Wow! Is Christmas Day already over? January is knocking at the door? Wow.
Our Christmas was just as we wanted it--Rick was home and we had a big breakfast, watched the kids open presents...we ate a really yummy dinner early in the afternoon and then we all fell asleep on our couch. We slept through Mass! On Christmas!! Of all days!!! Besides feeling incredible guilt and disappointment for missing out on the celebration of our Lord's birth the day was fantastic.
On Christmas Eve I was trying to explain the significance of Christmas to a three year old. Sounds easy? It's not. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Sarah, tomorrow is C H R I S T M A S. Do you know what
C H R I S T M A S is?
Sarah: blank stare.
Me: "It's a special day that we celebrate Jesus. It's his Birthday.
Sarah: "Ooohh...CAKE!!!!!!!!!!"
Me: "Um, sure. You want to make a cake? We can make a cake for Jesus on his birthday."
Sarah: singing her version of the "Happy Birthday" song.
Me: "Right. It's his birthday, and we'll make him a cake so he knows we thought of him. And do you want to hear the story about how he was born?"
Sarah: "Cake!!!"
Me: "Yes, we'll make a cake. So listen to the story about Jesus and his mommy on the day he wa--"
Sarah: "Make cake now?"
You see the pattern? So I tried to tell her the Nativity story while we made Jesus His cake, but she really was not interested at all except for the part about the animals. I was not discouraged, though...there will be more opportunities. :) I was still very warmed up on the inside from her desire to bake in honor of baby Jesus.
Today I got up extra early (4:30 am) to go to Wal-Mart to grab up all of the marked down decorations. Yup. I'm one of those people. I am so proud of myself--I got lotsa good stuff! My inner dork is thrilled because I absolutely LOVE Christmas decorations!! Next year, the house will be even more decked out!!! Hopefully I will get a chance to put some pics up here soon--I have some cute ones from all the fun stuff we've been doing, despite the chilly weather.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Grrrrr...
Our Thanksgiving was awesome-I truly have so much to be thankful for. The Lord has blessed me beyond words. My mom came with my brothers and we all had a blast-we even busted out the Christmas decorations on Friday and after they went home Sunday morning I finished the entire house. The house looks great and I now have a greater appreciation for all the hard work that Rick puts into getting those lights untangled and strung every year...it really isn't easy.
On Sunday afternoon I began to feel a pain that I have felt before and knew from experience was not a good thing. The fun of Thanksgiving was coming to a screeching halt... It was no surprise to me when I woke up in the middle of the night freezing my buns off and feeling the need to puke. I checked my temp. and it was a little over 103. In case anybody out there wanted to know WAAAAY too much personal information about me, I have been suffering from what medical professionals refer to as a "clogged milk duct". Now let me break down that medical jargon so that all the non-doctors can better understand what that means: excruciating, constant, ceaseless, stark-raving madness-inducing pain in the boob that renders the patient immobile and crying on the bathroom floor for hours until her husband comes home early from work to scoop her up and stick her in bed. It also makes one feel as if they have the flu. All kinds of fun. Rick promised he would come home at 1 o'clock so at 1:10 when the phone hadn't rung yet I called him. I already knew what he was going to say..."I'm stuck here till at least 2." So I tried my best to be a good, strong, understanding wife, but that didn't work out so I sobbed and yelled at him for lying to me and giving me false hope of a reprieve, and shamelessly begged for him to quit his job on the spot. Hey, he can always find another job! When he finally came home (1:52) he brought me my cell phone (I told you I was in bad shape) and I called the midwife to get an antibiotic.
So today I was feeling well enough to shower and put fresh clothes on (yes, it was that bad) and I went to visit the midwife. As I was explaining the severity of my close encounter with death, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Yes, but you are improving." Umm, because I no longer wish to die doesn't really count as improving, does it? "Yes, technically I guess I am improving, but the pain is still so bad that I can't move my arm without flinching and..." Her response: "Yes, but you no longer have the fever and you drove here so you are getting better." GGRRRRRRR. So if I had crashed my car on the way here you would take me seriously? "This amount of pain can't be normal-remember you are the one who caught both of my babies--the babies that were labored and delivered naturally-no drugs!-and the second one with PITOCIN!!!" If I'm telling you I'm in infinite amounts of pain, Lady, trust me I AM! So then she went out and got a book with lots of pictures of breasts in it (just in case I'm not familiar with that part of the female anatomy) and showed me a picture of a "healthy" breast and a picture of an "abscessed" breast (very disgusting stuff, folks!). So clearly, according to the pictures, I am fine. Just fine.
As soon as my fake, hallucinated pain goes away I am going out to buy a bunch of picture books so I can charge people insane amounts of money to tell them they are fine...and crazy. But hey, at least I'm not bitter. :)
On Sunday afternoon I began to feel a pain that I have felt before and knew from experience was not a good thing. The fun of Thanksgiving was coming to a screeching halt... It was no surprise to me when I woke up in the middle of the night freezing my buns off and feeling the need to puke. I checked my temp. and it was a little over 103. In case anybody out there wanted to know WAAAAY too much personal information about me, I have been suffering from what medical professionals refer to as a "clogged milk duct". Now let me break down that medical jargon so that all the non-doctors can better understand what that means: excruciating, constant, ceaseless, stark-raving madness-inducing pain in the boob that renders the patient immobile and crying on the bathroom floor for hours until her husband comes home early from work to scoop her up and stick her in bed. It also makes one feel as if they have the flu. All kinds of fun. Rick promised he would come home at 1 o'clock so at 1:10 when the phone hadn't rung yet I called him. I already knew what he was going to say..."I'm stuck here till at least 2." So I tried my best to be a good, strong, understanding wife, but that didn't work out so I sobbed and yelled at him for lying to me and giving me false hope of a reprieve, and shamelessly begged for him to quit his job on the spot. Hey, he can always find another job! When he finally came home (1:52) he brought me my cell phone (I told you I was in bad shape) and I called the midwife to get an antibiotic.
