A Little Whine and Cheese

Because everything is better with cheese. . .

The Christmas Spirit December 11, 2009

Filed under: Kid Stuff, Stupid Things That Happen to Me — Sars @ 10:14 am
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Whine: Has noone yet figured out how to clone mothers during the Christmas season? I’m not sure how anyone expects us to cram a week’s worth of cleaning/cooking/errands/parenting into each and every day this month. Really, it’s inhumane.

Cheese: I’ve been heavy on the cooking part of my list: double chocolate M&M cookies, caramel corn, chex mix, pesto and sun dried tomato cream cheese, and not so much on the other parts. Unfortunately you can tell this by looking at a) my hips or b) my kitchen floor, neither of which are faring so well this holiday season.

I spent most of my waking hours on Wednesday trapped in my local house of horrors (i.e., WalMart). It started innocently enough with a grocery run. Since I had somehow managed to run out of every necessity simultaneously, plus a few random items like cornstarch and sea salt, I knew it wouldn’t be a quick trip. Then I remembered that I still hadn’t purchased the gifts for my “angels“, which should have been delivered several days ago, so I added a few gifts to my list. Then I tallied up all the supplies I would need for my holiday baking extravaganza, remembered a few Christmas gifts I could grab there and I realized my list had grown from overwhelming to completely unmanageable.

By the time we checked out two hours (and lots of $$$s) later, Lil’ Sis and I had truly found the Christmas Spirit. If by Christmas Spirit you mean me stumbling through the check out, incoherent and dehydrated, and her whining, screeching like an angry little llama and eating the hot dog buns through the bag. Obviously I’m a terrible mother and never feed her.

Then we bundled up and braced ourselves for the trek to the car. (Seriously, down here we act like a day that’s 45 degrees is the dawn of the next ice age.) The wind was doing it’s thing, chapping our cheeks and smearing certain people’s runny noses all over, when I realized I hadn’t zipped my purse. And my receipt, filled with Christmas purchases (which are all the wrong size, I’m sure, and will need to be returned) grabbed a seat on the Windy Express and went flying upward. For a minute it flew so high, I thought it might land on the roof. Instead it caught a jetstream and went flying through six rows of the parking lot. Here I am, a lady with an awkwardly prodtruding belly pushing an angry toddler in a cart that needs a WIDE LOAD sign and flashing light, dejectedly watching it fly away. Crap.

And then something remarkable happened. Some nice man (were those angel wings peeking out from under his jacket?) took of running after that runaway receipt. Sprinting. Jumping. Through six rows of parked cars. And finally, from behind an old Chevy truck I saw him emerge, arms raised in victory. My hero. I didn’t have adequate words to thank him, so I did my best to sputter out my gratitude, then said a little prayer that there would be an extra little Christmas blessing for his family this year.

Crabby Cat and I got a nice lunch (which she didn’t eat, guess that plastic bag/hot dog bun filled her up) then headed to fetch Big Sis from school. Of course, Lil’ Sis took the four minutes it took to get to preschool to fall into a coma-like sleep in the back. Which meant that I would have to rouse her and drag her inside to get Big Sis. Which also meant that she probably would consider those four minutes to be her “afternoon nap.”  I pulled into a parking spot and prepared myself for some serious crabbiness.  Then, out of nowhere, the Mommy parked in the next space (were those angel wings on the hatch of her SUV?) rolled down her window and offered to stay with Lil’ Sis outside while I ran in. Obviously, she’s woken a sleeping toddler before.

I got my sweetie from her class, where her teacher reported that she had had a great day, but that she had played the role of  class plumber all day due to the droopiness of her adorable (and apparently ill-fitting) Gap jeans. I somehow made it home and got both babies into their beds, knowing they would have to wake up prematurely so we could make it to the last-minute dr. appt I had managed to get for Lil’ Sis and her chronic smoker’s cough. Then Kiki, one of our superhero grandmas, called and insisted that she come get Big Sis so I didn’t have to drag her unnecessarily to The Land of Inevitable Infection (i.e., local pediatrician’s office).

It was a good thing, too, since we waited there a really. long. time. We closed down the office. I felt bad because as soon as that receptionist finished checking us out, she grabbed her purse, turned off the lights and made a beeline for the door. But our friendly doctor is always worth the wait. He diagnosed- -double ear infection; prescribed – -antibiotics, ear numbing gel and Nicorette (for the Lil’ smoker);  and chatted- -about internet hysteria and the H1N1 vaccine.  

Again, the Christmas Spirit swelled up inside of me. If, by Christmas Spirit, you mean a constant worry about saving any amount of money by any means necessary. And by any means necessary, I mean a trip back to the local house of horrors along with the rest of SW Fort Worth at 7pm with a sick baby. Because their pharmacy is cheap. So we staggered around inside for another hour waiting for the magical pink medicine and went on a quest through each aisle (twice) for sun-dried tomatoes, which we never found.

