Friday, February 26, 2010

The statistics of shopping for a larger family

Yesterday I went grocery shopping. One thing that those of you with smaller families won't be able to understand, is how much work it is to shop for a family of eight. Trust me, with my first...four, maybe? I didn't know either. No worries, I am here to tell you all about it.

It was a rare to treat to have my aunt chauffeur me yesterday to do my shopping. Her truck has more cargo room than mine, owing to having one less row of seats, no doubt. While she kept remarking on how hard it was getting three babies dressed and packed to leave the house for a few hours, she really has no idea, because I usually, am flying solo. After an hour, we had all three babies dressed and buckled into their car seats.

Our first stop was Costco, where I picked up the following.
  • 6 gallons of milk
  • 2 cases of bottled water
  • 1 box of Cheerios
  • 6 packs of ground beef
  • 1 box of bacon
  • 2 packs of hot dogs
  • 4 bags of chips (about 7 lbs)
  • 2 containers of baby formula
  • butter
  • 2 packs of pita bread
  • 4 lbs of animal crackers
  • 1.5 qt of olive oil
  • 1 qt of half and half
  • 1 box of trash bags
  • 1 bottle of laundry detergent
  • flea treatment for the animals
  • kitty litter
Then it was on to Babies R Us for,
  • 2 packs of diapers
  • 1 case of wipes
  • several bottles of hand soap
  • several packs of baby food
Next came our local natural food market for,
  • 6 lbs of apples
  • 4 lbs of onions
  • 2 packs of gluten free pasta
  • 2 packs of gluten free cookies
Afterward we stopped at Target for,
  • 2 (more) packs of baby wipes
  • 108 more diapers
  • Swiffer refill pads
  • health and beauty odds and ends
Finally, it was Whole Foods to buy,
  • 1+case of gallon water
  • 1+case of 1/2 gallon lemonade
  • 1 case of bread
  • 2 cases canned veggies
  • 1 case of pasta sauce
  • 2 family size tubs of yogurt
  • 2 dozen eggs
  • 6 assorted packages of cheese (4 lbs)
  • 3 lbs apples
  • 6 lbs bananas
  • 6 boxes of cookies
  • gluten free pizza crusts
  • regular pizza crusts
  • ice cream
  • healthy Nutella knock-off
  • 2 containers sour cream
  • more milk
  • 1 case of bathroom tissue
That is almost enough food to feed my family for two weeks. The physical work involved in the constant lifting of babies and groceries into and out of carts is not to be underestimated. Then it must all be packed into the vehicle, unloaded at home, and put away.

At the end of a shopping day, I am physically exhausted, and emotionally exhausted from trying to entertain babies at the same time. That is why I must have been frigging nuts to offer to take the children on a walk up the street to buy a couple of packs of Pepsi (the sugar sweetened variety) as a special treat. The walk was roughly 1.75 miles round trip. We took 2 strollers, both doubles. We bought 4 packs of soda, ziploc bags, and a gallon of bleach. On the way back, H unbuckled his stroller straps, and as I made to run across a busy intersection, he fell out, on the pavement. I picked him up, dusted him off, said a little prayer for no broken bones, and promised him...FAST FOOD for dinner. Fast food is faintly forbidden in my home, and it is therefore more well respected than Santa. We did stop at Burger King to make good on my promise, then we hustled the rest of the way home so we could eat. Walking into the house, my Baby Girl got her head pretty well banged up by the tray on the new stroller. Shortly thereafter, we figured out that my oldest had tracked poo in on his shoes.

Yep. Yesterday was a regular proud day at The Proud House.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Gratitude With Attitude

Think Tank Momma

Have you guys heard of Think Tank Momma? I love her Gratitude With Attitude feature. I found it, and her through Laura, and I am grateful to both of them for making me smile today. I have decided to adopt some false bravado and invite myself to participate. Without further ado...

Dear Spouse,
Remember when you called me yesterday? I said I was bleaching the floor on my hands and knees. Remember when you called back and I told you I was still bleaching the floor on my hands and knees? Scrubbing the unsealed grout with a glorified toothbrush while chemically burning my entire respiratory system.

