Look What I Made!

Now, I don't like to read about other people's baby stories.  People seem to love to blog about that.  However, Ima tell you mine because it was short (nay, RAPID) and to the point and that was part of the problem.  Although, on this side of things it doesn't necessarily seem like a problem, however the brain does have a way of erasing ones memory... that's why some people have more than one kid, I suppose.

All of my little people have been one week late, except for Coop.  Being my first, it was a blessing that my water just broke three weeks early with him and I didn't have to wonder exactly when to go to the hospital. 

I decided to lay down and take a cat nap 5 days before my due date and coincidentally, on my younger sister's birthday, when I felt a... pang.  Ten minutes later... same thing.  Nine or so minutes later... same thing.  That's when I got on the phone and told the Hubs, "Hey.  Be on time today."  This was somewhere in the neighborhood of 1:00pm.  Hubs gets off around 1:30.  I figured I had plenty of time IF this was "it", but hey, why be the only one miserable??  I had probably only enough time to dial the phone and have a little convo when, hey...  we're at the eight minute mark.  I called right back and told the Hubs, "naw.  let's just come home."  (You have to be on top of things like this with the Hubs...  he can talk to ANYONE.  I mean ANYONE. And if I didn't stay on top of it, five hours could go by and he may still be chatting someone up or mosey-ing on home.  Yes, even when I'm in labor.)

I decided to hop in the shower all "I'm experienced and have plenty of time" like.  Ima shave my legs!  Wash my hair!  Chill for a while!  It was when I began leaning all over the shower wall that I thought, "hmmm... lets cut this one short."  I drug myself out and checked my contractions app...  seven minutes apart?  oh.  fun.

2:30 rolls around and the Hubs strolls in.  There's no Dick Van Dyke-fall-over-the-ottoman for him or forget mama and pedal-to-the-metal to the hospital like you see on TV.  No, I had to poke and prod him on along and convince the house, "no.  for serious.  I need to GO".  I am just very glad I decided to leave when the contractions were five minutes apart the very first time and not wait an hour like suggested. 

The car ride was just ridiculous.  As I watched my little contraction app, I got a little more nervous with every mile.  They were coming closer and closer together.  At one point, through a voice much like Reagan's in The Exorcist... I requested a Pearl Jam CD in the stereo.  I just thought, "concentrate on every word like the contractions don't exist."  It seemed to work... for a while... then I had to get out of the car... that is just a ridiculous feat for someone in labor.  Partly because I am hella stubborn and partly because I needed someone to lean on, the Hubs and I parked (instead of dropping me off) and made the long trek to labor and delivery.  This was 3:30pm.  I said to the Hubs, (Reagan voice):  "I won't be getting an epidural today."  He says, of course, "Aw, sure you will, honey."

I must have looked pretty damn amazing because I was offered a wheel chair upon entering the hospital.  No paperwork, no nothing... get that woman out of here!  Upstairs, the triage nurse decides some of my blood needs to be taken to the lab... seems my blood pressure goes up with each contraction (pray tell, why would it not?!  Its a nerve wracking experience.) 

I will seal the deal here and you will know my obsession with Eddie Vedder.  Once in my room, I decided screaming (or rather, guttural weird noises) were wasting my time and energy.  I went inside myself and imagined Mr. Vedder throwing me my own personal concert.  I also used the mantra, "let your uterus do the work."... whatever works right?  I just figured I wouldn't want to be embarrassed in front of Eddie, so I must maintain composure!  Later the Hubs told me it was somewhere around here I worried him because I went absolutely silent.  Closer to "Time" I moved my inner self to a beach complete with margaritas and Bud Light, focused on the deserted island off in the distance... figuring I couldn't maintain enough composure in front of my imaginary Eddie Vedder. 

Somewhere within my imaginary beach-happy-hour... look who shows up... well... it's the anesthesiologist.  Labs FINALLY came back and everything was fine.  (duh.)  It felt like forever, but I guess in reality (not on my Eddie Vedder Beach) it was really not that long.  I sat up to receive the great miracle that is an epidural and BAM.  My water broke.  Confused as to how the hell I would have someone plunge something into my spine without writhing in pain because of contractions, I was doubly confused as to how it would help in time anyway.  I considered asking the nurse, "Will it hurt even more? (during delivery)" if I didn't have the epidural, but only imagined her saying, "Fuck yeah, its gonna hurt." and maintained my silence.  I only shook my head when she asked me if I still wanted the epidural. 

