The Third Child

I'll be at the Indy 500 this weekend, doing very little except drinking wine coolers and resting my bones in a cushy lawn chair. In order to keep your attention and possibly garner a few more votes for the Parents Choice awards (look to your right. It's that big, shiny button that you can click on to vote for me! EVERY DAY!), I decided to post a few of my favorite, funny posts. Enjoy!

Originally Posted in March, 2008

"The Third Child"

Poor kid. She gets plenty of privileges in her placement as "the baby."

But there are some definite down sides...

Like Mom being terribly amused when you throw a tantrum over not being allowed to take one bite out of all of the strawberries in the pint.

Like having Mommy laugh at you to the point of tears...

Like having Mommy take your picture,

repeatedly,

so that she can blog about it later on.

Poor thing...

Keeping it Simple

I'll be at the Indy 500 this weekend, doing very little except drinking wine coolers and resting my bones in a cushy lawn chair. In order to keep your attention and possibly garner a few more votes for the Parents Choice awards (look to your right. It's that big, shiny button that you can click on to vote for me! EVERY DAY!), I decided to post a few of my favorite, funny posts. Enjoy!

Originally posted in July 2009

"Keeping it Simple"


Why is it that whenever you get a brilliant idea for a "simple" way to make the kids happy, it ends up becoming more complicated than explaining how to multiply fractions?

My brilliantly simple idea was to have my sister and nieces over for a camp-out in our backyard. Since I have no money and Patrick has practically no vacation time (new job and all), we were unable to go on our annual cousin camping trip. My kids and nieces really enjoy that tradition (as do the adults) so camping in our backyard was a way to still have fun without the cost. Both of our husbands were at a guy thing this weekend, anyway, so it worked out perfectly! (Or so I thought...)

The tent. I love our tent. It is huge and fairly easy to set up. Or, it was, until I realized that 3 of the poles are no longer connected. This caused a slight delay but I remedied the problem with duct tape, a paper clip and a rubber band. (Why, yes! I WAS a girl scout.)

The sky. Holy bat balls! It was DAAAARK and stormy looking! I scrambled around to clean the house up just in case we ended up camping on the floor...

The pizza. Patrick meant well, but bought two very teeeeeeny pizzas! Jill and I freaked out that there wouldn't be enough for our obviously ravenous children, so she ordered some Chinese food at the last minute. This proved to be unnecessary when our kids each ate 2 pieces and then claimed to be full, "Can we have s'mores yet?" We now have an entire pizza and a crapload of Chinese food left over...

The fire wood. Remember that day of hormone-induced tree chopping I talked about? My darling husband thought that just stacking the firewood on TOP of the fire pit would work out just fine. He didn't think about the thorns and scratchy branches that would slice my hands and arms as I tried to clear this drying heap of wood AWAY from the fire pit. I can't just throw a match into a pile of wood and hope it catches fire (or that it doesn't go up in flames, taking my eyebrows with it!). As the storm clouds drifted away and the lightning bugs began their mating calls, my sister and I started the fire.

Heh. "Started the Fire." That's a RIOT. Because THAT wood? Was NOT BURNING. We were really good at lighting the paper from the recycle bin. Yeah. We can burn paper like there's NO tomorrow. But lighting green wood, even though each branch is covered in crispy brown leaves? Apparently not.

It became a comedy of errors. As a branch would light, we'd run out of small twigs to feed it, or the lighter would go out, and the branch would simply fizzle out in front of us. Hot coals (of burnt paper) lay beneath our lovely pile of wood. No flames.

"When can we roast marshmallows?!? Can't we just do them in the microwave?"

"NO! It's the principle. We WILL have a fire. We WILL."

We sure were determined....

My sister finally gave up when the sky was pitch black. She headed inside to make some s'mores over the stovetop while I remained vigilant at the fire pit. I couldn't have our kids telling our husbands that we couldn't light a simple fire on our own!! JUST as I got a few small branches good and flaming, with the larger branches beginning to smolder, I heard the famous words that have become a tradition which accompanies any time that Patrick leaves town:

"Tracey!! Your toilet is overflowing! There's water all down the hall!!"

Yes. Yet AGAIN I got to clean up nasty toilet water from my hallway. (And basement! Don't forget that it likes to flow straight down into my basement!)

Lots of fun. I abandoned the now BURNING FIRE in my backyard to control the flood in my house.

Ok. The poopy water got cleaned up. Everyone washed their hands and we headed outside to make our freaking s'mores.

Notice the pitiful embers we are "roasting" the marshmallows over? Also, notice the blackened branch that never caught fire. We are AWESOME at this...I'd have more pictures, but all of my batteries decided to DIE at this moment. Fitting. (Jill and I grabbed our Mike's Raspberry Lemonades. We'd earned them.)

