We carved our pumpkins last week. I usually wait until the day before Halloween to do this, because I procrastinate a lot. This year was going to be different. We drew our designs and I carved away. We put them out on our front steps, and the next night, it rained. Then, Hurricane Sandy reared her ugly head, so we tucked the jack-o-lanterns away in the shed. This morning I retrieved them from the shed, and discovered that the witch in the the girl's pumpkin had turned to mush and fellen in. No amount of toothpick splinting would save it. So I turned the pumpkin around and carved a new witch into the back. Then I patched the back hole with orange construction paper and duct tape.
Everyone knows that if you can't duck it...
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Letter to the Girl
Dear E.
Tonight I took a treat away because you and your brother didn't get along. You have a tendency to over-react to little issues and scream and cry on and on. I comforted him, and sent him to bed. Then it was your turn. I soon relized you were stalling going to bed by playing, then you argued with a very nasty tone. I will not tolerate your treating me this way. I sent you to bed without listening to anything else you had to say. You were crying. You didn't know, but I was crying too.
It rips my heart out when you or your brother or sister are sad, especially when I am the reason. My mom was always unhappy and grouchy. I felt like if there was fun to be had, it was away from Mom. I never, ever wanted my children to feel that way. But I see it happening. I am so sorry if you ever feel like I don't like you, or don't love you or don't want you to have fun. I love all of you with all of my heart. I want you all to be happy, but I need you to understand that I try to do what I believe is best for you, not what's easiest for me.
Easy would have been to tell you two to be quiet and let you keep your treat.
Please look for ways to learn from your mistakes. It will make your life so much less painful in the end.
I love you,
Mommy
Tonight I took a treat away because you and your brother didn't get along. You have a tendency to over-react to little issues and scream and cry on and on. I comforted him, and sent him to bed. Then it was your turn. I soon relized you were stalling going to bed by playing, then you argued with a very nasty tone. I will not tolerate your treating me this way. I sent you to bed without listening to anything else you had to say. You were crying. You didn't know, but I was crying too.
It rips my heart out when you or your brother or sister are sad, especially when I am the reason. My mom was always unhappy and grouchy. I felt like if there was fun to be had, it was away from Mom. I never, ever wanted my children to feel that way. But I see it happening. I am so sorry if you ever feel like I don't like you, or don't love you or don't want you to have fun. I love all of you with all of my heart. I want you all to be happy, but I need you to understand that I try to do what I believe is best for you, not what's easiest for me.
Easy would have been to tell you two to be quiet and let you keep your treat.
Please look for ways to learn from your mistakes. It will make your life so much less painful in the end.
I love you,
Mommy
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Anatomy for 6 year old girls
The girl is six years old. She is learning about the human body in school. Today, as the whole family was riding in the car, with no where to run, she asked where babies come out. My husband is uncomfortable with these questions. His face turned red. I think he also increased the speed by at least 5mph. I told her we would talk about it in private.
I find it important to answer these questions soon, as long as I am the one to answer the questions, I can give her as little information as possible to satisfy the curiosity. So this evening as I adjusted the shower for her, I answered her question. I also told her it was VERY private, and those are questions that make Daddy uncomfortable.
Then the girl steered the conversation to other feminine things, like when her arm pits will start smelling and when she her boobies will grow and get floppy like mine. "Your breasts will grow about the same time you get hair in new places. For the floppy factor, sweetheart, you have to have a baby."
I find it important to answer these questions soon, as long as I am the one to answer the questions, I can give her as little information as possible to satisfy the curiosity. So this evening as I adjusted the shower for her, I answered her question. I also told her it was VERY private, and those are questions that make Daddy uncomfortable.
Then the girl steered the conversation to other feminine things, like when her arm pits will start smelling and when she her boobies will grow and get floppy like mine. "Your breasts will grow about the same time you get hair in new places. For the floppy factor, sweetheart, you have to have a baby."
Saturday, October 20, 2012
the girl bakes a cake... sort of
This week, the girl (6 years old) informed me that she wanted to bake my birthday cake. (Awe, what a sweet gesture!) I had planned to try out this secret family recipe for carrot cake from a baker friend of mine, BUT, I wasn't about to try to manage a 6 year old (and inevitably the 4 and 1 year olds) actually grating real carrots along with all of the other things involved. So I opted for a boxed mix. I also got a can of preservative laced sugar-lard masquerading as frosting.
