Age of Questions

Apparently, six is when all the big questions come into play...

What does it mean when someone dies?
Why can't we live forever?
Where is heaven?
What does God look like?
How do we know God is real if we can't see Him and we can't visit Him in heaven until we die?
Why doesn't anyone come back from heaven?
Will I go to heaven?
Who else is in heaven?
How did God make heaven?
How does God make babies?
Why is a girls' penis different than my penis?
When you were a little girl did you...lie?...get in trouble?...hit your sisters?...throw fits?...have a mom?...miss your Nana?

Monkey asked all those questions before bed in a single night! I pride myself on being honest with the kidlets, but I don't think I've said "I don't know" so much in my life! That, along with Monkey's sudden interest in my crappy childhood, make me feel all kinds of awkward...still, I love that he is asking the big questions. I know a lot of things change over the years, and that kids go through a lot of phases, but I sincerely hope that his desire to know more only gets stronger as he gets older.

I also hope I can read enough to keep up with him!

Murphy's Law of Parenting

It never fails....

If you are trying to eat, you will have to scrape the kids food off the table and back onto their plates first.

If you are trying to pee, the kids will demand to come with you and watch.

If you are trying to blog, the kids will (very quietly, just out of your line of sight) try to do whatever it is you've been telling them not to all day.

If you are trying to work, the kids will have all new dire needs every five seconds.

If you are trying to talk on the phone, the universe as you know it may collapse.

If you are trying to spend five minutes with your spouse, someone will have a nightmare/pee the bed/decide they absolutely cannot sleep without the only dirty pair of pajamas in the house.

BUT it is equally true that the moment you think you are going to have to be committed, the kids will do something so cute and so sweet you can't do anything except adore them...and that's what parenthood is all about.

Free Roaming Children

As the weather turns warm in my neck of the woods I am starting to notice something more and more-it appears that we have a pack of unsupervised children roaming the neighborhood ala Lord of the Flies. I am seeing all sorts of behavior that I personally find inappropriate-dashing behind cars while they are backing up, running across streets without looking, leaving papers and bikes and ramps in the middle of the cul-de-sac, not to mention some very disturbing conversations that I've overheard revolving around death.

I am just astonished. These little kidlets are all around Monkey's age-between about 4 and about 8-and their parents just turn them outdoors with no one to watch them (although I did overhear one mother say to another mother that the older kids are supposed to be watching the younger kids. All I have to say to that is yeah right). Maybe I'm an over protective nut job or something, but I do not allow my children out of my sight. Monkey, just now since turning 6, is allowed to play in our fenced back yard by himself while every window and door facing that direction is open so that I can not only see but also hear him. If he so much as ducks behind a bush for more than a minute or two I am outside paying him a little visit-and he's alone in a fenced back yard, not playing on a cul-de-sac full of driveways with a bunch of feral children.

Normally I would just write them off as a bunch of hooligans and forget about them completely, but we have hit a little snag. Whenever we go out front to draw with sidewalk chalk Monkey sees them and asks them if they want to come over and play with him-and they act like he doesn't exist. Oh they hear him alright-they look right at him-but then they just walk on by without so much as a 'no thanks'! Sweet, kind hearted little Monkey just shrugs and says "Guess not. Bye kid!" and waves happily good bye to them, but I (naturally) am furious. I want to beat up those little six year olds for snubbing him like that. I know that they do it because he is the only kid who has a parent watching him (another of the kids' conversations that I overheard) but I just can't see leaving him outside by himself with a bunch of malicious, unsupervised children who take no care for safety.

Monkey doesn't understand all that of course. Just today when they ran away from him he asked me if he could go after them to play and I could feel my heart breaking when I told him no. I DON'T want to isolate him. I WANT him to have friends-lots of friends-I just want him to do it in a way that is safe and (if possible) with kids who aren't total brats. I really don't know what I should do.

What do you think-am I being smart and careful or just over protective?

Do NOT Let Them Eat (This) Cake!

Okay, so remember how I mentioned on my UBP '10 post that I was going to tell you how to make a super awesome party cake today? I lied. Well, not so much lied as failed all over the place. My cake was one giant, massive, epic FAIL. This normally does not happen to me-I'm a pretty adept baker and I know how to compensate for mistakes-but this cake was so truly awful and gruesome that I cannot even post a picture of it for fear that you would lose all respect for any recipe I post from this day forward.

Let's just suffice to say that while it was technically edible, it certainly didn't look it.

So today instead of writing about how to make a cake I'm going to tell you a secret of Mom-ness that I have learned over the years. It is cool to bake cakes from scratch, but it is JUST as cool to buy them. No kid on the planet is going to care if the chocolate they are hoovering came out of your oven or out of Isle 5-a sugar rush is a sugar rush and the cake provided is just a means to that tiny junkie's end. Your kids will still love you if you bought their cake and their friends will thank you for it and continue spinning around until they puke it back up (hopefully in the car on the way home).

