Anti-Supermom

life cycle

2012-01-25T09:01:00.001-06:00

This is my microwave, kicked to the curb, though not really a curb (and technically, not really kicked), but thrown into the screened in porch in a fit of anger, where I pray that it get frozen over and covered with at least 12" of snow very shortly. "Take that!"

You might be asking (or not care, but will scroll through anyways), but why?

Because the damn thing died on me after, maybe, 3 years... and that pisses me off for several reasons. Let me list them for you in numerical order, it will be fun:

1) I swear, my parents had their first microwave for like 20 years. It was bigger than my toddler, a dark, ugly, brown color, and it made a strange humming noise, but it lasted forever. Math people, 20 years is way more than 3. Heck, I'm not even sure it died on them or that my parents just got tired of looking at it.

2) There are only a few things that I need for my daily survival, Diet Coke and my microwave are two of them. Being that it quit working in the morning, I had to cancel all plans for that evening to go out and buy a new microwave, not to mention, I had to waste my time online, during nap time when I should be ~~napping~~ working, looking for the best deals on microwaves.

3) I bought (almost) the cheapest microwave out there because our kitchen is on (a not really ever happening) time schedule of being redone, where we get a fancy over-the-range microwave, so I don't really see a point in spending a significant amount of money.

4) I will have to throw this stinkin' broken microwave in the back of my minivan and drive to some suburb that might as well be in Nebraska and pay $30 to recycle it properly, when I just spent $60 on the new microwave... something doesn't add up to me on this. I need some smart person's ratio of time to cost calculation, but you get the point. I feel like I'm getting ripped off.

and finally

5) Just knowing that the new microwave is going to stop working in 2 to 3 years and that I get to repeat this lovely cycle again just stabs me right in the heart.

::

Would it sound oh, so old of me to say 'they don't make them like they use to.'?

I think I can feel my parents laughing at me right now.

eye of the beholder

2012-01-19T16:11:00.001-06:00

She usually wakes up singing, something along the lines of 'hi', then she changes it an octave and says it again 'hi'. Maybe a little louder, it depends on her mood. She jumps up and down in her crib, holding onto the side railing, screeching the already well-worn springs. She's literally just jumping at the chance to start her morning.

But this morning, she woke up with snot smeared across her face, her hair standing up on end on the left hand side, her breath not at all that sweet baby smell we all dream about.

It was an actual temperature of negative 7 this morning, perhaps she knew.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?

My snotty beauty.

Me getting a good laugh every time I look at this photo on my phone, that's pretty beautiful too.

a bracelet, a branch

2012-01-17T15:45:00.000-06:00

Wyatt made me a friendship bracelet in Sunday school. I thought about not wearing it as we walked back to the car, but then I just felt it: this need to wear this little reminder that I need to love him.

And I know I shouldn't need a reminder, but right now my head is filled with that... I love you, but I don't like you phrase.

So, I'm wearing this bracelet, I haven't taken it off since putting it on.

::

Wyatt has been struggling with everything and everyone. He complains:

Why do I have to put my pajamas in the laundry?

I never get to... you name it.

Why did you make my pants too tight?

Why did you buy me new shoes, these are too tight/too loosely/too velcory...?

Do I have to clean up this mess, why do I always have to clean up?

I hate (what the opposite of whatever you just said).

It's so hard, coming after Christmas, where he gets so much, has so much, only to hear the negative come out of his mouth.

It's not ever been my goal to be a friend to Wyatt, I don't think parents should be friends with their kids. My goal is to just be his mom, and just love him.

So, to me, this bracelet isn't really a friendship bracelet, it's an olive branch.

oh, snap

2012-01-12T10:17:00.000-06:00

Have I shared this with you yet? (Probably not, because it's less than flattering... and I'm super vain. No, really, I'm not that vain.)

Our latest professional photograph (and I use the term professional loosely here).

I can pretty much count this is what we were thinking as the camera went *click*.

Me: "Chin out, chin up, but not up too much you can see in my nose. Please let me get one photograph were my double chin isn't the most obvious feature on my face."

Edy: "I'm just resting here. I'm about to fly my arms and arch my back again in 3...2...1."

Wyatt: "The picture lady put that jar of suckers on the floor. When she's not looking, I'm totally sneaking one into my pocket and playing dumb when Mom asks 'where I got it from?".

Henry: "La-la-la, look there's my shoe. La-la-la, there's a string on my shirt. La-la-la, I wonder what I can make with the string..."

My husband: "If you put that f'ing stuffed parrot on your head one more freakin' time, I'm going to go off on you. Just snap the f'ing picture."

And this one was actually the best of the bunch to pick from.

Adding family picture to the list of 2012 things to do,

again.

tooth math

2012-01-05T14:05:00.001-06:00

This is Henry's tooth bed.

Stop judging me.

I actually thought I was pretty smart with the 'let's make a bed for your tooth instead of putting it under your pillow' thing. Yes, I know that they make cute little things called tooth pillows, with cute, tiny little pockets for your dear loved one's tooth to go into, but the first tooth falling out kind of caught me by surprise. So, I wasn't prepared. Plus, I kind of like not having to go hunting for a tooth hidden under a pillow while someone is sleeping. Plus, you know... I'm cheap.

Me + tooth bed = genius)

So, the tooth was placed in it's special bed last night awaiting the fairy's arrival.

This is the fairy's 7th visit.

The first visit was complete failure, involving me running into his room and throwing a dollar under his bed saying something about 'Are you sure you didn't see it? It must have fallen'.

And the last time the tooth fairy visited, I didn't have cash. I never have cash, I wish that the tooth fairy was suppose to leave something that I always have on hand, like string cheese. Yes, I'd be completely happy leaving a string cheese in place of the tooth.

That, or being able to tell Henry I'll put his tooth fairy payment on my Visa.

Sigh... a girl can dream.

So, I rummaged through the coins in my wallet (and in the coin thingy in the van) and managed to come up with 4 quarters. I quietly tip toed into his room and dropped the coins into his tooth bed.

Success.

I was smiling about this as I was get ready that morning. Only then I hear my husband pulling back into the garage from his leaving for work 5 minutes early.

'Forget something?' I whispered.

'Tooth fairy' he whispers back to me.

'I already did it!' I responded.

'How much?' he asks.

'A dollar.'

He silently scoffs at my 'dollar' and climbs up the stairs to Henry's room. He placed the money on the night stand and started to walk away, only Henry is awake and says 'the tooth fairy only gave me coins!'

Busted.

My husband says something about there being more money he didn't see.

A five dollar bill!

Apparently, our going rate for a tooth is 5 buck and 4 quarters.

Let's do the math on that:

6 bucks x 20 teeth x 3 kids = financial ruin

or another equation to look at...

(Husband + scoffing at my $1 a tooth = not so genius)

*

So, what's the going rate for a tooth at your house?

Santa can't bring snow

2011-12-21T17:59:00.006-06:00

They both chime in a whine from the backseat "but it's not fair!"

"We are suppose to have snow, it's so not fair. It's my third favorite thing about Christmas" Henry punctuated from the back seat.

I'm mentally doing a little dance, thank you, God, we don't have snow. We've had snow 8 months out of the last year, we deserve a no snow month!)

"Last night," Henry continues, "I even prayed to God for snow."

(insert the audible sigh here from me.)

"I should have asked Santa for snow too," he finishes.

I scoff from behind the wheel, not loud enough for him to hear though. The visit from Santa went something like this...

::

9:30am, because we aren't standing in any line for a visit to Santa, we only stand in line for important things like free cappuccinos to the first fifty people.

We waited at the curtained gate to reveal what type of Santa we are going to get. (Yes, it's strange, but this is the way Macy's does it.) We always prepare the kids... either it's the real Santa (aka decent looking, smells good) or it's one of Santa's helpers (aka, fake beard is falling off, eyebrows are made-up with white cake makeup).

Lucky for us, he looked like the real deal, and the boys acted pretty much stunned.

So much so like two deer in headlights that I had to tell this Santa what they each wanted (not that Santa asked; he was more like let's go, get the picture, get you guys out).

Then Santa proceeded to stick his fingers into Wyatt's dimples and told him to 'keep smiling' in this creepy way. Instead of knocking his fingers off my boy's face, we packed up. We got a picture without Edy actually crying. Yippee for us.

One more time before passing through the curtains, weird Santa said again to Wyatt "keep on smiling, come on, keep on smiling... there you go!"

::

So back in the car, I waited from him to say it... without fail, Henry says "Can we visit Santa again? I need to ask him for snow too."

Umm, no. We will not be revisiting creepy, keep smiling, Santa.

I respond "Santa can't bring snow in his bag, Sweetie, sorry. You better just stick with the microscope."

Apparently, our Santa only brings the heebie jeebies.

break fast

2011-12-19T18:49:00.003-06:00

I hate breakfast time, that horrible morning rush. It's packing snack, packing lunch and packing backpacks. It's pulling off covers, pushing in showers and pleading with people. It's one breakfast, two breakfast, three breakfast, then four.

My breakfast is eggs, microwaved. And I eat them standing up. I'm so glamorous, I know.

Yes, I may hate that time between 7:30 and 8:30am, but I love knowing that I giving them a great start to their day.

See this little graph, it states that 89% of moms want their kids to eat breakfast, but of that 40% don't have breakfast daily. That families spend only 17 minutes preparing and eating breakfast each day.

17 minutes... for me, it's worth adding breakfast to that morning rush.

I get to see Henry practicing his Chinese flash cards. I get to hear Wyatt singing to Edy. I get to talk to them about gym today. I get to cheer about a puppet show at preschool.

Even if I hate that rush of breakfast time, I get to give them the best start to their day.

And that starts my day off pretty nicely too.

Disclosure, this post is sponsored by Kellogg and The Motherhood, though all thoughts and opinions are mine (and not taken over by any alien). I really do believe in the power of breakfast and thank Kellogg for asking me to participate.

the deer one

2011-12-16T08:41:00.003-06:00

Wyatt gave me a present for Christmas. No, I haven't opened it yet, but it's an ornament.

I know, not because I have x-ray vision, like I try to convince my children I do, but I know because Wyatt is so sly. "It's made out of glass, Mom"... "or it's not". "OK, I'll tell you, it's an ornament"... "or maybe it's *not* an ornament". "You guess!"

Of course, I guess things like a snotty Kleenex or a shark, or a half eaten peanut butter sandwich because I won't dare guess an ornament.

The card is adorable though, reindeer painted by him and inside is a note about this present being from my little 'deer'.

Wyatt said "Do you get it, Mom?" Yes, I do... thank you very much.

Climbing into the van after preschool, I asked him to explain what he painted...

"Here's me, the one with the red nose, I'm Rudolph". As he points with his finger, moving along, "then there's you, and Dad, and Edy."

I look at him, my eyes giving him that little look, "But where's your brother? Where's Henry?"

Wyatt responds "He's just gone, he's not there".

I poked at him a little with a giggle and a "well, why didn't you paint your brother?".

Wyatt settles down into his booster seat and slowly says "I'm not talking about this anymore."

So, our suspicions have been, apparently, confirmed.

Wyatt is (literally) planning on taking Henry out of the picture. (I'm teasing, of course, kind of.)

All of his screaming at Henry... all of the jumping on him and kicking in his sides... every time he smothers him with a pillow during a so-called friendly pillow fight... has just be practice.

Oh yes, Wyatt, he's my 'deer' one.

just missed

2011-12-15T08:04:00.003-06:00

10 days until Christmas. I look at Edy and think about where she was a year ago. She was not the giggling, pointing, following the lead of her brothers for everything that she is now.

This is how she was the last time my sister saw her. One year ago.

My sister's coming home. From Afghanistan. From her second tour of duty. Just a few weeks after Christmas.

She'll just miss it.

So much of me wants to be shocked, that she's released early. That she'll walk through that door, smiling, a white Russian in her hand, announcing 'Surprise!'... we wish it with every bone in our bodies.

Just looking at my daughter, I can see how much she has missed. It's so tangible in this picture. It makes me feel down far in my gut how much she's missed in her own family; her daughter, her son, her husband.

I'm counting down the days. 10 days until Christmas. A few more days and she'll be home, but right now...she's just missed.

Joining Just Write this week

the toddler tree

2011-12-13T16:19:00.001-06:00

I've officially let go of need to have a nice Christmas tree.

Case in point, this is our tree. (Just keeping it real here, folks)

I call it the Charlie Brown tree, but no matter how many times I've sang off key to it, it hasn't magically turned into this beautiful spectacle of Christmas or any emblem of all things beautiful this holiday season.

Dang it.

Please note:
1- The bottom row of lights is no longer on because one of the three toddlers pulled out a bulb, and they don't really make strings of lights that you can easily replace a bulb and it re-light (now, *that* would be magic).

2- All breakable ornaments are hanging higher than 4 feet. Anything that can be manhandled can remain lower. Notice that it's not an equal ratio.

3- There is one, maybe two candy canes left on the tree because my little girl thinks they are toys. She grabs one, breaks the hook off and hands it to me. She then puts part of it in her mouth, only to scream at me for letting her put such a pepperminty hot thing in her mouth. She proceeds to give me the look of death.

4- Presents with tags have been ripped off, placed on other presents, stuck to the television screen, stuck into each other's hair. Tags have been placed anywhere but back on the present from which they came from.

5- The tree skirt has been pulled out so many times, that just want to throw the darn thing away. Edy thinks that anything that is soft and fuzzy is a blanket to her. Try giving her an actual blanket, and she thinks I'm crazy. Her BFF is her pajamas, or her coat, or her spaghetti stained shirt. (see, she's the weirdo)

It's like owning cats, and having to keep them away from my tree.

Who am I kidding, it's not my tree, it belongs to those toddlers.

(selfish little things)

Like I was saying... just like cats.

cheese please

2011-12-08T09:21:00.001-06:00

Please allow me to be a little monterey jack this morning. A little cheesy.

This girl, how you lights up when the camera is pointed at you. You have a little voice that comes out along with that camera. You wrinkle up your face, spread on a smile and says 'cheese', only it sounds more like 'tease'.

And every time you see a picture of you or your brothers, you point to it and say 'tease' over and over. You have to have me pull it down for you so you can hold it in your little palms and stare at that picture. You look at it and say again in your little whispering voice... 'tease'.

Oh, how you melt me.

And how you make me laugh.

You invented this new game. It's crazy to think that you solely came up with this on your own, little almost 16 month old you, but you did.

You lay on the wood floor, put your hands by your face but palms pushed down onto the floor and you zerbert the floor. A big ol' sound that would shake the floor if you were bigger. You then look up at me, cobra style, with that smile, that cheesy smile, I laugh, and then you do it all over again.

It makes me laugh. Big laughs. Belly laughs. Feels so good laughs.

But I swear, if you ever blow raspberries on the floor of McDonald's, I'll start freaking out so that everyone in earshot will hear me, that 'I have never seen you do that before, that it's the most disgusting thing I have ever seen you do' and pull out the hand sanitizer to start disinfecting your body.

Sweet, weird, a little vain, baby girl of mine...

try to keep that kind of stuff to just at home.

a career you can count on

2011-12-06T18:46:00.002-06:00

We walked into the Dollar Store to get ribbon and wrapping paper for the one, yes, as in singular, present that I had purchased up to this point, because I'm (obviously) super on top of Christmas presents and wrapping and all that other stuff.

*sigh*

Of course, at the Dollar Store you're almost obligated to get something for the kids if they are not scratching each other's eyeballs out and remaining, sort of, good while in the store.