Got the kids good and sugared up, managed to brush 2 or 3 kids' mouths (out of 5? That's not a bad %) and they eagerly dashed into the tent for their "camping adventure."

Jabber. Giggle. Complain. Sing. BE QUIET!

Ahhhh....

Our liquor devoured, we climbed into our sleeping bags to help settle them down.

Giggle. Wiggle. Poke.

"Mooommmeeee, they won't stop talking!"

Shush. Wiggle. Threaten.

Quiet....

HELICOPTER!

FIREWORKS!

Crying girls!

"Are you freaking kidding me? Tracey, WHERE DO YOU LIVE?"

shhhhh......

Giggle. Yawn. Wiggle....

Quiet....

FIREWORKS!! LOUD MUSIC!! MOTORCYCLE PARADE!! AIRPLANE HEADED TO MIDWAY!!


AHHHHHHH!!!!!

Simple ideas are never simple. And now? Now I get to restack unburnt brush, dismantle a tent, scrub a floor and wash about 20 sopping wet towels.

Worth it?

You bet.

Just a Jump to the Left...

I'll be at the Indy 500 this weekend, doing very little except drinking wine coolers and resting my bones in a cushy lawn chair. In order to keep your attention and possibly garner a few more votes for the Parents Choice awards (look to your right. It's that big, shiny button that you can click on to vote for me! EVERY DAY!), I decided to post a few of my favorite, funny posts. Enjoy!

Originally posted in February of 2009

"Just a Jump to the Left. And a step to the right..."

This mini time-warp is being brought to you by route of a rambling comment I left on some poor person's blog post about squirrels and raccoons. I finally realized that more than a paragraph wasn't appropriate, and so directed her to read the rest of the fascinating tale on my site. Which was NOT, I swear, a ploy to get more traffic. HONEST to gosh.

Let's go back. WAaaaaayyyy back so that our heads touch the floor, to a time where I was pregnant with my first bambino. Ah, the days of innocence. Before I knew what "tired" meant. Before I had enough extra skin on my stomach to craft a babushka....

doodley doo. doodley doo. doodley doo....

Setting the scene...

November 1999. Small Sears kit house from the 1920's with a weird heating system.

Enter younger version of Tracey. Short hair with less gray and bad perm. ENORMOUS pregnant belly (and ass). Carries bag with Taco Bell goodies inside.
After a long day of work, I stumble through the door into a frigid house. Shivering and vaguely recalling something that dear husband said about "...don't turn on the heat... blah blah.... something in the chimney... blah blah... wait for me to get home..." I disregard what spouse said because it is FRIGID in the house and I am PREGNANT and I need heat. And also Taco bell tacos and Orange Crush, but I digress...

Flip on the heater and get changed, watch a little tv while waiting for the house to warm up and DARLING husband to get home from his late shift. Notice that the cats are being all weird and chasing each other. Grumble to myself about the stupid stinkin cats...

Hear one of the cats make a strange, otherworldly mrowling growling hiss...

Look into the tiny galley kitchen to see my BELOVED feline friend(I was pregnant and totally allowed 180 mood changes) having a stand off with a rabid squirrel!!

Ok. He probably wasn't rabid. I mean, he wasn't foaming at the mouth but I WAS PREGNANT and holy shit! A SQUIRREL?!? In my HOUSE?!? Are you freakin kidding me?!?

Scream.

SHRIEK.

Jump around like a little girl.

Well, maybe not little girl, as I was HUMONGOUS but you can picture it, right? Gestating and gesticulating, I grabbed a broom and began to swipe and shout at the top of my lungs at the squirrel, who just glared at me before he darted AT ME because the cat was chasing it the wrong way!

Stupid cat.

Somewhere in the midst of this hysteria, I snatched the phone and called Patrick at work. The conversation went something like:

Tracey: "SQUIRREL! IN THE HOUSE!! RABIES! MY BAAAAAAABBBY!!!"

Patrick: "Why did you turn on the heater?"

Tracey: "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? SQUIRREL!!!!!! GET HOME!!!! AYIEIEIEIEEEEE!!!!"

Patrick: "I have to do blah blah blah work related crap blah blah and will get home when I can...."

Tracey: "YOU ARE COMING HOME NOW!!!! SQUIRREL!!! IN THE HOUSE!!!! RABIES! MY BAAAAABYYYY!!!"

Seriously. It would have been comical had I not been sobbing and screaming and TRULY terrifed for my baby's life. And my beloved cat's life, who got trapped in the basement with the rabid rodent when they both ran down and I slammed the door shut.

Thank God Patrick worked close to home back then. He got there in about 15 minutes and managed to chase the nasty beast up the stairs and out the back door. But I am telling you now, it was horrible!

