Hats off!

Today is silly hat day at school so, of course, my son had a very specific idea of what his silly hat absolutely had to look like. So as we are headed out the door to Grandma's house last night, my son decides to get me geared up for Pre-K Project Runway and I start to get a little impatient..... Because we already late for dinner and my son, in true Man Fashion, has chosen NOW to get his hat done. 

So I resign, mostly fueled by curiosity and relying on my negotiating skills. We got the hat picked out pretty quickly - we don't have many to choose from..... We aren't really "hat" people. Next comes the tricky step. I was informed that it needed balloons. Of course, blowing up balloons takes forever, plus I'm  envisioning a giant WWF smack down forming between the boys, contesting for said balloons, plus the inevitable meltdown that will ensue when the Baby doesn't win. So..... I start to wheel and deal..... Could it be a stuffed animal? No. What about some action figures.... That would be silly, right? No. Ok, what about some streamers ? Nope. Come on, Mom, it HAS to be balloons.  

I'm not even sure I have any! Ugh. Throwing my hands up, I'm mid-breath in my explanation of how my balloons have probably disappeared into the Wild Kid Yonder ..... Aka The Mom Brain Vortex.... And he sweetly and silently goes into my bedroom, and returns with exactly 5 balloons. "Four for me, one for Finny."

Nice.

Next time, I'll know who to ask when I lose my iPad again. Or my keys. Or my coffee cup. Or my brain. Yikes.

Of course, they are the balloons that take superman breath to blow up because their necks are so minuscule ..... So I huff and puff my way to Silly Hat Toddler Bliss. And
even Finny gets his very own balloon..... Which he treated like a whoopee cushion and promptly sat on and popped. Don't even get me started on how he knows what a whoopee cushion is. 

Next, he unveils his specifications on where and how the balloons are to be tied on. It's
a very tedious process trying to please a four yr old with a vision.  And viola, the hat is done, just as the Baby melts down about his popped balloon and just in time for me to snatch up the balloon pieces before he stuffs the in his mouth and bites me. 

So as my swaggering child heads off to his school this morning, I have to say, I was pretty proud of his ingenuity, as he turned heads this morning. He was the envy of the school. I foresee more balloon hats in the Silly Hat days of the Future. Way to go, little trend setter. My hat's off to you, Big Guy.

Kill the Pig!

This morning, Noah sent me snorting into my coffee with his callousness over his carnivorous-ness.....

The scene: our kitchen - I had made some "boasted egg" (Noah-ism for poached eggs) and tomorrow is store day....

Noah: Can I have some bacon w my boasted eggs?
Me: I'm sorry, we don't have any.... But if you remind me tomorrow, we can get some at HEB.
Noah (parroting something he has heard me say many many times before)  that's ok, Mom. We can just make some from scratch!
Me: (trying to put him off the subject) That would involve buying a pig....
Noah: ok! Great! Let's kill a pig, Where do we buy a pig?

I dropped said eggs on the floor. Look at what I started! Nice work, Mom.

Noah: Something something something about me holding the pig down while he lopped off a leg.... Because after all, there were only two of us and one haunch should suffice. Apparently, I signed up for The Real Housewives of Conroe, the Lord of the Flies version. *

Me: (picking my jaw up from the egg splattered tiled floor) uh...Pretty sure it would be easier just to go to the store and get bacon at this point. (I must have looked pretty shocked because this is what he said next:)
Noah: Quit your crying, Taffeta! I'm only joking. I'll just take some waffles! (Which I'm sure will entail milking a cow and finding some chickens to collect eggs from...and building a Bear Grylls-worthy waffle iron from chicken wire)

No matter how you slice it, Mighty Bacon cannot lose its magic under this roof. At least no one can ever accuse me of beating it around the bush when it come to the origin of breakfast meat. No quams in this family. At. All.

Should I be a little worried?

Nah





*Originally left this out because it sounds like I've been letting my preschooler watch Saw 4, but Tyler insisted that I add it back in. Real life won't be hampered, evidentially 

Pot Head

Oh, how we lose our innocence as we age....

Standing in the kitchen, breaking down four heads of broccoli .... Yes, four (My kids eat it like candy, weirdly enough), Noah starts shouting from the playroom.

"Finny is a pot head! Finny is a pot head!" And giggling hysterically.

The blood drains from my face as I contemplate where he could have possibly heard, and learned to apply this euphemism  Girding my loins, and putting on my "calm face" to prepare for this unpleasant .... Well, verbal beat-down.... Noah implores, "Look, mom!"

I cannot hide from the inevitable discipline any longer and I hold my breath and turn.....

To see this:

Crisis averted. 

Boom Boom Boom...Mr Brown is a wonder! Boom Boom Boom...Mr. brown Makes Thunder!

My son has a fish. Correction. He has three fish.... Correction...HAD three fish. So maybe this story should start like this

Once Upon a Time, there were three fish in town,

Larry, Barry, and Mr. Brown.

And they lived very happily in a fish tank
In a little boy's bathroom - sometimes rank.

