the dress

I had this very romantic image in my mind of going shopping with my daughter for her first communion dress. When I was growing up I was what you might consider a "social butterfly" I attended lots of dances, particularly in high school and each dance required it's own special dress.

My Mother and I had been dress shopping many times for many different types of occasions and it was always so much fun. She was there and I could count on her for her honest opinion on what she thought looked best on me. She never made me feel guilty about the price, even though I know it was a consideration for her. Dress shopping with my Mom is one of my most treasured memories growing up.

I was excited to recreate this memory with my daughter when shopping for her first communion dress. In fact, I thought it would be an even better experience if we included my mom in the outing. We waited until our trip to Cleveland before we would even step foot into a store looking for the perfect dress.

I carefully chose the store we would go to, Burlington Coat Factory. I had heard from other Mom's in the class that this store had the best selection with the best prices. As we got closer to the dresses Riley broke into a run. Instantly she knew what she liked and didn't like. She proceeded to take some of the dresses off the racks. Some of the dresses she chose actually made me visibly wince. As though I had been punched in the gut. I made a few suggestions that were all quickly dismissed with a wave and a turn of the head.

We made our way to the dressing room. I proceeded to help her pull the layers of polyester blends over head. A beautiful Cinderella dress was quickly disregarded, while the dress containing the most polyester and the most sequin was just as quickly agreed to. "I love it!" Riley proclaimed.

Before I could even think of anything to say the words slipped from between my lips, "Oh my goodness" I was left with a mothers dilemma. I want to let her express her personality without being too controlling. On the other hand I found it physically impossible to shell out $75 for something so tacky.

I ushered my Mom into the dressing room for backup. "I think she is related to Pamela Anderson." was my Mom's only comment to me. We managed to talk her into taking off the dress and left the store. If our group was a cartoon we would each have a cloud over our heads. The mood was NOT good. Fortunately there was a pet store in the same shopping center that turned things around.

The next day, home in Indiana I was talking to two other Mom's in Riley's class and learned that both of them had had the same experiences with their daughters. A wave of relief washed over me. I was not a horrible control freak! Their daughters had awful taste too! One Mom even described the dress her daughter picked out with spaghetti straps and rhinestones. I felt her pain.

On Sunday Riley suggested a trip to the mall. I knew what she had on her mind, the infamous Justice. I agreed because it was somewhere to go on a dreary rainy day when Ben was working.

As we made our way through the mall we walked past JCPenny's. I convinced Riley just to take a look, I mean what could it hurt? We headed to the girls section and a sign above the dresses caught my eye, 50% off. It was a omen. I began to grow hopeful. "How about this one?" I suggested.
"Yeah sure, that one is pretty." Riley agreed. I felt my knees buckle in shock. I tried to hide my elation.
"Let's go try it on." I half shouted.
"OK and this one too." Riley said as she grabbed another dress. I agreed to pacify her.
She tried on the one she suggested and as luck would have it, it was too big. Yes, I could have gone and tried to find it in a different size, but I didn't. Then she tried on my dress. A ray of sunshine from the heavens broke through the bad lighting of the JCPenny dressing room and washed over Riley. She looked beautiful and she liked it too! I wiped a tiny tear from my cheek and checked the price tag, $35!
Fate had stepped in. I may have even done a little dance as we paid.

The Enforcer

This is the rule enforcer. Her name is Gabrielle and she is a Cane Corso. Gabrielle is my parent's dog and when we visit her house she makes sure that everyone is following the rules. We first discovered this when George and Sammy were having an argument about a toy. George was waving the toy wildly above his head and out of reach of his sister when Gabe walked up and calmly grabbed his elbow in her mouth. Instantly he released his grip and the toy fell to the floor. "Fine she can have it!"

This was the most quickly and quietly a dispute between my children had ever been resolved. This is when I decided that not only did I need an enforcer at my house but that every home with small children should have one. She is much like Nana from Peter Pan or Carl the Rottweiler from the Carl books.