(Apparently, the squirrel had gotten into our chimney through a hole in the screen on the rooftop and couldn't get out. Apparently, Patrick had KNOWN this and didn't make it crystal clear to me that it was still in our heating vents. Had I KNOWN that there was a live rodent in our heating vents, I not only wouldn't have turned the heater on, I also wouldn't have COME HOME that night!!)


Moral of the story: Don't turn on the heat if your spouse says it might be a bad idea. CALL him first and find out what he meant, no matter how cold you are and how much you want to just eat your tacos in peace and quiet.

Speaking Literally

I'll be at the Indy 500 this weekend, doing very little except drinking wine coolers and resting my bones in a cushy lawn chair. In order to keep your attention and possibly garner a few more votes for the Parents Choice awards (look to your right. It's that big, shiny button that you can click on to vote for me! EVERY DAY!), I decided to post a few of my favorite, funny posts. Enjoy!

Originally Posted in May 2009

"Speaking Literally"

It was a typical day for Evan. Recently, his attitude and mouth have gotten a little too big for his britches (love that phrase). After listening to yet another rude response to my request, he was sent to his room. (Ok, that is a nice way of saying he was in the backyard, yelling at me and I was at the back door yelling at him and all the neighbors were wondering at the banshee who can't control her child.)

I let that kid stew for quite some time. I smugly did the dishes, straightened up and then FINALLY strolled upstairs to do a lengthy lecture. I shook my finger and had very angry eyebrows as I reminded him that I AM THE QUEEN and what I say IS the Final Answer.

"I expect an apology, young man. A very long apology where you tell me why you're sorry and what you won't do again."

"Sorry."

"Oh no! I said a LONG APOLOGY! A loooooong one, kiddo."

Confused, he scrunched his face and smoke began to puff out of his ears from the concentration. With complete seriousness he tried to accommodate my specifications:

"Sooooorrrrrrryyyyy?"

Twitch.

Twitch, twitch.

Snort and snuffle. Keep your shit together! DO NOT LOSE IT!


I lost the battle and the tears flowed as we laughed our heads off.

Yet again, Evan's cuteness saved his butt.

Wonder how long that will work for him?

Glee and Parenting...

Ok. Now, listen. Before I write this and you all gasp in horror at the fact that I let my kids watch Glee, let's just take into consideration that it's a MUSICAL show about MUSIC and it comes on directly after American Idol which I watch with my kids. And let's not forget the fact that it's about MUSIC which is a GOOD THING, especially in this crazy, messed-up world our kids are growing up today. I mean, there's Global Warming and Sexting! There are people who think it's ok to shout into their cell phones in check-out lines! THESE are the things we need to be worrying over, folks. Am I right or am I right?

Plus? I LOVE GLEE. It's everything I loved about the musicals from the 1940's - 60's but with better acting and more revealing costumes.

Scene: My family room. Popcorn is strewn over my checkboard carpet and a bowl of sherbet is melting at my feet. We have just voted 10 times in a row for Lee Dewyze and Glee flickers onto our set. At this point, I am caught in the eternal parenting struggle: Do I enforce what is "right" and turn off the slightly racy show or do I continue to recline on my comfy mouse-free sofa* and call this a "life learning experience?"

I chose the latter. And I was so glad. I am SO ecstatic about the lesson that my kids and I got to discuss again. I want to send out a loving shout to the writers of Glee and the actors who so beautifully executed the scene between Finn, Curt and his father on 5/24. (If you missed it, check out Hulu and watch Episode 20. )

To paraphrase the scene, Finn is embarrassed to be sharing a room with his mom's new boyfriend's son, Curt, who is openly gay. Finn slings out some very prejudiced remarks and is overheard by Curt's father, who lays into him and defends his son. My heart broke as I thought of all of the teenagers who don't have someone like Curt's father to stand up for them and beside them in the face of discrimination and hatred. (The very thought that someone might look at one of my children and hate them for a lifestyle, religion, or choice they may make in the future absolutely burns me up inside.) And so, in the middle of Glee, we paused the show and continued our ongoing discussion about equal rights, discrimination, homosexuality, and how everyone is different in some way. We discussed the ignorant hatred that some people hold against anyone who is "different" from what they consider "normal."

Evan wanted a better description of exactly what homosexuality is and why someone might hate you for being gay.

Justin had some insightful views about how everyone has something different about them and that maybe people who hate are just trying to hide their own differences.

Corinne made a point of saying that you shouldn't make fun of people, no matter what, "Even if they have purple hair, Mommy. You shouldn't tease someone who has purple hair. And you shouldn't tease someone with blue eyes, either. Like, I shouldn't say 'Blue eyes, blue eyes, you have blue eyes.' Right Mommy?" (She may have missed the point, just a tad...)