On the night before my birthday, the girl had no interest in baking at all. She wanted to color the poster that she got at the book fair. I started pulling out supplies and doing the more difficult tasks (greasing and flouring the pans). Then she was interested. We started reading the directions together. We made sure we had all of the ingredients (a practice taught to me by my mother - THANK YOU MOM!!). Then it was time to turn on the oven. I am both glad and sad. She is terrified of the stove. I showed her how to do it and she is just too afraid to touch it. I gave up and did it for her.
We got all the ingredients into the bowl with no problems, she even removed the shells from the eggs before mixing them in. Then when it was time to mix, she was again afraid: of the mixer
(at this moment I had visions of her in her home in 15 years, rocking in a corner, living off PB&J sandwiches with crusts cut off because she's afraid of all the appliances).
I dug the antique hand-crank mixer (fun little gadget, I remember when that's all we had when I was a kid). We used it for about 20 seconds and she said, "I'm tired, Mommy, I think it's your turn." I let the boy stir with a spoon for a little bit, until he too was bored and off to make monkey-car noises
(no, I don't know what the heck a monkey-car is either).
So I finished mixing, and put the cake in to bake. I pulled it out of the oven when it was time, frosted the cake after cooling, it was actually not bad looking. It smelled great!
((At this point I was tempted to eat the entire cake myself, not sharing a la "The Little Red Hen." If you aren't familiar with the story, here's a link - cute, nice moral about helping out if you want to enjoy the fruits of labor http://www.gutenberg.org/files/18735/18735-h/18735-h.htm))
We all did have cake after dinner on my birthday. It was yummy. Another year come and gone.
On the night before my birthday, the girl had no interest in baking at all. She wanted to color the poster that she got at the book fair. I started pulling out supplies and doing the more difficult tasks (greasing and flouring the pans). Then she was interested. We started reading the directions together. We made sure we had all of the ingredients (a practice taught to me by my mother - THANK YOU MOM!!). Then it was time to turn on the oven. I am both glad and sad. She is terrified of the stove. I showed her how to do it and she is just too afraid to touch it. I gave up and did it for her.
We got all the ingredients into the bowl with no problems, she even removed the shells from the eggs before mixing them in. Then when it was time to mix, she was again afraid: of the mixer
(at this moment I had visions of her in her home in 15 years, rocking in a corner, living off PB&J sandwiches with crusts cut off because she's afraid of all the appliances).
I dug the antique hand-crank mixer (fun little gadget, I remember when that's all we had when I was a kid). We used it for about 20 seconds and she said, "I'm tired, Mommy, I think it's your turn." I let the boy stir with a spoon for a little bit, until he too was bored and off to make monkey-car noises
(no, I don't know what the heck a monkey-car is either).
So I finished mixing, and put the cake in to bake. I pulled it out of the oven when it was time, frosted the cake after cooling, it was actually not bad looking. It smelled great!
((At this point I was tempted to eat the entire cake myself, not sharing a la "The Little Red Hen." If you aren't familiar with the story, here's a link - cute, nice moral about helping out if you want to enjoy the fruits of labor http://www.gutenberg.org/files/18735/18735-h/18735-h.htm))
We all did have cake after dinner on my birthday. It was yummy. Another year come and gone.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
adventures at the grocery store
Each week I'm faced with a momentous decision: to grocery shop with a cranky toddler who should be napping (after dropping the pre-schooler off at school), or to shop with her happier plus a four-year-old who loves to run and play hide and seek before preschool. Normally, I drug myself with copious amounts of coffee and choose the latter. Week after week, I tweak my system, trying to figure out how to make it easier.
In the past two weeks, I've limited morning fluids and forced a bathroom stop right before the store, and we haven't had to visit the dreaded, disgusting grocery store restroom (VICTORY!)