These are the rules that Gabe enforces:

1. No running (she will come after you and knock you down.)
2. No yelling (you really don't want to get her upset)
3. No fighting (this will get her upset)
4. No individual singing (this is one my son insists she enforces but it may just be his singing. Just to be safe we are sure to always sing in a group. You do not want to be on Gabes bad side.)

I find Gabes method of discipline far more effective than any yelling or time outs I may distribute. As a result my children are sure to watch their behavior while they are visiting at my parents house. She is a great dog, thank you for your parenting help Gabrielle.

Today was a fairytale

I just wanted to take a moment to celebrate the ordinary. I used to wish and day dream about extravagant vacations or fame and fortune. Now I just cherish the plain old everyday.

When I was in high school I used to wish away my days, three more hours, two more hours...now the days just seem to fly by. Not that there are not moments that I could do without.

I treasure my ordinary days with laundry and nap time and after school pick up. There is no part of that I do not like. (OK I could do without the bickering) I am enjoying life more now than I ever have before.

My wish for you is that you find comfort and celebration in the ordinary, it is a wonderful thing.

Tales of a missplaced poo

This morning I stepped in it, literally. First, let's backtrack six months. Sammy Rose decided she wanted to use the potty. After a tough first go at it she was off and running. I thought this is it! God is rewarding me for working so hard with the other two to get them potty trained that Sammy is going to be a breeze to potty train. Until recently she really was a breeze.

Houston, we have a problem. Sammy has gone on potty strike. She insists on still wearing underwear but will not use the toilet. At first I calmly rationalized in my head, 'this is a regression, it always happens when they are about to have a breakthrought.' This thought will only keep you going for a week, and then you get pretty sick of washing tiny underpants.

This morning I was getting ready in my bathroom and Sammy runs in buck naked, "I pooped!"
"Yay! Did you poop on the potty?" silly question I know, but had to ask.
"yes, come look" I follow her tiny buns to the bathroom.
"oh gross!" Sammy declares. I look in to see the horrific scene. I will not leave you in suspense, the poop did not make it into the potty. Instead I see a dirty pair of tiny undies on the floor and the dog is licking his lips. Yes, the dog ate the poop. I guess if I am going to stay positive about things, that is one less thing I have to clean up. I do however make a mental note, no snuggling with the dog for a couple days.

I pick up the underwear and take them to the laundry room where I grab some socks for the day. I lift up my foot to put on my sock, and there it is, a tiny turd on the bottom of my foot. My dry heaving starts to scare Sammy. I am left paralized trying to think of the best way to sterilize myself.

Eventually I make it to the bathroom and as I am cleaning myself up, I declare Sammy is going back to diapers.

The Red Dragon

Recently my husband bought a truck. It is a 1986 Chevy. He likes to refer to it as the Red Dragon. I love my husband, but the truck is quite ugly sitting outside the front of our house. It has a very Sanford and Son look about it.

My husband was aware that it had a finicky starter and was going to replace it. However, that did not stop him from announcing proudly, "I am going to take the Red Dragon to work tomorrow."

"OK, you go show it off at work." I commented. I would later find out this would involve a lot more work on my part than I could have ever imagined.

The next morning at 6:30, I check the outside temp. while hugging my coffee. Sixteen degrees! Brrrrr. Ben comes in, "could you help me start my truck?" I agree reluctantly.

"Alright Em, push down the clutch all the way."

"which is the clutch?" Have I mentioned I am not very familiar with a stick shift?

"That one. While your holding down the clutch turn the key again and again and I am going to climb underneath." He nonchalantly informs me.

"Your going to be where!?!" He ignores my comment and climbs under the truck. At this moment I am beginning to feel VERY uncomfortable. It is 16 degrees and I could potentially run over my husband. Although I must admit the idea is becoming more and more attractive by the minute. He begins the loud banging underneath the truck and I dutifully begin to turn the key over and over. As I am doing this I look around at the neighbors houses, looking so serene and dark. I am imagining them warm in their beds turning over, what is that banging! Ah yes, it is our hillbilly neighbors.