And they did the things that fishes do...
Eat and swim, swim and poo.

Until one day, Mr Brown was feeling less brown...and more blue

And flopped over like an old leather shoe!

It was a terrible sight for me and you,
Oh dear, what's a Mother to do.....

So with a flush and a flurry, 

He was floated down the pipes in a hurry.

But what of the boy, you might ask? 

Well, that's where my story will task.

So he was sat down soberly to hear this sad tale,

Thinking the son would sob and wail.

He was told  "Mr Brown is dead"
There was no crying, but instead

He was silent and with queer look,

He insightfully queried "Mr Brown from the book?!"

Because as you will recall,

Dr Seuss has this character in a book for the small.

        Mr Brown, Mr Brown,
        Mr Brown is out of town

        He can sound like a cow

        He can go moo moo.... and all that hullabaloo

I'm sure you'll recall the Mr Brown this child had hoped

Had met his end in exchange for his fishy bloke.

Unfortunately, his parental guides,

Could not hide their laughter inside!

They peeled out their wanton snorts and guffaws

And, horrified, tried to stifle the ha-has.

And that poor little lad, cried out "It's not funny!"

As he watched his parents still gripping their tummies. 

Quickly they sobered and said, "No, the fish."

And that sweet little lad balled up his tight fists.

And the jest was long over, but the laughter still escaped,

That sweet tiny voice was hard to mistake,

As he looked at his lunatic parents in awe, 

Thinking, how could his old Ma and Pa

Deliver this terrible news with such joviality,

As they tried to explain the joke so sincerely,

The mix up the name had unwittingly brought,

And the laughter it caused by the mis-thought
Of a book character being striken with gout,
And flushed down the potty, a watery out.

So before you bring down your gavel with ease,
Give one second of thought, please,
Of a time of untimely gayity expressed,
And remember those around you so un-impressed.

And needless to say, there's a happy ending,
As Daddy nips out to the store, fish pending.
He'll swoop in as fast as Santa's swift feet,
And put Mr. Brown Two in this namesake's old keep.

      

        

Noahisms #2

It's time for more Noah-isms! No introduction required. Here's Noah's TopTen Countdown !

10) Noah: What are the holes in the bottom of the swing for?
Me: So that they don't fill up with rain.
Noah:  (dismissively) No, no....it's so that our bottoms can breathe!

9) N: Does it smell like tacos in here?
Me: (sniffing the van air) Maybe a little
N: That's because I'm tooooooting!!!

Could be worse...

8) N: How do you put on a rocket pack?
Me: I don't know, Hon.
N: Maybe you should ask Siri!...... When I get big, and I marry you, THEN I can tell you!

Guess Siri didn't provide a satisfactory answer.....

7) Noah: Is Dinah (the cat) eating lentils????

Never thought of Purina Cat Chow that way...

6) Noah: God is like a Super Hero!!!! Because he saves kids from sin!

5) N: If you see a man with a black mustache, a black hat, and two bags of money, that's a bad guy. If you leave him alone, he'll leave you alone!
Me: Like a bee????
N: Or a wasp.... Or a turtle..... Or a chicken

Admittedly, some of those chickens can be kind of bad-guy-ish..... Nevermind sharks, it's the chickens we have to look out for!

4) Daddy: (furious) YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO US!!! Because ...... WE MADE YOU!!!
Noah: (sniggers imp-like, exasperated) You're not God!

Oh man.... Who knew Sunday School would backfire on that one..haha

3) While cleaning out the garage....
Noah (holding Tyler's football): Let's play football!
Me: Nonononononononono (panicked, I snatch the ball from him) I'm sorry! We can't play with that ball.... It stays in the case!
Noah: Why??
Me: Because someone very important (Kurt Warner!)  wrote his name on it and we don't want it to get messed up!
Noah: (indignant) Why isn't MY name on it?!

Good question ;)

2) On Tyler's Birthday
N: Twenty-eight is my FAVORITE number!
Me: What do you think you'll be doing when YOU'RE 28?
N: I'll build trucks.... I'll be a construction mechanic
Me: Where will you live?
N: I'll live next-door to our old house.
Me: Who will you live with? Will you be married?
N: I'll marry Jamma and Papa.....OR I think I can get married to Ms. Meg or somebody who didn't get married....like a girl.
Me: And will you have children?
N: (gravely) No, I'll be too old to have children

BAM!

And the best and final one....

1) N: Can I watch 'Time to shoot?'
Me: (horrified and confused) You want to watch WHAT???!!!!!!?
N: You know...the movie...with the bear..... 'Time to Shoot'.......
(Light dawns!)
Me: OOOOOHHHHHHH (almost weeping with relief) You mean 'Open Season!'

Whew!

Eureka!... I don't got it.....

WARNING! This one gets a bit personal. I debated for days on whether or not this was inappropriate to blog about but it's just too funny (and someone dishonest) to leave out. So I'm sure this warning is just gonna make you want to read this more, BUT at least I can say, you were warned! And if you haven't ever found yourself in this situation, you're either a liar, haven't lived long enough, or have magic powers on par with unicorns. And if that's the case, please save some of your magic for me!