So today I was feeling well enough to shower and put fresh clothes on (yes, it was that bad) and I went to visit the midwife. As I was explaining the severity of my close encounter with death, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Yes, but you are improving." Umm, because I no longer wish to die doesn't really count as improving, does it? "Yes, technically I guess I am improving, but the pain is still so bad that I can't move my arm without flinching and..." Her response: "Yes, but you no longer have the fever and you drove here so you are getting better." GGRRRRRRR. So if I had crashed my car on the way here you would take me seriously? "This amount of pain can't be normal-remember you are the one who caught both of my babies--the babies that were labored and delivered naturally-no drugs!-and the second one with PITOCIN!!!" If I'm telling you I'm in infinite amounts of pain, Lady, trust me I AM! So then she went out and got a book with lots of pictures of breasts in it (just in case I'm not familiar with that part of the female anatomy) and showed me a picture of a "healthy" breast and a picture of an "abscessed" breast (very disgusting stuff, folks!). So clearly, according to the pictures, I am fine. Just fine.
As soon as my fake, hallucinated pain goes away I am going out to buy a bunch of picture books so I can charge people insane amounts of money to tell them they are fine...and crazy. But hey, at least I'm not bitter. :)
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Adventures of a Church-Going Mommy
Before I start writing about my most recent fiasco, I would like to be serious for a minute and explain how proud I am that I have the opportunity to teach youth about our Lord. This year I have Kindergarten, which is PERFECT for disorganized, procrastinating me--I can improvise if I have to. I cannot tell you what an honor it is to share God with little children; seeing joy in their faces and understanding in their hearts. Being a part of that is unlike anything else I have done, and I can only pray that God will guide and help me be an effective mentor for His precious children...because I definitely can't do it on my own!
Having said that, it is hard to conduct a CCD class with a tiny room full of 5 year olds and my 3 and 1 year old at my feet, usually fussing and crying. What normally happens is I get the class under control only to have my own kids create disorder and upheaval, which gets the class going again. It is a very noisey-and hard-cycle to overcome.
This past week was no different than any other week. Patrick was tired (he wakes up at 6:30 am so by our 10 am class time he is ready for a nap) so he cried the entire-and I do mean entire-time. Sarah was actually pretty good, except for the occasional attempt to hurt her brother. Somehow, we managed to get through the lesson on God's limitless love for all things living, and we moved to the church building for Mass. Before we went in I gave Sarah a pep-talk and felt absolutely sure that I would (like each and every week that came before) have no effect on her and would definitely be taking what I refer to as "The Walk of Shame"--you know, where you have to drag the screaming child out by one arm while clutching the other kid-who decides to get in on the act as well-upside down, and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately for me, our Church community is full of children, fathers and mothers, grandparents, and other kind-hearted folks so instead of the dirty looks that one may fear, I usually just get knowing, sympathetic smiles, or grateful glances that it's not their kid this time.
We had to do The Walk of Shame pretty early on, even before the Opening Rites were finished so I felt that it was not a good sign for the rest of the service. When we took our seats again Patrick fell asleep after only minimal fussing, and Sarah played with her friend Maggie. Thanks Be To God! See, miracles DO happen! Guess I'll have to wait till next week to have any good stuff to write about. ;)
Having said that, it is hard to conduct a CCD class with a tiny room full of 5 year olds and my 3 and 1 year old at my feet, usually fussing and crying. What normally happens is I get the class under control only to have my own kids create disorder and upheaval, which gets the class going again. It is a very noisey-and hard-cycle to overcome.
This past week was no different than any other week. Patrick was tired (he wakes up at 6:30 am so by our 10 am class time he is ready for a nap) so he cried the entire-and I do mean entire-time. Sarah was actually pretty good, except for the occasional attempt to hurt her brother. Somehow, we managed to get through the lesson on God's limitless love for all things living, and we moved to the church building for Mass. Before we went in I gave Sarah a pep-talk and felt absolutely sure that I would (like each and every week that came before) have no effect on her and would definitely be taking what I refer to as "The Walk of Shame"--you know, where you have to drag the screaming child out by one arm while clutching the other kid-who decides to get in on the act as well-upside down, and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately for me, our Church community is full of children, fathers and mothers, grandparents, and other kind-hearted folks so instead of the dirty looks that one may fear, I usually just get knowing, sympathetic smiles, or grateful glances that it's not their kid this time.
We had to do The Walk of Shame pretty early on, even before the Opening Rites were finished so I felt that it was not a good sign for the rest of the service. When we took our seats again Patrick fell asleep after only minimal fussing, and Sarah played with her friend Maggie. Thanks Be To God! See, miracles DO happen! Guess I'll have to wait till next week to have any good stuff to write about. ;)
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Humiliation
Last night we went to Wal-Mart to fill up our gas tank because gas was supposed to go up 10 cents (to $3.18/gal) before the next day. I figured after dinner I would bathe the kids and get them into their PJs so they would fall asleep on the ride home, and all we'd have to do is transfer them into their beds. When we got to the store I realized I needed a few things that couldn't wait until the next trip so we (yes, Rick was actually with us for a change!) got the kids out of the car and went in.