"You both can pick out one thing" I nodded to them. It's a buck, it minor bribery in the grand scheme of bribery right now, i.e. Santa has some major pull right now in our house.

So, Henry picks out a flashlight to add to his growing collection of no-longer-working, cheap ass flashlights. I should have known...

And Wyatt, what did he pick? This balloons and pumper kit, for making balloon animals.

He's now foregoing his future as a garbage man, or the mail carrier, or Spiderman and concentrating on a career you can count on in this unstable economy, a future in his true calling:

Balloon Artistry.

Made completely by him, this is, as he calls it "the silly bike thing that clowns ride" or unicycle.

I'm sure that is obvious to you too.

real moms use Spam

2011-12-01T18:21:00.003-06:00

The boys were each standing on their chairs in the kitchen, ready to use the handheld mixer, a big ol' treat for them since I rarely bake anything (or that I don't let them help me in the kitchen, because we all know that it's not really 'help' when it takes 23 minutes longer to do anything in the kitchen with them).

I told them, "hold on, there's one more ingredient I need to add", as I reached over them to grab the Spam hiding behind the big bowl. "Wow, what's that?" Obviously, they are intrigued by this canned ham, just like 99% of the world is.

I reply, "it's Spam." Though it's not really Spam, it's a generic Spam, but I figured, does it really matter, canned ham is canned ham.

Then both boys simultaneously plug their noses and yell at me when I crack open the can "what's that smell?"

"It's the Spam... it will smell better once we mix it in with the other stuff".

Doubtful, they hold their shirt's sleeves to their noses and try to negotiate the mixer at the same time.

Henry has more questions about this canned ham as Wyatt takes a turn. "Why do people eat Spam if it smells so bad?"

"Well," I reply, "most people I know don't actually eat Spam. I don't even think I've ever eaten it by itself. I promise you though, it will be delicious once it's mixed up with this other stuff and baked."

Henry continues on "I don't understand, if people don't like to eat it and it smells bad, why are we using it in this recipe?"

I close my eyes and tried to think of something to end this (already way too long) conversation about Spam. I already knew he wouldn't be touching this cheese fondue thingy already, ever. "It's a mystery, Buddy. That's probably why some people call Spam mystery meat."

"It's really called a mystery, that's so cool! I'm good a solving mysteries. Can we solve this Spam mystery?"

Oh, for the love of God.

my poor, poor kid

2011-11-29T18:24:00.001-06:00

I think whatever we tell Henry, he takes to heart. Not just to heart, but puts that heart into a little Ziploc baggie and then wraps that bag in duct tape about a million times. I guess I'm just saying, what we tell him is what he believes more than anything.

And he is never wants to disappoint us, ever.

::

Henry and I were sitting crisscross (take that preschool teacher who said he could never sit crisscross 'right') on the floor playing with the little ones. I'm using the term playing loosely, because all I was doing was pushing the button on the pretend microwave so they could throw a ball into it. They would then shut the door and sign for help from me to push the button again so they could get the ball out of the microwave. Repeat this over and over and over. Yes, totally fun times.

So anyways, in between pushing the microwave's darn door open button, I noticed Henry had a hole in the bottom of his shoe. "Henry, did you know you have a hole in your shoe?" I exclaimed and pointed to the worn down sole. "Yep" he responded with a shrug. I continued, "Well, how long has it been there?" remembering that it had snowed that last weekend. "A few weeks... I think," he replied.

Henry continues, "my friends at school were wondering why I have a hole in my shoe and I told them that it hasn't been 6 months yet, and that my shoes are suppose to last 6 months like my mom and dad said."

To further stab the plastic fork into my muffin top region, he finishes "it's OK Mom, I'm happy with what I've got."

My poor, poor kid.

::

He's the one who makes me feel like we might doing this parenting thing pretty well.

Wyatt, on the other hand...

mullet no more

2011-11-22T15:44:00.004-06:00

I don't like mullets. Now if that makes me not a very good (former) Iowan, so be it.

Edy's hair wasn't growing into those cute wisps of baby curls and I was fed up with her looking like a red neck. I decided I was giving up on being like all those other mothers of little girls who have 'never cut their girl's hair' and do just that... cut her darn hair.

(taken with my phone)

I'm pretty sure that this will come up in some sort of future therapy session where she is working out issues about her weird mother, because as I sat down in the chair with Edy in my lap and I said "just cut it, I don't care if she looks like a boy..."

But I like to think of her cut as a pixie style... and that she definitely looks like a girl.

Reassure me.

that day

2011-11-15T11:38:00.001-06:00

I'm struggling.

I'm attempting to decide if we should tell Henry that there isn't a Santa Claus. It feels like I may be taking away a part of his innocence, and Henry is so much my innocent child. In his perfect world, nothing would be better than both teams winning, a glorious tie, where the opponents slap backs and hand out high five mutually.

Smiles across the board.

My little the world is wonderful boy.

He tells us that so and so 'doesn't believe in Santa', but that 'he still does'. Which leads me to believe that he really doesn't, or that he's questioning all of it, or that he doesn't want to disappoint us by not believing any more.

Would I be taking away a part of his innocence by telling him?

Or would I be making him a believer is something bigger, in trusting us, in us telling him that we will always tell him the truth. That he can count on us, no matter.

I feel foolish that I just want one more year of that magic, but more foolish in hoping that Henry would pretend just for us, for one more year, that Santa is real.

If we tell him, are we letting him in on our secret, making it that something special between just he and us?

If we don't tell him yet, are we just being wishful? Him going along with the game until that day that he comes up to us and says he 'no longer believes in Santa Claus'.

That day that could be tomorrow.. or next year, or even possibly, several years down the road.

Answers are welcomed.

on my plate

2011-11-11T08:55:00.001-06:00

I'm pretty sure when people see us coming, they do one of two things; 1) they turn their head in the other direction, like 'here comes that train wreck, avoid this at all costs', which I know, we do look like a literal train. Two one-year-old little girls in the wagon, me ahead of them, pulling; Wyatt running too far ahead for me to even see him and in the middle, another little girl, a two-year-old, trying to catch up.

Or 2) when people see us, they go out of their way to help us; screaming at the top of the hill, waving hands in the air, 'NO! Let me get that door for you', though I'm in arm shot of just opening the darn thing myself.

I get it. I look like I've got my hands full (and omgosh, I wish I got a dollar, or a puppy, or a Snickers for every time I heard that phrase in my face: 'looks like you've got your hands full', duh, I run a child care, that kinda involves taking care of a few kids). People see me and pretty much assume that I've already got too much on my plate, maybe it's the permanent wrinkle lines across my forehead from screaming at Wyatt, I'm not sure.

So, what did I get assigned to bring to Wyatt's little preschool Thanksgiving feast next week:

It's just like telling that weird uncle of yours, who you wouldn't trust with your dog, 'just bring rolls or something' for Thanksgiving... 'Don't put too much on his plate,' nudges your sister.

I'm that weird uncle who can't handle bringing anything more than rolls.

::

Sometimes I love my job.

self-proclaiming myself

2011-11-09T19:13:00.001-06:00

I don't toss around the word 'genius' very often, because honestly, it takes a lot to impress me.

But I'm just going to say it,

today, I'm pretty much a genius.
(And if you don't know me, this is completely dripping with sarcasm.)

Edith is completely fed up with ever being fed, and of course, I haven't had the time to spoon feed anyone since like 2003. So, I throw the spoon and whatever it is that she wants on the tray and let her go for it.

Her particular favorite right now, applesauce.

Except she shoves her little hands into the cup only to come up with just enough to lick off, then comes the frustration of not getting more, which follows by the complete frustration of me as she tosses the cup over her tray to splatter all over the floor and wall.

Enter my 'geniusness' for the day:

Applesauce through a straw.

Do not confuse this with those silly applesauce pouches that kids squeeze into their mouths... well... maybe it's a little bit the same...

dang it,

so today, I'm self-proclaiming myself a ~~genius~~ cheap ass.

ladies man

2011-11-08T18:44:00.000-06:00

My husband asked me out on our first date while pulling cans at the local grocery store.

He was a bag boy there, I was the cashier (trying to avoid being up front cashiering, because seriously... there probably isn't a job out there that is more boring than scanning your favorite buttery spread over that laser light thing). So anyways, I was in the aisle pulling cans along with my future husband.

It went something like this...

Future husband:
"So, you wanna go out with me sometime?"

Me:
"Well... no."

Silence.
Chirping in the background.

I go on to explain "See, I have a boyfriend"

And that was it.

We continued pulling cans forward, sharking our real job duties, joking with each other about the bad country music playing over the intercom.

Yes, my husband is a real ladies man, he obviously worked hard to convince me to dump my boyfriend and go out with him instead.

(Though when I did dump my boyfriend, he was one of the first people I told, and as they say, the rest is history.)

::

So Wyatt, working on 'what he is thankful for' in school, brought this home today.

Our ladies man in the works.

With the million of possibilities of things he could write;

he's "thankful for Bella",

the cute one that sits besides him at snack time.

Both of them probably sharking their preschool duties and making fun of toddler tunes playing over on the piano too.

chastity belt for chocolate

2011-11-02T18:49:00.001-05:00

There are things that I do for Halloween to enjoy the season,
or actually, quite the opposite, not enjoy at all, but apparently essential for me since I have absolutely no self control at all.

1) I don't buy candy until the weekend before Halloween, or I'll eat it all.

2) On the Halloween candy scale of cheap, middle range and upper-high class candy, I buy the middle class bag of candy, and by middle, I'm still shelling out 20 bucks for Skittles- ugh. I just don't buy candy with anything that contains, covered in or has 'chips' of chocolate in it, or I'll eat it all.

3) I either wear mittens, keep my hands in my pockets or carry a 22lb. toddler while trick-or-treating, or I'll eat every piece of chocolate the kids throw in their bags while they are knocking on the next door ~~and not looking~~.

You see where I'm going with this

So, newly added this year, the chastity belt for Halloween candy.

4) I've sorted every candy that tempts me and put it into a zip-lock. I stuck the bag in the freezer, the freezer the happens to be in the garage (in hopes that the steps down to the garage make it feel slightly more challenging to get to for my lazy a$$).

I've convinced the boys that these candies are way better frozen... now if I could just convince myself that they aren't.

namesake

2011-11-01T18:43:00.002-05:00

This year was so different than last year.

Last year, Henry spent Halloween in the ER.

It's been a year and I've never blogged about it. But, when I don't blog about things, I feel like I'm not being honest with you, like I'm faking you out, you aren't getting the real me.

Last year, Henry couldn't walk, he couldn't stand. He cried trying to get his costume on, it wasn't until my husband said, "I'm taking him to the ER" that I started feeling like I was the wrong one, that he wasn't 'just fine'.

But we didn't get any answers. It wasn't his appendix, at least that would have been an answer.

He slept on the couch at Christmas, too tired at times to open his gifts.

He vomited for a week in January.

All of these were clues... that we didn't see. Hindsight, of course.

Then his urine turned rust colored, near red, dark like a cola. Henry, who is normally startled by anything out of the ordinary, wasn't. He laughed as he peed into the toilet. We laughed along with him, only hoping to get him to bed as soon as possible...

to see, to research, to put our minds at ease, and to fear for his life:

why does he have blood in his urine?

He went to the doctor in the morning; blood was drawn, tests were taken,

And answers were finally given.

Undiagnosed strep throat, so long undiagnosed that it started to affect his kidneys.

And this is why I haven't blogged about it. Would people come here and say, 'ha- how could you have not known. It's a mother's instinct, you should have looked more, asked more questions, pressed further for answers.'

'You are living by your blog's namesake'.

This Halloween, Henry was fine.

I know that it wasn't my fault. I know that I can blog about something like this and I'm going to have supporters.

And I might have some people who would blame me too, and this year, I'm OK with that.

WTF Friday - the third

2011-10-28T08:41:00.003-05:00

or the fourth, but who really cares.

There's sort of an infamous story that all the siblings in my family know about...

I don't know how my mom did it with four kids, but she use to sew everything; like matching weird green pinstripe outfits for when we went to the airport (in case one of us got lost, she could point to one of the remaining there and say 'see, he/she looks exactly like this!').

Among all the stuff she sewed, she sewed swimming suits. I can't remember if this was either before kids, or we kids were young, but one day she picked out a pattern, some really beautiful yellow material and whipped herself up a yellow swimming suit.

She wore that suit to the pool and strutted around until she started feeling eyes look at her, approving nods from the guys around and jabs to their friends. So, she started to strut a little more, heck, who doesn't when your feeling hot.

That was until someone came up to her and whispered into her ear 'you know, your swim suit is see-through'. That's right, the itty bitty yellow thingy was like wearing nothing when wet.

Fast forward to me last night. I noticed that my suit was looking a little worn in the front, but I thought it wasn't a big deal, maybe it was just the light in the bathroom. So, I just threw a towel over my body and proceeded to the gym's pool.

When I got home, I was going to sling my wet suit over the bathroom shower door, when I decided I better reinspect my suit. The front panel had two layers, so it was fine, but the back...

and what are you looking at now, a picture of Wyatt's pumpkin girl... seen through the rear of my swimming suit.

Yep, I'm pretty sure there was a full moon at the pool last night, or a full pumpkin face, or something others might as well just call my ass.

I've never felt so much like my mother than I did last night.

Awesomeness.

fancy

2011-10-26T08:18:00.001-05:00

I shouted to Wyatt from the bottom of the stairs 'you have mail!'. Of course, it was just some junk mail, but he didn't care; he did a little eye-squinting smile and grabbed the letter out of my hands. He looked like he was bouncing up the stairs like a jackrabbit until he turned the corner and disappeared out of my vision.

Then I heard him opening the silverware drawer. I turned the corner to see if my ears have deceived me or not.

But no, he's rummaged through the drawer to retrieve a knife. A make-shift letter opener.

Just like his dad does.

I remember once hearing that it's pretty much 50/50; either you rip open your letter with something, or you rip a corner off and drag your finger across the envelope to open it.

You probably guessed, I'm a ripper.

My husband, of course, he's a letter opener kind of a guy.

And here's Wyatt, grabbing a butter knife to open his junk mail envelope. I couldn't believe it.

He's so much like his father.

Until he gets frustrated that he can't stick the knife into the envelope that he tossed the knife on the table and impatiently started to rip the letter open as fast as his fingers would allow him.

Ah, I take that back,

he's much like someone who will remain nameless that might easily get frustrated, may be impatient and definitely doesn't care if her envelopes look like a shark attacked it.

Totally, not me.

And I should insert some sort of fancy poll seeing if you either rip or use a letter opener, but I'm just not that fancy (obviously I'm not fancy... I don't even use letter openers) and I'm lazy, but inquiring minds do want to know.

Wordful Wednesday and
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363 and counting

2011-10-24T16:30:00.004-05:00

See, age does make you smarter.

It was my birthday on Saturday, and once again, I stopped hinting around that I wanted to be pampered for my birthday and just did it myself. My husband asked 'what do you want for your birthday?' and I easily answered, 'a day off."

And that's just what I did. I scheduled my facial and booked my hotel. I planned my shopping trip and bookmarked my favorite movie theaters.

Here's a few things I learned from my 35th birthday:

-Your kids will make you feel guilty and say things like: "Don't you want to spend your birthday with us?" "I wish we could be together on your birthday." "Don't you love us?" (Ok, they didn't say that last one, but it pretty much felt like it.) Just cover your ears, sing 'la-la-la', shut the door and drive away.