Sometimes something that seems so brilliant turns out to not be so brilliant.... surely I'm not alone in this one.

Earlier this week, we went to beach with some good friends while DH was at work. We left the beach a little early because the baby was cranky. I was feeling pretty overconfident because I had managed to jerry-rig a spiketed bucket with some bottled water to shower the kids off and put them in fresh clothes. Kids clean, dry and almost sand free were watching a movie in the van, strapped in with a snack and some juice. All ready to go. And as I'm setting up my own "shower," feeling pretty smug with my smoothness as a single parent for the day, I hear the call of nature. Loud and urgent. Oh boy. Guess all that trying to hydrate was catching up with me. (Shakes fist at Murphy)

Now, the Jungle girl in me says to squat and get it over with, but the Lady in me is concerned about someone suddenly coming up the path to the secluded parking lot at an untimely moment. As I'm considering my options, my urgency is growing more .... well... urgent. And the kids are happily, blissfully unaware of nothing but their movie. Unstrapping them and running for the cover of the ocean did cross my mind, but the thought of undoing all of my hard work... not so appealing. At this point, the option of gunning it to a gas station had become an impossibility due to the urgency of the matter.... 

Eureka! 

I whip out a diaper, once again smug with my veteran mom-ness shining through to a plausible solution. Discretely,  I insert the diaper into my bathing suit, standing, seemingly, causally outside the van driver side.

And the dams open.

And I'm sure you all know what's coming next because my AHA moment quickly turned into an UH-Oh moment as I realized the diapers were meant for 20lb baby bladders and not... well... I'm not gonna tell you how much I weigh, but It's not 20lbs. Unfortunately, after 5 seconds, I had reached the point of no return and diaper had reached the point of no absorption..... 

ugh.

I felt about 3 feet tall.

Tossing the diaper aside, I thank GOD I had saved my shower for last. Unfortunately  I used so much water on my legs, that I had to ride home salty and sandy from the waist up. But at least .... I had an empty bladder. And clean legs.

And that walk of shame with a full diaper to the trashcan across the lot... very humbling. 

But at least the kids were still undisturbed in their snacking nirvana as I slinked behind the wheel and red-faced drove home. 

Now, don't you think less of me? I'll bet you've NEVER had to pee so bad you made a rash and stupid decision. But if you had, I'll bet you weren't stupid enough to blog about it. But there you go. That's my life. And you're invited in. Pee-pee legs and all. 

Enjoy.

Cuttin' Up in the Miller House

There is a fog that hangs over a tired, overworked Momma. This said Momma has been nursing sick babies, daddies, and herself since November with nary a week in between bouts. So it was bound to happen.....

As you might remember from previous posts, we recently had our credit card information hacked. Since then, we have gotten new credit cards that I just now went to activate..... although I had forgotten to throw away the "hacked" credit cards, thereby trying to activate a flagged account.... and ended up playing Twenty-Questions with a heavily accented, heavily breathing Senior manager named Norm. I can neither confirm nor deny that he thought he was playing the hero by blocking a hardened criminal from going on a shopping spree with a "hacked" credit card. "I'm gonna have to call you back." Click. Ensue search for CORRECT new cards.

Well, at least I know my bank's got it game face on.

After rifling though the desk for the correct cards to activate, and hereby successfully wiping the smirk off Norm's "vigilante-happy visage," I played it smart by cutting up the hacked cards.

I promise. This story isn't as boring as it seems.

Fast-forward. Kroger. The Next Day. I try to use my debit card.
Card Declined
swipe
Card Declined
swipe
Card Declined

I swear, lady, I HAVE $47 in the bank. Heh heh. (sweating profusely)

I try another card..... and pick my jaw up off the floor when I realize it is the exact same card... with different numbers. Be cool. Just pay.

swipe duplicate card
Card Accepted

(See! I told you I had $47! Hah!)

But not too smugly....because, after all, I have just realized that instead of cutting up my hacked card..... I have destroyed my debit card instead.

I should have led by pointing out that both the credit and the debit cards are the exact same shade of blue AND both say the name of the bank.

Another fun call to the bank. Uh, yes, I know you think I'm a credit card thief  but can you send me a debit card too?

At least the teller was nice enough to sign me up for the Disney Princess debit card.... just so I don't get them mixed up again. I think it's time to crawl back under that rock from which I just prematurely emerged.

Please tell me I'm not the first person in the world to accidentally cut up my own debit card. I'm sure this'll be funny when I'm not sweating bullets in Kroger somewhere with a line of people pretending not to notice.

Stuck Between a Rock and Hard Place

Even the best made plans......
Those were my thoughts at 4:30 this morning when I woke up to the sound of the wind and the torrential rain trying to break down the doors and windows to my house. Noah was hot on their heels as he burst into our room, hollering something about a tornado. Poor kid has been obsessed with them since they learned about them at school a few days ago. I couldn't tell if he more scared or excited. I was too distracted with my own thoughts about that nature walk I had so strategically planned into my Sunday School diorama sequence....