Sarah was in the big part of the cart (where you're supposed to put the groceries), and Patrick was in the seat. Among the few items in the cart were chap-stick and a box of...um, feminine products. Patrick started crying so we gave him the chap-stick to keep him occupied. That upset Sarah, who felt slighted, so she grabbed the item away from Patrick, which in turn upset him. So Rick (trying to be helpful) snatched it away from Sarah...now both children were crying and I just kept walking because I knew that in just a minute something would catch their attention and the crying would cease. I walked over to the next aisle to grab something (and yes, also to pretend I wasn't part of that nutty clan), and I was gone for maybe two to three minutes.
Something did catch Sarah's attention. And within a few moments of peaceful silence, I became aware of this silence...and got that uneasy feeling that we moms get when kids are being quiet and good. I walked bak over, peered into the cart, and there was Sarah...sitting amongst a small pile if plastic wrappers and covered in pantiliners. The cart had liners stuck all over it, there were some balled up, sticking to surfaces on the railing of the cart, they were stuck to her body-my favorite was the one on her forehead. Talk about an embarrasing moment. I was stuffing the opened liners back into the box as hurriedly as I could, praying that no one knew what was going on. I blamed Rick, of course, for allowing this to happen. He thought it was the funniest, most hysterical thing ever, which angered me even more.
I made up my mind at that point that anything else I may have needed could definitely wait until next time and we made a bee-line for the cashier. I handed her the barcode side of the box and crammed it into a bag myself. Needless to say, it was not my all time best parenting experience.
Sarah was in the big part of the cart (where you're supposed to put the groceries), and Patrick was in the seat. Among the few items in the cart were chap-stick and a box of...um, feminine products. Patrick started crying so we gave him the chap-stick to keep him occupied. That upset Sarah, who felt slighted, so she grabbed the item away from Patrick, which in turn upset him. So Rick (trying to be helpful) snatched it away from Sarah...now both children were crying and I just kept walking because I knew that in just a minute something would catch their attention and the crying would cease. I walked over to the next aisle to grab something (and yes, also to pretend I wasn't part of that nutty clan), and I was gone for maybe two to three minutes.
Something did catch Sarah's attention. And within a few moments of peaceful silence, I became aware of this silence...and got that uneasy feeling that we moms get when kids are being quiet and good. I walked bak over, peered into the cart, and there was Sarah...sitting amongst a small pile if plastic wrappers and covered in pantiliners. The cart had liners stuck all over it, there were some balled up, sticking to surfaces on the railing of the cart, they were stuck to her body-my favorite was the one on her forehead. Talk about an embarrasing moment. I was stuffing the opened liners back into the box as hurriedly as I could, praying that no one knew what was going on. I blamed Rick, of course, for allowing this to happen. He thought it was the funniest, most hysterical thing ever, which angered me even more.
I made up my mind at that point that anything else I may have needed could definitely wait until next time and we made a bee-line for the cashier. I handed her the barcode side of the box and crammed it into a bag myself. Needless to say, it was not my all time best parenting experience.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Home Improvements
It's funny how my husband (and I'm sure many other husbands out there) feels the need to "improve" the house so he starts 9 projects at one time to accomplish his goal. We are not talking about little, simple projects like changing the lightbulb in the closet that I've been begging him to do for almost a month or finishing the baseboards in the bathroom that he started a year (yes, a YEAR) ago. No, no. Nothing that trivial. We're talking about projects like adding a room to the house, tiling the patio, painting the utility room, and closing in the carport. Stuff like that. I also love his timing. Like when he painted the entire house two days after I gave birth to Patrick. Let me tell you how easy and fun it was to entertain a two year old and care for a brand new baby while confined to my bedroom with towels shoved under the door for 8 hours a day for three days straight.
He recently transferred to a store closer to home (which is nice since we're saving so much gas money) and is working 6-sometimes 7-days a week. Clearly now is the perfect time to start very involved, complicated home improvements. Two days ago he replaced the faucet in the kitchen. Since he is not a plumber, whom I begged him to call in the first place, the job he claimed he could finish in an hour ended up taking three. Then he had to go to work and come home on his lunch break to complete it. So I had to run down the hall to the bathroom every time I needed water throughout the day. Thanks, honey!