As we went through the check-out, someone started falling apart. Lil’ Sis was pretty upset, too.

I guess the late-nighter I’d pulled the night before (I have no self-control when it comes to chatting with friends) and the fact that we weren’t going to get to get into the Christmas Spirit and make magical memories and get our Christmas tree that night, compounded by the fact that I hadn’t eaten any dinner, all brought me to a point teetering on teary exhaustion. And just as Lil’ Sis and her angry scowls and cries were about to push me right over the edge, she stopped fussing. I looked up from the small print on the credit card machine to see four frat boys (were those angel wings poking out from under their loud Christmas t-shirts?), waving their hands and dancing around for her personal amusement. And then she smiled.

I guess you really can find the Christmas Spirit at WalMart. If, by Christmas Spirit, you mean people imitating the originator of the Christmas Spirit and showing spontaneous and sacrificial love and generosity to someone pitiful and generally undeserving. 

Merry Christmas season, friends, I hope you find some Christmas Spirit this month, even if you have to brave WalMart to do it.

P.S. This just happened. While I was blogging in the other room.  Apparently it was a group project. I especially like that Lil’ Sis’ unzipped jammies make her look like a late-70s Elvis in his jumpsuit.  See what I go through for you guys??

There are no words for this. . .

 

Crabby Cat December 3, 2009

Filed under: Kid Stuff — Sars @ 11:39 pm
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Whine: If you purchase your apple juice by the gallon, be advised that the ‘rule of halves’ will be at play when it spills itself all over your kitchen floor. I’d stick with juice boxes if I were you, three ounces cleans up a lot faster.

Cheese: I just heated some tea using the “beverage” sensor on my microwave. And not because it’s the only button working. My new microwave has LOTS of buttons that work. I’m so excited, I’d even reheat your leftovers.

I met someone new last week. She made her appearance around hour six of our ten-hour trip home from Kansas City. Big Sis, worn out from landing on “Pukey Fever” on our family’s game of Wheel of Misfortune: Virus Edition was conked out in her car seat. Lil’ Sis, however, figured out that by puking twenty minutes into the trip on the way to KC,  Mommy and Daddy would henceforth respond to her every whine and groan, with offers of juice and pacifiers and goldfish and endless renditions of Wheels on the Bus for the remainder of the trip. And in record time. So she commenced whining and groaning. A lot.

Then, she started babble-yelling something new. It took us a few minutes to translate. And then we cracked the code. She was yelling, “Crabby, crabby, crabby, crabby!” Which, if we had been irritated by her constant whining and complaining (but we are loving, long-suffering parents so of course we were not) but if we had  been irritated, would have wiped away every last shred of annoyance.

And then she said, “Crabby cat. MEOW!!!”

And that meow, that snottiest, most irritated meow, full of crankiness and a flair for the dramatic, pretty much said it all.

Sometimes (very rarely, but sometimes) I am a crabby cat. Like when I can’t figure out what to have for lunch because my microwave is broken and I hate sandwiches and my soup pan is dirty. Or when my shoes stick to my kitchen floor because it has been expertly cleaned with apple juice. Or when I’m just about to fall asleep after an exhausting day and I can hear someone in the other room who apparently is not just about to fall asleep and is instead in the crib she outgrew two years ago, waking up her sister.

But I’d like to think that by the time those crabby cat moments end up on this little blog, most of the actual griping and unpleasantness has given way to good humor and amused nonchalance.

On the other hand, I’d hate to come here and post my crabby cat moments, complete with funny anecdotes and rim shots, and leave you with the impression that I am actually that laid back. I’m not. Most of the moments you read about here (especially the ones that involve someone throwing up) are initially met with panic, disgust, rage and irrational crying.  Fortunately for me (and you, too) this blog is not written in real time, so there’s lots of time to get some perspective on the situation. And by perspective I mean a new microwave, a Swiffer Wet Jet and a nap.

Is this Lil' Sis? Or her alter ego Crabby Cat?

 

She Works Hard for the Money November 23, 2009

Filed under: Family, Kid Stuff — Sars @ 10:18 am
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Whine: While shopping this weekend, Lil’ Sis refused to stay seated in the stroller-cart. And of course, the buckle was broken, so I couldn’t force her to sit down. I kept telling her if she didn’t sit down, she’d fall out and bonk her head. So of course she took a huge dive right into a display shelf, with scads of pitying onlookers.

Cheese: She has a really hard head, so it was merely a flesh wound. Of course, if her head weren’t so hard in the figurative sense, she wouldn’t need such a hard head in the literal sense.