When you called me last night to tell me that your poor landlady couldn't go to work yesterday because she had to bleach the sink in your bathroom because you weren't keeping it clean enough? I wanted to hit you over the head with the frying pan I was washing until you got it. Asking me what would be a nice thing to do for her to say thank you? Let me suggest you take away the knives if you still want to talk about it when you get home.

Thank you for being such a kind soul that you worry so much about your landlady. It is very sweet really. If you gave a shit about me, it would be sweeter yet.

Do I fucking have to charge you rent to get you to appreciate anything I do? Your Wife


Dear Son,

I love you. You are my flesh and blood. You make me laugh and charm me with your wit. You are an amazing young man who never fails to astound me.

You are also lazy. I'm tired of your crap. I'm tired of your mouth. When you are talking to me and I tune out? When you accuse me of not listening? It is because I am fantasizing about duct taping your mouth shut until you can show a modicum of respect.

When I tell you that I want you to do something and you respond with, "Why do I have to do it? What are you doing right now?" I have to repeat, "Violence is not the answer," over and over and over again...until thoughts of an old fashioned whuppin' pass.

Thank you so much for forcing me to learn patience, beyond the limits that I never dreamed I could have.

I owe you one,



Dear NBC,

About the Olympic hockey? I still hate your guts.

Thanks for giving me something other than my family to focus my *verypissedoffness* on.

Still a hater,

Your bitter ex viewer


Monday, February 22, 2010

Weekend Recap

My older boys spent the weekend at my grandparents' house. It was good for them to get away from the lure of their video games and computer stuff. They had a good time with Nana and Papa. The house was really quiet without them. I even got to take a nap on Saturday after they left.

My oldest daughter was a goddess this weekend. She was really helpful and just happy... it's so nice to be around little rays of sunshine like her. She also had a little bit of special fun this weekend. BFF's mom came by and invited her to go to the park with them yesterday. She also brought me a whole bunch of oranges. She is a really lovely lady. This weekend I will finally return the favor. Not sure what I'll bake yet, but, we'll make extra and take some over to her family.

The high point of my weekend was being pumped about Super Sunday and all of the wonderful hockey games I was going to get to watch. I missed seeing Russia play because our landlord (aka, my brother-in-law) came over to get estimates for removing the dead pine tree. What do you know? The quote I gave him was the far.

The low point was finding out that the USA wasn't televising the USA vs Canada match up on regular cable. The people at NBC are assholes. Instead, there was ice dancing. Who gives a shit about ice dancing, I ask you? So...instead of a nation overflowing with national pride in the amazing (I assume...because I didn't see it) endeavors of our Olympic hockey team...we're talking about the costumes the ice dancers wore. Piss me off much? You betcha. After the Olympics the people at NBC can suck my...don't have one of those dammit never mind.

Anyone see Bill Maher Friday night? Or at some point this past weekend? I love Bill Maher. He is such a douche bag...I think that is part of his appeal. He had Seth MacFarlane on, probably one of my favorite guests of all time. He is SO funny, and he is smart, like really can just tell. He was addressing Sarah Palin's outrage over the character from his show dating a girl with Down Syndrome (who happened to have a mother who was the former governor of Alaska.) She managed to piss off the actress (who has Downs IRL) that played the part by championing for her. Look, I want to like Sarah Palin. She is a woman, a mother of five, she's even a brunette. I can't bring myself to do it though. I think she is a total retard, no wait, that isn't politically correct, someone will take offense nincompoop.

That's it. Love my kids. Love the Olympics. Love hockey. Love Bill Maher and the Family Guy dude. Don't love Sarah Palin or NBC. I think that pretty much sums up the weekend.

Friday, February 19, 2010

I am such an a$$hole my haste to get out of the door, I had to deal with one nose bleed, evidenced by the stain on my pants, one reflux baby, also evidenced by the stain on my pants, one peanut buttery hug, evidenced by the stain on my shirt, and one runaway neighbor dog, evidenced by dirt all over my sweater.

