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.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
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!
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!
Thursday, January 24, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
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!
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!
Saturday, January 5, 2013
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!
(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!
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