Now, one would imagine there is only one way to turn a key. You would be wrong, as I also learned. Apparently, I was turning it 1,2,3 when the correct way to turn it is 123. So now that I am properly turning the key, Ben climbs back under and resumes his banging with gusto. Despite the cold temperature I am beginning to sweat, turning the key like a maniac, please let this truck start! Ben comes out from underneath the truck.

Yes! He has given up, he is going to take the practical boring old beige 4-Runner to work.

"Em, go get the 4-Runner and pull the truck."

My smile quickly fades, this is not what I was hoping he would say. However, I comply. As he straps his truck to the 4-Runner, my throat becomes dry. Images of ripping the axle right off the truck flash through my mind.

We lurch to a start. We begin down our cul-de-sac. We are going! This is working! Then as quickly as it began I am literally jerked back to reality. I look in the rear view mirror to see if there are any car parts scattered in the road. This continues for the length of the street.

Now, we end up back at our house and he is detaching the Red Dragon from the 4-runner. My daughter runs outside barefoot to see what all the commotion is about, further cementing our position as the neighborhood hillbillies. I shew her back in as if she has walked in on something she should have never seen.

Ben stands up and announces, "Let's put those jazzercise classes to some good use! We got 'er goin' pretty good with that last run, so you push and I think that will get it started."

I agree. I wish I had a video not only of my 120lb body pushing this monstrosity down the street at 6:45, but a video of my neighbors faces that were surely pressed to the glass of their front windows unable to turn away from the spectacle.

I channeled every last inch of energy in my body to pushing that truck. I can not see anything except the giant corrugated metal sides of the truck bed. I even threw up a prayer that God please help this truck start because apparently my husband is NEVER giving up.

I hear my husband climb out of the truck. I try to hide my panting. "Let's push it with the 4-Runner now."

My entire body slumps in disappointment. Although I dutifully run back and get the reliable car. I am also very uncomfortable with this scenario as I ease the front bumper onto the back of his truck. I slowly press down on the accelerator. We head down the street and just as we get to the end of the cul-de-sac the Red Dragon roars.

My husband waves and heads off to work. I am left stunned in the 4-Runner. I begin my drive back home. I give the neighbor staring at our freak show on his driveway a friendly wave as if this is our normal morning routine.

Now many of you may not understand why I would go to so much work or even allow this truck to be parked in front of my house. This silly truck makes my husband ridiculously happy. As long as the Red Dragon is his only mistress, I can deal with what comes with it.

The difference between boys and girls

Recently, on a trip to Walmart, Riley came running up with a bag of Popsicle sticks. "Mom, can we get these pleaseeee?" I thought the $2.50 for these Popsicle sticks will probably buy me 10-15 minutes of blissful alone time. I begin to imagine being curled up on the couch, fire blazing and a cup of steaming hot cocoa warming my hand as I get lost in my latest book.

"Yes! Get the Popsicle sticks!" I reply enthusiastically. We change course and head to the arts and crafts section to get the glue. $.39! When was the last time you were able to buy anything for $.39? "Kids! What else can we make with glue?" I ask with new found excitment. All I get are blank stares.

When we get home I proceed to dump the Popsicle sticks on the table and run for my book. Miraculously, it works! I am given 15 minutes alone (have any of you read Edgar Sawtell? One of the best books ever!) "Mom! Come see what we have done!" I walk in refreshed from my 15 minutes to find Riley has made a wonderful jewelery box. The memories from summer camps long ago come flooding back to me.

"Mom look at mine." I am snapped back from my trip down memory lane.

"Those are really nice George, what are they?"

"They are weapons." He goes on to explain the use of each of them. I can not hear what he is saying and can only imagine children getting their eyes poked out.

As I pay the price of turning three kids loose with colored Popsicle sticks and glue,(it took me three days to get the glue completely off the table.) I am reminded of the undeniable difference between boys and girls. Left to their own imaginations, the girl creates a jewelery box, and the boy weapons.

*notice in the second picture how George had to take his sweater off. He was really getting into it.

Sammy didn't want to be left out, so she insisted I take her picture as well.