It was a pretty amazing little circle, filled with women (and the Hubs...) like some sort of Red Tent or something.  They let me sit up and call the shots pretty much.  (Why the hell would anyone assume it's best to lay down while trying to push a bowling ball out of your hootenanny, I'll never know.)  The room was full of cheering and I felt like I could actually participate fully (but, fuck yeah... it hurt.)  I will say that the worst part is the last few minutes.  Even I wasn't sure what I had experienced until later when my midwife asked me, "How'd ya like that 'ring of fire'?"  Oh.  Dear.  God.  But ya know what?  The instant... and I mean the INSTANT it was all over, I felt like a million bucks.  Like, pack-my-bags-why-can't-we-all-just-go-home million bucks.  It was amazing.  And the little guy was bright eyed and bushy tailed like I have seen no other because he hadn't been medicated either.  Absolutely amazing.

I would HIGHLY recommend this whole natural thing to anyone.  Only... I wouldn't study it up too much before hand.  Something like this could scare the hell out of a person if it isn't just forced upon them...  worked for me anyway... 

So there it is.  Felt a pang around 1pm.  Left for the hospital around 3pm.  Had a baby boy by 5:30pm.  It was nutso.  But here he is: 

Mr. Finn Scott

Welcome to our crazy little family.  Glad to have ya.





...and thank you, Eddie Vedder. 

To My Dearest Eddie Vedder

To My Dearest Eddie Vedder,

I am just not sure how you could set up a concert in Atlanta without consulting me first.  Wait, that's rude.  Just, why didn't you call??  I would have told you I have a baby due on September 19th and that I am simply not able to make it.  I am sure you would have obliged and set up an even better date.

Here is how my brain works (and apparently my husband's...).  The Hubs hears Pearl Jam is coming September 21st (with Foo Fighters?!  ...sigh.)  He immediately calls because I guess he loves to hear information before me.  He drones on and on, rubs it in, about how the radio stations are blowing up about it.  How huge it's going to be.  How amazing.  ...And backstage passes are available???  Although I would probably just stare at you and stutter...  Anyway, my brain immediately starts rolling...  could I induce?  my babies always come a week late, why wouldn't this one??  could I pop a baby out and run??  wait!, there was that time I went to Music Midtown on crutches!... would this be so different???  But these thoughts were the weird split-second kind... quick and... well, dumb.  This may be God's sick sense of humor at work again... after all, the family's savings IS in jeopardy when meeting you could be involved.  (For $1000... what the what??)

So I make coffee this morning and throw in the Ten album in a ritualistic sort of manner.  Those were the days.  Forceful-grown-up-hood is okay, right?  Teaches responsibility?  I'll make a casserole for a sick friend today.  Get my son's occupational therapy done.  Make sure the house sparkles.  But I'll have you know...  it all sounds homely, but not only am I rockin this shit, I am OWNING this shit.  Is there not a way to mix this housewife self with my easy breezy former self?

So, in my daydreams, very much like a cheesy afternoon Lifetime flick... my friends contact you and tell you what a fan I am.  You, being the lovely person you are visit me in the hospital.  You spout some amazing words of wisdom, "Hey, keep on rocking in the free world..." And I name my fifth kid Vedder.  It's a lovely story, right?

Love,

At most admiring, a most pregnant, a most conflicted personality... fan.

Do You Have A Pack-And-Play?

I am crazy excited.  And maybe I'll seem just plain crazy after I explain why, but I was told something yesterday that is going to change my life! 

I will tell you here that you will most likely not share in my excitement unless you too have a kid like Maximus.  Max is by far our quirkiest kid.  I will not even attempt here to try and explain just how quirky he is, but this kid has the power to make me laugh the hardest and the power to infuriate me beyond that of any other human being.  I do not know how a kid that knows so few words by the age of 33 months realizes it is hilarious when a kid of such short and silly stature farts and quickly shouts and points, "LOLA!?"  This same hilarious guy broke my window with his bare hands when he got mad a few weeks ago.  That being said, if you have a kid that freaks out when he's mad and you've attempted time out, you know that it is an absolute joke.  I've tried Supernanny-ing it.  (yeah, I made that a verb.)  Telling myself I'm in it for the long haul.  Attempting a two minute time out that actually lasts 45 minutes because the hellion can't stay seated for a solid two minutes.  When Max gets mad he hits things, throws things, screams at the top of his lungs and as a defense becomes straight as a board, every muscle clenched so that picking him up is nearly impossible.  Time out is a joke.