 

So last weekend we had a garage sale. You see, while technically I no longer “make a living” or “contribute to society” or “bathe regularly” I am still really good at one thing: not throwing things away. I was green before the environment was even a twinkle in Al Gore’s eye. As a kid, I saved every happy meal toy, every note passed in fifth grade science and most importantly, every gum wrapper from the gum given to me by that cute boy on the playground (ok, so that one was actually in college.)

Over the years, with the addition of a hubby and a few kids, the combination of my over-sentimental attachments and my relentless adherence to the code “Waste not, want not”, you can imagine what my closets look like. Recently I just found the little sticks that told me I was having each of my kids. Ewww, right?

So, in preparation for our new little family member, I decided the loving thing to do would be to actually find a place for him to sleep and store his diapers/cute boy onesies. Some people call it nesting, I call it 1600 square feet and three kids. But also, I figured that a little extra money wouldn’t hurt either, since our microwave is currently on strike. It’s hard to be economical and reheat your leftovers when the only button that works is the Popcorn button. So I began going through closets and drawers, digging under beds and through the attic. We filled my parents’ entire 1983 conversion van to the roof with all my old stuff.

And guess what? People bought it.

They bought my old comforter set that I had for nine years, whose stuffing has all begun migrating to the bottom. Cha ching.  They bought all those photo albums I’ve never gotten around to filling. Cha ching. They even bought little samples of Clinique lotion that I got for free. Cha ching.

Unfortunately, they also bought all my girls’ old clothes by they boxful. The outfit Big Sis wore home from the hospital. And the one Lil’ Sis wore when we took that family picture. At one point, a lady who was buying stuff stopped on a particularly cute pair of footie pajamas (you know how I feel about footie pajamas) and said as I choked back a cry, “Why don’t you hang onto this one?” I nodded gratefully as I clutched it to my chest.

In honor of my recent entrepreneurial endeavors, I’ve posted this old school music video for your enjoyment. It’s monstrously cheesy, and gets especially awkward/amusing at the 2:39 mark. I swear she stole her moves (at 2:55) straight from my old roommate Katja, even though Katja was only a little tyke when the video was made. Anyway, the song in the video (in case you couldn’t guess) is “She Works Hard for the Money” and the chorus says “She works hard for the money so you better treat her right.”

I work very hard for the money. I usually don’t actually MAKE any money, but still there is lots of working and it is very hard. Reheating dinner in a one-button microwave, clipping coupons so we can afford Christmas, referreeing squabbles over an empty laundry basket. Unfortunately, this song predates my kids by a few decades and they do not understand that they are supposed to “treat me right.”

**They do not understand that when Mommy posts a blog about how they are all potty trained, that they are not supposed to go out that VERY DAY and pee all over the playground.

**They do not understand that Mommy prefers them to not harbor murderous thoughts, especially about each other.  I currently hear Big Sis in the other room singing (to the tune of Frere Jacques) “I am going to kill you, I am going to kill you. . .” When I asked her about whom she was singing, she pointed in the direction of her little sister and said “Someone.” Sigh. For the record, I’m pretty sure she does not know what “killing” actually means, but we’re still going to have to deal with this. Someone please tell me that your kids act like this, too.

**They do not understand that when you are being kind enough to make them an actual breakfast, like pancakes instead of a bowl of dry cheerios for once, they should very, very grateful and docile, and not fighting over the knife you accidentally left out on the counter. (In Big Sis’ defense, she was trying to get the knife away from her baby sister, for her protection, of course.)

**They do not understand that Mommy likes to shower in peace. On Saturday I shared the shower with Lil’ Sis. Big Sis, not wanting to be left out, stood outside the shower and simultaneously played the harmonica, honked a bicycle horn and shook a tambourine. Seriously, I should put her on a street downtown with a little hat for donations. She’d make a killing.

 

P.S. There will be a special Thanksgiving post on Thursday, so stop by sometime this weekend and check it out.

 

That’s What You Get October 23, 2009

Filed under: Family, Kid Stuff, Pictures, Pregnancy, Uncategorized — Sars @ 4:00 pm
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Whine: You would think that a 3-inch elastic waistband and a growing belly would be enough to keep my pants up. You would be wrong.

Cheese: When you’re wearing strechy pants, every meal is all-you-can-eat.

 

I’ve been working with Big Sis lately on idea of choices. You know, things like “If you choose to put your stingray in the bathtub, then you can’t choose to take it with you in the car because it will be soaking we.” (True story) Or, “If you choose to whack your sister on the head (again), then you will spend the next twenty years (give or take) in time out.” (Again, true story.) You get the idea.

Unfortunately, the world of choices and consequences and decisions is not limited to the under-five set. Nope. We all get to play by the same rules. You would think, however, that years of making choices and reaping the benefits/consequences would give us the upper hand in decision making. But one glance at YouTube or daytime TV or in the mirror, for heaven’s sakes, tells you that even grown ups make some baaaaadddd decisions.