Marley and Me

I just got finished watching Marley and Me and it reminded me of a couple things that I may have not thought of in a while.

1. Having little kids can be just as shitty and challenging and stressful and scary for the Dad as it is for the stay-at-home Mom. This can be hard to remember when you envy them for being able to drive by themselves in the car on the way to work.

2. It is the challenging ones that make an impression on our heart. It is the children or dogs or experiences that gave us a run for our money that we remember and forever leave a mark on our hearts. Nobody ever got anything worth having by just floating down the river and letting life pass them by.

I loved this movie and it was the first time in a long while that I thought it was a movie that was equally as good as the book.

SAMMY DO IT! The Trials and Tribulations of Having a Two Year Old

I find that having a two-year-old is equally exhausting as it is enjoyable. Recently she has begun to want to do everything on her own with the determination of an Olympic athlete.

Yesterday, she wanted to put on her own shoes. I have no problem with this, I even relish the idea that doing this will probably keep her occupied for at least ten minutes. Ecstatic at the idea that I will have ten whole minutes to accomplish something, I run to the closet and whip out the vacuum.

The whir and suck of the crumbs off the floor begin to sooth me until I am brought out of my vacuum induced meditation by a piercing, "MOM, HELP!"

I turn off the vacuum and begin in Sammy's direction. She waves me off. "No, Sammy do it." OK, I turn around to continue with my vacuuming.

"MOM, HELP!" I begin in her direction again. Again, I get the wave off. I let her do this one more time, until she has officially worn out my patients.

"NO! MOMMY HELP!" I say firmly and loudly as I set her in my lap. I have no problem with her trying to do things on her own, but this is ridiculous.

My husband runs in from the garage, "Were you yelling at my princess?" He asks with a grin. Indeed I was, my glare responds.

I can hear her now, crying upstairs as I try to finish writing this. I know when she comes down she is going to demand a breakfast she can get herself and to get her Barney fix. Half of me is tempted to open the door and throw her a string cheese, like you would a wild animal. The other half knows this will not hold her for nearly long enough.

I guess I will have to succumb to her cries...

The Toddler who cried, "MOM!"

My baby girl has one of the sweetest voices. She can melt your heart with her little, “night, night Mommy.” And I can’t hear her say, “Elmo cake.” Enough. I kept asking her, “What kind of cake did we get?” However, when I am recovering from a migraine I can’t help but compare her voice to one of the chipmunks.

I was sitting on the couch recovering from one such migraine (a whole other story) and she kept repeating over and over, “Mom, color on paper?”

“No Sammy do not color on paper.”

“MOM, color on paper?”

“No Sammy, put the marker down.”

“MOM! COLOR ON PAPER!

“Fine!” I reply in my best parenting moment.

All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and nurse my still throbbing head. Although she is now coloring on the paper, she has not stopped talking. I manage through some Zen parenting to tune out the particularly high pitch of her voice so I can finally relax.

After a while I notice that the squeaking is coming at a much more rapid pace and the volume has increased. I look over at my Mom who is sitting on the couch next to me, “What is she saying?” So we stop, and try to make out the latest ranting. Soon it becomes clear what she is wailing,

“I’m STUCK!”

We both look over in her direction and notice that in her attempt to get down from the barstool where she was coloring paper, she got her little body lodged under the armrest. Her feet are dangling and her arms are thrust up over her head. My Mom ran over and disentangled her from the chair.

I wondered to myself, how long had she been yelling to me and how long had I been tuning her out. If only she could save her precious words for when they really mattered this would not have happened. It seemed to me a classic case of the toddler who cried, “MOM!”

Ode to the Dollar Theater

I LOVE the dollar theater. I love going to the movies in general anyway, but I have a special place in my heart for the dollar theater. When I am stuck in the house with children that are finding it difficult to get along, this is where we go.

The sticky seats, the dirty floors, this is my bliss. Sometimes my children act up in a movie, particularly the little one. I know, I know, it is hard for you to imagine that my children would act up, but every once in a long while it happens. At first you feel guilty that you are ruining the next persons movie going experience and then you remember, wait a minute! They only paid a dollar to see this movie. Where else in the world could I whip my head over to someone who is giving me a dirty look and say, “Get over it you paid a dollar!”