But the MAIN point was understood by them: Love people. Accept that the world is full of vastly varied people from incredibly different walks of life. We are all deserving of love and friendship. And no one deserves to live in fear for simply being who they are. I hope that I can instill in my kids the knowledge to not give into the disease that is prejudice and the courage to fight against it, as well...



* IhopeIhopeIhopeIhope...

9 Lives

"Mommy, when our cats pass by*, can we get a chihuahua?" questioned Corinne from the back of the van on the way home from the Tuesday night showing of Diary of a Wimpy Kid**.

I wasn't sure if I should be more concerned about my reaction to the idea of the cats dying - I experienced absolute bliss for a moment, picturing the baskets and baskets of laundry that would remain pee-free, the plastic bags and strings that wouldn't be chewed on and then found in the litter box later on, and the knowledge that I would never again wake up and begin my day by stepping in a pile of feline vomit - or the fact that she could so easily discuss the demise of 2 pets that she absolutely adores. I mean, she carts these poor creatures around in baby blankets while patting their backs and cooing. They're her freaking babies and she's flippantly negotiating for their replacement once they bite the big one!

I decided to be blunt and go for the jugular:

"Honey, I think chihuahuas are kind of freaky-looking. Besides, when the cats die, we'll need time to, ah, miss them before we think about any other pets."

"Oh. Well then... can we go to Disney World when they die?"

???

Explain this child to me. Please?



*"Pass By"... Isn't that freaking cute? I haven't corrected her. I keep wondering what it is they're going to go past.

** I LOVE the Cinemark dollar movies. We have one nearby that has $1 movie nights on Tuesday. Every other day they show slightly older movies (like, 2 months old. Ancient, right?) for about $2 but on Tuesday nights it's a buck! $4 for me and my kids to see a movie on the big screen! Bring it. Oh, and Diary of a Wimpy Kid was freaking ADORABLE. Very well done. My family has read those books repeatedly and found the movie to be a fabulous rendition of the storyline and characters. Two thumbs up, baby!


Hey! Vote for me, would ya? Every day's a new chance!!

First Real Weekend of Summer!

A slip n slide. Sunscreen. BBQ chicken and dogs on the grill... One more week of school and then absolute freedom for 2.5 months...

I am SO glad summer is here!
After mowing the lawn, even my biggest child went down the slip n slide. It takes him about 1.2 seconds to reach the end...
Military push-ups between math and reading. On their knuckles with their ankles CROSSED. They're pretty good, too. Both of them can keep a straight back and legs.
Working on the bridge. She keeps on putting her hands on her dress or hair and doesn't always get her head off of the ground...
Good old Dick and Jane. The fancy reading programs aren't any better than the traditional easy readers that millions of Americans grew up reading. But can you imagine actually calling your little boy "Dick?" When did that name go so out of fashion?!?


Have you voted today? Is it possible for this underdog to make it into the top 10 of a Nickelodeon site? Only your vote can make it possible!!

A Bitchy rant that is in NO WAY influenced by my monthly cycle. Swear to God.

Playtex, I have a gripe to spew.

You know that contest you're running? The one where you offer a fabulous Bra Makeover? The one with the free trip to New York and lots of goodies? Yeah. That one.

Well, darling makers of bras and other unmentionables, I was actually pretty excited about your damn contest. I found the time to fill out your damn form; Even though I parent and homeschool 3 children. Even though my husband works nights and isn't home to help me for more than an hour a day. EVEN THOUGH I have loads and loads of other things I could be doing with my limited online time. Despite all of the above, I spent the precious time it took to fill out your form and link to a picture and write why I felt I would be a good candidate for your Bra Makeover. And it was GOOD. I laughed. I smiled. I nodded to myself that this witty paragraph just might catch your attention and get this particular Mom and wife a chance to win a special weekend to herself. I was excited that my bra collection of $10 sale undergarments purchased while my 3 kids stood in the underwear department of Wal-Mart might ACTUALLY be filled out with items that not only fit me well, but also make me LOOK good!

You can imagine my surprise when, at the end of the contest form, I read the fine print in the "terms and conditions" section. The fine print that states that this contest is not open to, and I quote:

Only female legal residents of the fifty (50) states of the United States and the District of Columbia who are twenty-one (21) years of age or older, and with bra sizes within the ranges of 36C to 50C, 32D to 50D, 34DD to 50DD, and 34DDD to 44DDD are eligible to apply for the Playtex Bra Makeover. Ladies with A and B cup sizes and with bra sizes outside these ranges are not eligible for the Playtex Bra Makeover.

Seriously?

SERIOUSLY?

