When you live in MY house, you live by MY rules!

I KNOW. Can you believe I stooped that low? I can't.

I mean, it's the ultimate cliche phrase; the one I'd sworn against my entire life.

"If you utter That Phrase, you are just asking for your child to yell back 'Then I'm OUT of here!' as they run off to Vegas."

(That? That is what I used to consider MY phrase.)

And now? I'm the cliche-slinging, ranting mother who stomped her foot at her 12 year old and called out "Bullshit!" when he proclaimed to not need to help clean the house and that HE didn't CARE if it was messy.

BULL. SHIT.

Yep. Mommy has left the building and MOTHER has entered.

In my defense, there really is only so much a person can handle. I can handle daily chores. I can handle a little sigh as they have to pause a show or game or book in order to put clothing away or take the garbage out. I GET IT. It's not fun to do housework. OBVIOUSLY.

But what I don't understand is how I have arrived at this stage in my life where my boys are combative about ANY chore or basic duty that a human being needs to accomplish. I'm astounded.

And I actually threatened* to take ALL clothing but 2 shirts and 2 pants from Justin's room so that he is always doing his own laundry and always knows where his shit is. I am sick and tired of being the only person in this house that can find a clean shirt** or pair of socks***.

I'll bet all of your kids are just JUMPING at the chance to visit my house, right?!?



*(and am still considering following up on!)


**(in the drawer! Shocking!)


***(I looked in the sock basket because I'm all Sherlock Holmes-ish like that)

Sex Radar and Monster Dreams

I was busily trying to simultaneously clear away the wrappings of the day, wrangle Justin off of the computer and herd the entire group up the stairs to bed when I heard a quiet sobbing behind me. There at the kitchen table sat my baby girl, all 5 years of her, pouring out the most heart-wrenching tears you've ever seen.

"I'm afraid! I don't want any more bad dreams! Please don't make me sleep in my room!!"

My heart dropped and my eyes met Patrick's in dread as we cringed and thought "Not another one!"

I cuddled and coddled and read to her. I tucked her in with fluffy doggies and bears and blankets. I stroked her back and sang 20 minutes of songs, humming over any negative words lest they evoke anything unhappy in her pre-sleep brain. She drifted into a defeated doze, her tears wetting my shirt and hair.

My first attempt at escaping her bed and meeting Patrick alone after an entire night of come-hither looks was thwarted by her sweaty and desperate hand. She jerked awake, clutched my shirt and desperately began to whimper "I want to sleep with you! Please, Mommy, Please!"

Rinse and repeat. And repeat.

40 minutes later and I managed to MacGyver roll myself off of her creaky bed and down the hall to my waiting husband.

It was so nice to just be alone with him. The stress of the kids, friends, and just overall life was starting to wear me down. I simply needed to don only one title, "wife", for a while.

Alas, my children have sex-radar in their brains. Within 20 minutes, not one, not two, but ALL THREE of them were at our door, asking questions. One was crying. Another sleep-walking into the wall. The final begging to sleep on our floor.

Pat and I looked at each other. "I love you," he said. "...and I love our kids. I love our kids. I love our kids..." he repeated as short people invaded our sanctuary.

I love you too, babe. I love them a lot; truly. But I LOVE YOU like no other.

I am not quite rested enough to concoct another quirky post title...

My children didn't understand why I was in such a bitchy mood yesterday. Well, bitchier than usual. They didn't know that a late night of wine and beer with good friends on a Tuesday might leave their mama with a smidge of a headache...

Rita, Ellyn, Brandie, Farrah, Sabrina

Me & Lou

They didn't realize that I was preoccupied the entire day, wondering how my friend was going to do in surgery.* Grasp each of those ingredients in a viselike grip, shake them together until they are fizzing and bubbling like this science experiment we did...
...and you will have an adequate visual of the contents of my brain on Wednesday.

Today began with dreary clouds and drizzles but I am definitely in a much merrier frame of mind.


* Brandie made it through surgery. She's in a lot of pain but healing. Thank you for all of the lovely comments on her blog! She was so happy on Tuesday night!

Dozens of Hands and Hearts

Do you know anyone who is truly genuine? Anyone who is honestly a Good Person without being annoying? I know someone like that. She may disagree, but trust me; she's the Real Deal.