This week, in my hurry to leave the house, I failed to notice that the toddler had thrown her breakfast under the table (discovered this after we got home), and had only consumed a cup of milk before we left. She was so cranky during the trip, pointing at the bananas in the basket whimpering "Want that, ooowaaahhh," over and over (if they weren't sold by the pound I would have given her one and paid for it afterward). We made it through the store in a record 45 minutes (even with the boy getting on the end and hopping off at every pause to pick up imaginary trash, playing trash man). I got to the finish, only to realize I'd missed the all-important Halloween sprinkles for the girl's school harvest party. They were not in the baking or seasonal aisle. I asked at the bakery, surrounded by cakes, cupcakes, donuts, and cookies profusely infused with said sprinkles. The wonderful lady there offered to sell me some of their sprinkles, as the store was otherwise out. DEAL! While her co-worker portioned them out and priced them for me, she came out and opened a box of shortbread cookies and gave two of them to each of my children (she did ask me if it was OK before giving them).
Quiet content children for the rest of the trip. Do I bribe them with cookies every week? It's tempting!
In the past two weeks, I've limited morning fluids and forced a bathroom stop right before the store, and we haven't had to visit the dreaded, disgusting grocery store restroom (VICTORY!)
This week, in my hurry to leave the house, I failed to notice that the toddler had thrown her breakfast under the table (discovered this after we got home), and had only consumed a cup of milk before we left. She was so cranky during the trip, pointing at the bananas in the basket whimpering "Want that, ooowaaahhh," over and over (if they weren't sold by the pound I would have given her one and paid for it afterward). We made it through the store in a record 45 minutes (even with the boy getting on the end and hopping off at every pause to pick up imaginary trash, playing trash man). I got to the finish, only to realize I'd missed the all-important Halloween sprinkles for the girl's school harvest party. They were not in the baking or seasonal aisle. I asked at the bakery, surrounded by cakes, cupcakes, donuts, and cookies profusely infused with said sprinkles. The wonderful lady there offered to sell me some of their sprinkles, as the store was otherwise out. DEAL! While her co-worker portioned them out and priced them for me, she came out and opened a box of shortbread cookies and gave two of them to each of my children (she did ask me if it was OK before giving them).
Quiet content children for the rest of the trip. Do I bribe them with cookies every week? It's tempting!
Saturday, October 13, 2012
why you may see mothers who look (and smell) like they don't shower every day.
There I was in the shower, gently massaging my scalp, pondering the meaning of life and the origin of the universe (no, I really was, for an essay I have to write in literature class). I had, what I believed to be the most brilliant epiphany, and was hurrying to rinse out the lather from my hair so I could get out and write it down. Turning the words around in my mind, to compose the statement most eloquently, I smiled smugly, thinking, "This will show my professer that I deserve better than a C on this...
That's when it happened, it always happens. The boy came bursting into the bathroom (I don't lock the door because we only have one bathroom and with three kids, emergencies happen). He was angry because his sister tried to take partial posession of the new ball I had given him (the one I gave him to distract him so I could take a shower in peace). After this crisis was averted, he ran out and left the door wide open.
I took a deep breath and tried to get back into the zone. Hot water running over my aching muscles, I get back into my comfortable state of mind.
Then the shrieking began (not from me). The big girl was trying to be helpful by getting cereal for the boy, but he was not satisfied with her methods and started pushing her out of the way. I tell them to both get out of the kitchen and wait for me. I get the soap rinsed off, wrap myself in a towel and come to the rescue. The boy will not starve to death and I go back to properly dry off and get dressed. I turn the lock on the door, and like a beacon, it draws not one but three little whining sniveling mini-mes.
I finish and let them back in, but they don't need to use the potty, they just need me (awe, how sweet). "I mithed you Mommy" (really, I was behind the door for all of two minutes since the last time you saw me). Leg hug, my heart melts. How can I be annoyed at that?
Oh and that brilliant epiphany I had in the shower? It must have been a great idea for a blog entry.
.
...Now to go dry my hair.
That's when it happened, it always happens. The boy came bursting into the bathroom (I don't lock the door because we only have one bathroom and with three kids, emergencies happen). He was angry because his sister tried to take partial posession of the new ball I had given him (the one I gave him to distract him so I could take a shower in peace). After this crisis was averted, he ran out and left the door wide open.