I’ve made some doozies myself. Like the time (this morning) I ate a Nutty Bar (oh, how I love you, Little Debbie) and a Diet Coke for breakfast. Or the time I was locked out of my house late at night and decided to crawl in the window and subsequently got stuck. One leg in, one leg out, four feet off the ground. While baby Big Sis sat in the car. I hear you asking, “Did your mother not teach you ANY common sense?” Of course she did, that’s why I used my cell phone to call her to come get me out of the window. She (wisely) sent my stepdad, who was very understanding and non-judgemental about the whole thing.

But seriously, I often hear my poor mother’s voice in my head when I reach the end of a particularly foolish path saying “That’s what you get.” I’m not sure my mother actually ever said that to me out loud, but I sure gave her plenty of chances to do so.

Recently, my track record has been stellar. I thought I’d share a few of my recent “That’s what you get” episodes for your enjoyment.

 

That’s What You Get. . .

. . . for starting a blog.

       I started my blog one year ago tomorrow. Happy Blogaversary to me! My little spot on the WWW has brought lots of unintended results. Guilt being one of them. I wish I blogged more. It’s definitely not for lack of source material. I like telling y’all the stories that keep my life interesting. And I like keeping track of all the ways in which my family has put me on the advanced track to aging. But life in a house full of crazy people sometimes limits my free time, and I’m learning to be ok with that. Especially because often, if I were to blog, my children would be giving me “source material” at a rate that I couldn’t handle. (As if I can handle the rate they’re at now.)

       But I’ve also made new friends and kept up with some old ones. I’ve heard your stories, too, which I love. And I’ve gotten to know that my foibles, accidents and fabulous life choices amuse the rest of you. Which pretty much makes it worth it. So if that’s what I get for starting a blog, I’m glad I did.  And as a special Blogaversary present to you, I’ve already written a post for Monday, so check back then for more riveting action!

 

. . . for buying a fancy-schmancy printer.

      My very old, very cheap printer had been on the fritz for months. So I finally broke down, found my coupons and headed to Office Depot. Mr. Office Depot expertly assisted me in my selection, down to the other things I would need to make the printer actually work that I wouldn’t have thought of until I had already spent fifteen hours yelling at and kicking my new printer.

      I decided to reward my very sedentary nature and purchase a printer that prints wirelessly so that I would not be so inconvenienced as to have to take my laptop into the other room and hook up a USB cord in order to print. But just as I was bragging (yes, bragging) to my sister about my labor-saving ways, I realized the da*&%$ thing was no longer printing. (And this after an hour on the phone with HP to go through the religious rites of set  up.) So I called HP again, and Carlos was, in fact, very knowledgeable and helpful, but it still took him an hour of remotely controlling my laptop from another continent (VERY CREEPY) to fix the problem.

       So, in total, I’ve printed ten pages and scanned two pictures with my new printer, all from the comfort of my couch. But I also spent approximately seventeen hours in setting up and repairing the darned thing. That’s what you get. Worth it? Totally. Cause now I can sit on my couch and scan pictures of my babies. (see below) 

 

. . . for trying to make dinner.

        I’ve barely cooked a meal in the last four months. So when I gingerly approach my kitchen to cook something other than frozen pizza/french fries/chicken nuggets, I expect wild applause (from Mr. Dad) and complete cooperation (from the children.) Yesterday I started dinner well before 8pm, and it included actual vegetables and potatoes not previously frozen. But as I’m chopping and stirring and seasoning, I am interrupted by a confusing scene. Lil’ Sis has lost that reddish glow to her hair; it looks a little darker. Upon closer inspection, I discover that someone else in the house has been doing some seasoning of her own. Wait for it. . . wait for it. . . uh-huh:  Big Sis has liberally applied a large coat of pepper to the top of Lil’ Sis’ head and shoulders. Apparently she decided the “salt and pepper look” was more fitting than “carrot top” for her sister.

 

. . . for insisting on knowing the gender of your unborn baby.

      Last week we went to the doctor for a sonogram. The Sonogram. The one lots of my friends go to and cover their eyes so they can be “surprised” when the baby is born. Weirdos. I go to that sonogram with only two questions on my agenda: “Does everything look ok?” and “What private parts does this baby have?” Sue me, I’m a planner.

      So the sonogram is going ok, except that Baby Lahdee (as Big Sis has named him/her) will not be still. But somehow our expert sonographer manages to get the requisite pictures. Good, round head? Check. Long, bony spine? Check. Big, ravenous looking stomach? Check.

       So then it’s time to get to the good part(s). Except that on the way to those parts, she pauses on my right ovary and says hmmm, apparently you have cyst there, which is no big deal, except that it explains the occasional stabbing pain in your right side. Good to know, I say, now GET ON WITH IT. Except at this point, Baby Lahdee is simultaneously cruching his/her legs together AND swimming in circles with all his/her might. How this is possible, I do not know, although it makes me eager to meet this child.  