Late and filthy, I missed the beer tasting. Guess what they tasted tonight? The bottle of Utopias that I have been coveting and dreaming about. Not only am I an asshole, I am an asshole that feels like a first class douche bag.

That'll teach me to be anti-social.

My children are slowing sapping my will to live

I had a blog post written earlier today, which my son was kind enough to erase and replace with a post in my youngest child's favorite tongue, Gibberish. He was also nice enough to publish his post for all of you. I have since erased it. I know that those of you with tyrant toddlers of your own, wanted to sit them down in front of the computer, see if they would understand his call, and if toddlers around the world would rise up as one and overthrow their parents' system of governing. I've ruined that for you. I'm sorry. Another day, another coup, perhaps.

For the first time in the nine months (today, she is nine months, can you all believe that?) my Baby Girl is sleeping with a pacifier. At least she is sleeping. I am, in the meantime, still nursing a headache from yesterday. It sucks. My three year old is washing his hands after a potty trip, with every intent to flood the kitchen. My 19 month old is beating me over the head with the broom handle, it isn't helping my headache, but, it is keeping her from screaming. Never mind, I take that last part back. Her little voice has returned to a fevered pitch, which is like shooting shards of glass through my aching brain.

My laptop isn't working. I spent 17 hours on the phone yesterday with some dude in Bangladesh, in order to send my laptop to be repaired in Texas. Go figure.

I had a notice from the Municipal Code Enforcement Division yesterday. They want the dead tree that is hovering over our house cut down immediately, or at the very lest within the next 15 days. My landlord is already murmuring about it being dead but not 'dry' dead and speculating that it might have been killed 3 years after it died by the spray the nursery (that we payed) used to kill the poison ivy. *sigh* Why can't anything ever be easy?

We are approaching the weekend. I'm not sure if I should anticipate this time with the children or dread it. Usually, I love the weekends because I have them home, but, as of late, tempers are running high between my boys. *sigh*

I am thinking about cleaning myself up and putting on make-up to go to a free beer tasting event tonight. I will probably not go. I hate going alone, almost as much as I hate being with strange people...which would rather defeat the purpose, right? Except for the beer. I love beer.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Double '0' Mom and other stuff

I came downstairs last night to find my son hovering over the computer screen trying to keep me from being able to see what was on it. I let him have his privacy, I walked in the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea before telling him it was bedtime. Immediately after he went upstairs I did what any good [spy] mother would do. I checked our browser history. He was busy googling, "teen sexual health/is my penis normal?" The silver lining? It wasn't porn. On the cloud side? I haven't any idea how to handle this. How long can I procrastinate? How much time can I buy myself? Ugh! Is there any way I could hit rewind? Go back a year to explaining that 'antiperspirant' doesn't go on your forehead even though your forehead does indeed perspire?

In other news, my daughter's teacher wanted to ask my aunt to listen to her students read and to mark their mistakes. I am pretty stressed about this because I'm afraid that she couldn't do it. I think my aunt has one of the biggest hearts around, and there is no doubt that she would enrich the lives of the children she interacts with. She is not however, a very advanced reader herself. She has a learning disability that she had to overcome, and she is quite amazing for having done so. I'm not sure though, that she is a fast enough reader to keep up with my daughter's classmates.

I am very conflicted about all of this. Advice is welcome.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Let's shake on it, okay?

Random crap before I begin this post...

Monica, your comment about my sarcasm flattered the heck out of me. Thanks. *blushing*

I am drinking my husband's beer because I'm too lazy to move his to the back of the fridge, to pull my Newcastle up front. How sad is that? If I hadn't been too embarrassed to actually buy him Coors, I would have dredged up the motivation. As it is, I bought him Stella, which as lagers go, isn't that bad, so I'm making do. He asked for Coors, he wanted Coors, and I would have died of humiliation if someone I knew saw me buying Coors, so I didn't. What kind of beer snob am I? The kind that snorts coffee up her nose when the guy at her supermarket admits they have a bottle of Utopias on the premises. It has been over two years since I've gotten a bottle of that...not that I'm counting.