-Facial are nice. They are almost better than massages because you still get a little upper body massage and they pop your pimples for you (except they call it 'extracting areas on your face'.)

-The Mall of America isn't just for tourists, and when I say tourists, it's people that are wearing sweatshirts that say 'worlds best grandma' and are taking pictures of the Sears escalators. The Mall of America has two of my favorite stores in walking distance; hello H&M, hi there, Forever 21. Thank you for not making me feel too old to be shopping there.

-When you check in to a hotel as a single, they will look at you funny, like you are having an affair or something... just go with it, consider it flattery. Take the two cookies and pretend that it's for the 'someone' you will be ~~not~~ meeting up with later.

-Movies are nice too. Especially when you don't have to miss the second half of it when your toddler can't stand sitting in the seats anymore. And did you know that rated R movies sometime swear? Mind blower.

-Four feather pillows on one bed is not at all excessive.

-Waking up and not having to make breakfast for a single soul is near Heaven.

-Did I miss anything... oh yea, you will kinda miss those darn kids until they start screaming at you about not knowing 'where they put their homework' and you can feel guilt-free to start counting down to next year's birthday break.

flu shots remind me of college

2011-10-20T16:30:00.003-05:00

Somehow the kids figured out that they are getting flu shots tonight. It probably has something to do with me spelling it out within earshot and darn it, Henry getting better at sounding that kind of stuff out.

Anyways, I usually try to keep it a secret, like we are going someplace fabulous, like Disney World, and then bait-and-switch them at the doors of the clinic... 'You guys totally weren't listening to me, I said flu shot, not fun spot.'

So, I've been fending off questions all day long.

The boys: Is it going to hurt?
Me: Just for a second, then it's fine.

The boys: Show us how it feels.
Me: (I grab a pen and poke it into their skin a little.)
The boys: THAT HURTS!! Why would you hurt us like that? And a flu shot is going to be worse than that?

(Henry, the oldest, starts to tear up. Wyatt declares that he 'will run out of the room!'.)

Wyatt thinks about it for a little bit longer, 'I will run out of the room, grab a flu shot needle and get you instead!', Wyatt proclaims this with his best take that face.

I told him that I was going to get my flu shot too, so there was no need to 'get me' with a needle.

Them: Do you cry when you get shots?
Me: No, but one time I nearly passed out from getting shots. I was 18 and getting a ton of shots at the same time. My ears started ringing, I couldn't see very well, the nurse had me lay down on the couch in the office.

The boys are now sitting on the edge of their seats.

Them: Wow! What other times have you passed out?

(silence)

Me: Umm, oh ... never mind...

Now, who wants to get treats after shots?

free style

2011-10-18T15:43:00.001-05:00

I'm not in charge of putting the boys to bed. This lovely duty has be delegated to my husband and I think he likes doing it (for the most part). That said, they have been watching a lot of YouTube videos lately during story time. My husband claims it's for ideas, their inventions...

::

So I noticed that Wyatt has been kicking his feet up on the walls a lot lately. He'd put one foot up on the wall and spin around on the other foot. Honestly, I thought 'that's a little weird', but I let it go, because I pick my battles with this child.

Fast forward with us going into the gym. Wyatt's literally stepped up his game. He's putting one foot on the wall, spinning around, running over to the chair and kicking off from there. I grab him before he makes his next move to the side table, 'What are you doing, Wyatt? You can't step on people's furniture,' I scold him.

He shrugs his shoulders and mumbles something.

"Well, you can't do that anymore!" I whisper-yell at him.

Wyatt goes on "but it's called freestyle walking, Mom... and I like doing it".

Freestyle walking?

(now imagine a four year old doing this... yes, adults (apparently) think this is fun too)

Ah, yes, freestyle walking, thank you YouTube.

Or 'Gobber Jiggerty' when Wyatt wants to call it some made up name.

But I'm having a ridiculous time trying to explain why there are shoe marks on people's walls from my four year old and it's not that he has horrible manners,

it's that he's freestyle walking.

WTF Friday (again)

2011-10-14T09:18:00.002-05:00

I feel a little foolish, a little, well... asinine for buying RunTone shoes.

But isn't it part of the American dream to want a house, kids and a nice butt?

Can you blame me for wanting to believe that shoes are going to make my rear 28% better than my regular gym shoes would?

The worst part, I fell for it (and that I have witnesses).

I told my sister that I thought I was running faster. I asked my husband to 'feel my butt, it feels smaller, right?' (Yes, I realize this was a loaded question and there was only one correct answer if he wanted me to ever talk to him again... and of course, he wants me to ~~nag him~~ talk to him.)

Now Reebok is issuing refunds for those that are fools like me.

WTF?

Honestly, I feel a little better knowing that I didn't buy clothing that I thought would tone my body though (because that would just be crazy).

Am I asinine for wanting a nice ass?

Apparently so.

::

Please feel free to assume I would like comments on my cleverness in using the word 'ass'.

(wink)

blind man driving

2011-10-12T10:06:00.002-05:00

I hate molars. I don't mean that I don't like the function of them chomping chicken or munching manwhiches, but I hate them in my one year old.

I hate that her mood swings like a drunken sailor. One second she's fine, the next she screaming, throwing her body around, begging to be held, only to push me away because she doesn't want to be held.

Please pop already, because I'm about to burst.

::

Driving my own little personal carpool this morning, from one school to the next, a white van blew by me. It was some sort of custom blinds company, you know, the kind that sells those fancy wood blinds.

I sort of gave him a 'what in the he$$' look out of my window, that he didn't notice... or that I didn't really make tough enough.

Then I pulled up to a stoplight behind him, and saw this:
The sticker says: Caution this vehicle driven by a blind man

I love it when I can at least laugh at a bad driver.

I still hate molars though.

a page ripped from my parenting manual

2011-10-06T10:37:00.001-05:00

Wyatt can be gross. He's pretty compulsive in his booger picking. He tries to be slick and just do a little slide action from his nose to his mouth, but fails, most of the time, to fool anyone into thinking that he's not picking his nose.

Last night, we were sitting at the table eating dinner, well... most of us were eating. I caught Wyatt picking his nose for the 20 billionth time that day and teased him about 'liking to eat boogers more than my dinner'.

He laughed with his dimples and started eating his rice instead.

I turned to Edy and started cutting up more chicken because this girl is a meatitarian, 'go meat or go home' she says... whatever, you get it, she likes chicken and needed more before she started her high pitch shrill she has to let people know of her existence (at least in a 5 mile radius of our house).

I turned back to look at Wyatt and he had his finger back in his nose.

'Wyatt!' I screamed, 'Stop it!'.

He screamed back at me 'I can't, I've got lots of boogers in my nose!'

I tried to explain to him, 'that's because you don't know how to blow your nose'. (Somehow that page must have been ripped out of my parenting manual about how to teach your child how to blow their nose, because none of my kids know how to do it. They sit there, me holding the Kleenex, demanding them to shut their mouth and blowing like an elephant... but I digress.)

So Wyatt continues to pick his nose while I grab my paper towel.

'Blow!' I tell him.

Which of course, doesn't work.

I tell him 'just let me look, let me see how many boogers you have.'

That's when I see that the kid's managed to shove several pieces of rice up into his nose.

'How did those get up there?' I asked as I pulled the grains out of his nose.

He shrugged his shoulders, kind of saying: big deal, I pull weird stuff out of his nose all the time and he continued eating his rice.

Thank God, at least the kid knows how to use a fork.

I'm holding onto that parenting success tightly.

And I can't believe I linked two other posts talking about Wyatt eating boogers. Is there some sort of 12 step process I should be starting him on?

grandmas

2011-10-05T09:41:00.001-05:00

I remember having breakfast at her house. Sitting in those chairs that you could spin around, the kind that you could race across the kitchen floor, except they didn't go very fast because Grandma had carpet in her kitchen. 'Who does that?' I think now, except that I remember it's my grandmother and damn it; she doesn't like cold feet, so she's going to have carpet in her kitchen.

She'd have some sort of waltz, organ, churchish music playing in the background, coming from her clock radio. It was the 1980's, there were things like boom boxes; things that played music better, better acoustics. The music sounded horrible. I remember I changed the channel one day thinking I would trick her, she didn't say anything though, she just switched it back to her station without a mention.

And it was always Kellogg's Corn Flakes for breakfast. I couldn't think of anything more boring for breakfast than corn flakes. I asked if she 'would ever get anything other than corn flakes?', I don't remember her response, but I remember there being a box of Frosted (corn) Flakes the next time I stayed over.

Because that's what grandmas do. They spoil you. They answer your requests. They do anything for you.

::

My boys rummaged through my mom's sewing closet full of remnants of material. They each made their own cape; one plaid and one plain red. They wore them the entire weekend they were at my parent's house.

And this weekend, there were real capes waiting for them in their bedroom at my parent's house, sewn by my mom.

My grandmother passed away on Friday. There are little things that stick with me, that will always stick with me about her, like corn flakes and AM radio stations.

I hope one day, for my boys, one of those little things will be superhero capes.

what google and my 4 year old know

2011-09-30T08:09:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I think Wyatt is like that little boy from Jerry Maquire, saying something similar to 'do you know that the human head weighs 8 pounds'... okay, Wyatt's not this crazy genius, but he can hold his own.

And he holds on to information that he thinks is valuable or interesting.

This week he is studying bugs in preschool. He climbed into the minivan with this in his hand.

I asked him about the circle in stomach, I (incorrectly) assumed it was it's bellybutton... 'no mom', 'is it a spotted bug?' I asked, another roll of the eyes, 'no, it's his thorax'.

I climbed into the driver's seat thinking cute but a little weird and 'isn't the thorax in the throat?' Of course, I won't argue that with Wyatt. He claims to never be wrong, only wronged.

So I googled it after he went to bed.

The kid was right, the thorax on a bug looks like the belly area.

Ugh, I hate being wrong... especially to a four year old.

Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

thirteen

2011-09-28T09:04:00.000-05:00

There is just something about right now that makes me need to write about you. Let me give you just thirteen things I love about you right now, at thirteen months. Plus, a blogger friend (who's private) did this yesterday and she always makes me want to be a better mom (read guilt).

1) The way that you blow on your food when I slide it onto your highchair tray, now matter if it's a cracker or chicken, you assume that it's all hot and needs to be blown on.

2) How you say 'Wu Wu', you pucker your lips and move them in an exaggerated 'Woooo, Woooo'

3) Your crawl, which is really more of a scoot, with one leg tucked in, your right hand pulling you forward, your left hand with something, whatever you fancy, in the palm.

4) You jumping up in your crib when I come in to get your after nap time. You in your sleeping sack, jumping up and down, looking like this little smiling potato bag of cuteness.

5) How you standing, you clapping for yourself... love your self affirmation.

6) The way that you pull bows out of your hair (even if I try... daily) you will stand a bow for about five minute, pull it out and hand it to me like it's mine, not yours.

7) You climbing into the sandbox, then out, then back in, and out once more.

8) How the little hair that you have flaps in the wind, it looks like an adorable fake baby toupee.

9) How you sign gentle and do the opposite, you will do the sign and then hit your friend on top of the head.

10) How you are obsessed with anything you can sit on; leafs taken out of the table sitting on the floor, books stacked in a pile, all of them must be sat on.

11) You saying 'Stella', period.

12) The way you hug me when I get you in the morning, you hug my neck and pat my back over and over.

13) And I know this will sound horrible, so rotten of me and completely unfair, but I love that you are a girl. Every day you heal my heart from wounds of just being a woman in this world.

My daughter.

Wordful Wednesday and
More Wordful Wednesday

one of these is not like the others

2011-09-27T08:53:00.002-05:00

I'll unpack Henry's lunch box at the end of the day and every once and awhile, there are the fruit snacks I sent with him, because he ran out of time to eat his entire lunch. Since he knows those are his dessert, he doesn't eat his fruit snacks until he finishes the rest of his lunch.

That seems pretty remarkable honest for a second grader.

We met with Wyatt's love, Ingrid for a little play date yesterday. She contemplated sitting next to him by putting her finger to her chin and said "no", but within two seconds, she was sitting next to him listening to the librarian read about a cat that thought the moon was a milk bowl.

We walked out of the library together, Ingrid's mom talking about how Ingrid needed to drive by our house to see where the mail went (and if you haven't seen the letter she sent him, it's here... it's adorable). Her mother joked that Wyatt had his first stalker, I laughed too and thought about how I would have probably done the same thing at four years old, because I'm weird.

Ingrid, the wonderfully shy, quiet, completely opposite to Wyatt, then spoke up... "I would like to go into your house too".

Wyatt responds "Come now, let's go!".

I shoot him down immediately with "not today, but that would be so fun (you know, the standard response). I'll email with her mom, OK?"

Wyatt turns the corner to sit at the table for our packed snack. Then I hear him chanting "ThatSucks, ThatSucks, ThatSucks". I stop him and ask him "what are you saying?" (And why does this always happen to me when other parents are standing behind me and thinking about how I'm the worst mother in the world because I obviously taught my son 'that sucks'.. ugg).

I bend over and look at him squarely, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt, "What are you saying" I say. Maybe it's another one of his made up words like 'bibilicorn' (which means bike in case you are wondering).

I tell him to 'say it slowly'.

He looks at me and says "That. Sucks."

"Wyatt!" I scream, "that is not a nice thing to say... that's not something we say, ever"

Then he looks at me "but I was thinking about a straw, how am I suppose to talk about what a straw does?"

He got me again.
That sucks.

where the magic happens

2011-09-22T15:18:00.000-05:00

My husband offered to have my van washed and cleaned out as a present for my upcoming birthday. We are not talking about going through the Car Mart, but one of those fancy detailing places where they call you after your dropped your car off and tell you that they are 'going to have to charge extra for the the excessive amount of Goldfish stuck between your seats'. One of those car detailing places where they charge you over a hundred dollars.

So yes, in theory this could be a nice gift, but after spending every hour (damn you school and your late starts) for three hours yesterday, I decided that I think my van is already pretty awesome the way it is...

My beautifying station, complete with tweezers and gum wrappers,

because fresh breath can go a long way but shapely brows can go even farther. (And please tell me I'm not the only person who will tweeze their brows at stoplights).

The snack area:

Don't judge me... yes, I ate a full box of theater size Whoppers. Did you know that Whoppers are no longer being made? My hoarding them is therefore justified (right?).

Where my business transactions and receipts are kept:

Look closely, there are at least 4 receipts from McDonald's for a large Diet Coke, because you know, that's how I roll.

And of course, what everyone wants to see, the backseat, where the magic happens... and when I say 'magic' I mean where I spend years of my life buckling and unbuckling 5 little people. It's the second question people ask me when they see all of us strolling down the block, it's almost always following 'Oh my Gawd, are all of these kids yours?'.

What people are dying to know 'how do I fit them all in my van?'

So the answer is: very carefully (you can't even see the fifth car seat in this photo)

And getting every single one of these car seats out of the van for a real cleaning... thanks but no thanks, besides it's already (obviously) an organized traveling office and perfect personal space center.

dote the tote

2011-09-21T08:13:00.000-05:00

He pulled out the chair from under the table to sit down and tie on his shoes.

"And where do you think you are going?" I joked since he just put the kids to bed and it was out of the ordinary for us to do anything after putting the kids to bed except try to push off the screams, whines and complaints of the day.

He responded, "Target... to get Chad's wedding present.

I thought 'awesome!' One thing off my list, and since the wedding was on Saturday and it was Wednesday night, well one of us better get moving.