It's just not always feasible to lovingly make your child's cake from the ground up. You have kids-you have things to do that are far more important than baking a cake! Not to mention that most moms have other jobs, hobbies, and interests. Maybe you even just wanted to catch a couple extra moments of sleep-trust me it's totally worth getting a store bought cake. Besides, even 'domestic-er-than-thou' moms don't make it really from scratch. I don't know a single person who mortar and pestles their own wheat-we all get our cakes from the grocery store, the only difference is the degree of completion you purchase it in...and I say if you're short on time but have a bit of extra money spring the five bucks and buy a cake that's 100% finished rather than hauling it home in flour form.

I promise you, the only people who care about whether you made it or bought it are going to be you, Competitive Mom (but seriously-who cares what she thinks?), and your in laws-but don't worry I have the world's best come back for critics. When they ask you if you made it tell them in your chipperest voice "Yep-I bought it myself!" Hey, it made my MIL momentarily speechless-and that is a rare (and precious) thing.

So, in conclusion, learn from my example my good friends-you can be a good mom and still know that tragicomic epic cake FAILs are easily fixed by a little bit of magic (and a little bit of cash spent) in the local bakery.

Oh Baby!

I was a young mom. If you want to get technical I was a teen mom, but I really hate saying that. There are so many stereotypes associated with teen moms that I just don't want any part of. I am not an after school special. I am not a Jerry Springer episode waiting to happen. I am just me, and I am just like any other mom...only younger than a lot of people.

There's a lot of fascination with teen moms now days. The teenage pregnancy rate is on the rise for the first time in a decade and it's all over the media. Movies like Juno and TV shows like MTV's 16 and Pregnant series pique people's interest in the subject and I've gotten asked in the grocery store by complete strangers if I was a teen mom. I also get asked, again by complete strangers mind you, if all of my children have the same father. I kid you not-I have been asked that multiple times as if just because I'm young I must have several baby-daddies. Right.

Well my story is not nearly so dramatic as that-it's just a story like anybody else's.

When I was 16 I was living with my best friend at the time in an apartment and working. I really wasn't doing much else-I have always been, by nature, a homebody. My roommate however, was not. She loved to go out and one night she decided to drag me along with her and her boss to go karaoke. Well you know me-I love to sing-so with enough convincing I figured hey, I had two days off in a row, and the place they were going was a family place so there wasn't any drinking and I didn't have to worry about having to carry a loaded roommate home, why not go and have fun?

Of course, that's where I met Hubby. I'll tell you more about that later but for now let's just say it was love at first sight. We were immediately inseparable, and from that first night forward we saw each other literally every day. A few days before I turned 17 Hubby and I started sleeping together. I don't regret it to this day-I knew he would be my one and only and that I would spend the rest of my life with him. Still, even knowing that, I also knew enough to be responsible. The first time that we were together I was already on the pill and we were using condoms. To this day I am the only person I have ever met that had completely protected sex their first time-I wasn't an idiot. I was too busy, I was too broke, and I my life was too chaotic to purposefully bring a child into the world, even with the man I loved.

When we had been dating for three months, Hubby proposed to me for the first time. I was barely 17, but there was absolutely no doubt in my mind from the moment I saw him that he was The One. Of course I happily accepted and couldn't wait until I turned 18 and could marry him. We had the normal challenges of any other young, new couple with the additional stress of my struggle as an independent minor on top of it of course, but we struggled through good times and through bad. I had to work 40 hours a week and commute 30 hours a week (3 hours each way five days a week) to have a job that paid decently and so that I could take care of myself and get ready for Monkey. I moved into my own apartment, and I worked until I was two weeks over due and my doctor told me that I had to stay home. Monkey was born a week later, and 12 days after I went back to work 45 hours a week. Shortly after that Hubby and I moved in together and we both worked. Hard. For years. When monkey was about three Hubby got a job that paid well enough for me to stay home, so I did.

The rest is pretty much history. We got married, we got pregnant with Baby Bug, we moved, we got pregnant with The Bean, and here we are ten months later happily married and with a good sized family. Our children are happy and healthy. I love being a homeschooling mom of three and I never for one second wish I could be a "normal" twenty four year old because I think my life is better than the life I would have had right now had life not been the way it was. I personally think I would be terribly lonely without Hubby and the kids. I am a responsible, hard working, loving young mother-I am not a "teen mom".

A lot of young moms aren't. Now if only I could convince the strangers in the grocery store.

Pawn-ed

Baby Bug is a Daddy's Girl-she has been since day one. The first thing she does in the morning is ask for him, and when it's time to go to bed she holds her hands up to him and cuddles into his arms and he carries her upstairs. As far as Daddy is concerned, all she has to do is bat her little eye lashes and blow him a kiss and he turns to butter. Don't get me wrong, she loves Mommy too-I definitely rank above most things-but I'm no Daddy.