I think all these unfinished labors are starting to rub off on the kids. The other night I was getting ready to give baths. "Getting ready" refers to the process of laying out PJs, putting toothpaste on toothbrushes, getting beds prepared to be slept in, and wrangling the two kids so I can pin them down and desperately try to pry the clothing off of them. That last part is the most time-consuming because usually what happens is I get Patrick undressed (he's the easiest) and while he is busy taking his diaper off I find Sarah, who knows to hide when I start getting Patrick undressed. By the time I find her, Patrick usually has removed the diaper and is happily "exploring" himself. Then, after a lot of crying, begging, and argument, she feels sorry for me and lets me get her clothes off. Now enough time has elapsed for Patrick to have peed on the carpet-on a really good night for him he can also manage to poop-so while I clean the mess up Sarah picks out an outrageous outfit that generally includes a purple boa and a strange hat. After I clean up Patrick's mess and wrestle the interesting outfit off of Sarah (again) I can finally get them both in the bath. Believe it of not, it is actually easier for me to bathe them at the same time. So back to my story: the other night I was getting ready to give baths, and on this night instead of re-dressing herself as usual, Sarah decided to do a little home renovating herself. (See picture now)
Where was Rick? You know, I asked the same question! He was sitting on the other side of this wall, watching TV on the couch. Since he was sitting less than 12 inches from the scene of the crime, one might expect that if anyone is at fault it would be him for allowing our daughter to bite a chunk out of the wall. Not so; apparently it is MY fault. See, according to Rick, I "let" her do this. Don't worry-I will remember his words tomorrow night when Patrick pees on the floor. ;)
So now we have this wall to add to the list of ambitions. I'm sure it will stay this way for many, many months-if not years. ...Like the rest of our house that is full of started-but never quite finished-tasks.
He recently transferred to a store closer to home (which is nice since we're saving so much gas money) and is working 6-sometimes 7-days a week. Clearly now is the perfect time to start very involved, complicated home improvements. Two days ago he replaced the faucet in the kitchen. Since he is not a plumber, whom I begged him to call in the first place, the job he claimed he could finish in an hour ended up taking three. Then he had to go to work and come home on his lunch break to complete it. So I had to run down the hall to the bathroom every time I needed water throughout the day. Thanks, honey!
I think all these unfinished labors are starting to rub off on the kids. The other night I was getting ready to give baths. "Getting ready" refers to the process of laying out PJs, putting toothpaste on toothbrushes, getting beds prepared to be slept in, and wrangling the two kids so I can pin them down and desperately try to pry the clothing off of them. That last part is the most time-consuming because usually what happens is I get Patrick undressed (he's the easiest) and while he is busy taking his diaper off I find Sarah, who knows to hide when I start getting Patrick undressed. By the time I find her, Patrick usually has removed the diaper and is happily "exploring" himself. Then, after a lot of crying, begging, and argument, she feels sorry for me and lets me get her clothes off. Now enough time has elapsed for Patrick to have peed on the carpet-on a really good night for him he can also manage to poop-so while I clean the mess up Sarah picks out an outrageous outfit that generally includes a purple boa and a strange hat. After I clean up Patrick's mess and wrestle the interesting outfit off of Sarah (again) I can finally get them both in the bath. Believe it of not, it is actually easier for me to bathe them at the same time. So back to my story: the other night I was getting ready to give baths, and on this night instead of re-dressing herself as usual, Sarah decided to do a little home renovating herself. (See picture now)
Where was Rick? You know, I asked the same question! He was sitting on the other side of this wall, watching TV on the couch. Since he was sitting less than 12 inches from the scene of the crime, one might expect that if anyone is at fault it would be him for allowing our daughter to bite a chunk out of the wall. Not so; apparently it is MY fault. See, according to Rick, I "let" her do this. Don't worry-I will remember his words tomorrow night when Patrick pees on the floor. ;)So now we have this wall to add to the list of ambitions. I'm sure it will stay this way for many, many months-if not years. ...Like the rest of our house that is full of started-but never quite finished-tasks.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Why I love frozen dinners
I would like to take some time to show people why I make the same things for dinner every time I cook: spaghetti, lasagna, hamburgers, cereal...you get the idea--super easy stuff. Rick likes to make fun of my seemingly lacking culinary talents; he thinks I don't enjoy, or just don't know how to cook. Ah, no. That's not it at all. You see, the reasons I don't spend hours in the kitchen preparing masterpeices on a nightly basis are SARAH & PATRICK.
The other night I decided to be a Stepford Wife and have the house cleaned and dinner steaming on the table when Rick walked through the door from his longvacation day at work. So I set Sarah up with one of her cartoon movies in the living room and gave Patrick free reign of the Tupperware cabinet in the kitchen with me.
Wow, why don't I do this every night? This isn't so hard! What luck! Not a peep from the living room (I checked to make sure she was still there-just in case), and Patrick was content. About halfway through dinner preparations, Patrick crawled into the other room. Since I didn't hear any squeals, crying, or yelling, I figured I'd better finish dinner while I could.
So I finished the cooking and just kept it on the stove to keep it warm while tripping over random bits of Tupperware to set the table (I should mention that all of 10 minutes passed). The headlights from Rick's car lit up the door for a second and I ran around putting together finishing touches, knowing I had maybe another minute until he came in. The door opened and I smiled proudly, acting like I didn't just kill myself to get this supper ready in the nick of time. I asked, "Isn't the kitchen clean?...You know, besides the laundry in the corner and the Tupperware on the floor...and the juice puddle, and the garbage that missed the can..." My husband may not be the wisest man who ever lived, but he is smart enough to answer, "Yes! Looks great! You're amazing!"
So after the table was ready with the food and drinks I went to get the kids undressed (all moms know it's best if kids eat near naked)...this is what I found:
So that is why I don't cook more fancy meals. I prefer my baby to not be covered in Crayola. Note to other moms who don't know this yet: "washable" just means it's not supposed to stain forever. It doesn't mean you can just wash the baby and it comes right off. The only remedy is time...
The other night I decided to be a Stepford Wife and have the house cleaned and dinner steaming on the table when Rick walked through the door from his long
Wow, why don't I do this every night? This isn't so hard! What luck! Not a peep from the living room (I checked to make sure she was still there-just in case), and Patrick was content. About halfway through dinner preparations, Patrick crawled into the other room. Since I didn't hear any squeals, crying, or yelling, I figured I'd better finish dinner while I could.