Just to clarify, my favorite wedding gift is of the green kind. Cash. I prefer to give cash and of course, to get it. Checks with my new last name were equally as lovely though.

So, my husband came back from Target. He stomped up the stairs banging something on our stairway as he climbed the stairs. What the heck? I turned to see what he was doing and why he wanted to wake the kids up.

Apparently exhausted, he dropped two totes on the floor behind the couch.

"More totes?!" I'm shocked, God help me, this man loves organization.

"No, they're not for us, it's for the wedding".

I don't think I said anything, just sat there sort of stunned. He continues...

"I wanted to get him something that they wanted, they registered for them and they're really nice totes (read expensive)."

I tried to argue about this being an appropriate bridal shower gift... but he was having nothing to do with that notion.

I finally rolled my eyes with an alright and forgot the damn totes until Friday when I tried to pack the minivan around the totes and my three kids.

Awesomeness.

Then come Saturday afternoon he insisted on wrapping the 100 and 75 gallon totes. I try to convince him that it's pointless to wrap something so big, so obvious; slap a bow on the two of them and call it a day. My husband huffed to me from downstairs 'I'm not going to a wedding without a wrapped gift!'

A wedding where we were gifting totes,

but more importantly, wrapped totes.

And I lose... he goes to wrap them.

All that he could find is dark, plain grass green colored paper, which happens to coordinate with his shirt he his wearing to the wedding, exactly.

So, my husband proudly toted his totes over to the wedding table that evening while I hid in the corner and hoped that the card slides off the present.

And no one will ever know that it was from us...

minus the entrance we made walking into a wedding with a 75 gallon tote inside a 100 gallon tote matching exactly to my husband's shirt.

(insert the picture I would kill to have of my husband and his color coordinated totes)

Sigh.

teetering

2011-09-14T09:42:00.000-05:00

I plopped down in the chair still teetering on if I would say anything at all.

"I just need it cleaned up" is my usual response. I hesitated, grabbing a few strands with my right hand and pulling the hair through my fingers, finally punctuating the silence "and I was thinking about getting a few feathers".

There, I said it.

I sat back to gauge her, but it felt necessary to talk before her... "only if it doesn't take too long" as I glanced in the reflection in the mirror of my son twirling a blueberry sucker around his mouth and my daughter sitting in the stroller sucking on her bottom lip, each suck like a time bomb marking the seconds I have remaining until she blows up.

"Of course (like she speaks my non-communicated, mom language) they just take a few minutes".

*

When someone notices them in my hair, I still teeter. Teetering sides between loving them, loving that feeling of being young, that feeling of throwing around the word hip once again and then teetering to the side of feeling silly, too old for such a frivolous things like feathers in your hair.

I turn 35 next month, maybe it's has something to do with it... teetering exactly between 30 and 40.

But sometimes you just have to say fuck it and go for it.

Wordful Wednesday and
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a letter to SpongeBob SquarePants

2011-09-13T08:40:00.000-05:00

Dear Mr. SquarePants,

I'm sorry. Here you are in the news, once again, this time getting blamed for making our preschoolers stupid.

Apparently, just watching 9 minutes of your show caused executive functions to be lower than one group of kids who watched Caliou (yes, his voice annoys me too, and you are totally right; Caliou is way too whiny, but anyway...) and another group of preschoolers who drew pictures during that time.

9 minutes! Your show is a half-hour. I gotta say, with this new study, you might be screwed with the preschooler crowd.

They say that the fast pace is just too much for preschoolers' brains. That over exposure to your show could have long-lasting effects on 4 year-olds. That kids are 'more amped up after watching your show'.

And we both know that the tv was turned on in the first place to shut them up, not make them crazy enough to eat cat liter after watching your show.

But, it's not really your fault, now is it? Here at our house, we like to call your show Doritos for the brain. Sure, sometimes Doritos are (super) yummy, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to let my kids have them all the time. I'm not going to let them eat an entire bag either.

I just so happen to be smart enough to know Doritos aren't healthy for you, just like I'm smart enough to know your show isn't the best thing to plop my kids in front of.

Yes, I figured that out all on my own.

So... sorry. You're getting a bad rap once again. I'm pretty sure they meant to point out that parents can be dumb and they can make their kids dumb too, well actually, maybe that was insinuated.

Those sly researcher people.

Keep your chin up!
Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom

stale mail

2011-09-08T08:35:00.000-05:00

Life has felt stale lately,

but sometimes exactly what you need falls into your lap (or into your mailbox).

::

Wyatt giggled from under the dinner table as I told my husband to read it to him again.

My four year old couldn't believe that he got real-life mail.

He climbed back onto his chair only to roll right off again in a fit of giggles and embarrassment.

"She said she loves me and wants to marry me"... "Wouldn't it be funny if she married Henry instead, Henry would be all 'and I looooove you'.

(giggle, giggle)

The actual letter we got last night, addressed to Wyatt (and I assume written by her mom *wink*)

Wyatt - I hope you have a good day and I love you and I want to marry you when I get taller

(my favorite part: 'when I get taller' so stinkin' cute)

Well, I love you so much I want to marry you. When I'm a bride we'll have cake, flowers and kiss

Signed,
Ingrid
(with an arrow pointed to the Ingrid stick person)

It's covered with stamps and what appears to be glitter nail polish, the only thing missing is the perfume.

sigh.

PS - I think I love her too.

WTF Friday

2011-09-02T08:56:00.001-05:00

You would think that I would have known this, I've been behind the wheel for more than 20 years, my father's a mechanic...

See that gasoline tank? Did you notice that little triangle? That triangle points to what side your gas tank is on, just in case you are like me and forget that stuff (like all the time). Mine is on the left, the driver's side.

WTF?

Go check your car, you've got one too.

You can thank me... share it with all your friends... impress your husband

or every time you get behind the wheel, you can think about what an idiot Anti-Supermom is not knowing it.

Promise you, I already feel like an idiot.

boobberries

2011-08-31T09:10:00.000-05:00

"You can't stop genius" I yell out the door as Wyatt steps into the neighbor's minivan with his paper circles and blue and black markers in hand. He climbed out of bed earlier that morning claiming that he needed to make a 'fruit plate'.

I have (generally) no idea what he is talking about when he demands something in the morning, but I've learned it's just easier to go with it and see what he intended me to do for him by either a smile or him yelling at me that 'I've done it all wrong!'.

So, that morning he asked me to cut circles out of paper. (Apparently my circles were too big, but he decided it would work with whatever he had envisioned.)

But his carpool ride was waiting in the driveway. He ran out of time and had to finish on his way to camp, hence the paper and markers in fist.

When he came home, he told me they were blueberries.

On a not at all related subject (seriously, why do boobs always seem to be in my face), I wanted to tell you all that I quit breastfeeding.

My boys think that Edy is dehydrating at this very moment, because she is no longer drinking milk from me:

'Is she starving?' 'I think she's starving, Mom.' 'She looks mad at you, like she's hungry.'

Umm, no, she's fine.

You all were so kind, helping me feel a little less mommy guilt over me quiting on her.

And I wanted to write about how somehow quitting was easy for me... how my boobberries are doing just fine, they're not at all blueboobbies.

Thanks for asking.

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fair trade

2011-08-30T09:06:00.001-05:00

There's no place like the Minnesota state fair, where you can drop almost 30 bucks just to walk through the gates. It's the only place where you can smell manure and funnel cakes simultaneously and you still want to start planning next year's trip to the fair. The only place were you feel like good parents for forcing your children to 'stop asking when you are going home and start acting like you are having fun!'

I have a feeling like my kids are onto my gig though, that they know the only reason I'm going to the state fair is for the foot long corndogs and not for them... you know, for them to have a good time... for them to experience the essential all-things-Minnesotan state fair...

For some reason (my husband and I must have been hungry when we planned this), we were at the fair by 9am in the morning.

The kids were asking when they 'were going home?' by 10:20.

Somewhere around 1pm, after my corndog, but before my Sweet Martha's cookies and free refill milk stop, my kids started to break down.

We brought 2 strollers exactly for this situation. Only my (very) tall 7 year old decided he couldn't walk anymore, so my husband was pushing him in the stroller with people giving him a shameful shrug, like we were terrible parents that have lazy kids that can't even walk... the only thing that would have topped off the looks of disgust would have been him sucking on a Nuk (what, you don't give people the evil eye when their much-too-old kids have Nuks in their mouths? Never mind then) Wyatt, my 4 year old, refused anything that had to do with a stroller. Edy, well, she was just sucking on her bottom lip dealing with it as best as she could.

So, we head towards the gates, hoping to just swing by for milk and cookies on the way out.

I keep chanting to them about how awesome warm cookies and farm fresh milk will be.

I was pretty certain I had sold all of them too.

I stood in the line, my 3 dollars in my fist, just counting the heads in front of me get fewer and fewer.

Finally, I ran back to the family with our three cups of milk.

Only Edith decides this. is. it.

She lets out a shriek like she is dying.

She throws back her body and starts flying her arms in every direction.

I try to give her some of the chocolate milk but she keeps dipping her hands into the milk cup, sucking her hands, only to start screaming even louder.

I keep telling her 'no' and pulling the cup of milk away.

People start staring at us, whispering 'why aren't they just giving the baby her milk?'

Only then did I figured it out... Edy thinks it's a cup of ice cream.

The kind that she likes to eat when it's been a hot, long day outside.

I start desperately looking around for a straw to show her it's yummy, chocolate milk.

It's a worthless fight though,

straws are apparently forbidden in nearly every damn place in the world now.

I resort to scooping her screaming body over my shoulder and just walking away.

Without my free, farm fresh milk, refills

and without my warm Sweet Martha cookies.

I assume Edy think this was a fair trade, 'no ice cream for me... no cookies for Mom.'

*

Yep, the fair is so worth it.

a letter to IKEA

2011-08-24T08:35:00.002-05:00

Dear IKEA,

Like I couldn't love you more already...

You and your free kid meals, where everyone is sitting semi-quietly hovering over plates of mac-n-cheese, chicken strips, juice boxes... happy with their selections. All of us fully aware that downstairs is awaiting, with $1 ice cream cones and cinnamon rolls.

That you have a ball pit and a movie running the entire time in the kid area (my kids are virtually hugging you right now). That I can drop them off there and they actually want to go in; measured, stickered and monitored like cattle.

That I can go into tiny little 300 square foot homes and just imagine for a minute or two that this is my life, all organized and clean, that everything has a place, and that my only child is playing somewhere in the bed that you've cleverly disguised as a tunnel.

Thank you!

And now, to top yourself, you go and put kid-sized reflective vests in your stores. (Though the packaging saying 'this in not a costume' throws off our rule obeying Henry so much so that he is brainstorming ideas on places he can 'legally' wear his vest; i.e. 'biking, hiking, working out in the garage' his words, not mine... and I swear if you make him all nerdy over this vest thing, I recant this entire letter...

moving on).

Again, the vests, pure bliss!

My husband and I sat around a table, near a window overlooking the Mall of America skyline, our table filled with the bounty of what only $10 at IKEA can do. My husband looks over at me, smiles and says "too bad this place isn't closer, wouldn't you come here all the time?"

I look at him all crazy like and exclaim "this place is only 20 minutes!!!"

Apparently, free dinner, ball pits and tiny quiet rooms are not worth a 20 minute drive to him.

::

I guarantee, it's well worth my drive.

Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom

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back-to-school with 77kids - a giveaway!

2011-08-23T08:06:00.001-05:00

Henry's school did something sort of cool this year, virtual backpacks. You just put a little check on a paper, include your credit card number and a box of school supplies will be waiting for him in his classroom at the start of school. Awesomeness.

Except.. I love shopping, even more so when I have some 'mandatory' shopping to do.

Enter my happy dance come back-to-school time.

But in case you need refreshing, my kids don't loves shopping.

And that's where 77kids comes in...

You walk in the door, they have someone at the ready to rock out your kid's hairstyle

They have two stations for kids to mix their own beat

They have a bean bags toss, magnetic boards and chalk boards

They have peek-a-boo doors in the changing rooms

And when the shopping is done, they have treats

Everyone is happy

Especially me

And you can be a happy momma too!

77kids has some great footwear, cool backpacks, adorable accessories and the cutest denim jeans out there, and they are giving away $50 to spend in stores or online to one of my readers!

You know the drill, leave a comment and you're entered, that's it.

For additional entries:
-follow or subscribe to this blog
-follow me on twitter and tweet this giveaway
-follow 77kids on twitter and tweet this giveaway

And you rock, 77kids for gifting me a gift card too!

there's a catapult in my bed

2011-08-17T08:12:00.001-05:00

When my sister and I had some free time (i.e. when we got off the school bus until pretty much diner time) we'd watch television. I think our favorite show was The Brady Bunch, and as I remember it, we'd watched show after show, marathon style. We liked The Brady Bunch because Mike and Carol Brady looked like our own parents. Seriously, the resemblance is astounding.

(if only my parents would let me post a picture of them back then...)

The only time my sister and I would argue is when someone had to get up to change the channel.

Yes, I was born before t.v. remote controls.

(I was also born way born Tivo and I imagine my kids will read this post someday and tell me how they can't even fathom having to live through a 2 and 1/2 minute commercial break, but we did it... and we liked it. not really)

Oh, the inhumanity.

And what do my boys do when they have some free time?

Create a catapult.

(that is indeed a plastic plate screwed into wood, thanks for asking)

The only time they start poking each other's eyes out is when they can't decide what to toss into the air (most recently, it's those Smurfs from McDonald's) and then they also argue about who should sleep with it.

Yep, my boys like to sleep with their catapult.

Totally normal.

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one

2011-08-15T16:03:00.002-05:00

us on her (almost) birthday

I've been trying to come up with a list of pros and cons of you turning one year old. Sure, it's great that you can feed yourself, drink from a cup... blah, blah, blah.

The biggest con on my list, you are one.

One.

Once you start walking, game over, you will have lost everything that is baby to me.

(Except maybe those cheeks, and if you are anything like Wyatt, you will have those for some time to come.)

My little girl.

People warned me that I would be in trouble if 'baby' was going to be a girl, and they are right. I'm way above the limit of hopelessness, but I feel like it has so much more with her being my last, my baby, than her being a girl.

Or I can just blame it on her being a girl.

And not from being not my baby anymore.

not on the yacht

2011-08-10T18:21:00.000-05:00

My husband says to say that 'we went to the North Shore this past weekend', but I think that just sounds prissy, like 'but of course, we were yachting this weekend!' (said in my snottiest, filthy rich kind of voice).

We are so not yacht people.

But on our vacation, we did hike into Gooseberry Falls, apparently farther in than most people do, and not unlike the rich folks, we had this little private pseudo island to ourselves. With waterfalls, the most perfect skipping rocks and quiet (minus Wyatt, of course).

And then there was Edy, who I thought wasn't going in the water, splashing around in her Target diaper.

The Target diaper shouldn't be a surprise though, I already said we're not yacht people.

And besides, I don't need the yacht.

representin'

2011-08-09T08:26:00.002-05:00

I knew when he asked me if 'I always wear lipstick?', that it was a good decision to take off the cute little black dress I was wearing for the day and put on a t-shirt and jeans instead... much more believable, though I usually am in dresses and yes, I wear lipstick pretty much every day.

The shot is cropped; the photographer told me to leave the banana peel, that my husband dropped on the coffee table, there, to have my kids jump up on the couch and 'do I have a coffee cup?'... I pointed to the 32 oz. Diet Coke from McDonald's and said 'I'm usually drinking Diet Coke'.