You are honestly going to exclude me because I'm "small-chested?" AGAIN? Again the world is saying I'm not quite womanly enough because I only reach the letter B in the alphabet? As though I haven't struggled with this my whole life? As though the jokes about small boobs haven't chipped away at my confidence my entire life?

I'm sure there are plenty of reasons for your qualification. It's your damn contest; you can do what you want. But I don't care. You can rest assured that I will no longer consider the words "Playtex" in my bra purchases.

Just because my girls aren't enormous doesn't make me less of a woman or less deserving of a special treatment.

Giveaway updates!

As you may or may not realize, I have a review site which I use for reviews and giveaways. There are 2 giveaways that expire in the next few days with low entries, so I hope you check them out to see if they are of interest to you! I also plan on reviewing a new blender from CSN with half of a $100 gift certificate that I will be sharing with one reader! Be sure to keep your eyes open for that one! In the meantime, I encourage you to check out the CSN site. You can choose anything from a bathroom vanity to car seats or blenders.

Check out the Bucky Balls giveaway and WalletBe giveaways on Just Another Review Blog before they run out!

A picture post is better than no post...

Yet another bout of writer's block and womanly angst is keeping me from posting anything more meaningful than "Hi! Vote for me!" *I guess I could delve into the lovely recesses of my monthly hormone fluctuations by describing just how tickled I feel over the reality that (if the days were lined up, one after the other) I will probably have 2.5** solid years (or more!) of joyful menstruation. NOT including the 2.5 years of funtastic pms. Basically, 5 solid years of womanly bliss...

Honestly, I would rather take my medicine in the big lump sum, than to have to endure the monthly realization that "Oh YEAH.... I'm not the worst mother/wife/daughter/sister/human being in existence. It's just my hormones flying off the handle again. Silly little buggers! WHERE'S the chocolate and wine?!?" Give me 2.5 years of Aunt Flo and then she can permanently vacate the premises.

Whatever. Bleh. Phhhbbbtttt.
~~
Just waiting for the phone call from my mother-in-law, telling me they've safely landed at O'Hare and then we're off to pick up my baby from her house. In the meantime, let's amuse ourselves with photos of my remaining 2 kids and husband from this weekend, shall we?

Awwww... Freaking cutie pies at Brookfield Zoo on Friday. It was beautiful out and we had cash in our pockets from Grandma so the little rugrats not only got pizza and ice cream, but they also got to ride the carousel! We FINALLY got to see the new exhibit! The Great Bear Wilderness features the animals from North America and it is really beautifully done. The Polar Bears were hiding in this shot, but I'm actually IN one, so I had to prove that I existed...He's a big guy, isn't he? I often forget just HOW tall Pat is until I can easily pick him out in a crowd or force him to stand against a gigantic painting of a polar bear and see that he could almost take it down...

A phone call from Justin to Evan:

"Hey Justin! Guess what?!? Guess what video game came out? Hey Justin! Guess what?!? Guess where we are? THE ZOO! Hey Justin? I miss you..."
Mean homeschooling mom made them find animals so that they could get their ice cream. She was writing "polar bear" right there for her animal that began with a "p." Heh heh...The cool thing about this picture is that it looks like she's a cheetah riding a cheetah, but she's actually on a dolphin...Soccer AND a ballet rehearsal and THEN Patrick and I had a spontaneous night out! Saturday was crazy busy.... Also, don't you love the creative photography angle that doesn't allow you to see the disaster that is our van floor?
Her ballet recital went SO WELL! They rocked the house to Sweet Caroline and nobody cried or peed on stage which definitely qualifies as a good show, in my opinion.


And now I sit here, waiting for the flight schedule to say that they landed and for the phone to ring. Any second now....

Oooh! It's down and taxiing to the gate. :) My baby is home!


* Which, btw, Please vote for me!

**I can thank Patrick for figuring that one out for me. I was in too pissy of a mood this morning to multiply and add and all that math crap. Thanks a BUNCH babe. It's great to have that bit of information at my fingertips.

Let the begging commence!

Well, hot damn. I got nominated for a Best Parenting Blog at Parents' Picks! (Sadly, all of the pictures used in this post were not taken for this post. They were just regular pictures I take of myself and my kids on a regular day. It's a sad, sad situation around here...)

How does that even happen, anyway? No matter to me, really. It just makes me glow a little bit inside, especially when I see the OTHER blogs I am placed beside! That freaking humbles me.