Conundrum.

And it was Spring Forward so naturally, I had to be up an hour earlier.

So today, I was THAT Sunday School teacher..... you know, the one working on her lesson a few hours before teaching. In my head. At 4:30 in the morning.

Ok, ok, I'll just gather the rocks and grass and sticks for ten kids myself. It'll be a piece a cake. 

Wait, this is why I wanted THEM to do it!

What if they don't like my rocks? 


Maybe parents won't MIND their meticulously dressed children trapsing around in torrential rain and mud for a good didactic cause? 

What's wrong with me?! Why can't I just make a plan to go on my own nature walk at 6 am and go to sleep till then!? 

Roll over. It's 5:30. Ugh.Stupid brain was mocking me along with the beady eyes of the red clock numbers.

Somehow, when the alarm went off at 7, I managed to throw on a robe and galoshes and grab our only umbrella out of the van to fill my mop bucket with as many rocks as I could before my family gathered in the garage to gawk at me. That lasted about ten minutes.

Cue rumple-headed family members.

Try explaining to a four-year old why you can't help Mommy gather rocks in the pouring rain while wearing footie pajamas.

I'm sure my neighbors YouTubed the strange lady working on her rock collection at the wee hours of the morning while they walked their dogs. Keep walking, Buddy. Nothing to see here.

Of course, as I triumphantly entered the church this morning, having washed of any signs of ill-preparedness, rock-harvest in tow, I was kindly offered to take any extra rocks I might need for the project from..... wait for it.... the bucket of rocks in the teacher supply closet.

Face - palm.

Thank God for naps.

Noah-isms

While alot of you other moms are out there bringing home the bacon, I get paid in poopy diapers and Noah-isms.... It's like getting paid in that triple layered gum, but better. ;)

I'm sure you all like to brag on your kids, and I'm sure they are just as cute as the next kid, but seriously, my kid says the BEST things. Hands.Down. I will take you toe to toe - head to head - toddler-ism for toddler-ism and win every time. I'm sorry. But let's face it: There is no ism like a Noah-ism.

So to prove my point, here are a few that I have saved throughout the last few weeks to brighten your evening. There are so many, I had to narrow it down to the top ten. 

10) N: Why isn't Captain America one of the x-guys?

      (Obviously not well versed in comic-back stories....)Me: Well.... maybe they live in different places so they just don't know eachother.... (YES YES I KNOW! X-MEN ARE MUTANTS AND CAPTAIN AMERICA IS JUST A GENETICALLY ALTERED HEAVY ARMS-MAN...oh wait...that's kinda mutated.... right? So sue me if I didn't want to explain "mutant" or "genetically altered" to a four-year old. Or even different authors because that would crush his dream of the Avengers being real... like ousting Santa Claus, but worse)

    N: But Captain America lives in America..... and the X-guys live in America...... sooooooo

    

Doh!

9) (Listening to the radio) 

   N: Why is this girl on fire in this song?!?

8) N: Why are Indians naked outside?.... (pause pause pause)... Can I be?

7) N: Is Dinah still a baby?

    Me: Yes, but she is growing up 

    N: Is she going to have Wine Cat food when she gets big?

6) (On how you know the difference between boys and girls)

     N: Boys have handsome hair and girls have pretty blond hair

     Me: So what if a girl has brown hair?

     N: (looking at me like I have half a brain) Then she's a boy 

Duh

5) N: (praying) Dear Jesus...please help Higgins to get better....

    Me: (interrupting) Is Higgins sick?? 

    N: Well...no.... it's just in case.

Divine Insurance

4) N: Wanna hear how I treat monsters? I put them in a baby chair and feed them YUCKY food.

Oh the cruel and unusual punishment! Musta learned from the best....

3) Me: Maybe when you get bigger, you can go hunting with daddy. What do you think you'll hunt?

    N: I will shoot corn......and grapes.... and pickles.... and other things for dinner

The World's first Vegetarian hunter

2) N: You're not my favorite.

    Me: Ok.....? Who is?

    N: Daddy. He's my favorite (naturally.....)

    Me: Geez kid....What do I have to do around here to be your favorite?

    N: Tickle me! ...... But NOT now! Don't tickle me now 

Oh well, it was worth a shot ;)

1) Me: Eat up your oatmeal! It'll fill up your belly so you won't be hungry anymore.

    N: And get all the wrinkles out!

    Me: Oatmeal gets wrinkles out?

    N: Yes, it gets the wrinkles out of my tummy! (Holding out tummy proudly) See? The wrinkles are gone!

Sign me up for some of that! Wonder if it works on necks too.....

It's just Coffee! I swear!

So as I'm sitting in the living room, sipping my coffee - which is dog-bone flavored (Thank you, Finny!) - and finishing up (more like sniffling up) the movie Up (that's a lot of Ups!) with the kids...who I'm just now noticing have snuck off to the play room, I decided to better channel my emotions into updating this blog, instead of crying, nay, weeping over fictional Disney characters by myself in my dark living room.