All of that stuff got cropped from this photo.

He told me to look a little frazzled, to not smile... and come on, when you tell someone to 'not smile' they want to smile. So this is what you get, a half smile.

And vanilla hair, I wish I had my blunt cut bangs back, or at least had a better view of how cute my haircut is (or at least I think, it's a vertical cut, shaved in the back, but whatever).

I'm sorry.

My look is very mommy-ish.

But perhaps that's why they put it on the cover...

I'm so happy to be included in this article with other much more fabulous bloggers, but I'm sorry that I look so much like a mom,

because we all know that us moms are way more stylish than my hair, especially mommy bloggers.

I did *not* do a good job representin'.

stink eye for the pink eye

2011-08-03T15:22:00.003-05:00

I'm one of those mother's that will give you the stink eye if your child comes over to mine, gets all close into their faces, and it looks like there is goop coming out of the eyes of your child. It might not be pink eye, or it might be, or maybe your kid is on an antibiotic... I don't know and if you don't come over and tell me, I'm going to go with the worst case scenario.

I'm just a worst case scenario kind of a gal.

So, we were at the National Night Out block party last night (note, not our block's, because ours is lame, but the next block over, who was kind enough to throw an invitation to theirs in our mailbox, the downside of that being they are all basically strangers to us) And you know, it's hard making small talk with strangers, even harder to bring up in casual conversation that your daughter doesn't have any communicable diseases that they would have to worry about.

Conversations went something like this:

"Wow, that's wonderful that you are going to college on the weekend, kudos to you! You know what else is wonderful, that Edy doesn't have chicken pox or something else that you might worry about infecting your children with!"

or

"The cookies over there are to die for!! You know what you aren't going to die from, Edy... no, her body's just 73% covered with bug bites, that's it!"

or

"Well, of course I'd love a beer, thanks for sharing! You know who will not be sharing any skin rashes with you or your children? Edy! It's just mosquitoes, they love her."

So, now that I've thoroughly explained myself, you can all stop giving me the stink eye.

(Minus me forgetting to put bug spray on her in the first place).

Apparently, it's true, Minnesota's state bird is the mosquito.

cool Costco kid

2011-08-01T09:03:00.002-05:00

I just joined Costco. I don't really know why, but there something inside of me that feels a little bit more important when I pull out the Costco card and throw it in the face of the mean old guy standing in the entrance. (Because he really does have this mean face, I'm thinking he's hopped up on the authority that Costco gave him to deny people, but I'm all like 'that's right, now I'm part of the club too, booyah!')

Say it slowly, members only.

It's like the sorority that I never joined in college.

Expect everyone gets the free shit, and they don't even have to flash their boobs.

So, I was still feeling pretty cool about my members only/elitist card to Costco come Friday morning. I proclaimed "let's go to Costco, kids!" because we can (because we need toilet paper too), but mostly because we can.

I turned the corner, Costco in sight, and I pointed to the parking lot. I screamed to the boys in the backseat "now *that's* when you go to Costco!".

It was 9:36 and the parking lot was only a quarter full.

Awesomeness.

I pulled into my parking spot, closer to the front doors than I've ever been. I was giving myself a big pat on the back for finding the perfect time to go to Costco; without the crowds, my day off... the stars had aligned and my new membership was simply, meant to be.

Then I turned to crack open my car door when I realized that the woman, who I just watched get out of her car, sat down on a cement ledge near the front doors and opened up a newspaper.

WTF?

I took a closer look at the sign on the door; Monday-Friday open at 10am.

Oh, for the love of...

You know that means that I would have to wait more than 20 minutes before Costco opens, and of course, I'm not going to wait 20 minutes for a 36 count roll of toilet paper.

My time is way more valuable than that.

And then came the realization that the woman got out of her car, sat outside the doors of Costco, just to be those few steps closer to getting inside when they open... more than 20 minutes from now.

And then people started to form a line behind her.

Umm, this membership thing is looking a little less cool.

And it's certainly not going to fulfill my deep-seated desire to be in a sorority.

Except like in a sorority, you can get really cheap beer...

and I can work with that.

high (flying) hopes

2011-07-28T10:59:00.001-05:00

We make lists. We make list for birthdays, for Christmas; if they want something, my husband and I tell them to 'put it on their list'.

So Wyatt sits in the backseat and shouts something about 'when are you going to buy me a propeller hat?'

Naturally, I respond with our standard, 'put it on the list'.

But after a bit of thought, I decided I better make sure he is clear on exactly what a propeller hat is. After all, the boys have been disappointed with expectations from commercials of cars that drive on walls, night vision goggles... We try to offset the overwhelming amount of disappointment they will certainly experience in adulthood with a good dose of reality early on.

So, I casually mention to him 'you know that you can't really fly with a propeller hat.'

He scuffs from the back seat, giving me a big duh and a loud 'I know, Mom!'

I breathe a little sigh of relief,

until I hear Wyatt pipe up, "You can only fly when it's windy."

Dearest 'Student Driver' bumper sticker Drivers

2011-07-25T17:35:00.002-05:00

Dearest 'Student Driver' bumper stickers Drivers,

For some reason, I've been lucky enough to have you divinely put in front of my moving vehicle, at the minimum of five times this past week, and I get it... it's summer, you have some spare time between sunbathing in those strings that you call a swimsuit and shopping at Abercrombie.

But, you see, I don't have a lot of spare time between clicking that fifth child in their car seat and getting to point B. See, I have to count on it taking the average amount of time to get to my destination. I do not have in my calculation, of getting from point A to B, the following:

-you going under the posted speed limit (I promise you, you are not going to extra credit from the drivers ed teacher for going under the speed limit).
-you looking to your right and left, then again, then again and possibly one more time for good measure.
-you tapping on your brake and turning (you will soon find it works better to not use both the gas and brake pedals simultaneously).
-you putting on your blinker prematurely and me expecting you to turn in the next day or so (3 blocks is plenty of advanced warning).

So, if you see some mom in a blue minivan with a vein about to pop out of her neck, it's me. If you feel that stare down that I'm giving you, again... me. And if you see me inching closer and closer to your bumper as I patiently wait for you to ease yourself into the intersection, so sorry
(no, not really).

Best of luck in your next step towards adulthood.
Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom

PS- Looking forward to seeing you again next summer when you are sitting on my bumper, talking on your phone and nearly running me and my kids over in the parking lot.

Oh, how quickly you guys grow up... *sigh*.

Because I'm not Scary Mommy

2011-07-21T15:37:00.000-05:00

I'm stealing this from Twinsomnia, Little Things That Make Me Stupid Excited, because you should know what's my problem with blogging and commenting of recent. (Note, I'm not getting anything to endorse these things... because I'm not Scary Mommy and so darn stinkin' awesome that even Target will pay for her clothes that her readers get to pick out and she get paid for it, damn her.)

So, first on my list is my S2H activity monitor. I LOVE this watch. The basics are that you get 60 points for 1 hr. of activity. Your watch gives you a code, you redeem this code on the computer and there you have it, 60 points. In the heyday (before it was featured on Amazon), I could earn $5 Amazon dollars every two weeks, now it's more 'expensive' to get certain rewards and it takes a good month to earn $5. There are other prizes out there too, last night I redeem 2000 of my points for a $5 Target gift card. Awesomeness.

So... you want to know what I did with all those Amazon dollars I earned, well, I bought an iPod Touch. I'm probably the only person on the face of this earth that didn't realize how cool this thing is, it's exactly like having an iPhone, minus the phone part and bonus, minus the data plan! I bought my used for $150. Now I can do everything the cool kids do, facebook Instagrams, play Angry Birds, download useless farting sounds... if you have iPhone envy, get a Touch and keep your cheap little cell phone like me.

Third, Old Navy. I hated Old Navy, like passionately. If you might remember, I have a background in retail; buying and design, so I pretty much thought all of their stuff was crap. That was until I walked in this Spring. People, they have some of the cutest kids clothing out there... and sale ranks, hello?! Why didn't I listen to you guys?

And last, don't hate me because I'm going to write this, but I'm stupid excited about my Crocs during the Summer. Not the ugly, full toe covered ones, but the Cleo style. They are way better than wearing slippers, they dry off in minutes and I just feel all summery wearing them.

I've bored you all enough now. I promise to stop browsing over the best flashlight apps soon.

can't quit the nip

2011-07-19T14:45:00.001-05:00

I'm done. I'm ready to quit breastfeeding. Edith is 11 months old and I'm just tired. I'm tired of her being handed over to me in the morning, like I'm some sort of pump, 'fill her up, then she''ll be ready to go a few hundred more miles'. I'm done with this feeling like I'm the only one that can put her to bed, that it's only me that she can 'peacefully drift off to sleep' with.

My only problem is that Edy isn't done.

She'll claw on my shirt, she'll start sucking on my shoulders, she'll arch her back in frustration.

And I do, I really do wish that my heart was in it, to keep going.

But it's simply not.

I'm not going to go on about how I'm ready to take back my body, that she's my third child... I've done this all before, that I've lost that 'oh-it's-so-beautiful' feeling.

What I'm feeling is: full of guilt

And of course, I feel selfish; like a shitty mom for wanting to quit on her.

Because I know people that would have breastfed forever if they could, and I can...

I just don't want to.

so... I didn't die

2011-07-13T08:56:00.004-05:00

When I signed up for my first 5K race, I thought: what's the worst thing that can happen... I walk it, I suppose, it's not like I'm going to die walking 3 miles. So I jumped on a treadmill, and when I say 'jumped' I mean I stood on a treadmill for the first time in my life and turned the thing on. I proceeded to walk on the treadmill, albeit a fast walk, but a walk, because I never felt like I could actually let go of the bar and start running on it for a few weeks (yes, weeks). The idea of 'running' on the treadmill seemed absolutely crazy.

But then I tried it, I started running.

And that was two and a half years ago.

So, I ran my first 10K this weekend, and I was in the mindset again, what's the worst thing that can happen?

Apparently lack of water stations, humidity and a post race meal of a donut can cause severe cramping, diarrhea, headaches and just plain old suckyness to the rest of your day. So, this is the worst thing that can happen.

But at least I didn't die.

And I didn't walk it either.

*race results, I think I got 17th place for the 30-39 division at a slow 10 mile speed, ugh.

I'm not a helicopter mom

2011-07-11T08:37:00.001-05:00

Just in case there was any confusion out there, I'm not a helicopter mom (gasp!). I don't hover above my children wondering if they are eating dirt or sticking each other in the eyeballs (because if they are, one of them will tattle on the other, no question).

So, I just found out about this book called Fifty Dangerous Things (You Should Let Your Children Do).Yes, it's a real book. Thanks, Benji!

And then I decided to check ~~on my progress~~ a few off my list:

1) Spend an hour blindfolded. Technically no, I haven't done this, but I *have* wished they were blindfolded and perhaps mouths taped for (at least) an hour on certain days. I'll give myself a partially complete.

2) Deconstruct an appliance. Have you met Henry? Then you are familiar with his closet and his consumption of everything that breaks in our house. Umm, check.

3) Play with fire. See the answer for number 4

4) Throw a spear. Well, if you must know, Henry and Wyatt like to play with flaming spears when we are done roasting marshmallows. I'm not saying that they 'throw' them so much as 'toss' them around... don't judge me.

So, check and check.

5) Super glue your fingers together. Does hot glue count? If so, yes.

6) Lick a 9-volt battery.

Wait. What? Doesn't every parent let their kid do this?

Only 44 more to go!

Original photos published here.

minivans are not party buses

2011-07-07T08:51:00.002-05:00

In case you need reminding, minivans are not equivalent to party buses. Even if the middle row seats are taken out, it doesn't mean that everyone should climb into the middle of the van and assume that this will all be just fun and games.

No, middle seats are intended to remain in the minivan. People, especially children, should be seated, buckled and maintain a somber expression on their faces at all time.

And if for some reason, your mother chooses to take the middle row seats out of the car and pretend that, in fact, the minivan is a party bus, remind her about the time when a 10 month old baby rolled right out of the van, onto the gravel road and ended up in the ER with 3 (teeny, tiny) stitches.

Party on?

Umm... no, thank you.

PS - sorry for the little blogging break, I promise to visit soon. This was just *the start* of our little vacation.

a flair for the dramatics

2011-06-28T15:00:00.003-05:00

Wyatt's preschool teachers use to tell me that he 'wears his heart on his sleeve'. I admit, when I first heard that I romanced it like a Shakespearean sonnet... Wyatt's just putting himself out there, he's allowing himself to be vulnerable, he's letting the his classmates see his emotional side... that's what they mean by the wearing his heart on his sleeve bit.

But spending this last month or so with him home for the summer, that was just me being delusional.

He's bossy.

Like seriously bossy.

There is no tip-toeing around if Wyatt is mad, you will know it.

And there is an irony to us naming him Wyatt and it rhyming with quiet, because he is absolutely not.

But he has been known to wear his Spiderman costume to the gym, to keep it on while watering the plants, to stay in character even when it it nearly 100 degrees outside. If you are wondering what type of mother lets her child wear his Halloween costume in June, 'hello (waving hands high), it's me!' I'm the enabler to Wyatt's theatrical addiction.

At least ~~being bossy~~ taking the lead and being the loudest one in the classroom lends well to each other when your costumes are hanging at the ready.

Did I mention he's (the not good kind of) dramatic too?

*sigh*

on Wednesday night

2011-06-25T22:29:00.002-05:00

A man committed suicide, in the porta potty, in the park half a block away from our house. It's our park, it's the one we are at at least twice a week. We could have been the ones to discover his body if I just said 'let's head out to the park' instead of saying 'let's play basketball in the driveway this afternoon.'

Thank God we didn't find him.

And I only wish to God it was my neighbor that was the one to discover him. He's a doctor, he would have known what to do... what to say. Instead he was there, he shut the slightly open door of the toilet and said something to his wife about 'a porta potty door should be closed.'

Instead it was a four year old boy who found the body.

It could have so easily been been my four year old, Wyatt or Henry or one of the boys I watch. We are so often the only ones there, and of course, I say 'go ahead, head to the bathroom by yourself'.

I won't do it again, ever.

My guts aches every time I drive by our park. I can't even think about going there again, watching the boys play, thinking about what he did.

I'm pissed that he killed himself in a park. In a park where any four year old could find his body.

That this little boy could be affected by this, for his entire life.

Suicide feels so selfish.

step up to the plate

2011-06-23T15:03:00.005-05:00

There are things that I remember about Kindergarten, like pretending to sleep so hard at nap time that my classmates had to physically shake me 'awake', like getting my Strawberry Shortcake doll; the one that smelled like lemon meringue pie; stolen from my backpack, and learning things like how to tie my shoelaces.

But apparently, 'learning how to tie shoelaces' isn't on the curriculum at Henry's school. He's going to be entering the second grade and hasn't yet been taught. Ugh. This means that I will inevitably have to step up to the plate and teach him.

I hate having teach him stuff.

But I equally hate having to listening to him groan on about the velcro on his shoes getting stuck with fuzzies.

Oh, the tragedy of fuzzies in your velcro, Henry!

Thank goodness for YouTube...

Feel free to sit your child in front of my blog and have them watch the video 'how to tie your shoe' along with my son, just make sure to thank me in your comments for teaching your child this life skill. (I'm kidding... sort of.)

Unless it's acceptable for the average adult to only wear velcro shoes, then forget all that stuff about being a life skill and continue on as usual.