So I finished the cooking and just kept it on the stove to keep it warm while tripping over random bits of Tupperware to set the table (I should mention that all of 10 minutes passed). The headlights from Rick's car lit up the door for a second and I ran around putting together finishing touches, knowing I had maybe another minute until he came in. The door opened and I smiled proudly, acting like I didn't just kill myself to get this supper ready in the nick of time. I asked, "Isn't the kitchen clean?...You know, besides the laundry in the corner and the Tupperware on the floor...and the juice puddle, and the garbage that missed the can..." My husband may not be the wisest man who ever lived, but he is smart enough to answer, "Yes! Looks great! You're amazing!"
So after the table was ready with the food and drinks I went to get the kids undressed (all moms know it's best if kids eat near naked)...this is what I found:
Yes, that's purple eye shadow she's wearing...she did a better job than I could have done, too! It gets better: 
This is my precious, innocent Patrick (I admit, not his cutest picture ever) from the front. Now check out the back:
So that is why I don't cook more fancy meals. I prefer my baby to not be covered in Crayola. Note to other moms who don't know this yet: "washable" just means it's not supposed to stain forever. It doesn't mean you can just wash the baby and it comes right off. The only remedy is time...
Saturday, November 3, 2007
When Daddy Watches the Kids...
Bad things happen when Daddy watches the children in our house. This past week I was so sick I was literally wishing for death for sweet relief. So on Tuesday when my husband came home from work I was sure that he would step up and offer to take over childcare duties so I could get some much-needed rest. Nope.
I finally guilted him into taking the kids outside for some playtime and when they came back inside (I'm going to point out that they spent a total of maybe 35-40 minutes out there, tops) both kids were completely soaked from playing in the hose, dirty from making mud soup, and crying because they were cold.
So I reluctantly got up from my place on the couch and put their wet, filthy clothes in the washer while bathing them in the kitchen sink. With the clothes being washed and the kids cleaned up I felt like I could sit down again. I should have known that was a BIG mistake. Rick claimed he was getting drinks for the kids and himself, but when I heard chaos in the kitchen I looked to see
what was going on and he was no where to be found. I was not the least bit surprised to find him in the bathroom (husbands seem to spend a great deal of time in that particular room). After making sure he saw the eye roll I gave him I headed back towards the kitchen to round up the kids...Too Late.
Sarah was enthusiastically stomping Goldfish crackers into the floor at lightning pace. How chi
ldren manage to create such big messes in so little time and with so few supplies, I'll never figure out. I went to get the vacuum-meanwhile my sweet 12 month old, Patrick, was busy emptying the Tupperware cabinet and chewing sidewalk chalk. Goldfish and sidewalk chalk drool make an interesting substance that likes to get stuck into grout. And not come out. Ever. The included picture shows a part of the mess I got to enjoy. Now, I knew better than to leave two toddlers in an unattended room for more than 11 seconds, but on this day I was just so sick all I wanted was a little peace. My less than 45 minute "break" (that's what Rick likes to call it) from the kiddies wound up taking me an hour and a half to clean up!
I finally guilted him into taking the kids outside for some playtime and when they came back inside (I'm going to point out that they spent a total of maybe 35-40 minutes out there, tops) both kids were completely soaked from playing in the hose, dirty from making mud soup, and crying because they were cold.
So I reluctantly got up from my place on the couch and put their wet, filthy clothes in the washer while bathing them in the kitchen sink. With the clothes being washed and the kids cleaned up I felt like I could sit down again. I should have known that was a BIG mistake. Rick claimed he was getting drinks for the kids and himself, but when I heard chaos in the kitchen I looked to see
what was going on and he was no where to be found. I was not the least bit surprised to find him in the bathroom (husbands seem to spend a great deal of time in that particular room). After making sure he saw the eye roll I gave him I headed back towards the kitchen to round up the kids...Too Late.
Sarah was enthusiastically stomping Goldfish crackers into the floor at lightning pace. How chi
ldren manage to create such big messes in so little time and with so few supplies, I'll never figure out. I went to get the vacuum-meanwhile my sweet 12 month old, Patrick, was busy emptying the Tupperware cabinet and chewing sidewalk chalk. Goldfish and sidewalk chalk drool make an interesting substance that likes to get stuck into grout. And not come out. Ever. The included picture shows a part of the mess I got to enjoy. Now, I knew better than to leave two toddlers in an unattended room for more than 11 seconds, but on this day I was just so sick all I wanted was a little peace. My less than 45 minute "break" (that's what Rick likes to call it) from the kiddies wound up taking me an hour and a half to clean up!
Monday, October 15, 2007
Festival Fun
Last Saturday I took the kids to the Butterfly Festival and we met up with my best friend, who lives too far away from us to see often enough. She has a 4 month old baby and a 7 year old step-daughter. The day started off wonderfully; the weather was good, the kids were in good moods, and I felt good. Yup, everything was good. I put the baby in the umbrella stroller so I wouldn't have to maneuver the double stroller through the huge crowds and small spaces and put our bag of stuff in the basket of my friend's stroller.
There was a booth to buy these humongous, delicious-looking snow cones so of course I bought one for the kids and I to share. After the kids did some arts and crafts and saw all the sights, we decided to leave and eat lunch at Chili's. We had been there for just over 2 hours, and really, how much Butterfly Festival can four kids (and their moms) handle?