       Eventually she determines that Baby’s bottom is right next to my ovary/cyst and the only possible way to determine the gender is for her to repeatedly punch, jiggle and jab me in that very tender area with the sonogram thiny-magiggy. Here’s where my true dedication kicks in though, and I decide to take one for the team. Breathlessly I tell her to keep going till she gets some nudie shots of this baby. And she does.

       After we left the doctor, them walking, me stumbling in pain, we headed to Target to pick out a gift for the baby. I must have looked a little funny clutching my stomach and limping, but I didn’t care. I had just gotten to see my healthy–and very active–son.

 

Isn't HE cute??

Isn't HE cute??

 

Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming August 16, 2009

Filed under: Family, Kid Stuff, Pictures, Quick Hits — Sars @ 6:42 pm
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Whine: It’s August in Texas, which means that every day by 8 AM the concrete (and interior of my car) is at least 475 degrees Fahrenheit.

Cheese: I don’t need an oven to cook my frozen pizza, now do I?

 

Some of you may have noticed that recently things around here have been quiet. Eerily quiet. Which may lead some of you to wonder what in tarnation has kept me away from my very important job of entertaining you. Please accept my humblest apologies.

In order to sum up the last two months without inducing extreme narcolepsy, allow me to utilize my good friend Mr. Bullet Point to give you an update.

In the last few months I’ve . . .

 . . .  read at least 30 books. With words, not pictures, and lots of pages (although I’ve read my fair share of the picture variety, too). Highlights included Agatha Christie’s The Man in the Brown Suit and Apart from the Crowd by Anna McPartlin. Lowlights included  Pooh Counts to Ten and The Tortoise and the Hare (mostly because anything you read more than twelve times in two days tends to get just a tad repetitive tad repetitive tad repetitive.)

 

. . . spent hours playing Speed Scrabble. Sometimes by myself. Now that is just sad, isn’t it? I will say that making a giant, 100-letter crossword, although time consuming, is pretty fun. (See below.) I think ERGOT is my favorite.

Apparently I have serious problems with boredom.

Apparently I have serious problems with boredom.

 

. . . found myself on a relaxing lake-cation/family reunion in the north woods of Wisconsin. If this sounds unglamorous to you, you’re crazy. Jetskiing, waterskiing, and tons of free babysitting. And up there your cup of water doesn’t boil when you accidentally leave it outside on the porch. I meant to post a series on this, but felt guilty about blogging when after three weeks I still hadn’t unpacked my suitcase. You’ll have to settle for a picture for now.

We LOVE Wisconsin! Although we are not sure why Mr. Dad is making that face. . .

We LOVE Wisconsin! Although we are not sure why Mr. Dad is making that face. . .

 

. . . welcomed a new nephew into the world. Baby Charlie arrived August 7th–little brother to Avery (aka Aves the Brave). He is seriously, way cute in a little, sleepy old man way. (Picture coming soon, I promise.)

 

. . . witnessed new feats of strenth and ingenuity by my children.  Lil’ Sis has learned to shut doors. Big Sis has learned to lock them. Big Sis can now single-handedly assemble a 50-piece jigsaw puzzle. I am not kidding. Then she takes it apart and eats the pieces. Also not kidding. Lil’ Sis’ communication skills have kicked up a notch, too.  She can use whole sentences now, as in “I want a bite.” and “Give me that.” She also finds crossing her arms across her chest while she stamps her tiny mary-janed feet and screeches quite effective. (And since I am the worst mother EVER I find this hysterically funny.)

Do NOT be fooled by their innocent faces.

Do NOT be fooled by their innocent faces.

 

. . . been working on a VERY SPECIAL new project–because my life was not  complicated enough, right?

That purple rock is the real reason I haven't written in two months. . .

That little purple rock is the real reason I haven't written in two months. . .

 

So there you have it. Our life for the last few months in a nutshell. I know some of you will be clamoring for details about that new family picture up there, so stay tuned. Or should I say To Be Continued. . .

 

P.S. Here’s a Gold Star for Jenni, my 7th grade BFF and current Facebook friend, just because she needs one today.

 

The Four-Step Plan May 14, 2009

Filed under: Kid Stuff — Sars @ 2:49 pm
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Whine: I discovered the hard way that Lil’ Sis is cutting her molars–she was fussing and crying and then just took a huge bite out of my belly. That’s gonna leave a mark. 

Cheese:  If I told you how fabulous my  Mother’s Day weekend was, you’d never let me post another whine again.  Suffice it to say that when Monday rolled around I was well-rested, fully showered and fed, and I had cute toes to boot. Of course I was exhausted, starving and stinky by Monday night, but at least my toes were still cute.