Recently though Baby Bug has hit the terrible twos-and boy is she dramatic about it. God forbid that she should, say, see something up high that she wants but can't reach. She will literally shriek like a banshee, drop to her knees, throw her hands in the air, and then face plant (still shrieking) on the ground. She kicks, she screams-the whole shabang. And here's the thing-Daddy's world revolves around the girl but he HATES terrible twos. Nobody likes this phase, of course, but Hubby's kid pet peeve is a shrieking child who won't calm down.

Today, unfortunately, was one of those days-Baby Bug was screaming pretty much all morning for no apparent reason and bless his heart Hubby was really trying. While I was working he fed her and changed her, he tried to distract her, put her in time out, he put her in her room, took away a toy-but nothing was deterring her. Finally Hubby had had it and he dared DARED to raise his voice at his precious little rabbit. He used the mad-voice...but that's only for big brother! How could he?

She looked at him and her face said it all-with one little eyebrow raised and her hands on her hips it was obvious what she was thinking-WHAT THE FRICK WAS THAT DAD? She pivoted around, and then stormed off...straight to me.

I told her in a calm voice "Baby Bug, we don't shriek like that unless we have an owie. Do you have an owie?"

"No." She said, batting her eyes at me.

"Will you use your inside voice from now on?"

"Okay Mommy," flutter go the eyelashes, "I wuuuuuuuuuv you" and then she gave me a hug. Little did I know that she was giving Daddy the "ha HA!" look over my shoulder. That's right, she was hugging me, but what she was really doing was trying to teach mean old Daddy a lesson. I am just a pawn...but I'm low on Baby Bug snuggles so I'll take it.

Because seriously? She's just so darn cute.

Under Pressure

We all want to be that woman-whose husband makes googley eyes every time he sees her, whose house is perfectly spotless, and whose children are all perfectly coiffed perfectly well mannered and organized...but let's face it-no one can be everything to every one. You're not going to be able to be a Playmate in the bedroom, Donna Reid in the living room, and June Cleaver in the gym during every PTA meeting. If you are under the impression that you can be all of these things at once, may I respectfully ask that you submit yourself for either genetic testing and/or psychiatric evaluation because the harsh reality is that, unless I missed something, we are all feeling pressure from impossible expectations--and that has some major impacts on our marriages. The truth is that all of these pressures come from inside ourselves, so today I'm going to talk about what these expectations are, how they impact our marriages, and how we can deal with them so that our marriage doesn't suffer from our disillusions of super-humanity.

THE PRESSURE: Being Sexy All The Time
REALITY CHECK:
We used to be hot. When we first started dating our husbands we were all sexy singles, dressed to the nines and perfectly manicured. We were fun, flirty, and flashy...and now we smell like Moms (you know that baby pee/spit up/sweat combo) and look like bums because let's face it-we don't have a lot of down time to focus on silly stuff like personal hygiene with all these kids running around! We know that these running pants aren't going to win us any fashion awards or grab hubby's attention any, but we feel kind of stumped as to what we can do.

We feel this pressure because we WANT to be hot. We miss being sexy all the time and long to ditch the sweats for the sweater dresses. The bad news is that's not always practical. The good news is that I have some tips.

When you get dressed for the day put out at least two extra changes of clothing. When you do this you set yourself up so that later when your outfit gets boogers wiped on it/spit up all over it you can just run up stairs and change without having to spend a lot of time messing around. Also, figure out one or two items of clothing that your Hubby especially appreciates and wear those more often. For instance my husband likes it when I wear dresses, so I do my best to wear dresses several days a week. Are they clean? Meh...ish. Are they perfectly put together into a stylized ensemble? No way....but he likes dresses so there they are. Does your husband like pink on you, or love it when you wear neck scarves? Pull em out. You might not look high fashion, or even very clean, but you made an effort and he'll notice!

For more tips for your love life, check out my post on other ways to keep the spark alive.

THE PRESSURE: Household Management Above Reproach
REALITY CHECK:
You have kids, right? Well unless you keep them in dog crates your house is going to be dirty. I think it was Phyllis Diller who said "cleaning the house while your children are still young is like shoveling the walk while it's still snowing". Realistically speaking you can OCD over it all you want but it's just not going to be spotless so long as little ones live there. The same goes for organization.

Oh it's good to make an effort of course-that's the only way to stave off total anarchy and filth-but please realize that unless you can add another 6 hours into the day you're just not going to get it all done. Look around you-does it look like a biohazard? Would anyone feel tempted to call the CDC, or a microbiologist? No? Well you're okay then.

Still, despite the "non toxic" policy that I have established some husbands (like mine) still get to be a big grumpy pants when they feel like the house is "too cluttered". How do you help your Hubby feel comfortable without breaking out the blood, sweat, and possibly tears? Keep his areas tidy. Does he go straight for the coffee pot after work? Create an invisible force field around it free of clutter. Put his coffee cup and creamer and stuff right next to the pot and voila! He'll look right over the stack of papers. Does he have a favorite chair? Keep everything off of it, and put his slippers next to it. He'll most likely step over all the toys without thinking if he knows he can sink into HIS chair and HIS slippers on the other end. Give him a special drawer where he can put all of his stuff that no one else in the house is allowed to touch-that way he doesn't have to sift through piles of stuff to find his nail clippers or his drawing pencils.