So my friend and I walked our broods to the parking garage, went up the elevator (she was on the 2nd level and I was on the 3rd), and parted ways until we would meet up again at the restaurant about 5 minutes away. When I got to my car I realized I had forgotten my bag in Lisa's stroller. Thank God!--I had my cell phone in my back pocket. Just as I was reaching for it, Lisa was calling me to tell me to wait by my car so she could bring me my bag, which held my keys. So there we were, waiting patiently and snapping photos by the car when Sarah decided she had to pee. I keep a potty chair in the car just for situations like this, but with no car keys it didn't do me much good. Lisa finally came around the corner with the forgotten bag and I dug in for the keys as she drove off to get at table at the restaurant.
Yes! I got the car opened, put the potty in the correct position, turned to pick Sarah up and put her on it, and stopped. She was standing in a little puddle with a big grin on her face. "PEE!" she gleefully said, like I should be just as relieved as her. So I got the bag of spare clothes that I keep in the car (again, just for situations like this) and searched for a new outfit. Okay so she was all cleaned up and sitting safely strapped in her car seat. Now I could get the baby into his car seat--oops, nope--first I have to change his diaper because with all the spare time he had he pooped. Several minutes later Patrick was cleaned up and in the car, Sarah was cleaned up and in the car...then to put all the accessories in the car. I thought of my poor friend sitting at Chili's waiting for me, possibly imagining a flat tire scene, as I climbed into the driver's seat when I heard the sound-okay, one of the sounds-that every parent dreads. The puke sound. Electric blue snow-cone leftovers covered the car seat and everything surrounding the car seat within a 2 foot radius. Sigh. Dig in the bag for more emergency clothes. Uh-oh. No more emergency clothes!? Hmm, no big deal, I just have to improvise. Sarah's a petite girl. Maybe she would fit into Patrick's 12 month size onesie? I admit she looked a little...creative...but hey, at least she was dressed! I did have a skirt in the bag so that helped. After a quick phone call to apologize to Lisa we were on our way!
We had a relatively uneventful lunch (yay!), and after saying our good-byes I felt the need to go to Old Navy. We're so close! And we don't have an Old Navy near our house! I can pull this off! On went my inner pep talk. Full of confidence I pulled into the parking spot, unloaded all the gear and kids, and we went in the store. I am in desperate need of (bigger) clothing like most mothers so I decided to try on a couple of pairs of jeans. I have no idea what made me think I was going to be able to try on clothes. We waited for 10 minutes for the big dressing room to open up so we could all fit, and during that time-of course-Sarah had to pee again. Or so she said. I reluctantly left the stroller in the young employee's care and ventured into the store's bathroom. After liberally applying toilet paper to the seat and pulling clothes off of Sarah (all one-handed mind you) she sat there and produced nothing. Grrrr. All that work for nothing! So by the time we got back to the fitting room it was open and we went in. Off came my pants. Down went the sippy cup. Bang went the door. As in: Oh-crap!-Sarah-just-opened-the-door-and-my-half-naked-body-is-exposed-for-the-world-to-see! AGGHHHHH!!! I hate when she does that!
They both started crying because Sarah took away the toy that was keeping Patrick happy and he pulled her hair in response. So I figured I'd buy both pairs of jeans and try them on at home. I was half way around the store before I realized that I'd forgotten to zip and button up my pants! Flashing the same store twice in 15 minutes-a new personal record. In the checkout line Patrick was still crying and I was looking for his cup so he would be quiet. Oh no-the cup's gone! I wouldn't have really cared except this was a fancy Dora cup with the flip-straw contraption that costs almost $10. I was not leaving that store without that cup! So I paid for our stuff and retraced our steps. The last place I checked was the dressing room. Someone was in that room so the sales girl, who remembered us very well, had to ask the occupant to pass it under the door. So $10 cup in hand I proudly stumbled out of the doors with a crying baby on my hip, a crying toddler clutched to my leg, and a huge, empty double stroller bumping into everything-and everyone-in front of me.
In typical fashion the little darlings passed out immediately in their carseats and slept all the way to their Daddy's work place, about 45 minutes away. We were going in to say hello to him and order Patrick's birthday cake before heading home. While I was talking to the bakery kid, I pretended I didn't notice the ominous smell coming from Sarah's direction. I ordered the cake as fast as I could and got the kids to the car. Just as I finished diapering Sarah, she was in need of a new one. Four diapers later, I was pretty sure the bout of diarrhea was over. We had to go back into the store to wash our hands, and after all of that it was time for Rick (my husband) to get off of work. I should mention that we got there around 4:15, and he got off at 5:30! So we just waited in the parking lot for him. When he saw us sitting there (actually "sitting there" really means Sarah was jumping on the backseat like it was a trampoline and Patrick was hanging halfway out of the front window yelling and waving at passers-by) Rick innocently asked, "What are you still doing here!?" When he saw my face-this is why I love him-he simply said, "We're buying something for dinner so you don't have to cook." God Bless my husband. :)
Thus concluded our Saturday outing. I'll be sure to share our Sunday adventures as soon as I get some more free time!
There was a booth to buy these humongous, delicious-looking snow cones so of course I bought one for the kids and I to share. After the kids did some arts and crafts and saw all the sights, we decided to leave and eat lunch at Chili's. We had been there for just over 2 hours, and really, how much Butterfly Festival can four kids (and their moms) handle?