Yesterday, yes, the day of the Deluge, I had to drive Dinah to the vet to get her stitches removed. Thankfully, Noah was in school or this story would have probably had a few more unexpected twists. Now Dinah's vet is all the way in Coldspring, so we are talking about a 45 minute drive -one way - on a clear day, which it is not. Fun times. Needless to say, I have the DVD player going in the van to drown out the cat yowling the whole way. I'm sipping my first cup of coffee and sharing my apple with Finny.

Somehow, this is a little bit peaceful.

Until that last mouthful of coffee grabs remnant piece of apple off of my back molar and deposits it in my windpipe.

Sputter.

My new, shiny dashboard is covered in dripping, brown, peppermint flavored breakfast beverage. After choking and gasping for a few minutes, I manage to find a safe place to pull over and inspect the damage - which I am very thankful is easily removed by a plethora of wipes. But my pants are another story.

Always fun to spend your morning in wet pants.

There are lots of things that make me happy. Rainy days are one of them. But there are also a few things that make me miserable. Wet pants is very high on that list.

I grit my teeth and decide I'm NOT going to tell everyone I meet that it's just coffee. In fact, I'm not even going to mention it. And I don't. But I'm very grouchy. And my daily coffee quota is on my pants instead of buzzing through my happy little brain.

Dinah gets her stitches out, and no one brings up my obvious pants faux pas.

And as we are driving home, I look in the rear view and see this.

Suddenly, my wet pants don't seem like such a big deal.

Dog Tired (my cheesiest title yet!)

It's been a looooong night - and those of you who have seen my 5am FB post are way ahead of the game in knowing what THIS blog is about. But when you can't sleep.... eh.... may as well have something to show for it other than varying alternate popsicle recipes you've made up while staring at the ceiling and the eight different creative budget cuts you came up with at 3am .... (It's easier to get excited about making your own bread and laundry soaps.... and that new No-Poo hairwashing method - clean your hair for pennies, I tell ya! pennies!- when you're laying in bed.

On with the plot.
12:00am Cat with purple peg leg bandages gets mad that she can't get off the bed on her own and yowls until I help her into the bathroom - wait, she's hungry - wait, she just wants to yowl now to let me know how mad she is at me.

1am. Enter 1 sick dog. Bringing new meaning to sick as a dog. (Har-dee-har-har). He literally has to go out every 2 hours... I won't go into detail but let's just say I'm glad the grass is taking the beating and not my carpet. I can tell what he's doing even though I can't see him - because my other four senses prevent me from being blind to it. Blech. Definitely should have just tossed that leftover pot roast.

1:30am Cue crying baby.

3am. Somehow my dog is still sound asleep. But I'm not. Can't decide if it's my fear that Higgins will unleash on the carpet or my husband's loud snoring - which usually doesn't bother me... If I fall asleep before it commences.

4am. DH decides to wake me up - I am so foggy from just having fallen asleep, I can't even remember what he said or why. When your that tired, you can only think in emotions. Blind fury. Yup I blacked out after that.

5am. Husband leaps out of bed to dash off to work. I could make this a funny story, but it's still dark outside and my wit hasn't kicked in yet.

5:15am. Big Dog graduates to vomiting.

Now, my little dog will give you at least an 8-second 'hock' - giving me precious little- but doable - time to shove him out the door. I will spare you my top ten list of amazing things this dog's stomach has rejected, but not without saying I have literally seen this dog puke an entire turd. It was completely recognizable and yeah, cleaning up turd-smelling puke is definitely up there with one of the worst things I've ever had to clean up. So you can understand my desperation to keep him from puking on the carpet.

No such luck with Big Dog. He is an efficient hock-er. And it stains.

Thankfully, while I'm staring stupified at the carpet I so desperately tried to protect, he gives me another few warning hocks and I manage to sprint, herding him out the door, onto the lawn - with only one thing in mind: Making it to a surface I don't have to clean up. Now instead of completing his delegated task, he dashes off into the night. Yeah, leashing him had been the furthest thing from my mind 3.5 seconds ago... but now my sleepy brain surfaces with that genius idea. Way to go brain. Where have you been? You're late!

It's 5:30am. It's dark. I'm barefooted. And I'm in a nighty I wouldn't want my dad to see me in. We live in a retirement community neighborhood. Our neighbors have been up for an hour at least.  With no other choice, I head inside to get my robe, the lysol, and the carpet cleaner, propping the door open on the wild hair that he will find his way back.

Murphy is on my side tonight, because he is back in his bed before I'm even on my knees over the first pile of dog bile. It's nice when at least one thing goes right. BooBoo and I were trying to get our stories straight for what to tell the kids. So far, carried off by a vomit-hungry chicken hawk seemed to be the winner.

So while everything is finally quiet in the house  (and on facebook....and on pinterest...and on Words with Friends), my brain is not.

Thank God my one useful purchase yesterday was coffee.Of course, Higgins will be able to sleep all day to recover from his night of adventure. So at least I won't have to share my coffee with him.