(And does anyone else think it's hilarious that this video has almost 400,000 views?! Seriously, what did we parents do before YouTube.)

we're (still) not famous

2011-06-22T08:01:00.001-05:00

Henry is fascinated with being famous, at least the idea of being famous. From the back seat of the minivan, he'll ask about someone one the radio, 'how famous is she?'. I don't want him to think of being famous as something to achieve to be, you know... so I generally, the loving mother that I am, try to scare him... 'pretty famous, but so famous they get chased by people... sometimes people want to hurt them; steal their money, break into their homes, have lies told about them'.

He turns to look out the window contemplating what I just told him, or so I think.

He chimes in 'but I wonder how much money she has, do you think it would be in a pile as tall as our house? That would be so cool!'

Apparently, I need to work on my scare tactics.

(And no, Henry isn't on television, just practicing up before a local parade goes live.)

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photo freak

2011-06-15T08:24:00.000-05:00

I think it's weird that people take pictures with their phones of things like food. When a nice plate of something delicious gets put in front of me, my first thought is 'dude, where's my fork?', it's not 'let me grab my phone so I can take a picture of this and put it on Facebook.'

That's probably just me though.

I have iPhone envy.

But then on Sunday, this teenage girl snapped a picture with her phone of Edy in Target (yes, I was in Target again, for the third time in one week. Apparently short trips are best for Edy and this girl just caught Edy walking through the door... err, still happy.)

But I thought 'Did I just see that? Did she just take a picture of my baby?'

Umm, yes she did.

Then she started taking pictures of the sample lady and the donuts, so I just let it go. I figured she must just be deprived of the fabulousness of a Super Target or she's from Alaska or something.

Then I looked back at my little girl, her little lock in a barrette for the first time...

heck yeah, I'd take a picture too!

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ten

2011-06-14T09:03:00.000-05:00

I'm pissed. My baby is 10 months old today. Yep, I'm a little pissed about her nearing the 1 year mark, but what I'm most mad about is the nagging little voice in my head 'nine months to put it on, nine to take it off'.

Whatever.

I clearly missed the mark.

Where's the unless you've had four kids... are over thirty... really like Oreo's exceptions.

I'm sort of in the mood where I say f* it.

So I signed up for a 10K, because even though I'm the girl that would walk the mile physical fitness test while my PE teacher yelled from the sideline 'hurry it up, Buns!', I sort of (gasp) like running now.

And even if I'm not the weight I'm suppose to be... I use to be. I don't look like I use to look.

I can run.

Faster and farther than I could in high school.

Screw the scale.

Screw the books that put that little '9 months on, 9 months off' crap into my head.

Rant done.

Sorry.

pee in your face, big disgrace

2011-06-08T08:09:00.001-05:00

Being that it's closing in on 100 degrees this week (and no, I'm not complaining, I'm clinging onto it like my Tivo remote on Biggest Loser night... because I live in Minnesota and I know snow will fall probably by September).

But being hot, I'm seeing little Edy's diaper hanging out of her sundresses more often. It is adorable (period).

It reminds me though, of a story about how my mother's mother use to put her pee-filled diapers on her face as a baby. I've been told, it's some old wives' tale for clear skin.

My mom could have done the same to me, I'm not really sure, it's one of those things she seems to brush over with one of her famous 'sounds like a plan' answers; the kind of answer she gives when she's not really listening to you.

(And Mom, it's nothing against you, hang up the phone. We all have these defense mechanism in the survival of motherhood. We all need to zone out once and a while to save ourselves. Mine is usually more of a nodding of my head, maybe throw in some 'umms' too).

Back to pee in your face.

Is this weird to anyone else?

Anyone else traumatized in a similar fashion?

(Or maybe it's just my family.)

Finally, a post I can put a picture of my naked baby's butt, and it's sort of relevant.

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just roll with it

2011-06-06T08:23:00.002-05:00

I don't know why, but my daughter apparently hates my favorite place on earth. On multiple occasions, she will not make it 5 minutes past the doors of Super Target before she's a blubbering mess. The only way I can make it through a trip is by having her hang on my hip while I push the cart with my free hand. Add to that, if Wyatt's sitting the cart, he'll sporadically stand up in the cart like he's captain of this ship, swaying it to the left or right.

I attempt to ready to course for the 10 items or less lane. Wyatt suddenly remembers that he suppose to get Pokemon cards for his 20 stickers. (And by 20 stickers I'm talking about the bribery chart we use for him to ~~not go to the bathroom 17 times~~ stay in his bed at night and get himself dressed in the morning. Yes, I bribe my child to get dressed in the morning, don't judge me.)

So Wyatt screams that he 'needs out of the cart!' to pick out his cards. I move Edy off my hip and put her in the cart seat, she starts balling again. I quickly pull Wyatt out of the cart and somehow, he's managed to kick the carton of cheery tomatoes out of the cart. Edy is still wailing, so I resort to moving her so she's sitting on the ground and finally, she stops crying.

In the middle the check-out lane, I'm running around trying to grab rolling balls of f'ing cherry tomatoes, breaking into a sweat at the scene we are causing. Wyatt keeps stomping around the cards (and the tomatoes) trying to pick out the one with the most metallic on it. Edith is on the floor of Target and she's managed to grab the bottom railing of the cart, pushing back and forth, much to her excitement.

I finally managed to toss the majority of the tomatoes back into the carton and threw them on the counter to pay.

The cashier asks me then, like she hadn't even witness any of the debacle that just happened, "how are you doing today?"

I looked at her like her hair was on fire and managed to mutter "I'm just fine".

She goes on, "did you find everything you needed today?"

Kill me now.

I so wanted to say "Yeah, sure! Except my patience was lost somewhere in the bakery department and if you see my sanity anywhere around the aisle 13, just let me know".

and in that corner

2011-06-02T11:07:00.002-05:00

Lucky she's cute,

because she's physically abusive. (Look at how she manhandles a Ritz.)

She lures me in with her twinkling eyes, then grabs one fist full of my hair with her left hand (and I swear, she wraps it around her fist) and with her right hand, she grabs my nose and rakes her little fingers up and down until she sees blood or I start screaming.

And now I have a hickey on my boob.
(No, I will not be posting a picture of my boob)

This girl is a super distracted nurser. If she even hears the slightest bump, she pops off to take a look. She stretches her back and neck as long as she can and surveys to see if anyone is in her vicinity. If they are, she'll flash them one of her gummy smiles, kick her feet a little bit and then suddenly remember, 'oh yea, I was doing something here,' then hastily starts sucks away again.

Except she doesn't always make it to, you know...where she's suppose to suck, and let me tell you, she has one powerful suction.

If you happen see me around with scabs on my face and bruises on my chest, I'm just letting you know it's from the cute one in the corner.

rules of the road

2011-05-31T18:07:00.000-05:00

Like many of you out there, Memorial Day weekend marked our first little trip out of town. (It was actually really spontaneous, fueled mostly by my jealously of those that had real weekend plans, any who). Car trips, staying over in a hotel, eating out... all of that reminded me that I need mental notes, little rules on how to prepare myself for next time.

1) Bribery is fair game. My kids drug of choice is Sour Skittles. (Stop screaming at me and pointing to *that* dental chart that says Sour Skittle are worse than eating battery acid, some things are worth my sanity).

2) Never order a kid's meal for both children; buy one, split it and call it a day.

3) Try to request that their meal is split before they bring it out. Some waitress are great at this, they can interrupt the mommy sign for 'making it 2' perfectly without it being spoken aloud, others may benefit from drawing on a napkin. If they failed to do the above, you're screwed. Neither of them will eat because they didn't have 'their own' meal. They will refuse anything but chocolate milk, water, Sprite...

4) Bring along extra underwear, because a diet of Sour Skittles and chocolate milk only is just a disaster waiting to happen.

5) Point out the restrooms in the pool area, again because of the quality of eating, there many be a rush to get to said bathroom.

6) Do not yell at your child about nearly going poop in the pool, at least, avoid using the terminology 'shocking the pool', because this only makes the idea sound interesting to that of a 7 year old boy.

7) Encourage jumping on the bed, because it's *not* happening when they get home.

8) Remember your earplugs, who ever came up with the phrase 'sleeping like a baby' was an idiot. My kids sleep like 747s coming in for a landing, there is nothing quiet about them sleeping.

9) If they do get up 17 times or so in the middle of the night to blow their nose, rip the Kleenex box out from the wall and bring it over to their bed.

10) Don't walk over to your son's bed in the middle of the night, in a dark, strange hotel room and whisper-scream 'stop moving, close your eyes or else'. It just might cause some anxiety.

Cirque du Soleil OVO tickets giveaway!

2011-05-25T18:15:00.004-05:00

I'm pretty certain that I don't have to say anything more than Cirque du Soleil and you already know that it's going to be awesome. The other thing that is awesome... that I get to say: free tickets. (Insert screams here!)

Under the big top, next to the biggest mall in America, seeing one of the biggest shows ever!

What people have said about OVO: "It was by far one of the most amazing things I have seen!" "...the show has so much charisma and character, it was amazing!" "Definitely worth every penny!"

One lucky winner of mine will win a 4 pack of tickets to the June 1, 8pm show of Cirque du Soleil OVO!

(more screams)

1) leave me a comment, you don't have to be a blogger, just make sure you leave your email address in the comment.
For additional entries:
2) Tweet about this: #Cirque du Soleil OVO 4-pack of tickets #giveaway from @antisupermom, http://www.antisupermom.com/ #twincities - leave another comment about this tweet
and/or
3) Publicly follow my blog or subscribe to my blog- leave another comment.

The winner will be picked Monday, May 30. Good luck!

And I was lucky to be gifted 2 tickets, thank you! I'll post back here after I see the show on Thursday evening.

longing the non-long lawn

2011-05-24T15:07:00.002-05:00

I have to admit that I'm jealous. I peek through my blinds at the neighbor's gorgeous green lawn, half tempted to run out there, shouting at the Chem Lawn guy when he's there 'hey, you've got the wrong house... it's over here', waving him over to my yard.

When we are on walks, my kids point out nice lawns to me (yes, I'm hanging my head in shame). 'Mom, that's a nice green one!' 'Can we touch it?'

I snap back with a quick 'No!', touching it would ruin it's lines. I especially like it when they are mowed in a diagonal direction.

But my husband is one of those all-natural guys. All-natural and trimmed long.

At least dandelions add some pop.

Somewhere in this post should be a crack about my husband liking his lawn like he likes his women, natural and untrimmed, but that wouldn't necessarily be true.

sharing

2011-05-23T08:39:00.001-05:00

It's like when you get married, when you meet people after taking on your husband's last name. They only know the new you... the new last name... you, as a married woman.

But you want to stand there with them and talk to them about who you use to be. It seems silly though, frivolous that you need to tell them something so insignificant like your maiden name. To declare to them that I have past identity!

It's how I feel about being a surrogate. I want to tell people that meet me about being a surrogate, that I delivered this baby. That he is out there in the world. He was part of me and part of who I use to be. He's part of my identity.

So, please, I'm not flaunting it. It is just part of me.

It's the part that I rarely talk about. The part that people that meet me now have no idea about. But sometimes I need to share it.

Today is my surrogate son's 5th birthday and I just wanted to share that.

I just needed to share it.

ài bǐ lù

2011-05-18T10:15:00.003-05:00

the Pinyin translation for love notes.

I keep my little jar of love notes next to my bed on the nightstand. I opened it up again last night, the first time since Mother's day. Why? Because... well, I don't know... I need the reminder this week.

I can join the masses and say that these last few weeks of May are crazy. Every organization, club, school... wants to finish with a bang and do it with every member of my family.

I love it.
I hate it.

So, I need this little note that telling I'm so lucky to have you to be my mom!
Because when I'm spread this thin, it's doesn't always feel like luck, and I hate that too.

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on being a little sister

2011-05-11T08:16:00.000-05:00

My brother use to pin me down to the ground, my arms stuck with his legs, his body straddled mine, him just above me. I prepared myself for either two things; he was going to snort some snot then dangle it above my head or he was going to fart in my face.

Pick your favorite, they're equally as good.

I'm had to laugh when I saw this. The poor thing doesn't know what she has coming.

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click

2011-05-10T14:40:00.002-05:00

My eyes opened to a plate of Ritz peanut butter sandwiches and a kids' sized cup of soy milk. My breakfast in bed.

*click*

I wished then that I had my camera, that I could take a picture of their creation, before their eyes eagerly waited for me to take my first bite and resound with a 'yum!'.

I had to remind myself that it doesn't matter, I'm in the moment, enjoying just being pampered on my Mother's day. No matter, I'll remember this moment for the rest of my life.

Henry shrugged off giving me my present, once again, at the restaurant. It was only until Wyatt climbed under the table and grabbed it from him to give to me, that I got to see what was in the bag. Little love note from Henry to me, written in Chinese on one side, English on the other. His eyes, I want to remember his eyes as he read them both to me, that look of pride and a little bit of what's the big deal.

*click*

At my pedicure, Wyatt sat on my lap relaxing in the massage chair, turning around every once and awhile to see if someone was there kicking the back of the chair to make it move so much. When it came time to put color on mine, she asked if 'he wanted some too'. His smile, when I took off his socks and shoes, him then realizing that he was getting his toes painted too, I must remember that smile.

*click*

At the tiny diner, the kind with only 5 or so tables, smashed together, somewhere past lunchtime. Wyatt and I climbing up the stairs after using the restroom, both of us giggle about him forgetting to put underwear on this morning, because he was just too darn excited about wearing shorts, finally. He ran up to the table, announced to Dad that he 'forgot to wear underwear' and just like that, he dropped his shorts.

*click*

The woman right next to us bursting out laughing, thanking us... it made her Mother's day.

*click*

I wouldn't have forgotten it anyway.

thought bubble

2011-05-04T08:13:00.000-05:00

I feel like I'm on this bubble, this thought bubble... a bubble of desire. Where I would give anything to be able to take my lunch hour and run to Target or to pop into Caribou to get a coffee before I settle into my desk; absorbing myself in emails, to-do lists and voice mails. Living a life where I drop off my children, turn around, and sit behind the wheel of my car and suddenly... I have time that's mine.

Me and my adult life.

Where I get praised for a job well done; where I get raises, where I have peers, where I have people that communicate with me, like adults.

Then the bubble pops.

What am I in a hurry for?

I close my eyes for just a second and they've changed.

I'm not a stay-at-home mom, they have this freedom to go where they need to go that I don't have. They don't understand me.

I don't work outside the home either, I don't have to say goodbye to my child every day. They don't understand me.

I'm an outsider,

on this bubble.

or

in this bubble.

I haven't decided yet.

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abyss

2011-05-03T15:40:00.001-05:00

I'm in this abyss.

It goes something like this... Wyatt wakes up in the morning exhausted because he didn't go to sleep until 10 o'clock or so, then of course, he needs a nap because he didn't sleep long enough the previous night, but then since he takes a nap, he doesn't fall asleep until 10 o'clock.

Can you see this circle of hell that I'm in?

And I know that this is common, but seriously, this is some sort of hell, right?!
(Please tell me that it will end soon.)

So needless to say, Wyatt comes out of his room fairly often to let me know this or that.

Last night's conversation:

"Mom, I need to go pee"

(even though he just went to the bathroom 23 minutes ago).

He giggles from the toilet, "I guess I didn't have to go".

No surprise.

He comes out to the living room doing this little side step dance, sashaying over to me on the couch.