Back in April of 2010, I was fortunate enough to go on a fabulous trip sponsored by the CVB of Galena. It was there that I met 6 women (I already knew Kim!) who honestly made the trip 1000% more fun. One person who quickly graduated from "strange person I am spending 48 consecutive hours with" into "Friend" was Brandie from A Journey of 1000 Stitches Begins With Just One... We initially bonded over our homeschooling family connection but continued on to become Friends because we make each other laugh and don't care about perfection. (Though, secretly, I think she's a little too kind-hearted to be my friend. Please don't let her know! I don't have too many genuine friends!)

Galena, IL, 04/2010

So, it was with an extremely saddened heart that I learned of her recent diagnosis of breast cancer. She is in her early 30's and lives one of those Organic-Healthy lives that would indicate that she should be "safer" than the rest of us, you know? Unfortunately, none of us is safe when it comes to the Bastard that is Cancer.

April 2010, winning a new washer and dryer from the Kenmore Live Studio Grand Opening in Chicago. We were so excited for her because her own washer had just gone Kaput!

January 2011 at the Chicago Wolves game with her daughters

What the hell, right? I am still in the "Angry" phase of her diagnosis. I am ROYALLY pissed off and have taken to saying the words "Fucking Cancer" to my husband several times a day, usually while throwing laundry around. It won't be long before my 5 year old begins to chant it, I'm sure...

Me and Brandie kissing Amy Mueller at the latest GCBM lunch.

What to do for someone who has to deal with this? No words, no gifts, no card will make it "better". I can't send her a personal housekeeper and chef along with a physical therapist to live in her home to ease her pain and speed her recovery.

But I can, as a fellow blogger, wield the one small power I have. I can ask each of you to pause a moment and send her a prayer. I can go one further and ask you to inundate her blog with heart-felt comments of love and encouragement before she undergoes her first surgery on Wednesday. I can ask you all to please remember Brandie and her husband and 3 young children on Wednesday, this week and the coming year as she undergoes many medical procedures and they all undergo a very stressful time in their lives. I know she will beat this f#cking cancer and surface with an even stronger heart than she had before. But it's always nice to begin one's journey with dozens of hands and hearts holding you up.

Brandie, I love you, honey. I will continue to think of you and your family every day. I pray for a smooth surgery and peaceful recovery...

Also, Happy Birthday, Brandie!!


You can also donate to the Susan G Komen Race for the Cure in Brandie's name or in the name of all women who must battle breast cancer. We WILL find a way to beat this disease. We HAVE TO.

My friend Rita is donating $1 for every comment (up to $100) that she receives today on her current post in Brandie's honor. Head on over there, too!

Nothing but the truth

After a day of prancing ballerinas and pizzaI settled down with a large glass of wine to watch Desperate Housewives in my room while the family watched the Bulls pour ice on the Heat (Take THAT, Miami!!).

Needless to say, I was extremely relaxed and chilled out when the kids tumbled through my door, jabbering and laughing and arguing. I exuberantly clapped my hands together like a regular old Pollyanna and chirped, "Well! Let's all promise to make tomorrow a GREAT day! How about it, Justin? Will you do your best at school work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Excellent!" clap, clap. Chirp, chirp. "Corinne? How about my ballerina?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"That's my girl! Evan? What do you say? Can we make Monday a GREAT day?!?"

"I'm not making any promises I can't keep, Mama."

blink blink

"Did he? Did he really just say that?"

Roaring laughter of astonishment.

One quality I can brag about: he is honest.

It is moments like these that save Evan's rear end. I pray that today, mid-geography lesson angst, I remember the incredible laughter I had with everyone last night over his one-liner.I wish I could bottle this sweetness and uncork it around 1:30 during a melt down...

My entertainment while Blogger was down...

Patrick called me to the window. "You aren't going to beLIEVE this guy!"

Sure enough, there was our neighbor, frantically trying to water his garden in the middle of a thundering rain storm. He raced inside right before the hail came down.

This is the same guy who has entertained us as we spied on him squirting an entire container of GASOLINE into his propane grill, and then flip it on. Can you say "fire bomb?" Yeah. Sonic Boom!

Who ever said the suburbs were boring?