Please enjoy this picture of my cat. Yes, isn't she cute? Not so cute meowing in the middle of the night. But at least she didn't puke a turd.


Amendment:
Decided to go ahead and remove the bandages (since it's finally Saturday morning) on Dinah, and I should have let her get that last bit of gauze herself. Instead, I'm cleaning cat blood out of my sheets. And while I was finishing that, Noah just walked in to inform me that he woke up because he pooped in his sleep. "But it's ok, Mom. I cleaned it up." Yikes. Good thing my other useful purchase yesterday was more bleach.

For Jaime

It's been a very emotional day over here. During church, I received a text that someone I had known and corresponded with had passed and had to hold it together throughout the sermon and then top it all of by singing "Because He lives, I can face tomorrow/ Because He lives, all fear is gone/ Because I know He holds the future/ And life is worth the living just because He lives." My friend Jaime was a very fun, and sassy lady, a committed mom and fellow lover of sparkly butterfly and dragon fly jewelry. And so I decided that the first thing I need tonight was a little levity to honor the memory of my friend, who loved to make jokes and  to hear funny anecdotes. Especially about naughty children. So this one's for you, Jaime. 

Disclaimer: This is not for the weak stomached.

Bathtime is always the happy conclusion of a busy day - the boys had gotten to spend a fun-filled afternoon being stuffed with sugar and love from their grandparents. So when they walked in the door, light was waning and it was the golden hour of BATHTIME (which as well all know, is the start of the bed-time sequence, and therefore is also Wine o'clock!)

So as my fuzzy headed child is reveling in the bubble so thick he cannot see his appendages, I'm enjoying a nice night cap and catching up with a friend via imessage. Sounds peaceful. It sure was. Until I looked up and noticed the Baby whipping something into his mouth - and clamping his jaw shut so his suspicious mother could be quite certain that he was up to something completely mischievous. And it didn't take me long to recoil in that violent disgust reserved only for the vilest of the vile.... vomit..... raw sewage.... maggots.... and... you guessed it, poop.

Now, there's always a split second where you consider just scooping out the poop from the kid's mouth and fishing the remnants from under the bubbles and returning to your peaceful wine sipping... the kid needs a bath especially now. But then your brain starts working again and you start hollering and yanking the baby from the bathwater. And covering him with a bottle of Purel. And brushing his teeth. And throwing away the toothbrush. And hollering for DH to put him to bed so that you can disinfect .... the sewage tank that was once your bathtub. Unless, of course, DH would rather do that and you could put the baby to bed.... no? Shucks.

There are very rare moments when I have to pull on my galoshes to clean a tub, but this was one of those times, because people, he had chosen my beautiful, jetted, king sized spa bathtub to grace with his turds.... nevermind the fact that he had been with his grandparents all afternoon and could have more conveniently left his lovely presents to them. But as luck would have it, and as Murphy likes it, Turd-boy chose me. Hoo-rah.

And of course we are down to the very last cup of bleach in the Clorox bottle. (Because when you live with three men, tiny or full-sized, you NEED a lot of it!)

And of course I had to use every single sheet of Wet Ones to bob for turds. One of which escaped my notice and gotten stuck in the drain and when I had a go at it, slipped down the drain. Under all those thick, thick bubbles. The words of Mary Poppins are fresh in my brain... what's that? "With every job that's to be done, there is an element of fun!" Maybe not.  God only knows how much bath water and bleach I'm going to have to pour down that drain (which is IMPOSSIBLE to remove) before that thing dislodges and flies off to feed someone's poor flushed goldfish. Sigh. Now the only thing left is to bleach every single toy (inside and out) and leave the tub to marinade in Clorox until the offending germs have been smothered. Why is it always on a night where every single one of the bath tub toy arsenal makes it into the tub?

I'm really earning my mini-van tonight.

Breakfast and a show

I'm sure none of you have eeerrrvvvverrrrr done this:

Walking out of the restaurant yesterday, I managed to remember that I had a new car and, feeling very pleased with myself for not looking for the black truck I previously owned, I puffed up my chest at having found my red van right away, as if I had had it along. Car transition success! However, my small victory was short lived as I punched the auto door key.... Once.... Twice..... Click click click and somehow the "beep" wasn't translating into open doors. Now a 23lb baby grows heavy very quickly and my thumb was getting  just as tired as my baby-and baby gear-laden arms. Finally, I abandoned the keyless entry and employed the WWF method - brute force to the door handles - and as I'm building up a good steam of forbidden words in my frustrated brain, I notice that someone has taken the leather and replaced it with cloth seats!

Oops

Suddenly losing all my fight and swapping fury for chagrin, I slink off through the lot, only to find the red van two spots down has both doors, the hatch and the lights on. And leather seats still intact. I'm sure all the breakfasters in the restaurant appreciated the show I had undoubtedly entertained them with over the last 8 and a half minutes. You're welcome! I'll be here all week!

This Mom-brain moment is brought to you by new car owners everywhere. Or at least lie to me and say I'm not the only dim wit out there!