 

The children and I walked to the park last night. I’m tired just thinking about it. We were gone for almost two hours. Lil’ Sis rode in her push car and Big Sis walked alongside disappointedly. Except when she was pushing Lil’ Sis downhill, letting go and laughing maniacally.

We had fun at the park, courtesy of Uncle Tickle, Aunt Chelle and Elizabear, who met us there. Uncle Tickle actually likes the park (I know, I don’t understand either) and played lots of chase and forced a reluctant Big Sis to at least try the big kid swings. (They compromised and she swang on her tummy.)

So on the walk home, Lil’ Sis asked for a glass of milk. And I, of course, refused to open my magic portable refrigerator and pour her a glass. ’Cause I’m mean like that. So she proceeded to ask me again. Again, I told her that we would get one when we got home. She asked for a glass of milk exactly thirteen times on the twenty minute walk home. And at one  point, she stooped down on the ground and with the stick she was holding, laid out the steps we would need to take in order to get a glass of milk.

Pointing with stick. First we will get three cups.

Pointing to the next step. Then we will pour the milk.

Pointing again. Then we will get three cookies.

And finally. Then we will watch a movie.

I agreed that her plan was a good one, which quieted her for approximately seven steps. And seeing as how we were still interminably far from home (like five whole houses), she stopped, touched the stick to her forehead and said “I’ve got to think.” (Or more accurately in her toddler Texas accent  “I’ve got to faink.”) She stooped down again and with all the accuracy and confidence of a seasoned coach prepping his team for the championship, reiterated the plan again. 

You’ll be glad to know we finally made it home and had our cookies and milk. Although when I attempted to deviate from the plan by bypassing a cookie for myself, she was quick to correct my misstep. If only I could get her to faink of a four-step plan for going to sleep at night, I’d have it made.

 

Formula for Destruction May 4, 2009

Filed under: Kid Stuff, Uncategorized — Sars @ 3:13 pm
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Whine: My grande iced latte (a rare treat) did not last very long at all. Darn all that pesky ice! I shoulda gotten the venti–and the extra shot of hazelnut.

Cheese: SHE WALKS!! SHE WALKS!! SHE WALKS!! Lil’ Sis has officially taken her first steps. She looks a little like Frankenstein’s monster, lurching forward, arms stretched out in front of her, but we are so very proud of her. She’d still rather crawl, but pretty soon she’ll figure out that her destruction potential will increase exponentially when she walks. And then my life will officially be over.

 

There comes a time in every mother’s day when she must count the cost of parenting. Not the physical cost of child birth, child rearing and carpooling. Not the monetary cost of diapers, wipes and all that whole milk. Not even the emotional cost of first steps, skinned knees and broken hearts. No, she must count the cost of the destruction that is sure to follow any attempts on her part to do anything.

I have noticed a pattern in my own life. If I could possibly monitor my children all day, every day, everything would turn out fine. On the other hand, if I were to ever need to use the bathroom, prepare a meal or heaven forbid, sneeze, I can pretty much be assured that in the nanosecond that I turn my back, my children will destroy anything and everything they can get their hands on. My children are sweet and lovely, mind you. They are fairly well-behaved in public and not completely defiant.  But they are also just very NORMAL.  Which means they like to discover things on their own, especially when I am not looking, and whether they work alone or in tandem, this often means trouble.

So, like most mothers, before I do anything, I tend to run a quick cost-benefit analysis. I use the formula below, designed after much research, to help me assess both the time and money it will cost me to both complete the task and to clean up the destruction that entails. 

DP=3T + $.25T

DP represents the destruction potential in time and money.

T represents the actual time required to complete the task.

 

Assume that the destruction done during T will require three times as long to clean up (i.e., 3T).

Also assume that the destruction will cost you approximately $.25/minute you are occupied.

 

I failed to use this formula the other day when accepting a phone call from a friend. We chatted pleasantly for about twenty mintues. I sat in the living room and the children were playing in the adjacent room when I heard a CRASH! Big Sis had climbed to the top of the trash can and knocked over a glass picture frame onto the ground where Lil’ Sis was patiently waiting to eat it or crawl on top of it with her bare knees.

I screamed, excused myself from the conversation, and ran to the kitchen.

I know what you’re thinking. Surely, a broken picture frame did not take you that long to clean up. Of course not. But I had to get the kids and their tender little hands and feet out of harms way, so I shut them into their bedroom while I cleaned up with the shop vac. You know where this is going, don’t you?

In the twenty mintues it took me to clean up, Big Sis (aided and abetted by Lil’, I’m sure) emptied the entire contents of two toy baskets and half of her closet onto the floor. When I came to release them from their confinement, I couldn’t even open the door, there was so much debris strewn about. It took me at least another twenty minutes to shove all the stuff somewhere (because, of course, company was coming over), and will take me another twenty (or sixty) minutes at a later date to reorganize the stuff that I indiscriminately shoved back into the closet.