That is the secret to men as far as I can tell-if he has unhampered access to everything he wants/uses, he will definitely not pressure you so much about organization.

THE PRESSURE: Super Mom
Reality Check:
Say it with me now-We ALL have flaws. I WILL forget something that was important to my child. I WILL lose my temper. I WILL pack the wrong lunch, say the wrong thing, and accidentally encourage bad habits. I WILL want to run away from home sometimes and WILL probably lock myself in the bathroom for some peace...but I DO love my children and I AM a good mother.

Now believe it.

I know that's easier said than done, so feel free to repeat it over and over and over to yourself if you have to. What does this have to do with your marriage, you might ask? Well, if you're busy worrying about being Super Mom you might forget about your role as a wife altogether. I've seen it happen. I've done it myself on occasion. It's easy to get hooked into perfecting your child's five tiered home made birthday cake only to realize hours later that you didn't even kiss your husband goodnight.

It's also all too easy to mentally lump your husband in with your children. BIG no-go on that one. It seems like a small thing-I mean, you take care of him and you take care of them-but lumping him in with the kids will almost always turn into you treating him like one of the kids. Not husband-wife relationship friendly.

So what's the cure for Super Mom-itis? I don't know that there is one. This is a big, society-wide pressure. The best way that I've found to deal with it is just to prioritize. Make a list (either physical or mental) that absolutely MUST be done or else something bad will happen to your family. So eating would be on the list, dusting is off. Packing the kids lunch may be on the list, but packing them rack of lamb with a pudding cup for dessert is definitely off. Then, think about the things that you want to get done, but aren't crucial. If you set small, realistic goals for yourself and feel confident that you have taken care of your families real needs it makes it a little easier to step out of the shadow of the Super Mom idea.

In fact creating and meeting small, realistic goals while meeting your family's basic needs is really the entire idea behind fighting all of these internal pressures. We all want to give our families our best, but don't risk your sanity to do it. A sane wife and mom who only does some stuff is better than a crazy person who does everything but burns out in a day or two. Next time you feel pressure just think-we love our families enough to do everything in moderation.

Besides I'm totally digging that whole funky-cute, sorta-organized, good and yet sane parent thing we have going on.

Memories

I was talking (or typing, whatever) with Angela today and I mentioned that my dad's birthday is coming up on the 27th. I told her that my dad is going to be 44 this year and her reaction was "wow he's so young!" I guess that's true, though I don't think about it often. More often than not I think about how old my dad is getting.

Now before you comment-stone-me-to-death I'm not saying that 44 is old. It's just that when I think of my dad I always picture him in my head like he was when I was a little girl. My first crystal clear memories of him are from when I was about three or four and my dad was either 22 or 23...he might not be old now, but he has definitely gotten a LOT older since then.

When I was a kid my dad was a rocker. He used to wear tight t-shirts with holes in them and leather vests and jeans that were so ripped it was only the reinforced seams that held them together. My dad had long, shaggy hair and an earring (I guess he still technically does though I can't remember seeing him wear it for years). He used to drive 85 miles an hour in his 300z with the moon roof off. By the time I was 9 years old I had still never heard of Raffi but I knew all of the lyrics to Cheap Trick, Ozzy, Nirvana, Blue Oyster Cult, Smashing Pumpkins, Soundgarden, The Breeders, and Alanis Morisette. My dad was saving up for two things-a Harley-Davidson and a huge Celtic back tattoo.

Don't misunderstand me, my dad was a responsible parent. He paid his child support and drove from Arizona to Washington every other weekend for visitation. He listened to me talk, and taught me how to be well behaved, and blew bubbles with me in the yard...but he was still very young. A rock-n-roller at heart-this is still how I picture him in my head whenever I talk about him, and that's why it's so surprising every time I see him and I see how much older he is.

My dad has his Harley now and he rides it often during the summer, but he does it wearing his Levis and cowboy boots. His hair is short and is graying in a very distinguished way around his temples and in his goatee. Tired of putting contacts in and out, my dad wears his thick, oval, wire rimmed glasses nearly all the time now. He still wears t-shirts and a leather jacket-he bought them at JC Penny-but he is just as likely to wear a button down shirt. He listens mostly to jazz and country, though I've heard him break out the BOC every once in a while, and drives a big pick up when he's not on the bike.

Even more than what he wears and listens to, my dad's attitude has mellowed so much-especially since he turned forty. My dad may still go to the gym four days a week, but he also naps on the couch in the afternoons. He has gone from being weary of the word "grandpa" to actively attempting to train the children to make that be their first word. He's so much more open and affectionate now, and a lot less pig headed and grumpy (though I still wouldn't let him carry a concealed hand gun in traffic).