I took a deep breath and tried to get back into the zone. Hot water running over my aching muscles, I get back into my comfortable state of mind.
Then the shrieking began (not from me). The big girl was trying to be helpful by getting cereal for the boy, but he was not satisfied with her methods and started pushing her out of the way. I tell them to both get out of the kitchen and wait for me. I get the soap rinsed off, wrap myself in a towel and come to the rescue. The boy will not starve to death and I go back to properly dry off and get dressed. I turn the lock on the door, and like a beacon, it draws not one but three little whining sniveling mini-mes.
I finish and let them back in, but they don't need to use the potty, they just need me (awe, how sweet). "I mithed you Mommy" (really, I was behind the door for all of two minutes since the last time you saw me). Leg hug, my heart melts. How can I be annoyed at that?
Oh and that brilliant epiphany I had in the shower? It must have been a great idea for a blog entry.
.
...Now to go dry my hair.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Lack of sleep turns me into a raging _itch
I have always enjoyed sleep. For a while when my son was an infant and I hadn't figured out the whole duct tape them in their beds trick (ok, so I've never actually done that.., I have visualized it and it was satisfying), I was getting by on about 2-3 hours per night. My husband and I ceased to be a couple, we were barely room mates. It had to have gotten better, otherwise there would have been no baby #3. She has been an angel of a sleeper; but there are still nights when I don't get the sleep I need and now I can see the difference from one day to the next. Yesterday my son climbing up the outside of the deck, playing Rapunzel's prince was endearing. Today the sound of his voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard. The difference? About 3 solid hours of sleep.
I used to say "sleep is for the week" now I say "sleep is in everyone's best interest."
I used to say "sleep is for the week" now I say "sleep is in everyone's best interest."
a mommy-strike! what a great idea
Oh wait, I'm not a great house-keeper to begin with. I guess I will have to wait a few more years until I can stop cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry; wait a week drinking wine on the couch while my children complain about how disgusting the house has become. Right now I drink beer and it's just my husband and occasionally my mother-in-law.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
mommy the scatterbrain
Sometimes I look around and think, "I'm really not too good at this." My oldest, the girl, is 6. When she was in kindergarten I felt like her teacher believed I was the biggest scatterbrain ever. Once every week or so, I would forget to send a snack along for her in the afternoon. She would tell me, "Mommy, you forgot my snack again and I had to be hungry." Sometimes, I would forget that it was Monday, when I would have to be at the bus stop 2.5 hours earlier than the other 4 days of the week (Thank you Fairfax county). Then I'd get an angry phone call from the school and I'd have to get 2 uncooperative siblings ready and drive 30-45 minutes in traffic to get her at school.
Now she is in first grade at a closer school, and while I still feel like I don't have this down, at least I've never missed picking her up or forgotten her snack (It helps that she decided she wants to bring her lunch from home every day; hooray for saving money!). The boy is in preschool there too, and I have to be there 20 minutes before regular school gets out to pick him up. Yesterday, I lost track of time and left the house at the time I'm supposed to be picking the boy up. Fortunately for me, there was a fire truck which I drafted all 3 miles of the way up the main road. I was only about 5 minutes late, and blamed the fire truck that had helped me (I'm a terrible person, I'm going to hell!).
Even the toddler is affected by my spacey-ness when I forget her pacifier (which I am really trying to wean her from), her sippy cup (which the dentist said to get rid of) and extra diapers (it's never too early to potty train, right?).
It's a good thing the kids love me, but maybe it's just because they don't know any better. At least they are fed, clothed, washed, and happy. That's what matters, right?
Now she is in first grade at a closer school, and while I still feel like I don't have this down, at least I've never missed picking her up or forgotten her snack (It helps that she decided she wants to bring her lunch from home every day; hooray for saving money!). The boy is in preschool there too, and I have to be there 20 minutes before regular school gets out to pick him up. Yesterday, I lost track of time and left the house at the time I'm supposed to be picking the boy up. Fortunately for me, there was a fire truck which I drafted all 3 miles of the way up the main road. I was only about 5 minutes late, and blamed the fire truck that had helped me (I'm a terrible person, I'm going to hell!).