A Taste of Summer

There's something special about that distant rumbling that signifies a truly terrible storm is on its way. My yard is saturated from hours of sprinkler usage and fat little feet squashing the baby grass that was attempting growth in the barren, dirt holes. Holes, you ask? Holes, I say. Holes from the posts that once held up the swingset. The swingset we dismantled when we could no longer ignore the broken beam and dangerous, 65 degree angle of the fort.

I found myself pausing mid-thistle-pull to watch my 2 youngest children fill their buckets and cups with the icy hose water. They raced after friends and slipped in the muddy gullies and picked the watery grass from their mouths. The newness of the activity kept them dashing in circles like puppies with ribbons on their tails until, as one, everyone froze. Music filled the air...

Ice Cream Man!

In an uncharacteristically generous mood, I bought all of my bouncing offspring their choice of frozen sweetness before dinner. My own strawberry eclair bar was better than I could have remembered. Much better than the ones from the grocery store, bought in a package of 8 for the price of 1. Much better to eat it on the walk to the house, hurriedly licking the drips of pink delicious goo in the CRAZY hot May afternoon.

And now the thunder is rapidly closing in on our town and my home. My children are crouched over steaming plates of Aldi's fresh pizza (the best store pizza in the world) while their daddy rants at Xbox's version of NHL hockey.

Mmmmm.... pizza and a storm with all of my family at home! If'n American Idol doesn't get knocked out due to weather, it'll be a Perfect Night.

My Mother's Day Wishes

To all the women who are pregnant or adopting soon and are worried about whether or not they'll know what to do and how to care for your child: don't fret, you'll know. When they arrive, you just figure it out, day by day, making mistakes, just like the rest of us. Take care of yourself and enjoy each moment as it comes (the good and the ugly) for they won't last more than a flick of your hair...

To all the women who are raising babies or toddlers and can barely find a moment to read a blog, let alone compose a meaningful sentence: babies grow up quite quickly. Take heart. You'll regain your brain and life again. I promise.

To all the women who are stuck in the middle years of back-talking, patience-testing children: I FEEL YOUR PAIN. Call me and we can commiserate. We can both rest assured that this too, shall pass.

To all the women whose children have moved on and out into the big, bad world of Adulthood: They still need you! As an Adult Child myself, I cannot fathom a moment in my life where I won't require the love and support of my own mother.

To all of the women whose children have passed away from this life before their time: my heart goes out to you. No words can ease your pain, but please know that you are not forgotten. Your children are not forgotten. Whether as infants, children, or adults, know that this blogger, this mother, this woman, is thinking of you and sending you all my hopes for a peaceful Mother's Day.

To all of the women suffering through the agony of infertility: I wish that I could envelope you with love and support. I pray that next Mother's Day finds you holding the child you've always dreamed of. Your pain is not unnoticed. You are not forgotten.

To everyone, everywhere who has never known the love of a mother: I send you my small words of love. Please know that Life can be beautiful, even if nothing seems beautiful today. Life is SO worth living even if no one is loving you right now. You are not forgotten.

Happy Mother's Day to you all. May it be filled with dandelion bouquets, loving arms and sweet memories.

They, They, They...

There are a lot of things that "they" never tell you before you have children.

They never tell you that you'll forget what it's like to have an abundance of free, silent, Alone Time.

They never tell you that you will eventually look in the mirror and say "Meh. Good enough." as you head out to WalMart with 3 kids in tow, wearing 2 day-old jeans and a ratty pony tail. And that you'll actually Be OKAY with this situation!

And They never tell you that raising your own child will mean that you will also have to participate in raising the children of your friends and neighbors. That, for your child to have friends, you have to navigate the murky waters of Other People's Children. OPC are an entity to themselves. They have the ability to keep you awake into the wee hours of the morning, fretting over the politics of "Who was right, who was wrong? How do we encourage them to work things out without overstepping our bounds? Why am I worrying about 9 year old friendships to begin with and when can I go back to sleep*?"

They never tell you that you will feel every slight, every cut, every disappointment more keenly as a bystander than when you were young yourself. All the wisdom in the world can't give my kids the knowledge that only comes from first-hand experience.

It's been a period of lesson-learning in the JAMB household. I am hoping with every fiber in my being that this particular lesson of cooperation, empathy, and kindness is absorbed by my middle child. It'll be a long and lonely summer, otherwise...


*Answer: In about 18-20 years. Give or take. Then again, college and marriage and grandkids will surely keep me up at night...