He smiles at me while pulling his pajama shirt up to his chin exposing his belly "I thought I had to go poo-poo, but I told my brain that it was too late".

I nod, while trying to ignore him, and told him to "now get back into bed".

He heads towards his room but not before telling me

"it was easy, I just sucked it back into my brain."

Ah, poop talk and bad sleep, make that two circles of hell.

Do all children do this or am I just that lucky?

LEGO KidsFest tickets GIVEAWAY

2011-04-28T19:00:00.006-05:00

I'm lucky to be able give away something that's sold out, as in sold out before lunchtime on Groupon. Let's just imagine your child flipping out when they walk through the door of LEGO KidsFest! (Yes, there is screaming and throwing their bodies on the floor, but in a good way.)

LEGO KidsFest is coming to the Minneapolis Convention Center May 20-22. It's going to be pretty much as awesome as you could imagine.

I think what Henry is looking forward to most is rubbing elbows with the LEGO Master Builders (he has a cool job, no?)

And this is *not* going to be the same experience as the LEGO store at the Mall of America, this is a whole new level of LEGO love. This is a view of LEGO Creation Nation just to give you a perspective.

And another photo as the nation gets filled in.

"The LEGO® KidsFest is filled with interactive, creative and educational activities for the whole family! Join us for hands-on educational fun for all ages: LEGO & DUPLO® Construction Zones, dozens of large-scale and miniature LEGO models and displays, LEGO Universe and LEGO Games, group builds Creation Nation and Mystery Murals, LEGO Master Builders, and much more!"

Tickets are $20 for adults, $18 for children/seniors, children 3 and under are free

or WIN THEM HERE

I have ~~two~~ tickets to give away for the Sunday, Session II on May 22nd from 3-8pm. *UPDATED* I have FOUR tickets to give away, choose either 1 adult/3 children or 2 adults/2 children!

-leave a comment, you don't have to be a blogger - hit comment, leave your email address (like: arealantisupermom (at) yahoo (dot) com)... that's it, you're entered.
-follow or subscribe to this blog for a 2nd entry
-twitter: #LegoKidsFest in Mpls. #legos tickets #giveaway from @antisupermom for a 3rd entry

Updated: Visit my friend, Samara and her LEGO KidsFest ticket giveaway for another chance to win.

Other blogger friends will be giving away tickets in the week to come, come back to find links for their giveaways for additional opportunities to win!

I was gifted tickets for my family to attend, thank you!

the f word

2011-04-27T08:07:00.000-05:00

Henry contorted his body over the railing of the stairs from the top, looking down at me while I shoved preschool-sized feet into shoes to get us all out the door.

Henry gets this look of seriousness on his face "I learned the f word today. That's a naughty word, right?"

I play dumb in these instances, seeing what he really knows "I'm not sure what you are talking about..."

Then he spits it out, "it's called fu...(well, we all know how it's spelled).

Ugh.

I looked up at him and told him in a sort of foggy haze "that's the worst of the worst naughty words, never say that word."

I walked outside thinking about calling up the mother of the boy who taught him. I pictured myself on a rotary phone, cupping my hand over the receiver, a la A Christmas Story, screaming something along the lines of 'do you know what your son taught mine?!'

But then I remembered what the mom on the other line says in the movie 'he heard it from his father'.

oh, fuc*

(I tease, I never say the f word).

Unless I'm really mad, then that usually includes throwing things too.

I'll take total blame if Henry starts throwing erasers across the room.

Some Chinese characters Henry is working on, I doubt it says fuc* or $hit or other naughty words, but I don't read Chinese, your guess is as good as mine.

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sagetti corn

2011-04-26T14:33:00.001-05:00

I asked him what he wanted to eat for his birthday, he replied quickly with his newest, favorite food from the Easter weekend in Iowa... "sagetti corn".

I corrected him "spaghetti corn"?

"No, it's sagetti corn" he snapped back.

Which is, of course, how I introduced it to him when I scooped it up onto his paper plate Sunday afternoon, attempting to make it sound more festive (though how can a casserole made with spaghetti noodles and canned cream corn not be considered festive?).

Four.

Today marks that magical day where we will become this mythical unit you've talked about, working side-by-side as a team, parent and child, striving towards that one common goal of you becoming the best human being you can possible be.

(and for me to survive it)

Happy Birthday.

It's still actually called spaghetti corn, but I'll pick my battles.

no ifs, ands, or buts

2011-04-20T08:17:00.001-05:00

Wyatt has several excuses for not doing one particular thing or another, like putting his coat on by himself, or putting his shoes on, or grabbing his backpack on the way out the door to preschool, "but I'll do it when I'm a spy"... "if I was in college, I would do it"... "I'll do it when it's my birthday".

Lucky for us, his birthday is coming up next week.

My husband and I have held dearly onto his promise that being a 4 year old will be better than 3. Please, oh please be better than 3, because we can't handle another year of complaining about waistbands too tight, pants too short, the ever-present butt crack because he will *not wear* his pants tight or short, or will he wear a belt. Of course, he would wear sweatpants every. single. day if I'd let him.

I'm so tired of seeing his butt crack.

Out of nowhere, Wyatt decided last night, one week early, that it was time for him to wipe his own butt.

(cue the angels)

"That's what people do... people wipe their own butts. Mommy does, Daddy does, Henry does... from tonight on, I'm going to wipe my butt!"

He continues, "I can't wait to tell Dad that I'm going to wipe my own butt."

(Because, sure, he's the one he calls out when sitting on the perch of the toilet.)

I smile, nod and say a silent prayer that this actually means we are indeed one step closer to that magical age of 4, where he does everything that he's promised us that he would do.

And on top of that, I won't be seeing his butt with my face down in the toilet, him grabbing onto my leg for support.

Well, at least I won't be seeing his butt from that angle.

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cool 2 B kind

2011-04-18T15:10:00.003-05:00

I admit, I was pretty ~~pissed off~~ annoyed at Mother Nature come Saturday morning. There have been some gorgeous 60 and 70 degree days here in Minnesota... finally... only to wake up on Saturday morning to that lush new spring green covered up, yet again, by snow.

October was our first month of snow. April (please be to God) will be our last month of snow. For all those slower at math than myself, that's 7 months with snow on the ground. Can you imagine? (probably not)

In all seriousness, we will survive, we Minnesotans are a hearty bunch (or we are people who are content with being indoors for the majority of the year). But thankfully, what's right around the corner? Warm weather. You know what else is right around the corner? Earth Day.

I know we aren't all *really* pissed at Mother Earth, so show her some love.

Like B Kind 2 Earth Day on Facebook. One 'like' is one promise from you to do something on Earth Day, this Friday, April 22nd. Do something simple like not using paper towels for everything, like unplugging things that aren't being used...

Now go on over there, stop holding that grudge!

I'm happy to take part of this campaign, I received no compensation other than warm fuzzies. Other participants include: The Motherhood, Nickelodeon, the National Wildlife Federation.

love notes

2011-04-13T08:06:00.002-05:00

My husband stood at the top of the stairs 'Well, was she there?' he asked Wyatt when he walked through the garage door into the house.

More like a man than a three year old, he tossed his envelopes on the stairs and silently shaking his head back and forth.

My husband comes down the stairs, meeting him at the bottom step to console Wyatt, rubbing his back as Wyatt curls his little body, cat-like in response.

Wyatt stands up, crinkles his nose and says "I don't want to give them to her anymore... she wasn't there."

"But you worked so hard, don't you think she'll be there next time".

Wyatt responds with one of my phrases (thrown back into my face) "I don't care!"

Love notes to a girl whose name he can't remember.

He spent a bit of time drawing pictures, running around getting envelopes, stuffing them inside and requesting that someone write on each one... To: My Girlfriend, From: Wyatt.

Ah, young, unrequited love.

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April's fool

2011-04-11T14:37:00.002-05:00

What's this, you ask? Of course, it's a magnet hot glued to the bottom of a coffee cup.

Doesn't everyone do that?

Doesn't everyone drive around the neighborhood on Saturday afternoon trying to scam people into screaming something about a 'coffee left on the roof of your car'?

Like a baseball player in the outfield.

Like the guy waiting at a red light next to you on his bike.

Doesn't your family giggle obscenely from the back seat at the nineteenth person to point to your car's roof with this frantic look on their face?

Mine does.

I totally feel like the fool when it comes to stuff like this. I can't look anyone in the eyes, I crouch down in my seat, I turn my face in the opposite direction.

Which is why I only went with them on one trip.

Yes, there were multiple 'coffee cup trick trips' this week.

And if we got you,

April Fools

only a week and a day late... we're punctual like that.

blame game

2011-04-06T08:26:00.001-05:00

I'm pretty sure that I've written something about Edith being part ninja, if I didn't, well... she's a ninja. Anything that is in the realm of her hands is going to be hers. She'll throw her body (with the assumption that we will still be able to hold onto her) towards whatever she wants. She'll even trick you with her back-bend move where she's fooling you into thinking she is going to just be a sweet baby and look up at those oh-so-fascinating lights and then wham... she grabs whatever she had her eye on and shoves it into her mouth with a sweet little smile of victory.

Sunday morning we were sitting in the pew at church, after already handing her all of the papers we were given while cursing myself (well, not cursing, we were in church) for not bringing anything for her to chew on. She was gazing at the bibles, drool running down the corners of her mouth just thinking about chewing on something as delicious as those leather bound books.

She was starting to fuss.

My husband and I traded Edy back and forth. My husband leaned over and said something to me. I leaned back over to him and whispered in his ear, 'you need gum'.

(I know, I'm such a sweet, adoring wife.)

I pulled the pack of gum out of my bag. It's the kind where they pop it out of the back. I handed it to him.

Then Ninja Baby swept in and grabbed the pack out of my hands. She started chewing on the corner, which I decided... 'she's quiet, she's happy, no problem.'

Then she gets this look on her face. She starts coughing, and coughing and more coughing. Her little face turns red and her eyes start watering. I'm feeling horrible.

She's continues coughing and coughing.

I stick my finger in her mouth to see if I can find anything. (Yes, I know you aren't suppose to do this... whatever, I did).

She gagged and threw up.

She coughed more and threw up more.

Then finally she started to return to her normal coloring, her body relaxed.

Finally.

Stupid gum.

Yes, I'm blaming the gum

or my husband, for needing the gum in the first place.

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a rhetorical question

2011-04-04T14:55:00.001-05:00

What is wrong with me?

It started with a text from my husband one morning, 'turn on CBS, cute baby'. I was certain that he was texting the wrong person, because he should clearly know that Satan (otherwise known as Wyatt) wakes up at our house screaming about wearing the same pants 'all the time'... that he doesn't have his two pancakes sitting on the counter as he requested before going to bed... that his 'brain' is not allowing him to get out from under the covers.

I texted my husband something back about 'leaving me to deal with this sort of crap everyday and why would he expect I have time to turn on the television'. Not really. I wrote 'no time' (see, I can be that sweet, adoring wife I should be).

Turns out that he wanted me to catch the video of baby Emerson.

And I've gotta tell you, I just don't get it.

Yes, of course he is abso-freakin'-lutely adorable... but almost 14 million views?

Enough to have his, I can't comprehend how much it will cost to send my child to college in 18 years, college tuition paid for by the ads?

Seriously?

So, back to what's wrong with me. Since hearing about all this, I'm like on this alert mode that I can't seem to get out of, 'what cute stuff do my kids do that I can put up on YouTube?' (and make hundreds of thousands of dollars for doing)

Edy often farts whenever you hold her up in the air, airplane-style.

YouTube worthy?

She's also been know to put her big toe and the one next to it in her nostrils, it totally looks like she's picking her nose with her toes.

You'd want to see that, right?

I need help.

handsome

2011-03-30T08:46:00.000-05:00

I think he's entering the years where his body becomes more awkward than adorable, where people stop telling me that 'your son is so cute', where I look at him and see him closer to being a teenager than to being my baby.

Two teeth, gone.

Somehow it's changed the whole way I look at him.

Now, I need to change my definition of being handsome.

More Wordful Wednesday

a smelly giveaway

2011-03-29T08:37:00.002-05:00

Smelly in a good way.

Wyatt has issues with sensitivity. He's overly sensitive to being (even just the tiniest bit) wet, to bumpy socks, to too long pants, to anything that smells stinky; which is why he loves his (not at all stinky) Scentsy Buddy.

There are 6 Scentsy Buddies to choose from; Roarbert the Lion, Penny the Pig, Ribbert the Frog, Lenny the Lamb (Wyatt's), Mollie the Monkey and Ollie the Elephant. Scentsy Buddies come with a zippered compartment that you put a Scent Pak into. There are 15 scents to choose from, from French lavender (perfect for sleeping) to vanilla cream, the one that we received, and a lot in between. It's weighed on the feet and bottom so it doesn't flop around, it sits well. It's not too small, but easy to carry around. It's quickly becoming Wyatt's newest BFF.

Seriously, he has slept with it every night since we got him.

Bonus for me, when I open the door to turn off his light before I go to bed and I get to smell donuts.

Yum.

We both win.

And you can win too! Leave a comment and you are entered for a chance to win your own Scentsy Buddy of your choice. If you follow me, leave a comment for another entry. Twitter about this giveaway, leave another comment for an additional entry.

Obviously, I was gifted a Scentsy Buddy. I shared with Wyatt because I'm nice like that. All opinions are my own, or his, however you want to look at it.

baby toes

2011-03-23T07:56:00.001-05:00

She rubs her feet together when she's excited. I can hear the sound of her shoes, the leather on leather, right now. We call it her 'foot fire', like we had with the boys before her.

But unlike any of them, she likes to eat her toes. She will curl her plump legs, stretch out her little fingers and catch her foot in a palm. It seems to surprise her, but then she sticks her toes to her mouth and it's comfortable, like it's been there 2,374 time before.

Because it has.

More Wordful Wednesday

the book of me

2011-03-22T07:50:00.001-05:00

My boys discovered some of these books that I wrote when I was in the third grade, which I loved the third grade. I had a group of friends that we'd huddle around in a circle sitting outside on the cement of the playground making fliers for our very own Babysitter's Club (which we never actually started, and by the way, as a mother I would never hire a third grader to babysit, even if the flier was stellar). I thought we were pretty awesome though. We'd walk around chatting with the teacher on recess duty, Mrs. Roffman, about our super awesome babysitter's club.

OK, looking back, we *might* not have been the coolest group of girls in the third grade.

Anyways, back to the books. These books have become some of my kids' favorite bedtime stories. My husband is the one who reads at night, so I'm not sure if they think these books are the bomb or they are making fun of me, I prefer to ~~pretend~~ believe they love me with all their hearts and would never make fun of me because, well... I was literary genius (yes, this is dripping with sarcasm just in case you are new here) especially with books like this one.

Let's take a little look at a few pages from one of my first 'publication'...

(And why were golden birthdays such a big deal when we were kids, did we expect gold plated gifts... I just don't get it?)

I especially love how I drew pictures of earrings and their backs (yes, that's what those silver things are suppose to be).

Don't go hatin' on me because of my awesome canopy bed; it was fluffy and white and prinessy and I loved it.

Obviously, I really enjoyed sharing a room with my sister (and dumb is spelled 'dum', ironic).

More sibling love...

The End.

Yep, I write about my sister being a brat (and a hog and a pig, umm hello... my parents really should have talked to me about image issues), about my older sister yelling at me and my brother who kicks me out of his room and then The End.

Talk about ending on a happy note.

At least I drew hearts and a flower.