My dad has always been a good guy, but in the last twenty years he has grown. I suppose that's only natural of course-twenty years will change anybody. Still I will always picture him in my head as the Metallica-blaring butt rocker he once was. That's why it's so shocking to me to see him as he is now...why he seems so old-compared to how he is in my head.

I wonder if the kidlets will think of me that way. When I think about it I'm sure they will-If Monkey remembers me how I was when he was three that means I will be permanently burned into his brain at the age of 21. I'm not sure how I feel about that, though I certainly hope that he'll look back on me as fondly (and as kindly) as I look back on my dad in his youth. We all get older, and we'll all change, but what matters I think is making good memories with our loved ones no matter what stage of our lives we are in.

Wanted: Clone

Today was SO crazy and SO exhausting that I was about thirty seconds away from posting this ad on Craigslist today:

A position is open in the House of M for a Mommy Clone. Job responsibilities include cooking, feeding, cleaning, homeschooling, butt wiping, argument mediation, scheduling, bookkeeping, personal assistant duties including (but not limited to) grocery shopping and other errand running, in addition to working a "real fake job" from home 6-8 hours a day 7 days a week for which you will receive occasional outside compensation (the amount of which is unpredictable and will not be disclosed). The Mommy Clone position offers no pay, time off, or health insurance, but you will be allowed to sleep three hours a night* and receive compensation in the form of undying love, hugs, kisses, snuggles, and adoration.

Anyone who is still interested please undergo a psychological exam before applying, 'cause girl you must be crazy.

*Sleep will not necessarily take place "at night", nor will the hours necessarily take place in a row, but is instead an allotted accumulation of sleep hours per 24 hour period.

It's Like This

Right before my fabulous SITS day, I got an award. I haven't gotten around to it until now (just like so so many emails...but I'm getting there!) but I wanted to be sure to post it, because I feel a particular attachment to this award.

It's the Tell It Like It Is Award from The Crazy Baby Mama for "bloggers who use the language of humor to speak the truth".

Thank you so much, Baby Mama. Now, true to form, I will now proceed to tell it.

I have had it up to my eyeballs with Perfect Mom.

You know the one-she walks around on tip toes and makes flowing hand gestures. She delicately scrap books the daily pictures she takes of her children into a hand made memory book. She uses her Snow White sing-song voice to tell you how beautiful motherhood is and how perfect her children are and how she could never be upset with her "little blessings". I get it. My kids are blessings too, and I love them with all my heart. Truly. But if you are trying to tell me that motherhood is all sunshine all the time you are either:

• A. Lobotomized
• B. On enough meds to take out a baby elephant
• C. Lying through your teeth
• D. The proud mommy of a Yorkie

My kids are blessings-but they are also tiny ninjas bent on destruction. My kids are angels-particularly while they are sleeping. I love motherhood-but I do not hesitate to extend nap time by an hour when the spawnlings are causing too much chaos for me to handle. I love my children with all of my heart-and some days that is the ONLY thing that prevents me from putting them in large dog crates and selling them on EBay. I get tired, I get mad, I get impatient, I get overwhelmed, I get lonely

and you do too.

Come on and admit it, Perfect Mom. I have actually spent time raising children...you can't lie to me. Say it LOUD and say it PROUD

MY KIDS MAKE ME FLIPPIN' CRAZY [but I love them anyway]

There now, don't we all feel better?

5 Minutes is More Than Enough

Over at Mama Kat's place they are talking about mothers, and it got me thinking. I'm not going to write about my own mother-she's a big ball of crazy, and I haven't spoken to her in four years. If I ever talk to her again it will be too soon. When I was small, my Nana (Dad's mom) was my mother. She did all of the Mommy things, better than I ever could have asked for, but she died when I was only 7. I do my best to emulate her, but unfortunately there have been many situations where her guidance was unavailable and sorely missed. I do have a step mom, a wonderful lady for whom I am very grateful, but I didn't get much time with her either. We only lived together a little more than 3 years and-while she is a terrific lady-we still don't understand much about each other and she always gave all parenting over to my dad.

And so, despite having had three female mother figures, I somehow ended up essentially motherless-and sometimes that makes me really nervous about my own parenting. Can you be a good mother if you don't really have a mother? I like to think so. Still, on days like today I wonder....

This afternoon I made a big mistake-I used the bathroom. I know, I know-I swear I'm not a rookie, but I'd been holding it for like five hours and it was an emergency. [Hey, after three kids your bladder just isn't the same.] I thought I'd be safe. Monkey appeared to be engrossed in coloring, Baby Bug was drinking her milk securely fastened into her high chair, and The Bean was asleep in her swing so I ran upstairs to enjoy the rare opportunity to pee by myself. I wasn't gone a full five minutes, but when I came downstairs it was anarchy.

As I walk into the living room, my feet slosh on the carpet. Yes, slosh. The carpet is drenched-not just a spot either-I'd say probably 6 sq feet or more of carpet, entirely soaked. It seems that Monkey had decided he was going to press the automatic water button on the fridge.....and hold it down....until there was standing water in the kitchen/living room.