If only that response could be as appropriate for the dirty looks I may receive when I am in church with my children.

Even the snacks at the dollar theater are perfect. They have created a spill proof method of distributing concessions to children. Anyone who has taken a child to a movie knows that snack spilling is inevitable and devastating to everyone involved. The people at the dollar theater made a box like a happy meal and they put the drink in pour in the popcorn and close it up and stick the straw through the top of the box. There is a shoot on the side of the box for them to get their popcorn out of. PURE GENEUIS! This is how I am going to start serving all their meals to them.

Thank you dollar theater for offering your entertainment at ridiculously low prices ($0.75 on Tuesdays) and giving Mom’s a place to go when cabin fever has hit your home like the plague. Dollar theater we salute you.

It's the Little Things

I am a passionate person.

I love passionately, I cry passionately, I dive head-first into just about everything that I do. I believe this is what makes me the emotional roller coaster that I am. For the past six months I have turned my passion to my writing.

I would really like to be a writer. I have been pursuing this venture with the usual passion that I pursue most things in my life. Although lately I have been a little discouraged. I would love a little success in my writing. Something to validate my efforts, to prove to me that this is something I am moderately good at.

Last night I was on the hour long drive home from my in-laws. I could not help thinking about my writing. Lately, the lack of success in this area is bringing me down a bit. I was thinking about how people say that the first step is the hardest. I think that saying is dumb. I think the first step, deciding to do something, is the easiest. The hard part is sticking with something when it gets challenging and is yet to be rewarding. I was sitting there and getting more and more depressed about the situation when I turned and looked at Ben.

He is such a good example to me. He worked for two years to achieve his goal of becoming a firefighter. He is an emotional rock, my complete opposite in that sense. He rarely became overwhelmed by the process and just kept pressing forward with his goal in mind. I was trying to use this as a comfort, it took him two years to achieve his success, I should not try and rush things so much. Yet, I was still feeling down.

That is when it happened. Someone in the car farted. Of course, I turned my angry glare to Ben. I was telling him through my facial expressions that I was just not up for this right now. Only when I turned to look at the usual culprit, he had an equal look of disgust on his face. That is when it happened.

From the back of the car the Elmo like voice stated, "Sammy toot!" Her lack of caring, but willingness to claim it sent me into uncontrolled laughter. I guess all it takes to turn my mood around is a good fart, they are almost always funny.

Remind me again why I did this!?

Ben and I are going to a wedding today. Since the weather is going to be in the single digits I thought I would get a nice shirt to wear with pants. I knew it was a gamble right from the beginning to bring all three of the children with me to buy clothes, but I rolled the dice anyway.

We arrived at the store and before we entered I dished out my usual threats, took a deep breath and then entered. Immediately I began frantically searching through the racks knowing my time was short before Riley and George would start wrestling and knocking over racks. The tiny tyrant still managed to pull shirts off their hangers from the comfort of her stroller. The cold sweat was beginning.

EUREKA! I found it, now I had to hustle the children to the fitting room. I took a deep breath when I noticed that the dressing rooms had curtains and not doors. In the past these have never served me well. The little dictator has been known to dash out of these type of dressing rooms when I am half naked and totally unable to get her.

I said a quick prayer and entered the dressing room. I quickly yank off my top. "Mom, why do mom's get stretch marks?" Riley inquires. I am feeling better about myself already.

"Because Riley, sometimes tiny mom's have to carry gigantic babies in their bellies." I calmly explained. If the person in the next dressing room was able to ignore that question she would find it impossible to ignore the chorus my son had broken into: stretch marks, stretch marks! All to the tune of the row your boat in a high soprano and a volume loud enough to be heard throughout the store.

This shirt will be fine, I quickly decide and hurriedly pay for my purchase. As we walk outside the cool air feels nice and begins to make my hot flash subside.

Another successful shopping trip.