I see that the thing to do when one is on a blog competition thingy is to shout out to you guys and say "Hey! If you love me, show me!" But I'm not quite THAT polite. My personal plea will instead be,

Hey! If you love me or even remotely like me or haven't ever heard of me but found me by clicking on the first link you saw for 'Mommy Blog', could you please do a fellow motherhood soldier a huge favor and vote for me?!? PLEASE?!? I'll beg....I'll show you my fists of iron....
I'll even go so far as to exploit the puppy dog eyes of my children for a few more votes!"Please vote for my Mommy. She needs the validation that winning or even placing somewhere on a list would allow her. Also, she keeps taking pictures of me and has threatened to continue doing so until she wins this... Help. Me."

Go on and vote! My children are depending on you!

You can vote every day, so expect to be pestered for a while... :)

Not what I planned

Well. That was a bit unexpected...

I didn't expect to be crying on the drive home from the airport. Sure, Justin was flying to South Dakota with his grandma for a week of exploring some of its beautiful landmarks and parks. Sure, he would be completely out of my reach for several days and nights. So what, right? I mean, he's gone away before! And I'm sure I missed him, but to have to consciously pull myself together because I was driving on a rainy highway today with my other 2 kids caught me completely off guard!

I just kept seeing his life flashing before my eyes. His infancy was so brief but such a drastic change to my life. I was only 22 when he was born which felt absolutely perfect then but sounds so young, now! I picture him curled up on my chest, sound asleep, his downy blond hair against my cheek. I remember lying beside him at ages 2 and 3, curling his fingers around my own, feeling his chest rise and fall and thinking that all I ever wanted or needed in my life was for this small boy to be happy and healthy. I can vividly recall the chatty preschooler; full of questions and ideas, and constantly searching for the answer that best fit in HIS mind. I see the young pre-teen he is today; the life he is forming outside of the family unit, the activities he is motivated by, and the kind heart that exists within him.And then my mind raced ahead: His baby cheeks are long gone. In a few short years he'll be shaving and driving. And then... moving away. Forever. And my heart is aching right now at the knowledge that this teeny little separation of just 5 nights will be NOTHING in comparison to what is ahead. The honest truth is that my life will (theoretically) consist of more time spent NOT being their care provider. I will most likely only have these children in my home for 18-20 years and then watch them succeed and fail as adults on their own for decades! Yes, adults need care from their parents (I'm living proof!) but how much, really?

The years are slipping through my fingers and it's kind of pissing me off.

One thing I can hold onto, though: Today, Justin has called me 4 times in 6 hours. My mother-in-law told me that every time they do something exciting (like eat at Subway!) he gets in the car and says "I have to tell my mom!"

Awwwwww.....

My baby may not be teeny anymore, but he still needs and wants his mom. I'm going to hold onto that as tightly as I can, for as long as I can.

And now, excuse me as I go and cry a bit more....

The drama!

Oh, the drama! As I was baking my Amish Friendship bread* at 8:30 tonight (because I hate to think of all of that time mushing the bag WASTED simply because I waited an extra day), burning within my own inner world of angst and hormonal pissiness, Corinne walked up beside me and started rubbing her eyes on the towel. After a few minutes, I noticed that she was crying!

"What's wrong, baby?!?"

"It's just not my daaaayyy!!"

"Did something happen?"

"Noooo!!! I'm just saaaaaaaadddd!!"

"Did someone hurt your feelings?"

"NO, Mommy! I don't know WHY I'm sad; I just AM!!!"

(Absolutely pitiful and heart-breaking stuff, here, folks.)

I hefted her 40-odd pounds onto my hip and stroked my gooey hands down her Ariel pajamas. All I could picture was 10 years in the future with REAL hormones and REAL emotional fluctuations... Can't hardly wait for THAT!

I distracted her with the bowls of dough to mix and she helped me crack eggs and measure sugar. All seemed better for a while so she headed back into the family room with the boys to finish watching the dvr'd American Idol (Yes, it was 9 pm and they weren't even close to being in bed. Just one of those days...).

I was beating the crap out of the batter when she shuffled back into the kitchen, her face absolutely devastated and tears wetting her pj shirt.

"Do you think A still likes me?"

Aha! A is her buddy next door. A is 9 years old and very, VERY cool. She's also one of Corinne's best friends. Apparently there was a misunderstanding of some sort in the backyard today. I don't have all the details because, well, I wasn't there. But the pieced-together version from Evan and Corinne makes the misunderstanding out to be not such a big deal, in my mind. Even though A allegedly said something like "I'm not your friend anymore and I don't care if you're crying!" before she went home. I mean, that's just par for the course with kids; they say rough stuff on Tuesday and (generally) forget all about it by Wednesday! Corinne, however, had been stewing about this ALL day and it was overflowing out of her in my kitchen at 9 pm!

"Would you like to make her a card to let her know that you still want to be her friend?" (In Corinne's world, most problems can be solved with an apology letter).

"Yes... Will you help me with the words?"