This is not all he managed to do in five minutes either. He also acted as an accomplice to Baby Bug, who in this same time had managed to unfasten her safety belt (how "safe" is that?), rip off her diaper and stand up butt naked in her high chair squealing with delight. The diaper itself was no where in sight, because Monkey had decided to hide the poopy diaper under the sink in the downstairs bathroom.

While this was all happening, The Bean-presumably awakened by Baby Bug's squeals of delight-had somehow managed to put one leg over the top of her swing's tray and get stuck. She's five months old...just old enough to get herself into these positions, but not big enough to get herself out of them.

So when I come downstairs after my only solitary pee of the day I am standing in the lake that is now my living room, watching Monkey throw a poopy diaper (aka the evidence) under the bathroom sink while Baby Bug shrieks and attempts to throw her naked body out of her high chair and The Bean thrashes back and forth in her swing and cries like she means it.

And for a split second my only thought was

WHO IS RAISING THESE HOOLIGANS?!

My House-It's Where the Wild Things Are
[Picture from Max and the Wild Things, by Maurice Sendak]

Oh yeah-that would be me....and Hubby of course; my conspirator in raising this roving band of destructive monkeys. As I spring into action to get the girls safe and clothed and start sopping up the water on the floor (with Monkey's help of course) I can't help but wonder to myself-did anything like this ever happen to my Nana? Does this mean my children are out of control? Will they end up in jail/in therapy/in the circus because of this? Am I really a good mother?

As I always do when pondering these things, I came to the conclusion that I can only do my best and pray for God to give my children sense enough to overcome the flaws in my guidance. I wish there was some kind of clear cut sign, some kind of step by step check list of good mothering that I could tick off one at a time (I'm pretty sure "allow children to flood the house and dance around naked" would not be on that list).....but I guess I'll have to settle for loving my kids the best I can in the way I think is best.

I think I'm going to need to look into water proofing the house.

Mommies Playing Nice

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times-I'm not by nature a social person. I think Hubby said it best when he said "everything you know about social skills you learned from your blog".

Ain't that the truth.

Recently though I have come to a place where I realize I need to be friendly. If it were just Hubby and I, I would hole up in my house with the computer and a good book and never leave-but the kidlets need friends....and at this point in their lives if they're going to make friends that means that Mommy has to play nice with the other Mommies.

I've made some huge strides. I talked to a woman at Blockbuster. It wasn't even the counter lady-it was just Random Video Store Patron #1, who had a child in tow that looked just about Baby Bug's age. I approached her. I even asked her if she knew of any good play groups (she didn't).

While this may seem like nothing to you this is huge for me. Maybe my parents went a little overboard on the child safety instructions or something, because for whatever reason I really really dislike talking to strangers on a personal level. Don't get me wrong-the cashier at Safeway and I chat like old chums about the whether, her work schedule, and what foods the kids like; the lady at the bank knows me by name and I know her due date. I'm friendly, but I'm not friends with any of them....and the truth is, I don't particularly want to be. Nothing against them, they're all very nice and good conversationalists, I just think my social drive is broken.

Like eating tofu and exercising, if it's important enough I just keep practicing no matter how unpleasant-and I know that it's important for the kids to have friends-so I took them to the park yesterday in the late afternoon when I knew other kids (and moms) would be there. I met a mom who was a preschool teacher, and a mom who thought I was upset because her kid was rolling acorns down the slide (when I was really just making sure Monkey wasn't throwing acorns up the slide when people were coming down). I shared personal tidbits with these women-like my name....and the fact that we homeschool....What? That's a lot for me.

Besides my natural disinclination to making friends there is one more concrete issue that I am having with moms. I'm a lot younger than everyone else. The youngest mom I have met in my neighborhood is more than ten years older than I am. Most of these moms (like all three mentioned in this post) are old enough to be my mother. It seems no one is having kids young these days except me....and the older moms don't seem to want to be friends. I don't know why, but ever since I've been trying to talk to them I've been getting iced out by the majority of them.

Hey I might be socially disinclined, but when someone is trying to talk to me even I'll be nice back .

I am getting so frustrated. I don't even want to do this anyway and then they have to go and make it harder for me-like it wasn't nails on a chalkboard already.

I have the perfect solution-I want to join a Daddy play group. Guys are awesome, they don't even really talk to eachother that much...they just get together and let the kids wear each other out. That's my kind of play group! But Hubby says that I'm not "equipped" for a Daddy Group so I have to suffer it out with the Moms.

Unless you have some other suggestions? Maybe you have some advice on how to break through the ice on these Mommies? Or maybe you just have some insight on why they hate me so much? Knowing is half the battle, right?

Ooooooooooooor I can just convince the kids to be best friends with each other-then the only other parent I'll have to deal with is Hubby, and I get along with him fantastically!