If I had used my formula, I would have known in advance that a twenty minute conversation would cost me a minimum of sixty mintues in labor and $5 in replacement costs. I still would have taken the call (love ya’ ,MJPW!), but at least I would have known.

Feel free to use my formula and make adjustments based on the number of mobile children you have and their personal penchant for destruction. The formula also works for naughty pets, especially dogs. (I know a dog who would eat a whole loaf of bread if you left it on the counter. Ahem, Annie P.) Also, you can multiply by a higher number if the task you are contemplating is urgent, life-threatening or of a very personal nature (e.g., using the bathroom, applying makeup). I’m sure your children (and/or pets) are as lovely and delightful as mine, they just have a natural inclination to learn by breaking, and we adore them anyway.

 

At Least I’ve Got Good Benefits April 2, 2009

Filed under: Family, Kid Stuff, Pictures — Sars @ 3:25 pm
Tags: , , ,

Whine: Two children. Six weeks. Five ear infections. Eighty doses of antibiotics. One bottle of kiddie Motrin. One bottle of something else. . . . (I mean Sprite, for goodness sake. What kind of mother do you think I am?)

Cheese: SPRING! It’s here. In Texas, these are the BEST DAYS ALL YEAR. I had almost forgotten there was a whole ‘nother world out there. Filled with non-television-ways to entertain my children. Too bad it’ll be over by May 1st and we’ll have to head back inside lest we all melt directly into the sidewalk. But that’s ok, because today IT’S SPRING. Which is why I took my kids to the movies and sat inside today.

 

As a SAHM (isn’t that a sassy way to say stay-at-home-mom? I don’t really think so either, I’m just too lazy to type it out) I often get asked The Question. It used to bother me when someone asked me. Mostly because I would look back on my day and have absolutely nothing to show for it. I’d have no idea where those twelve hours of my life had gone. It both confused and terrified me to wonder what had happened to that day in my life. But, alas, after doing this for almost four years, I have found my answer. If someone asked me today, I think the conversation would go something like this:

 

Innocent Questioner: (trying very hard not to offend but still very curious) So, what is it exactly that you DO all day?

 

Me: We go to the doctor.

 

IQ: No, really. I mean, I think I’d just go crazy being at home all day.

 

Me: Yeah, me, too. Good thing I’m never at home and I’m always AT THE DOCTOR.

Or on the way to the doctor. Or on the way from the doctor to the pharmacy. Or sitting up in the middle of the night taking someone’s temperature and wondering how early I can call the doctor. Or sitting at home within arm’s reach of my phone waiting for the doctor to call to tell me when I can come in and see the doctor.

 

IQ: (looking baffled and not sure s/he believes me) Oh.

 

I’ve been told (and I’m sure this is correct) that this stage, too, will pass. I’m sure it will. Only to be succeeded by the  drive-them-to-school-and-sports-and-music-practice-and-the-orthodontist-and-because-they-forgot-their-lunch phase. Where are we on developing those alternate fuels, anyway? I’m going to be broke.

But don’t worry, I hear that they eventually get their own drivers’ lisences. Then they drive themselves places. (Still on your dime, of course). But at least then we can finally sit at home and enter the oh-my-gosh-she-hasn’t-called-where-is-she-is-she-in-a-ditch phase, which I’ve heard is the phase that actually never ends, even when they’re 65. 

This mothering gig is never going to end, is it? Oh well, at least I have good benefits:

Show Me Those Baby Blues

Show Me Those Baby Blues

 

You Too With the Baby Blues?

You Too With the Baby Blues?

 

Since You Don’t Have a Baby Book. . . March 10, 2009

Filed under: Deep Thoughts, Family, Kid Stuff, Pictures — Sars @ 10:57 pm
Tags: , ,

Whine: Been fighting a major case of the Weepies all day. (see below)

Cheese: A year ago today (at exactly this moment, in fact) Lil’ Sis (finally) made her long-awaited (and long-overdue) entrance into our world and our hearts.

 

SPOILER ALERT: This post may make you cry. Especially if you are a Mommy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

I have to admit, I’m using you guys. It’s true. While you folks at home are sitting there thinking that I blog for your entertainment, I’m sitting here thinking that maybe if I blog enough of what’s going on, it’ll ease the tidal wave of guilt I feel over neglecting my children’s baby books. At least Big Sis has something written in hers besides her name. I’m not even sure I’ve written Lil’ Sis’ name in hers. 