Thanks to all of you for sharing your thoughts on displays of affection. It was appreciated.

Without further stalling, here is my take on love and affection.

The truth is, I am not comfortable with physical displays of affection, unless they are initiated by canines or small children. I can easily tell you the last few people who have hugged me, outside of my immediate family. Four of which work at my grocery store, and the last works at the animal shelter I adopted my girls from...and we are talking about the last year, almost two years here.

At best, I am a one armed, keep my personal space intact, hugger. At my worst, I stiffen up like a body in full rigor mortis and cringe. I don't want to be like this. I wish I could be a touchy-feely type gal, especially for my children, alas, I am not. Don't get me wrong, I hug and kiss my children. I enjoy getting to cuddle with them. In a crowded shopping mall I like slipping my arm through my husband's.

Was I not hugged enough as a child? Oh, yes I was. Perhaps too much. My mom is very affectionate. It thoroughly annoys her that I get skeeved out by physical contact. So, why am I the way I am? Who knows?

What I can say with certainty, is that I feel very affectionately about many people, but, unless they can interpret the warmth in my heart and my hand shake, they would never know. If ever we should meet bloggy pals...look, but, don't touch! Except for you Heather Lynn, for you I'll know to brace myself.

Affection...the touchy-feely factor

Recently, I was called out on a blog I read about how comfortable I am with showing, and being shown, affection. So, today's post is two fold. First, I want you guys to tell me how affectionate you are, or are not. Then, I want you to tell me, if you have an opinion one way or the other, if I strike you as 'touchy-feely' sort of gal.

I am pretty interested in this topic, because this is one area of my life in which I have genuinely tried to change a bit. So, please tell me about yourselves, and I'll come back and weigh in with what I think is an honest introspective on my part, and a real post on the subject.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I can't say anything nice, so, what a great time for THIS

All day today I racked my brains for something nice to say here, because, to tell you all the truth, this past weekend really sucked. I came up with zilch, a short amusing anecdote about my son demanding eggs, just so you all would know I was alive. Still, I have nothing nice to say, but, I do have something I want to talk about.

Jen over at Diagnosis: Urine is talking about race today. She is pondering the hills and valleys of moral and philosophical parenting. She has a daughter who is 6, maybe 7 now, who is wondering why only black people have a month dedicated to their history, and why white people haven't done enough good things to earn a month of their own yet. I'll admit it, I laughed. It wasn't just cute and funny, it was beautiful. A child's innocence is innately beautiful in my eyes.

She also has one of her twin boys who doesn't think he likes dark skinned people. She is really worried about this. Honestly, I don't mean to make light of her concern, because I've been there. It was several years ago with my oldest child. He went through a phase where he became acutely aware of the differences in people and what attributes made him unique. It started with outward differences, and progressed to wanting to learn about his heritage and all of the different cultures it is comprised of. It was very stressful and scary for me as a parent at that time though. The fear that I had somehow screwed up, and that my child wouldn't be the loving, accepting child I wanted him to be.

One of the differences between my situation and Jen's, is that my son disliked white people. Now, I want to point out that this period in time was immediately after 09/11 and my son, a mere baby (four year old) at the time, took a lot of shit at the Baptist school he was enrolled in at the time. He and my neighbor's children (their last name was Abdullah) all took a lot of shit. They were made a spectacle of during a speech from a visiting pastor, trying to explain to the children at school what happened on 09/11 and why it happened. The situation, like many when race and prejudice become involved, was a cluster fuck.

My husband and I stressed that it wasn't okay to judge other people. Care about the person, not their skin/hair/eyes/ respect, but, let your heart guide your emotions. In short, we did the best we felt we were able to do to explain the situation...and then we backed away. We outlined what our expectations for his behavior were, and assured him that he could feel whatever it was he was feeling as long as he stayed within our expectations of good manners and respect. After a couple of months, his fascination faded. He doesn't remember it now, if he does he gives no indication, and his own friends are a group so diverse that I am certain we did the right thing.