Luke.... I am your Sienna

So I've crossed over to the darkside..... Which, as you all incorrectly guessed, did not require a psychiatric evaluation.... But does include a membership to the local Swagger Wagon Club. That's right. It's mini-van city at Momma's house. It was a a complete cross over, I might add.

Buying a car always incorporates more hemming and hawing than writing a birth plan, and it typically all requires a patient and persistent partner to get you desired results.... Otherwise you could end up walking out the door with a sub-standard product ..... We're still talking about cars here, people. However, out of the two afore mentioned virtues, patience is always the first to go. Especially when dealing with bigoted car salesmen. Now, I expect a certain amount of aloofness from car salesmen, but there have been a time a two where that aloofness crosses the line from idiosyncratic to just plain rudeness. And here are the brass tacks : some of them just don't like women. I'm sure they have their good reasons but if they want to sell me a car, they're gonna have to suppress their desire to send their ex-wives, girlfriends, baby mommas, or whatever to Siberia.  At one dealership I was even told that I couldn't decide how I felt about a car based on my "feelings." Um. Yeah. Pretty sure I can decide whether I like a car or not based on the outcome of a Red Socks game if I want. Guess someone's "feelings" decided that they didn't like HIM to much. Can we say, "Projection, anyone?"

Case in point: As we enter the lot, "Rob" is super friendly to my husband, but refuses to even look at me, remember my name...even for the sole purpose of later asking me to lick his boot so he can kick me while I'm doing that. Yeah, that's apathy right there. This is all despite the fact that we are looking for a van. Clearly, DH was not the target to shoot at, but there you have it. Bad move #2: Being visibly shaken when forced to acknowledge me (Darn, whatserface....shoulda gotten that name... it's boot licking time) since DH disappeared with wriggling monkeys to the play area while I test drive. "Where is your HUSBAND, madam????" Sheer panic.

Apparently he couldn't see the kids either - or he would have noticed that they had been trying to climb onto every car in the lot while loudly proclaiming that they had missed their respective naps. Yeah, hard to miss. It takes quite a bit of practice and purposeful skill-honing to miss that kind of interruption. Kids in a car lot. Could be the next title to 2013's new happening comedy about car shopping. Ok ok so it needs some tweaking. But to this guy, it was a comedy about nothing. Yup. We were Seinfeld.

But I digress.

After mopping up the puddle that was "Rob," I managed to convince him that I did in fact have a driver's licence and that the State of Texas had deemed me qualified to drive, even if women didn't drive where he came from. He must have thought he had a prayer of making a sale after almost weeping with relief when I answered his question, that yes, in fact, my HUSBAND would drive the car.... IF I LIKED IT. After an excruciatingly awkward test drive - during which I tried to make small talk about the car and he kept pointing at the sales sticker to indicate that I read the stats.... while driving.... (Hey! He must have been pretty impressed with my driving since he expected me to read about the van, drive and also lick his boot) - I managed to swallow the bad taste in my mouth and leave with some semblance of pride. At this point, it was difficult to tell if it was the van that I hated or just the salesman. Before I could give "Rob" another telepathic command to burst into flames, Tyler whisked me out of there, sweetly oblivious to the chauvinistic poster child that we had just left behind. Needless to say, we didn't buy a van from him. Or even that type of van.

We ended up with a brand - used - Dark Cherry Swagger Wagon. Now, this thing is about as loaded as a spoiled girl deserves (is that the right word???) to get. It talks. It opens doors. It plays movies. It changes it's own tires. So you can imagine my surprise when it didn't have Auto Headlights. Every single car I've ever owned since I was sixteen has had auto headlights! Every single car that's new enough to have SEATBELTS has Auto Headlights.

Well played, Japan, well played.

But trust me, if the smallest thing I have to complain about is that I have to remember when it's getting dark - i.e. notice that I can no longer see the road - then my life is pretty good. At least I don't have to come home to "Rob" every night.

Florida vacation

The flurry before a vacation is always one that makes the vacation doubly necessary....for example, straightening out the order of 600 mannequins that was placed using our credit card.... But I can't complain too much because this vacation, DH and I are going without the kids! Which is both stressful and a relief.... I'm not gonna lie....it's mostly a relief. It's been a loooong month with all the sickness and some fresh sea air will be just the remedy to start me over from scratch. ..... All this packing and travel preparation always causes me to gird up my loins in anticipation for a Planes, Trains, and Automobiles situation. AND it also reminds me of the last vacation we went on (with kids) to Florida a few years ago.