So we walked away from the d@mn Friendship bread and made a card for A.


Doesn't that just break your heart?

So, today's lesson for Corinne was that no matter how mad you are at somebody, their feelings can get really hurt if you just walk away without resolving the matter. She went to sleep still feeling sad and is anxious to get the letter to her friend before she leaves for school tomorrow.

The drama of little girls really IS different than that of little boys, isn't it?



* You know what? The Amish aren't on my Top 5 right now, because that bread was In.Con.Venient. Mush the bag, mush the bag. Add the flour, mush the bag. On this day, add more stuff and, oh yeah, Mush the bag. Then separate into bags to pass out to "friends" who will be pissed that they now have to mush a bag for 10 more days! You know what I did? I divided it up for MYSELF and made 4 loaves of bread! Screw my friends!**

** Nah, actually, my neighbors will probably receive 2 of the loaves fully BAKED instead of a lumpy bag of goo and work. Also, I HATE chain letters which is all the Amish Friendship bread really is: Just a glorified, modern-day chain letter...

More Evanisms...

Though he may drive me absolutely insane with his constant chatter and ability to ignore me until I am reduced to shouting, only to hysterically weep at being yelled at, he is pretty damn funny...

Said as we were cleaning up our gear after a soccer game,

"I'm not carrying a chair! All I am taking with me is this jacket and my dignity!"

Driving along the road (to soccer practice, coincidentally), he popped open our conversion van's window* and shouted to the Domino's driver beside us,

"I love your pizza!!!" Followed by the pointer finger and pinky held up in a "rock on" pose. He totally made the driver's day.

After that soccer practice, I asked him why he was so rough with his teammates. He kept elbowing everybody to the point that it looked like it was WWF out there! His reply,

"I HAVE to be rough, Mommy! I've gotta prepare my teammates for what's out there! Have you SEEN some of the kids that we play against? They're HUMONGOUS!!!"

His new phrase for days when he thinks he's being cute and funny:

"Shut yo pie-hole, woman!" **



*Jealous, aren't you?
** Yeah, that one rubs me the wrong way, but he says it in such a funny manner, that I honestly can't punish him too harshly. His cuteness and comedy is a curse, I tell you!

4 little bits

Things I have started but not completed this week because 3 children like to follow me around and talk to me ALL THE TIME:

1. 6 blog posts. 1 for every day of the week. Anyone with children knows how difficult it can be to have a creative and complete thought when offspring feel the need to hover behind your shoulder saying "Whatcha writing? Can I have a marshmallow? What's this on my arm? Is it a booger? Why can't I eat it? But I'm hungry! We have NOTHING to eat! I don't LIKE apples and carrots! WHY are you yelling at me, Mommy? I was just asking ONE QUESTION!!" followed by tears. Call me crazy, but it's not conducive to positive energy.

2. Cleaned the office/schoolroom. Holy, holy, holy mess... Ok, here's the thing. Imagine ALL of the schoolwork from your child's school days multiplied by 3. Imagine that not only the students but also the TEACHER tend to stack their papers on their desks to be filed away "later on". (Later on being a mystical non-time that exists in said teacher's silly, little brain). Pile up several products to review and the paperwork that goes along with each of those items. Stack all of that on the computer desk, beside some unpaid and paid bills. Pepper this entire conglomeration with random coloring pages, artwork, pencil shavings (seriously) and Boy Scout stuff and you will have the disaster that is our family office/schoolroom. Sounds like a really great way to encourage positive learning flow, eh? WELL.... I began to clean it yesterday. In one of my common (but not "often") bursts of organizational energy, I started in one corner with the intention of making my way around the entire office! My heart was in the right spot, and I made progress, but forgot that we had soccer practice that night and had to abandon ship midst desk dumping #2 (Evan's desk. Corinne's work table is spotless! The new curriculum is categorized on the shelves and so pretty! I separated the colored pencils, markers and crayons!!). So there are piles of finished math and English surrounding me as I type this, and I haven't even TOUCHED Justin's stuff or my desk yet. I may need something stronger than coffee to knock this room out...

3. Gardening. Heh. My Mother in law sent some seeds for the kids to plant which was great! Starting with 3 kids, we all dug in the dirt and began to pull the weeds from the old pots. When I turned around to start passing out seeds to insert, I noticed that Corinne had wandered off to the swingset. So, Justin, Evan and I planted the pots in the backyard and then headed to the front to finish off with some climbing flowers for the front step. Somewhere between the back patio and the front, I lost Justin to the excitement of the basketball hoop and was left with only Evan. He half-heartedly pulled a few weeds with me from the front pots but was dancing all around, trying to be super-fast. "Do you want to go play with your brother?" I asked. "Thanks!" he shouted and dashed away. I was left with 3 dirty spades and about 8 pots to water. Those poor seeds... I hope they make it this year. We usually forget about the gardens right around July, when we can't take the humidity and turn on the air conditioning...