My own feelings about race were influenced by my parents. I remember being at the zoo as a child and seeing a black man kiss a white woman, I remember how uncomfortable it made my mother. I remember feeling from my mother's reaction that there was something very wrong about it. It is easy to think of my father's roots. The Southern Baptist stronghold his family came from. The very thinly veiled prejudice against dark skinned people. My parents always said the right words (almost, always) but, words can have an emptiness about them. I ended up marrying a Muslim from Iran.

While I won't lie and say that it didn't hurt to hear my son say that he hated me because I was white. I will say that nobody ever told me that parenting would be easy, or that I would ever have all the right answers. I'm glad that time has passed for us. I'm grateful that I have that badge on my motherhood sash, because I learned from it, and I grew from the experience...just like my son.

Tell me how you dealt with this situation with your own family. Let me know at what age you encountered this issue. I'm curious. I want my children to make their own decisions. I want them to grow unfettered by their mother's beliefs. I want them to believe in the principles they choose to be guided by and to know why they believe in them.

Send your hate mail to me, and your encouraging words to Jen.

The glamour, which is my life.

Hercules: Mommy, I want a snack.

Me: What would you like? We have bananas, apples, applesauce, crackers?

Hercules: No, I want two eggs scrambled. Make sure they are well done, please Mommy.

Apparently I've turned into a short order cook without realizing it. That child was dead serious. I thought he was playing until he returned a few minutes later wanting to know where his eggs were.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Bubble Bobble...if you search cheat codes, Google laughs at you

The game Bubble Bobble has ruined my life. Really. I know that those of you who know me on Facebook are saying, "That's Farmville, Viv." Nope, it's Bubble Bobble, the ancient game for Nintendo NES that I downloaded thinking it would be simple enough for my three year old to play on the Wii, and it is. Except, when he starts losing, he pauses the game and demands that you beat the levels for him. Sadly, he is only good up to about level 6. After that, he beats me over the head with the Wii controller that must have that soft silicone sleeve for just this reason. Maybe not just this reason, it makes a mean teething toy for a baby...just as interesting as car keys and more sanitary...because you can boil them. It seems I've fallen a little off my topic of conversation here, if you are wondering where I am, I'm not making grand plans for Valentine's Day, I'm sucking at a 20+ year old video game, that I can now remember not liking back in the day. I know you all are jealous. If I weren't me, I would be jealous too.

Okay, so I have to go call my sister now to let her know that my son found a manta ray on Facebook so she can adopt it and add it to her Fishville tank...and you guys thought *I* was bad? I've created a monster. Just kidding Sis, you know the kids uber love you for being the 'cool' one.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

This is not an episode of your favorite show

***Proud Family Public Service Announcement***

Proud Children, please be informed that we do not live in an episode of Caillou...we CHANGE our clothes everyday.

Thank you,

The Mgmt (your loving but irritated mother)

My seven year old has now done this two weeks in a row...put the same clothes on that he took off the night before...and he wore them to school again. Why? Why would a child do this? He has an entire closet full of clean clothes. He had an outfit picked out by me, hanging in the front. So what is the reason here? After last week when I honestly didn't notice what he had done, until his sister ratted him out, I've been much more committed to scoping him out in the mornings. So, I asked him why? "It was easier Mom, my clothes were right next to my bed, and I didn't even get them dirty yesterday...or today!" My next question was why I didn't notice. "I put my jacket on before I came downstairs so you wouldn't see." Aaaaarrrrrggghhhh!!! What is up with boys?

Last Friday he wore a pair of his brother's jeans to school...and I didn't notice that either. They were two sizes too small, which translated to him not needing a belt and being prepared for a flood at the same time. I need sleep. Sleep would help me hone my skills to detect such wardrobe treachery. Then again, if I were to ponder this on a well rested, sharp mind, it might bother me even more than it does now. For the present, I've warned him that I'll elect for him to wear a uniform if I catch him at it again. Grrrr....

Monday, February 8, 2010

Sunday, Super Bowl Sunday

Last night's game was fantastic. I am still mourning for Dallas, but, I have to hand it to the Saints. Just about everyone thought the Colts would win, but, the Saints brought it and won. Yay! Who doesn't love an underdog? Colts fan, you say? Screw 'em. Just kidding, it was a phenomenal game.