I was pregnant with The Bear and we were determined to make it a fun one for Noah (who was a last minute addition to the itinerary). Inexperience made us bright eyed and with the hopes akin to that of a young bride on her wedding day. Needless to say, aside from weeping myself to sleep every night in our tiny hotel room with a dozen krispy kreme donuts to comfort myself.... and then the loud weeping - ok BAWLING - waking up Noah every night, I have blocked most of that time from memory. Our hopes of a fun filled relaxing vacation were basically decimated into a million pieces, with every dream and expectatioin tied to a stake and covered with karosine and set abalze. One at a time. We'll eat out! no dishes! Cue A vague memory of our lactose intolerant son encountering an ice cream cone and then having to disinfect a Destin McDonalds does come to mind...dishes were starting to look pretty attractive at this point. Or that memory of Noah sleeping a total of 45 min on a 13 hour drive..... (it'll be fine! He'll sleep most of the way!). Then fearing a McDonald's repeat- "We'll keep him snacking so we don't have to stop!" Cue crying from the back, while clutching the tell tale snack box that went something like this:

Mom: Noah, did you shove a raisin up your nose?!?!
N ( sobbing, sniffling) : No-ho-ho-ho-ho.......hooooooo
Mom: (to Dad) Pull over!!! (To Noah) We won't be mad.... We just need to know!

My frantic tone wasn't convincing enough for our then two-year old. Little did he know how much emotion was dammed up behind all of that medicinal calmness.

After searching in the bowels of his nostrils for a significant delay, he managed to convince us he was innocent of inappropriate raisin ingestion and ended up crying himself to sleep a short time later. We figured it was shock and exhaustion.

We figured wrong.

After his 45 minute nap (his ONLY nap this roadtrip, as you'll recall) , he woke choking, and to our surprise, dribbling out of his nose in a pool of snot was that elusive raisin. needless no say, after this road trip, Tyler and I are flying to the Florida Port, without kids, and without raisins!

nurse miller's confessions

Blogging here from Mommy Central.... Aka the Master Bath Aka the Mom Cave

(Funny story - Tyler wants to build a Man Cave using our golf cart garage so he could "Get away from all the noise and have some time to be himself Aka smoke cigars aka watch football aka plan his next big beer tasting venue ....which lead me to ask..... "What  about me? Where do I get?" to which he aptly responded, "Well, you ALREADY have the bathroom!" What more could I possibly want, I ask you?

Seriously, folks. I cannot make this stuff up.

Back on topic. It's been quite an interesting few weeks - elevated by Christmas celebrations - but now that I'm in the new year, it's hard for me to believe my kiddos are still dragging 2012's illnesses along for the ride. At least one has been sick for the past four weeks and I'm having trouble seeing the light. Lockdown is starting to look bleak and I'm grasping at straws of sanity that only this kind of confinement can brew. I don't know about you, but when my kids are sick, they aren't the lounging, complacent, languid, sweating, sleeping masses shown on Tylenol commercials. They scream. About.eh-vhe-ry.thing. Kinda makes you wonder if after several weeks of the same screaming noise if you'll no longer hear it. Kinda like those high pitch things you get in your ears once in a while that you only hear when you try. Then again, it's even more impossible not to hear when it's your husband, in the bed beside you. Maybe earplugs would have been a better investment than those new pajamas I just had to have.... not like I'm getting much sleep.

Soothing sick kiddos will drive you to do some crazy things. Not the least of which is driving to Target trying to gather your Sunday school materials while blasting PSY because it's the only thing that will keep the little one from screaming. Is fun the first, maybe, three times. After that, you begin to wonder if the screaming is preferable. Silence the radio. Quickly turn it back on in a fevered fury. Nope. Definitely better than screaming. Moving on.

It'll drive you to watch Spider Man cartoons at midnight while you wait for the good cold medicine to kick in... The kid's, not yours. Haha.

It'll drive you to feed your kid nothing but graham crackers and cool whip if that's the only thing he will eat for days.

It'll drive you to subscribe to all sorts of voo-doo magic....anything's worth a shot! Body-wide balms rubbed. Alternate vapors dumped into vaporizers. Sacrifice a chicken? Go ahead! Pinning on that Egyptian amulet? Did it last week. If I got a day's worth of peace, I wouldn't even change the underwear I was wearing out of superstition and on the off chance that it might work again. Too bad I can't grow a play-off beard.

It'll drive you to allow them to take mid morning, after lunch, mid afternoon, evening and bedtime baths because the novelty of the Christmas bath toys still hasn't worn off. And because it is the only opportunity you have to practice the ukulele. I'll take it!

Speaking of the uke.... It'll drive you to repeatedly play Ring of Fire because that's the only song request your three-year old continuously hollers out. Johnny Cash, I have a bone to pick with you.... On the other hand, I've got a real shot at first place in the Panorama Village Tribute to the Highwaymen Talent Show. Everyone gets 15 minutes of fame, right? Guess I'll have to play it at least five times ;)

It'll drive you to such lengths of sleep deprivation that you will barely catch your thirteen-month old using the dwarf sized step stool (that you typically sit on while Cash-ing) to climb into the tub while you're filling it. Fully clothed. Gee. When you'd learn to do that? Guess he's on to something. At least those clothes got clean along with the Baby. Win! Less laundry for me....Maybe I ought to jump in too.

Whatever you're willing to do for a health-challenged kiddo to acquire some semblance of normalcy ... Or at to least minimize the yowling..... Above all, it'll bring you to your knees in that deliriously tired, nonsensical  fervent prayer you've resolved to use more often. Thank God He can discern "Help!" in all that fevered jibber-jabber!