Free Range Baby

Baby Bug has finally entered what I like to call "the nudist phase". If you turn your back on that girl for thirty seconds she will undress herself down to her birthday suit. Every kid I've ever known has gone through this phase, but Baby Bug is the only one I've ever met that calls, "Mama! Mama! Mama!" and then dashes away. Around and around and around she runs, naked as a jaybird, peeking around the couch arms to make sure I'm following and then running and shrieking and giggling hysterically when I try to scoop her up.

Obviously, this is the best game ever.

Monkey of course is happy to provide the play by play commentary for our little race-Mommy, Baby Bug took off her clothes. Mommy, she wants you to chase her Mommy! Run Mommy run! You're not going fast enough! She thinks you're SO FUNNY Mommy! I think you're funny too! You can't catch her~RUN Baby Bug RUN!

All the while The Bean, who is generally a very pleasant baby and a fantastic napper, is nearly always awakened by this chaos and (naturally) she starts to cry.

One newborn crying? Check. One naked toddler shrieking and leaving a trail of pee while she runs? Check. One preschooler cheering loudly from the sidelines? Check.

One tired Mama? Double check.

Luckily, the nudist phase is a sure sign that it is time to usher in the era of potty training. Thank God. Not that potty training is fun (as anyone who has ever done it will tell you), but once it's over with I'll only have one in diapers and I may be able-for a short time-to get rid of the lingering pee smell.

Unless it is, as I fear, permanently burned into my nostrils.

Tell All Tuesday:Growing Up

How do you deal when your baby's not a baby anymore? That's not a clever lead in, I really have no idea. True, Baby Bug is still pretty small and The Bean is literally an infant so it's not like I don't have my fair share of little ones anymore. And yes, 5 years old is no where near all grown up, but it still breaks my heart to think of how big he is.

This weekend it was only made worse by his devastatingly handsome, brand new, super cool grown up hair cut.

My little boy with his surfer wave hair

My little man with his hair cut just like Daddy's

Of course it didn't help that the entire time he was getting his hair cut he was flirting with the stylist. When he sat down in the chair he looked her right in the eye and said in his most lady killing voice, "Hi, My name is (Monkey) Mr. Fluffy-what's your name?" It was so adorable-and it definitely had the mark of childhood on it (Monkey likes to pretend to be different animals and people and the only way you know "who he is" on any particular day is by the character name that he tacks after his own)-but the fact that he was genuinely flirting with a girl he thought was "super pretty" made me realize once again that he's not going to stay little.

Then add the fact that his haircut makes him look (I think) like a mature 7 rather than a just-turned-5? Mommy's having a very very hard time with this. It reminds me that every day he is one year older, soon he'll be so old he'll be driving cars, and going on dates, and leaving the nest, and getting married, and having children, and just thinking about it makes me feel queasy.

So tell me, please, how do you cope with your babies getting older?

Quotable Sunday Strikes Again

Perhaps it's because today (since 630am yesterday) the kids have been shrieking-non-stop, maybe because my "days" last 21-22 hours, and maybe it's because I blog with a little one whining in my ear I don't know-but I just want to read (and share) a little Mommy/Housewife humor this week.

"My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint."
-Erma Bombeck-

"I'm not going to vacuum 'til Sears makes one you can ride on."
-Roseanne Barr-

"I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once."
-Jennifer Unlimited-

"A suburban mother's role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after."
-Peter De Vries-

"By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class."
-Anne Morrow Lindbergh-

"Son, I will literally give you money for two minutes of peace."
-ME! Today around 5pm (hour 11 of 21 hour shift) -

Wordless Wednesday:Growing

How did these tiny little babies...

Become these two overnight?

I suspect it started out something like this...

My very first baby is more than 5 years old, my oldest daughter is 16 months old now, even my little Bean is 6 weeks old today.

All in the blink of an eye.

An Day in the House of M: Mommy Style Vs Daddy Style

My Darling Kidlets,

Mommies and Daddies have different ways of doing things. This is, as far as I can tell, just another part of God's perfect plan.

Mommy makes nutritious (if easy and microwavable) meals, Daddy lets you eat Chocolate Mousse and left over french fries for lunch.

Mommy carefully plans and inserts as much educational stimulus as possible into your day, Daddy lets you color on yourself.

Mommy referees...Mommy sees all...Mommy is pretty much on your butt all day...with Daddy you have the opportunity to experience the philosophy of Anarchy first hand.

Mommy burns herself out supervising and executing the tiny minutia of 5 people's lives until she gets to the point where she is pretty much beyond repair and must take a break. Some days Mommy is on top of her game and some days Mommy lies on the couch with a wash rag on her head, but Daddy is the rock-he's the very same day in and day out...always a little more 'lenient' on the chore-list items, but stern when he needs to be, and always, always an involved and loving parent.

And that is why God knew you needed someone just like Mommy AND someone just like Daddy-someone to manage the menial tasks while the other person does the larger providing, and someone to push us through when the menial task lady has worked herself into hysterics.