Yesterday, before the game, I cracked the whip over small children, who STILL haven't done the chores I asked them to complete over two weeks ago. Standing over them drill sergeant like is effective just as long as I don't have anything else to do, like...laundry, dinner, baths, ironing, cleaning. Last night I had to start dinner, and as soon as I walked away, they were done trying. *grrr* Nice, doesn't work. Mean, doesn't work. Rewards short of a trip around the world aren't effective. Punishments short of death and dismemberment aren't effective either. How do you all get and keep your children motivated? Tell me! Tell me, please!

Today I am cleaning up 'Tornado Proud Children' that ripped through my living room last night while I was too involved in the game to notice. Yes, I do let my children stay up to watch the Super Bowl if they want to, but, I make them go to bed on time on election nights, so it all balances out. They took full advantage last night, but, my seven year old grabbing my hands and jumping up and down screaming, "We won! We Won! We so brought it, and we WON!!!" Made the whole thing worth it.

Last night I was really enamored with The Who and their halftime performance. I think I even posted on FB about it. This morning on the radio in the car, the morning show guy, who apparently also posted about The Who on FB last night, saying they sucked, replayed the audio...for all of the now sober Super Bowl revelers this morning. *ahem* I hate to admit to being wrong, but, I was wrong. While I think that the difference in audio quality between my television and my car stereo probably had something to do with the drastic difference...wowza. I do however stand by my declaration that they were heads above The Stones and Paul...they were impressive to watch, but, not totally on key...and I'm, uh, tone deaf.

Finally, I leave you with was way past bedtime and I was ready to hit the hay, my daughter sleeps in my bed, and the conversation went like so...

Me: "Hey there TLL, do you want to go to bed with me?"

TLL: "Yes! Yay, yay, yay! I get to go to bed with you" She laughed, smiled, and tugged me up the stairs.

BB: "I'll bet you're not used to that level of excitement. Don't get used to it, she'll outgrow it soon."

Now, I don't know if my 12 year old son meant this as off color humor, and I don't plan to ask, but, ouch!

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Just call me Rip

Good morning! Guess what I did last night? I slept. For seven and a half hours, during which, I only had to get up three times. I feel so much better this morning than I have in a very long time. It was wonderful.

Right now, my one year old is screaming, I'm washing sheets from my bed as the same one year old opened her diaper tabs and wet it, twice, last night. Still, I'm smiling! Sleep is such an unbelievably wonderful thing.

Do any of you believe in life after death, as in rebirth? I'm not quite there yet, but, just in case, I would like to let it be known that I want to come back as a koala bear. They sleep like 23 hours a day, and spend the other hour munching on eucalyptus leaves which make them high. Screw being rich and famous, put me in a temperature controlled zoo somewhere, thank you very much!

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Don't look inside my head, it isn't pretty

I haven't posted in a couple of days, so where have I been? I've been home. Stressing. I am very badly in need of a few hours of uninterrupted rest. I think I've slept roughly 2 hours out of the last 48. I can barely function. I have double vision, a splitting headache, dizziness, and about four more loads of laundry to nurture my failing washer and dryer through.

My children brought home their report cards. My oldest child managed to keep his grades up with A's and B's, with a single C in Home Ec, not surprising given his proclivity to never wash anything...ever. LB brought home his first straight A report card, and JB brought home Honor Roll grades. I am pretty pleased.

My husband is still down South stressing over his job. I am still up here worrying about things over which I have no control, but, I seem unable to stop myself.

I am maudlin. Depressed, maybe. I can't do anything about it right now, so, I'm going to push forward. Talking to a doctor would require finding one. Then I would have to be comfortable enough to discuss my health. I'm just not there, not yet.

Everything seems to be slipping out of my grasp as of late. I think it probably centers around extreme exhaustion, both mental and physical. There isn't an end in sight, unless you are counting 18 years until I send my Baby Girl off to college.