So my friend and I walked our broods to the parking garage, went up the elevator (she was on the 2nd level and I was on the 3rd), and parted ways until we would meet up again at the restaurant about 5 minutes away. When I got to my car I realized I had forgotten my bag in Lisa's stroller. Thank God!--I had my cell phone in my back pocket. Just as I was reaching for it, Lisa was calling me to tell me to wait by my car so she could bring me my bag, which held my keys. So there we were, waiting patiently and snapping photos by the car when Sarah decided she had to pee. I keep a potty chair in the car just for situations like this, but with no car keys it didn't do me much good. Lisa finally came around the corner with the forgotten bag and I dug in for the keys as she drove off to get at table at the restaurant.
Yes! I got the car opened, put the potty in the correct position, turned to pick Sarah up and put her on it, and stopped. She was standing in a little puddle with a big grin on her face. "PEE!" she gleefully said, like I should be just as relieved as her. So I got the bag of spare clothes that I keep in the car (again, just for situations like this) and searched for a new outfit. Okay so she was all cleaned up and sitting safely strapped in her car seat. Now I could get the baby into his car seat--oops, nope--first I have to change his diaper because with all the spare time he had he pooped. Several minutes later Patrick was cleaned up and in the car, Sarah was cleaned up and in the car...then to put all the accessories in the car. I thought of my poor friend sitting at Chili's waiting for me, possibly imagining a flat tire scene, as I climbed into the driver's seat when I heard the sound-okay, one of the sounds-that every parent dreads. The puke sound. Electric blue snow-cone leftovers covered the car seat and everything surrounding the car seat within a 2 foot radius. Sigh. Dig in the bag for more emergency clothes. Uh-oh. No more emergency clothes!? Hmm, no big deal, I just have to improvise. Sarah's a petite girl. Maybe she would fit into Patrick's 12 month size onesie? I admit she looked a little...creative...but hey, at least she was dressed! I did have a skirt in the bag so that helped. After a quick phone call to apologize to Lisa we were on our way!
We had a relatively uneventful lunch (yay!), and after saying our good-byes I felt the need to go to Old Navy. We're so close! And we don't have an Old Navy near our house! I can pull this off! On went my inner pep talk. Full of confidence I pulled into the parking spot, unloaded all the gear and kids, and we went in the store. I am in desperate need of (bigger) clothing like most mothers so I decided to try on a couple of pairs of jeans. I have no idea what made me think I was going to be able to try on clothes. We waited for 10 minutes for the big dressing room to open up so we could all fit, and during that time-of course-Sarah had to pee again. Or so she said. I reluctantly left the stroller in the young employee's care and ventured into the store's bathroom. After liberally applying toilet paper to the seat and pulling clothes off of Sarah (all one-handed mind you) she sat there and produced nothing. Grrrr. All that work for nothing! So by the time we got back to the fitting room it was open and we went in. Off came my pants. Down went the sippy cup. Bang went the door. As in: Oh-crap!-Sarah-just-opened-the-door-and-my-half-naked-body-is-exposed-for-the-world-to-see! AGGHHHHH!!! I hate when she does that!
They both started crying because Sarah took away the toy that was keeping Patrick happy and he pulled her hair in response. So I figured I'd buy both pairs of jeans and try them on at home. I was half way around the store before I realized that I'd forgotten to zip and button up my pants! Flashing the same store twice in 15 minutes-a new personal record. In the checkout line Patrick was still crying and I was looking for his cup so he would be quiet. Oh no-the cup's gone! I wouldn't have really cared except this was a fancy Dora cup with the flip-straw contraption that costs almost $10. I was not leaving that store without that cup! So I paid for our stuff and retraced our steps. The last place I checked was the dressing room. Someone was in that room so the sales girl, who remembered us very well, had to ask the occupant to pass it under the door. So $10 cup in hand I proudly stumbled out of the doors with a crying baby on my hip, a crying toddler clutched to my leg, and a huge, empty double stroller bumping into everything-and everyone-in front of me.
In typical fashion the little darlings passed out immediately in their carseats and slept all the way to their Daddy's work place, about 45 minutes away. We were going in to say hello to him and order Patrick's birthday cake before heading home. While I was talking to the bakery kid, I pretended I didn't notice the ominous smell coming from Sarah's direction. I ordered the cake as fast as I could and got the kids to the car. Just as I finished diapering Sarah, she was in need of a new one. Four diapers later, I was pretty sure the bout of diarrhea was over. We had to go back into the store to wash our hands, and after all of that it was time for Rick (my husband) to get off of work. I should mention that we got there around 4:15, and he got off at 5:30! So we just waited in the parking lot for him. When he saw us sitting there (actually "sitting there" really means Sarah was jumping on the backseat like it was a trampoline and Patrick was hanging halfway out of the front window yelling and waving at passers-by) Rick innocently asked, "What are you still doing here!?" When he saw my face-this is why I love him-he simply said, "We're buying something for dinner so you don't have to cook." God Bless my husband. :)
Thus concluded our Saturday outing. I'll be sure to share our Sunday adventures as soon as I get some more free time!