Even the toddler is affected by my spacey-ness when I forget her pacifier (which I am really trying to wean her from), her sippy cup (which the dentist said to get rid of) and extra diapers (it's never too early to potty train, right?).
It's a good thing the kids love me, but maybe it's just because they don't know any better. At least they are fed, clothed, washed, and happy. That's what matters, right?
Saturday, October 6, 2012
silence is dead
When the man and I first got married, and bought a house, the overwhelming feeling was, "This place is too quiet." We would turn the TV on in the background, or blast music through the place to overcome this complete lack of noise.
When the girl came along, one of her favorite things to do was to crawl over and push the power button to turn off whatever machine was pumping out my music. Also, car rides were no longer silent because she hated them and cried from the moment her carrier clicked into position to the moment the car doors opened again.
Sometime between then and now, silence slipped away. Quietly, no one really noticed. Now, I get no silence, ever. The TV is on at night until that noise is overpowered by the man's snores. The first thing I hear in the morning is either a screeching alarm clock or a whining child. The noise continues through breakfast, getting the oldest off to school, then the boy wants to watch cartoons, then the youngest needs me, then they play, noisily.
When the kids finally do settle down and go to sleep at night... oh yeah, the man turns on the TV again. The closest we get to silence is locking the bathroom door and taking a shower, or the rare car rides alone where I can turn the radio off.
So lets all have a moment of silence, for Silence. *<Mommy!!!>* yeah right!
When the girl came along, one of her favorite things to do was to crawl over and push the power button to turn off whatever machine was pumping out my music. Also, car rides were no longer silent because she hated them and cried from the moment her carrier clicked into position to the moment the car doors opened again.
Sometime between then and now, silence slipped away. Quietly, no one really noticed. Now, I get no silence, ever. The TV is on at night until that noise is overpowered by the man's snores. The first thing I hear in the morning is either a screeching alarm clock or a whining child. The noise continues through breakfast, getting the oldest off to school, then the boy wants to watch cartoons, then the youngest needs me, then they play, noisily.
When the kids finally do settle down and go to sleep at night... oh yeah, the man turns on the TV again. The closest we get to silence is locking the bathroom door and taking a shower, or the rare car rides alone where I can turn the radio off.
So lets all have a moment of silence, for Silence. *<Mommy!!!>* yeah right!
Friday, October 5, 2012
I'm always late, but it's not my fault!
Yesterday, I was sure we'd be on time for preschool. The boy was clean, fed,
dressed (except for socks and shoes, but I knew where they were, so THAT wasn't
a problem), and just calmly watching Sesame Street until time to go.
30 minutes before time to leave, I asked him to put on the shoes. I asked him again 5 minutes later, and 5 minutes after that... (at one point, he said, "Stop nagging at me!"). At 5 minutes before time to leave, I went over to help him as he had one sock on (upside down) and was struggling with the other. He was writing on the floor in frustration. I fixed the socks, and we went to work on the shoes. But the shoes weren't tight enough. After struggling with the shoes for ten minutes, we got them "just right." Then he had to go to the bathroom again.
The toddler chose this time to release toxic waste into her diaper. I briefly considered leaving her in the dirty diaper because we were already late, but I couldn't do that. As soon as the diaper was off, she ran giggling. I finally tackled and re-diapered her.
I ask myself why in God's name I had 3 children, then remember that the oldest wasn't even there to annoy me.
We got in the car and left. We were 15 minutes late for his 2 hours and 45 minute preschool day. It takes 20 minutes to get back home without traffic. The toddler is asleep in her carseat. I may as well just sit here in the parking lot and read.
This is my life.
30 minutes before time to leave, I asked him to put on the shoes. I asked him again 5 minutes later, and 5 minutes after that... (at one point, he said, "Stop nagging at me!"). At 5 minutes before time to leave, I went over to help him as he had one sock on (upside down) and was struggling with the other. He was writing on the floor in frustration. I fixed the socks, and we went to work on the shoes. But the shoes weren't tight enough. After struggling with the shoes for ten minutes, we got them "just right." Then he had to go to the bathroom again.