So this little blog is my place to keep track of which kid did which thing when so that some day when they ask me those all-important questions like “what was my second-favorite toy when I was thirteen months old?” I can possibly throw together an answer with at least a kernel of truth in it. I have a deep-seated fear that one day they will all end up in therapy because I didn’t remember/write down/scrapbook enough of their childhoods for them.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I’m probably not doing this for them. At least not mostly. I’m doing this for me. I need to chronicle every little hysterically-funny thing they said. I need to desperately hold onto ever picture of every outfit and every glance and gesture. I need, in some form or fashion, to commemorate what this rite of motherhood is doing to me. To my heart.

It’s breaking it.

They make you love them so much you think you might actually just implode from all the sweetness. But then in a moment, they’ve changed. And each change brings a new side to this little person, this little part of you, that you never knew before. And you’re so happy to celebrate the milestones: the smiles, the coos, the walking, the talking, the throwing food onto the floor seventeen times in a row. But you kinda miss the old stuff from yesterday, too, even the spit up and long nights and washing mashed peas out of hair, again. And all the new stuff just serves to remind you that you don’t get to keep them after all. That if you do your job well, they leave. So forgive me if today I’m just a little bit melancholy, my baby just turned one. (Does Hallmark make cards for that?)

 

For Lil’ Sis on your first birthday:

I love that “passive” labor with you took 10 hours and “active” labor took 45 mintues and TWO epidurals.

I love that when you were born, you were the biggest baby in the maternity ward that night. (9 lbs 8 oz; 22.5″) and my OB congratulated me on the birth of my “third grader” and had to flip the end of the bassinet down in order to stretch you out and measure you. 

I love that you look exactly like your Daddy.

I love how for the last twelve months, you’ve been content to ride around on my hip in a sling (even when we went bowling.) 

I love that you lunge out of my arms in a fit of squeals and giggles when you see your Big Sis.

I love your sideways grin and that you say “cheese” for the camera.

I love the way your red-hair curls just a little in the back (especially when Big Sis styles it with a little bit of Elmer’s).

I love that you attack me with kisses when I least expect it.

I love that your first word was “bath” and that you will crawl to the tub from any room in the house upon hearing the word. 

I love reading books, singing songs, taking walks, feeding ducks, playing chase, and having snuggles with you.

I love to see how God designed you. The way you look and think, the things you like and don’t like, the person you already are all show me a little side of him I had never known before.

I love to see how you are growing and changing into who you are and will be.

Thank you, Lil’ Sis, for coming into my life and turning it upside down. I love you.

 

Chloe's First Day

Sideways Cheese

 

How Do You Spell Sucker? M-O-M March 4, 2009

Filed under: Kid Stuff — Sars @ 1:11 pm
Tags: ,

Whine: Foolishly entered the mall for lunch/shopping sans diaper bag, which of course guaranteed that at least one of my children would need a diaper change. So Big Sis ended up shopping The Gap completely commando. (Like this.)

Cheese: Not only did we make it through The Gap clean and dry, Big Sis actually used the mall potty to go #2 (after she used her pull-up first, of course).

 

All along, I’ve been telling myself that Big Sis just wasn’t ready. That her mind-body connection is just not as strong as other kids. That she would one day, maybe a little later than your average kid, magically discover the hidden processes involved and ‘poof’ be potty trained.

Not so much.

On one hand, I was right. It does take her longer to learn a new physical skill than her peers. Jumping, dancing, and even coloring all came a little later to her. And I’m usually ok with that. She’s way ahead in other areas: the kid loves maps so much, she could probably tell you the route from here to Kansas if you asked.  But ask her to jump on her trike and ride down the street–you’ll get a blank stare.

In fact, she took quite a while to learn how to actually go pee. And so it was no surprise to me that she was taking a while in the other department. I thought I might just have to send her to Kindergarten in a pull up. I mean, how do you motivate a kid who has a better poker face than a brick wall? When Mr. Dad (whose fault this is anyway, as he is the original brick wall) finally discovered the magic formula for her, she started going. On the potty.

So here I was believing that she wasn’t ready, that she’s just a little girl and I really shouldn’t rush her, and she really could do it after all. But here’s the thing, in cases like this, it’s really hard to tell when the not-quite-sure-how-this-potty-thing-works stops and the yeah-I-really-couldn’t-care-less begins. And that’s motherhood. You root for your kids and believe the best about them because that’s your job (and because they’re so darn cute and wonderful, too).

But sometimes rooting for your kids means telling them they can (and have to) move on to the next thing whether they like it or not. That the next thing is wonderful and awesome and way more fun than this thing we’re doing now. That although it’s hard and scary, it’s worth it to grow up. It’s difficult to know when to coddle and when to push. When to believe them that they really can’t do it and when to ignore your inner sucker and make them do it anyway. But that’s the mystery of parenting, and if I’ve erred on the side of being too soft, I’m ok with that because I’m learning too.

We are still navigating the end of the Diaper Era, but I see the dawn of Time of the Big Girl Panties on the horizon, and it looks wonderful.