Monday, October 8, 2007
Welcome to my blog about my life as a mom
Welcome to my first (okay, technically not first, but first public...) attempt at blogging. I intend to share my many memorable mom moments, if nothing else than to vent! I have a three year old daughter and a one year old son. While they are the loves of my life they have definitely cost me much of my sanity! Nobody told me how challenging having two little ones can be. It's like a huge secret that women keep from each other to protect the human race-if we told each other how consuming it is to raise more than one kid, there would be a lot more only children running around! The good news is-as I'm slowly discovering-it does get easier, like all those veteran moms try to tell me. Since I'm sure people reading this are already members of the club, I am confident I can share my horror stories (which others keep assuring me will be funny one day) without causing a dent in the population.
For example, my most recent trip to the doctor's office went something like this:
After somehow feeding, bathing, and dressing the kids in less than 3 hours we all loaded into the car, miraculously only 5 minutes behind schedule. Of course Sarah (the 3 year old) decided she had to go to the bathroom right after we pulled out of the neighborhood. Anyone who has had a recently potty-trained kid knows that "holding it" is not an option. So back home we go, the potty we use, and back into the car, now (much more typical) a good 15 minutes behind.
When we finally arrived at the office (let me mention the Herculean effort it took to get 2 squirming babes out of their car seats, keep them from getting run over in the parking garage, put the baby into an umbrella stroller, and get off the elevator after stopping at every floor because Sarah mashed all the buttons, while I avoided eye contact with the other passengers) I had to occupy the rugrats. Occupying rugrats in a boring doctor's office is no easy task. I usually use food, but I was saving that for later when the doctor came in to see me.
Finally, after what seemed like hours I got to move into the examination room, which everyone knows is just a second waiting room. We had lots of fun making balloons out of latex gloves and looking through all the drawers and tearing pages out of magazines. The nurse came in and instructed me to "get undressed and put on this gown". The "gown" she refferred to was really a flimsy strip of see-through paper with huge arm-pit holes my boobs could hang out of and no back. So armed with animal crackers and absolutely no shame left in me, off came the clothes and on went the "gown". I should have seen this coming, but honestly I thought the doctor really would "be right in" because of all the commotion coming from our room. I was sure he'd want me outta there as soon as possible. But nope, he didn't come right in. So the kids were tired of playing doctor and getting hungry again by this point, and I started saying my prayer. You know the mom prayer that basically goes, "Please, God, let my kids be good for just a little longer so I can get through this. Please, please and I promise I will...." and so forth.
Guess what-the doctor did come in...right as I was chasing a renegade toddler around the exam table, in my "gown", sun-deprived butt totally exposed and jiggling behind me. Again employing the Avoidance of Eye Contact Trick, I hopped onto the table, silently chanted the mom prayer, and pretending the baby wasn't crying in the stroller and the little girl wasn't kicking and grunting in my arms.
After all my embarrassment, it just wasn't over: The doctor decided maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, and made me reschedule for "sometime when the children aren't so fussy"! So I've come to the conclusion that the doctor visit isn't extremely important (at least not important enough to experience that again), and I will reschedule...for when the children are grown.
Of course my little ones fell fast asleep on the ride home. How can they look so sweet when they sleep!?
For example, my most recent trip to the doctor's office went something like this:
After somehow feeding, bathing, and dressing the kids in less than 3 hours we all loaded into the car, miraculously only 5 minutes behind schedule. Of course Sarah (the 3 year old) decided she had to go to the bathroom right after we pulled out of the neighborhood. Anyone who has had a recently potty-trained kid knows that "holding it" is not an option. So back home we go, the potty we use, and back into the car, now (much more typical) a good 15 minutes behind.
When we finally arrived at the office (let me mention the Herculean effort it took to get 2 squirming babes out of their car seats, keep them from getting run over in the parking garage, put the baby into an umbrella stroller, and get off the elevator after stopping at every floor because Sarah mashed all the buttons, while I avoided eye contact with the other passengers) I had to occupy the rugrats. Occupying rugrats in a boring doctor's office is no easy task. I usually use food, but I was saving that for later when the doctor came in to see me.
Finally, after what seemed like hours I got to move into the examination room, which everyone knows is just a second waiting room. We had lots of fun making balloons out of latex gloves and looking through all the drawers and tearing pages out of magazines. The nurse came in and instructed me to "get undressed and put on this gown". The "gown" she refferred to was really a flimsy strip of see-through paper with huge arm-pit holes my boobs could hang out of and no back. So armed with animal crackers and absolutely no shame left in me, off came the clothes and on went the "gown". I should have seen this coming, but honestly I thought the doctor really would "be right in" because of all the commotion coming from our room. I was sure he'd want me outta there as soon as possible. But nope, he didn't come right in. So the kids were tired of playing doctor and getting hungry again by this point, and I started saying my prayer. You know the mom prayer that basically goes, "Please, God, let my kids be good for just a little longer so I can get through this. Please, please and I promise I will...." and so forth.
Guess what-the doctor did come in...right as I was chasing a renegade toddler around the exam table, in my "gown", sun-deprived butt totally exposed and jiggling behind me. Again employing the Avoidance of Eye Contact Trick, I hopped onto the table, silently chanted the mom prayer, and pretending the baby wasn't crying in the stroller and the little girl wasn't kicking and grunting in my arms.
After all my embarrassment, it just wasn't over: The doctor decided maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, and made me reschedule for "sometime when the children aren't so fussy"! So I've come to the conclusion that the doctor visit isn't extremely important (at least not important enough to experience that again), and I will reschedule...for when the children are grown.
Of course my little ones fell fast asleep on the ride home. How can they look so sweet when they sleep!?
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