The toddler chose this time to release toxic waste into her diaper. I briefly considered leaving her in the dirty diaper because we were already late, but I couldn't do that. As soon as the diaper was off, she ran giggling. I finally tackled and re-diapered her.
I ask myself why in God's name I had 3 children, then remember that the oldest wasn't even there to annoy me.
We got in the car and left. We were 15 minutes late for his 2 hours and 45 minute preschool day. It takes 20 minutes to get back home without traffic. The toddler is asleep in her carseat. I may as well just sit here in the parking lot and read.
This is my life.
Bedtime B.S.
Why, oh why, do my children not go to bed when told? Bedtime is 7:00 PM every
night. Sometimes if something special is going on, or we are not home yet, it
gets pushed back to 8-ish. They need this early bedtime because they have
growing little bodies and they get up early (6AM-ish).
I need them to have this early bedtime because I don't have Xanax.
A typical night:
6:00 PM - homework is done, dinner is being served.
6:15 PM - everyone is done hoovering the meal, I send one to brush teeth, the other to pajamafy
6:25 PM - the other brushes teeth while the first pajamafies
6:35 PM - I brush the girl's hair and remind the boy to use the bathroom
6:40 PM - I offer to read, sometimes they would prefer to play
6:50 PM - I tackle the baby and change her diaper, put her in PJ's, brush her teeth
7:00 PM - radio is on, fan is on, baby is in her crib cooing to herself
7:01 PM - I announce bedtime - suddenly there is something forgotten in the school backpack, needs to get a drink, can't find loveys
7:15 PM - I am trying to coax the boy out from under the dining table like a cat from a tree
7:30 PM - The girl needs a drink, decides to ask questions like "Who made God?"
7:40 PM - I hear the boy sneaking into the girls' room to play
7:40:30 - The baby gets woken up and starts crying
7:41 PM - I am dragging the boy out from under the girls' bunk-bed
7:42 PM - 3 kids and one momma are in tears, but at least all the kids are finally in their beds
7:50 PM - Either the boy sneaks back into the girls' room or the girl goes into his room
7:51 PM - Threats ensue
8:00 PM - more similar nonsense, Momma starts looking for duct tape
8:30 PM - (if I'm lucky) they start to settle down
9:00 PM - I could have wine, but I don't drink wine, but I have a pounding headache, and can finally begin to relax and start thinking about doing homework
12-1 AM - I finally give up being productive and go to bed
~5:30 AM - The boy comes and tells me he wet the bed and he wants to sleep with me.
I need them to have this early bedtime because I don't have Xanax.
A typical night:
6:00 PM - homework is done, dinner is being served.
6:15 PM - everyone is done hoovering the meal, I send one to brush teeth, the other to pajamafy
6:25 PM - the other brushes teeth while the first pajamafies
6:35 PM - I brush the girl's hair and remind the boy to use the bathroom
6:40 PM - I offer to read, sometimes they would prefer to play
6:50 PM - I tackle the baby and change her diaper, put her in PJ's, brush her teeth
7:00 PM - radio is on, fan is on, baby is in her crib cooing to herself
7:01 PM - I announce bedtime - suddenly there is something forgotten in the school backpack, needs to get a drink, can't find loveys
7:15 PM - I am trying to coax the boy out from under the dining table like a cat from a tree
7:30 PM - The girl needs a drink, decides to ask questions like "Who made God?"
7:40 PM - I hear the boy sneaking into the girls' room to play
7:40:30 - The baby gets woken up and starts crying
7:41 PM - I am dragging the boy out from under the girls' bunk-bed
7:42 PM - 3 kids and one momma are in tears, but at least all the kids are finally in their beds
7:50 PM - Either the boy sneaks back into the girls' room or the girl goes into his room
7:51 PM - Threats ensue
8:00 PM - more similar nonsense, Momma starts looking for duct tape
8:30 PM - (if I'm lucky) they start to settle down
9:00 PM - I could have wine, but I don't drink wine, but I have a pounding headache, and can finally begin to relax and start thinking about doing homework
12-1 AM - I finally give up being productive and go to bed
~5:30 AM - The boy comes and tells me he wet the bed and he wants to sleep with me.
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