My life right now is just unspeakably hard. I am alone and lonely. It is one thing to be single and alone. You can go out and meet someone, if you are alone, it is by choice. Married and alone is different. It's worse. I guess I am acutely aware of this as Valentine's Day approaches and I find myself looking forward to watching Fran Drescher host The Nanny, for the week on Nick. My husband shares a house with his landlord and her daughter, if he is without adult company, it is because he chooses to be, and he most assuredly doesn't get where I'm coming from. After all, he gets to spend his weekends out shopping with his landlord???

I am having a difficult time accomplishing anything at the house. I am trying to paint, but, it is nearly impossible with the babies and H demanding my constant attention. I also can't clean, or do anything really, unless I am willing to listen to one or more of them cry uncontrollably for my attention. I can recall the days that I would watch the clock, waiting until my husband came home so I could fold laundry, or take a shower. I don't bother thinking about it now, "he'll be home in six weeks," doesn't have the same ring as, "he'll be home by six."

I have three of my six who seem to be coming down with a cold, and my ears are starting to itch. Fun times are in store for us I do believe.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

An ode to, the messes you can make, if only you try

It was funny really, I saw that the subject of Knucklehead's blog off this week was Dr. Seuss and I said, "no flipping way," I could do that. Then I saw one of my FaceBook friends and fellow bloggy moms comment about rewriting Dr. Seuss to better reflect life with children...and I thought, now THAT I can do.

You can think up some messes.
That's what you can do.
You can think about sticky
or think about glue.
You can think about wet.
You can think about slick.
You can think up an ick.
Oh, the messes you can think!
Oh the messes you can think up if only you try!
If you try, you can think up a juice cup dripping by.
And you don't have to stop.
You can think about glop.
Glop. Gloop. Poop.
Nasty glop that you'll set your bottle on top.
You can think about legos.
You can think about Eggos.
You can play a long time with eggos in legos.
You can think about Kevin in the Home Alone movie.
All the havoc he wreaked that you find so groovy.
Think of red markers.
Think of the white wall.
Think up a plan.
Think of how loudly your mother will bawl.
You can think about night, a night when you're up.
The adults are asleep but the three babies are up.
You can think about day, the very next day for God's sake.
Mother's eyes are bleary but you'll make sure she stays awake.
Destroy! Destroy and break. Ruin and destroy.
How many spilled gallons will an indoor lake make?
You can wonder...
How many pages of this book can I chew
before my mother turns blue?
There are so many messes that a toddler can make!
Would you dare drop this special ring in the toilet and flush?
And what would you do if you mother began to cry boo-hoo?
Oh the messes you can make!
Think of the soda, when if dropped just right,
will spurt out of the can and splatter all over the ceiling fan,
we do this once each day- and on Saturdays, twice.
Messes! You can make any mess that you can think...
Think of a puddle of pee on the floor,
in which puddle of pee stands me!
Think of your sister's kite.
Think of tangling those strings with all your might.
Think of your grin when Sissy sees her plight.
Think! Think up a mess.
Think up a pile of broken rubble
On which you can pour that whole thing of bubbles.
And litter! Think of litter.
And think about how spilling it makes your mother so bitter.
Why is it that tons of litter makes your mother grimace and act so bitter?
And why is it that so many things can't be set right?
You can think about that until Saturday night.
Think spills and think slicks
and think goo and think goop.
Oh, the messes you can think up if only you try!

Monday, February 1, 2010

Am I even your mother?

Often I find myself lamenting my oldest daughter's lack of appreciation for the art of sarcasm, after all, it may be my finest virtue. Just when I am about to give up on her, she comes through. Last night, the baby was fussing, and I was talking to her, trying to calm her down, "such a sleepy baby," I cooed, "you're just tired, you want to go to sleepy, but, you just don't know how."

At that point, Jelly Bean pushed past me rolling her eyes. "If that is the problem, let me help you out. Baby Girl, you close your eyes, shut your mouth, and lay down." Then she looked at me, "now she knows how to go to sleep...I'm sure that knowledge will help."

On one hand she was sassy, and I probably should have reminded her to mind her manners a bit better, but, I was too busy pumping my fist in the air to celebrate. That's my girl!