And I can tell you how happy I am that my kids are getting such a positive message from their bedtime stories?

Go me.

please tell me how

2011-03-17T15:03:00.001-05:00

The thought of giving birth to five children seems almost out-of-body, worthy of an Oscar for best birthing capabilities. I envision me in a wheelchair getting pushed down the hallway with nurses and doctors applauding me between contractions as I roll into 'my' labor and deliver room, my name stamped on a gold plate screwed into the front door.

Giving birth to five children seems insane. Like really insane.

But here I am wondering how people can sit and tell me how they just 'knew'. That their family was complete.

How do they just know?
(please tell me how)

I'm feeling like I'm on the other end of the spectrum, as I jumped for joy with every new milestone Henry hit, I'm crying inside over those of Edy's.

Her firsts are my lasts.

Yes, it's selfish of me.

I should be equally as excited to see her roll around, babble 'ma-ma-ma-ma' over and over, have her take her first bites of real food, but I'm not.

Of course, I'm happy, but (and I can't explain it any better) I'm sad. Every change makes me yearn for that newborn... that two month old... that little girl of just last week.

So I come back to the question, how did you know when your family was complete?

Or if you aren't there, how *will* you know when your family is complete?

Edith and her first tooth

from his teacher, please use the FART sign

2011-03-15T14:18:00.002-05:00

Originally, the plan was for Henry to learn Chinese so that he could save us come the time when China will ultimately take over the world. My husband and I have visions of Henry speaking Chinese softly in the corner to one of his superiors saying something along the lines of "they are good people; one can scrub your floors, the other can wipe butts".

I'm teasing (sort of).

Actually, one reason we picked immersion for Henry because it so physical. They learn what Chinese words are by hand gestures, by pointing things out, by moving pictures on the smart board.

So, we get an email from Henry's teacher...

4. Please ask your child about the Fart Sign in our classroom. A lot of things happen in school but we learn how to deal with it together. Please have some FART manner, Dads. Some of you are setting very bad examples for your child. :P ( I have the name list. Please use the FART sign.)

That's right, they have a hand gesture for farting. It turns out, if a student needs to fart, he raises his hand showing the symbol and then they are given permission to go out of the class, into the hallway and fart.

Henry has demonstrated the fart sign for you here:

I have a sneaking suspicion that this symbol might mean 'something' more significant years from now, maybe some other kind of gas... run out of the room if you have knowledge of the fart sign kind of a thing.

I'm teasing (sort of).

WW - the shirt told me to do it

2011-03-10T10:10:00.000-06:00

And of course, I know that it's Thursday. You can't expect me to be punctual all the time.

Edy eats

2011-03-08T08:28:00.002-06:00

We were sitting around a table in a middle school cafeteria talking about our favorite foods while we waited for a volleyball tournament to finish. (No surprise that I was sitting there and not playing anymore, I sucked at volleyball. I thought the knee pads were smelly and nothing was worse then the sound of your skin rubbing across the linoleum floor of the gym.)

It came to my turn at the table. I said with ease "I love tuna fish sandwiches with apples in them."

At that age, I thought *everyone* loved tuna fish with apples... I didn't think what I was declaring was anything out of the ordinary, but staring back at me around the table were the looks, the mouths' open with disgust, the multiple 'eeewws'. From that point on, I've learned to say something a little more standard like lasagna or pizza (though I do love a sauerkraut pizza more than most).

But now, I'm sort of known for eating anything. Even my husband peers into a Tupperware and says 'you would eat that?' with a look of curiosity and slight disgust on his face. I shrug my shoulders and say something like "probably... if it doesn't smell".

So, the gene for eating anything has been passed on to Edy. Nothing is safe in a 2 foot radius. Her hands are like that of a ninja (just as we told the boys she would have).

Lick the carseat, sure.

Take a bite out of your handbag, Mommy? Yum.

Are you finished with this? 'Plate' was exactly what I wanted.

At least she looks slightly guilty.

mark your calendar

2011-03-07T08:48:00.001-06:00

“One of the statistics that was really telling is that fewer than half of the kids who qualify for free or reduced price breakfasts are actually taking advantage of that,” said Kellogg Senior Brand Manager Trinh Le – "one reason Kellogg is working with Action for Healthy Kids to help fund programs that would remove the stigma of accepting free breakfast."

That's the thing that stuck with me the most from TheMotherhood virtual breakfast with Kellogg and "Share Your Breakfast".

We need to help get over this stigma. That it's somehow better to go hungry.

Tomorrow's the day. National Breakfast Day, where you could do something good in just a few minutes,

share your breakfast.

www.shareyourbreakfast.com

(a picture that I shared)

Other ways you can help...

find out which schools in your area participate in breakfast programs by visiting the Food and Research Action Centers website: http://www.frac.org or the Action for Healthy Kids website: http://www.actionforhealthykids.org.

Comments closed, go type in your breakfast instead, because it's just as easy.

Seriously, go do it.

*

Once again, I have been engaged by TheMotherhood and Kellogg. Thank you.

lucky rabbit's foot

2011-03-03T17:41:00.001-06:00

My tax appointment is on Saturday,

I really hate being self employed this week.

I don't use the word 'hate' very often, only like once a year.

Wyatt slipped in his own vomit running to the bath.

I'm the one who told him about trying to make it to the bathroom.

Henry threw up on the bus ride home from school.

It was exactly 2 days later.

Like clockwork.

Edy had her 6 month shots, a horrible cold and getting her first teeth,

simultaneously.

My laundry pile hasn't been put away in nearly a month.

(that's embarrassing to type)

Lucky, of course though, just look at those little foot in pajamas.

good things come in pairs

2011-03-01T18:00:00.002-06:00

My sister had fish. I don't remember much about them, just that she had a tank of fish and that one Sunday we came home from a weekend away and they were gone. Funny enough, I don't remember what scenario from my older brother's party led to the demise of the fish, either A) they drowned in a tank that's ratio was more alcohol than water or B) they were flushed down the toilet or C) they were eaten... I'm just saying, this was a possibility.

Along with a few other pets; we had a dog or two that lacked the 'I'm a dog, I'm not a car' brain cells.

Moving on.

So, I'm not thrilled about the idea of getting a pet in the near future. Of course, if my children beg, bother and bribe me for the next couple of years or so, I will not deny them the chance to have a pet of their own... I suppose.

Last week, Wyatt came home from preschool all excited about making his own Humpty Dumpties. I offered drawing on plastic eggs. I offered blowing out the yolks of eggs. The only idea the seemed to satisfy him was hard boiling eggs.

So I did.

And we drew cute little faces on them.

Wyatt put them in little cups. He put Kleenex in the bottom of the cups for little beds. He tucked them in at night inside the refrigerator because 'Mom, that's where eggs sleep'. He was the perfect little caretaker.

Then one got a crack in it.

Wyatt, the perfectionist, was surprisingly OK with this, because to him it 'helped his Humpty Dumpty sit up better'.

But then I started to get worried about shells getting everywhere, little pieces of white eggshells between the wood floors, in the carpet.

So I ate him.

And now I feel a little guilty, like I just ate his pet fish.

Lucky for me though, he wasn't really upset at all, because he 'still has another'.

*

I see a future filled with pairs: two turtles, two hamsters, two lizards... you get the picture.

Really lucky for me, since I was already super excited about having pets.

from me, from you

2011-02-24T15:45:00.002-06:00

I give myself a big pat on the back every day when I'm sitting behind the driver's wheel come 8:36am. That means that I (I mean 'we'... I'm not too competitive) made it! I've somehow successfully gotten five kids out the door and on our way to being on time for school.

Yes, some days I'm all sorts of awesomeness.

Honestly though, I'm happy that I'm there in the morning; that I'm the one whispering good morning to them as I open the door, that I'm there listening to Henry practice his Chinese online, that I can help Wyatt pull his shirt over his head, that I can 'baby shave' the cereal off Edy's face.

I love that I can slide a plate across the counter and that they have a breakfast to kick start their morning, from me.

Today, 1 out of 4 children live in homes where food isn't always there, that's roughly 17 million children... just in the United States. Think about walking into your child's classroom and knowing that a quarter of them might not have had anything to eat this morning... last night... in the past few days.

But we can help.

From January 26 to July 31, 2011 you can upload photos or descriptions of your breakfast at ShareYourBreakfast.com or text your photo with the word “Share” to 21534.

Each time you do, Kellogg will donate to Action for Healthy Kids and, in turn, they will get more breakfasts to kids in school.

The goal is to increase school breakfast participation by getting one million breakfasts to the kids who need it most during the 2011-2012 school year.

1 breakfast from you = 1 breakfast for a child

You don't need to sign up for anything.

You don't even have to leave your email.

But you will be giving a breakfast to someone that might be sitting in a classroom, hungry.

A breakfast, from you.

*

To learn more about this program; how to get involved, how to get your school involved, be part of the Kellogg Virtual Breakfast on TheMotherhood.com. The virtual breakfast will be Tuesday, March 1st at 11:30am-12:00pm ET. Register to join us here or if you can't make it, leave a question or two.

Find out what each of us can do to help end childhood hunger.

Disclosure: I'm being compensated by Kellogg's and TheMotherhood.com, thank you. I'm happy to participate in such a worth-while campaign! Photo credit to TheMotherhood.com.

and here is my ticket to hell

2011-02-23T09:31:00.000-06:00

Wyatt's newest thing is that his bones are breaking. "I can't walk, my bones are breaking" and throws himself on the ground (or would throw himself on the ground if the place where he wants to throw his tantrum is clean and not wet, because he *hates* being wet or being dirty, ever.)

All five of us are heading into church, slightly late because well, there's five of us going to church on Sunday morning, timing is all relative, right? We are picking up the pace as we head closer towards the entrance.

Wyatt stops about half a block before getting to the front door. "My bones are breaking, carry me!" I roll my eyes and grab his hand "no, you are fine".

"I can't walk" Wyatt screams.

"You can and you will" I respond and keep walking away from him.

He still stands there, halfway between the car and the front door.

I turn around, smile and wave to him.

A passerby laughs saying "we've all been there... I like that you waved".

I chuckled a little with her.

Wyatt has now moved behind a light pole, like his body is thin enough that I will not be able to see him. He probably thinks that I should just forget about him 'he must have just gone back to the car, turned on the tunes and is kicking back until we return from church'. Because, he would think that. This is Wyatt I'm talking about.

Both of us are sticking to our guns.

Unfortunately, the clock is ticking and I need to get Wyatt in for Sunday school.

I walk up to him and grab him by the sleeve. He pulls his arm into his jacket. He's screaming "I can't walk... I can't walk!"

I keep dragging him up the stairs, towards the front door, when finally he throws himself down on the ground (remember, clean and dry). His coat is halfway on, his shirt is pulled up and his stomach is showing. He's still crying "I can't walk, my bones are broken, you *have* to carry me!"

I'm breathing deeply, trying not to scream at him in the house of God (Amen).

He's still crying... and crying.

Then a woman rolls up. Yes I said, rolls up, because she's in a wheelchair.

Wyatt's crying and yells to anyone that will listen "I can't walk... my bones are broken".

Swallow me up, I'm going to hell right then as my child tells this poor older woman that *he* can't walk.

It only continues to get worse.

She makes him an offer...

"I'll trade you my one good leg for both of yours" she says with a wink, "Ha-ha!"

I grab Wyatt by the arm again, pull him up and ~~run away as fast as I possibly can~~ walk away, not before thanking her for being so sweet to my son though.

A son that will be taking me to hell (probably) in the very near future.

an average loooong weekend

2011-02-22T08:43:00.000-06:00

What does the average kid do on a long three day weekend.

Make vials of fake blood, of course

Then create a laboratory for processing said blood

Setting up his lab with the correct instruments for studying blood samples

And of course, posting cautionary signs

I'm only slightly worried that this long Minnesota winter is getting to him (because it is absolutely getting to me. You can find me in the corner, knees to chest, whimpering about seeing grass last week only for it to be covered with a foot of snow this weekend.)

don't dare call him a butt man

2011-02-15T10:00:00.002-06:00

When I found myself sitting on the couch, listening to my husband tell me 'You'll be getting your Valentines tomorrow', I didn't freak out (because, no... I didn't have a gift per se), I just decided to make sugar cookies for him for Valentine's Day. Nothing says I love you more than homemade cookies, no?

The sugar cookies were coming along nicely, the kids were 'helping' with pouring in the flour and dumping in the sugar, ~~licking and dipping their fingers in the sugar like Fun Dip's Lick-a-Stick~~.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find the heart cut-out. I rummaged through the drawers only to come up with a Christmas stocking and a pear shape. Now, I consider myself a fairly resourceful girl, if I don't have corn starch, use flour... that kind of stuff. So, I decided just to grab a measuring cup and cut out big circles instead.

Then I decided that these babies needed a little pizazz, a little something that says love you, that these cookies are specifically *for* Valentine's *for* you! I looked through the cupboard, I came up with red and pink Dots candy and pink heart-shaped marshmallow.

Perfect.

I pulled out the pan of nearly done cookies and added candy and marshmallows, adorable.

At the two minute timer, I pulled out the pan to admire my beautiful (and genius) cookie designs.

(all the while dreaming that I might be the next big cookie designer... marshmallows and cookie dough... has to be awesome!)

Then I looked down at the cookies and realized that I was looking at a pair of boobs.

Perhaps the perfect (albeit unintentional) Valentines cookies for my husband.

spread the love - a charity giveaway

2011-02-14T08:55:00.002-06:00

I know we are all in a loving-ish mood today, so let's spread that love. Some charities need small things like pots and pans, linens and towels... and some charities need big things like swing sets for kids and living room furniture.

Today, I am hosting a giveaway from CSN, but a giveaway of a different kind. Just leave a comment telling me about a charity you'd like to donate something to (we all know CSN has just about everything on the planet, so I'm sure you will find something to donate). Maybe your church needs a new pot or two, or your neighbor's house caught on fire and could use some towels, or maybe it's your area's children's hospital that could use a few puzzles and games.

(Children's Hospital and Clinics of Minnesota 'Wish List')

You decide. Spread the love.

And Happy Valentines to all of us who are lucky enough to have some extra love to spread!

*

-leave a comment with your charity/group/person (no names) that could use a donation ($45 or less)
-follow/subscribe to this blog for an additional entry
-tweet about this charity giveaway for an additional entry

(more) little white lies

2011-02-09T08:45:00.003-06:00

- leggings are not the gateway to ordering pajama jeans off the ShopNBC channel at 3am in the morning (even though I'm having a love affair with elastic waistbands).

- having the zipper break on not one, but two pairs of jeans is a manufacture defect and that I should send that email that has been sitting in my draft file.

- eating at Buca's (a family-style restaurant) the night one of my zippers broke is purely coincidental.

- as long as I stay under my x many calories per day; radishes, cookie dough and Diet Coke are reasonable lunch choices.

- knowing the cashier's daughter's name at the McDonald's drive-thru is normal. (By the way, Mariah is getting over her ear infection, thank you for asking.)

- the cashier knowing my daily large Diet Coke order ($1.81, please pull forward) is equally as normal.

- having 'empty diaper genie' on my list-of-things-to-do is even well... list-worthy.

- having not emptied the diaper genie yet is not a sign of laziness.

- having long (and I mean long) leg hair during the winter is the standard in Minnesota Momma style.

- my minivan isn't that dirty, that person that drew a peace sign on the back of my van obviously just knows that I *am* a peaceful person.

Peace out~