4. I forget what else. Which is fitting, because that's the whole damn theme here, isn't it? Seriously, I apologize for my absence on all of your sites and appreciate any pity remarks I may get on this post. I am not one with my blog or myself right now. I definitely can't wait until summer break...

The ONLY way to camp!

"This is the ONLY way to camp!" I joyfully stated, over and over on our Boy Scout campout this weekend. After being delayed on Friday night due to tornado watches (yikes), our troop left early on Saturday morning to head out to the beautiful Starved Rock State Park in Illinois. The forecast was partly cloudy with a 20% chance of rain and we were all pumped and ready to camp!

We arrived by caravan sometime around 9 and the boys set up their own tents and started making their OWN breakfast while the supervising parental units set up OUR own tents and made OUR own breakfast. And then? Then the adults sat down and, well, SAT. And the kids ran off with their patrol leader boys to do some boy scoutish things that involved ceremonies and sacrifices or something. I don't really know because the parents aren't supposed to be involved! AT ALL. The ENTIRE weekend!!

I know. You're smiling for me and feeling jealous, right? Trust me, you should be! Because it was FREAKING AWESOME. Whenever we camp as a family, I am the organizer and tent assembler. I pack the bags, unload the gear, and try to wrangle my children into helping me without throwing too many tent stakes at their heads (flesh wounds in a campground are just a bitch to keep clean, you know). But when you gather about 30 boys and openly state that the parents are to be Hands Off unless there is a major emergency, you will end up with 10 parents who have nothing to do at a campground! You will then find these parents gleefully playing games of Koobs for hours on end while the boys trek through the woods and return covered in mud and sweat. All the parents needed to make Saturday absolutely perfect was a live band and some wine coolers...

"This is the ONLY way to camp!" was my mantra on Saturday. From breakfast through dinner and s'mores at 9 pm, I was thrilled to watch the boys romping through the tall grasses. Their games morphed from running with sticks and flashlights to flinging leftover spaghetti into a tree (to feed the birds! It's a Spaghetti Tree!) as they ran about like Ralph and Jack (without the unfortunate ending, of course). Even the intermittent drizzle didn't phase these boys; they were living large and loving the freedom.

But.

(Why is there always a "but?")

BUUUUUUTTTT.... Bedtime loomed and, my friends, my son (whom I hadn't seen more of than a blur of hair for hours) was, shall we say, absolutely, completely, exhausted.

He flopped beside my folding chair, "I'm tired. I want to go home. I'm not having any fun!"

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, yeah. He actually said he wasn't having fun! The boy who spent 2 hours chasing zombies and vampires with sticks in the grass wasn't having fun!! Thankfully, I was able to coerce him into changing into sweats and going to bed in his tent where his buddy was already passed out in. I walked across the field to my own tent (being the only single girl in a group of boys and men has its benefits!) and settled down with my book for the night.

And then the rain began to fall.

And fall.

And FALL.

The steady drumming lulled me to sleep and I was having the most LOVELY dream about being a finalist in a dancing reality show (it could happen) when a conversation outside my tent woke me up. It was with a heavy heart that I admitted (through my clenched eyes) that it was MY child traipsing around in the torrential downpour, flashing his light into the adult tents, loudly "whispering", "Mom? Are you in there?!?"

(All together now: Uuuunnnggggghhh....)

Poking my head through the tent door, "What is going on?!? Why are you guys out of bed?"

"Our tent is totally leaking and we are absolutely soaked! Can I sleep in the van?!?"

"Justin! The van is all the way in the parking lot and it is in the middle of the night! You can't sleep over there without me and you can't leave your buddy alone in the leaking tent! You guys can't sleep in my tent because he's not my son!* GO BACK TO BED!"

I tried. Oh, how I tried! But the tears were flowing and the exhaustion on all of our faces (mine, Justin's, his buddy's and a leader who was woken up before they found me) so I brilliantly said,

"Fine! You and your buddy can sleep in my tent and I will take the van! Get your stuff and get over here!!"

They sleepily but profusely thanked me as they ran off to get their bedding.

I huffily snatched up my spare blankets that were SUPPOSED to be my mattress (Justin's sleeping bag was soaked, so he used mine) from the tent, hoofed my way across the drenched field and pot-holed gravel road and climbed into the van. After assembling myself on the back bench with a pillow and blankets I realized something:

I had a dry bed with a MATTRESS.

.
.
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This was DEFINITELY the only way to camp!



* Scouting rules include that no adult may be in a tent at any time with a scout.