This is how God made sure that you'd get the magic of having cake for breakfast, but still have teeth into adulthood....and how both of your parents would survive your childhoods.

I love you more than all the chocolate in the world,
even more than I "love" making you take baths,
Your Mommy

Tell All Tuesday:Mommy MacGyver

Being a mom is a full time job. In fact, it's several-Doctor, Nanny, Chef, Chauffeur, Therapist, Teacher, Housekeeper, Mediator/Referee...it's enough to keep Mommy busy 28 hours a day 380 days a year.

And that's not even attempting the mythical super mom idea. You know the one who keeps her house white glove spotless, whose children are always clean and quiet, who cooks three perfectly square all-organic meals and two snacks a day from scratch but still has time to teach her six month old how to read and her 2 year old to speak Latin while knitting socks for her husband.

That mom does not exist. Anywhere. She never has.

Because being a plain old Peanut Butter and Jelly makin', store brand sock buyin' mommy takes SO MUCH TIME AND ENERGY there's just no way that any mom in recorded history has time to do all of those other things unless her children are imaginary.

Being a mom is very nearly a two person job-so how do we get it all (okay, most of it) done? We take short cuts! We use little "Mommy tricks" to make chores go faster, or appliances hold themselves together until we can get around to doing something about their broken parts. We are the creators of microwave meals on genuine dinnerware, and store bought brownies lovingly repackaged for class parties. We have a thousand and one tricks of the trade to help us get through the day with at least some of our goals accomplished.

Unfortunately, these tricks don't come to you through osmosis the day you bring your bundle of sunshine home. Many of them are learned simply through trial and error (sometimes a lot of error) during sleepless nights and crazy days. Sometimes however-if you're lucky-another Mom will pass on some of her hard earned wisdom to make your life just a little bit easier.

Here's my tip to make your lives a little easier (if you have newborns)-a baby with gas will often sleep better in a slightly relclined position than in a flat on their back position...so instead of laying the little bundle in their crib or bassenette on especially gassy nights, put them to sleep in their bouncy chair, swing, or carseat. I have absolutely NO idea why this works, and I doubt it will work for everyone (every kid is different, you know), but it has worked like a charm for all three of our kidlets and I hope that passing on that experience makes another Mommy's life a little easier.

So friends, just between us, what Mommy tips or tricks do you have to share? Come on-link up-and help a Mommy out.

To participate in Tell All Tuesday
*Write a post answering the Tell All Tuesday question.
*Include a link to my original post.
*Don't forget to put yourself in the Mr. Linky below, and to read other people's helpful tips and time saving tricks!

Happy Tuesday Everyone!

Wordless Wednesday:Nests

Look Mommy! The Bean loves her nest!



Look Mommy! It's my very own nest!

........Baby Bug does not nest, she perches.

Afternoons in the House of M

Normally, our afternoons are insane. Pure madhouse action, really. If I dare to pee for any longer than 60 seconds Monkey will put hand soap in his hair and color on the underside of the table (where Mommy will NEVER find it!), Baby Bug will fall, bash her head on something, and then discover a plastic morsel to shove into her mouth (which of course she does), and The Bean will-no matter how much or little she has slept-wake up with a DIRE NEED. You can tell it's a DIRE NEED by the way she is screaming.

Aaah, such is life with three little ones. Needless to say I look forward to Hubby's days off, where he can stay and we can spread the insanity around a little. Today was supposed to be one of those days, but he got called in. There was no small amount of disappointment on my side (okay, I completely pouted) but we need the money so I put on my big girl underoos and prepared myself for a day of chaos.

Sometimes your children pleasantly surprise you. Do you know what we have been doing this afternoon?

Sleeping.

I mean, the kids have. Yes, Baby Bug and The Bean do have regular nap times, but I hardly expect them to actually sleep at those times! [Everyone knows "nap" is code for "please stay in your room and cause as much destruction as humanly possible within your allotted time".]

But that's just what the girls have been doing this afternoon-for three whole hours. I am a horrible mother, as I have no intention of waking them up. Not for nursing, not for lunch, not for nothin'. Schedule be darned-let those cute little babies sleep and let Mommy get some peace.

Monkey has been especially good today as well. His main focus today has been on making signs. All sorts of signs-traffic signs, warning signs, and check lists. Here's the best one:
Allow me to interpret. UAS means "US" (use) "A" (a). When he feels he does not have enough room to write he gets creative about placement. The box below (representative of the empty Costco box of diapers) is clearly meant to be used as a car (see, it's carefully labeled). The giant box to the left with the check mark on it? Well, that clearly signifies that I-unbeknownst to me-have approved this venture. He came up to me and said, "See, Mommy? This sign says it's okay." No further explaination needed.

LOL.

Don't get me wrong, he still put hand soap in his hair today (I will never figure out his facination with that) but overall the children have been sweet, easy, and unconscious most of the day.

Thank God for small miracles.