Realizing a goal the size of a two-year old booty was going no where, I threw out the time out chair for a big masking-taped frownie face in the middle of my kitchen.  As long as he was in the square, damnit, I was counting it.  One must, however, eventually mop the floor and wasting so much masking tape just started feeling... dumb.  Also, what happens when he starts experimenting with putting his little toe over the line, oh... there goes his leg... but his butt is still in the box!  Dumb idea.  And once again, this guy is a chunk... I got sick of hauling him back to the frownie face.

Finally yesterday the "Family Trainer" came to the house.  She.  Was.  Awesome.  One of the first questions she asked me was, "Do you have a pack-and-play?".  I immediately knew where she was going and in the distance an angel began singing or playing harp or whatever angels do.  "Yes!  Yes!" I shouted, as if to seal the deal with yet another person that I am just really socially awkward. 

Mommyhood seems to be an evolution of ideas.  When I had just Cooper I pretty much walked around with the idea that "I am the shit".  As you add more kids and more personalities and more.... emotions... quirks?... weirdness?... to your brood it simply gets harder.  The "I am the shit" feeling does not come about nearly as often as one's self esteem could dream of.  Ideas like using a pack-and-play for time out just don't always come easily.  It seems simple enough, but mayhaps my brain was on "What's the quickest least smelliest way to clean up guinea pig poop?" or "how little can I scour the bathroom today and still get by?" or "will my guest be able to smell all the dirty diapers in the house?" that day.  The amount of multi-tasking involved in raising kids is just effing overwhelming until you consider that sometimes it is an evolution of things getting a little better everyday as just one new idea is brought to the masses. 

Anyway.  The Family Trainer suggested a two and half minute time out away from everyone in a pack-and-play.  The time out only begins once Max is calm.  We have begun with the two behaviors hitting and screaming.  These behaviors get no warning... straight to time out for them.  "Now, this is going to be a very hard two weeks for you, but if you can do this you will see results." she said.  She said that over and over again.  I kept saying, "no problem!"  She would reiterate, "it's going to be really hard to ignore him, but you can do this!"  Finally, at the end of our meeting I reassured her (I think?) by saying, "I forgot to tell you that my oldest has Tourettes.  I sometimes wonder if my 3 year old has it as well.  He practically hums all day.  I don't want this to sound bad, but I uh.... have absolutely no problem ignoring them.  This is going to be just fine."  She gave me one of those awkward smiles that look like, "mmmm hmmmm.  okay."

So here we are.  Day two.  Things are going swimmingly.  All the fuss has been taken out of time out.  Hopefully when we reach our goal of two weeks we'll have a calmer, happier, good-kinda-quirky Max.




(Bam.  post 100 bitches.  Click muh clicker.)

A Proud Moment

Oh! I am so proud.  You may want to exit now if you do not prefer gratuitous mommy-bragging.  This is one for the portfolio!

Coop's picture was on the front of our newspaper today.  He's been reading to the READ dog for a few months now and he's very proud of his accomplishments.  I've mentioned it before here.  I've been asked before and I've thought it myself, "What's so special about reading to a dog?  and how does it help?"  I can tell you that for our kid, who can be a bit shy, it has helped because there is just no pressure from a dog.  Actually, our dog in particular, Lucy, falls asleep at every visit.  We've tried to read to our dog, Sammy, but there is way too much licking (on his part) involved and it's just not as comfy since he's an outside dog. 

As a still fairly new homeschooler, when Coop first sat down with Lucy I was a bit nervous.  No, I shouldn't have been, I should have just let Coop be,  be his own person.  But I was nervous for him.  "I hope the lady knows he's only 6!  I hope she realizes he just started reading!  I hope we chose a book that won't be too hard or embarrassing for him!"  Yes, the first time was rather agonizing.  Coop is not one to open up to people he doesn't know... let alone try to dabble in a new skill he was just learning... right in front of a stranger.  His first 15 minute session was sloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow.  Did I put enough o's?  o infinity.  He connected with Lucy though and decided he wanted to keep participating.  He was excited and talked about Lucy right up until their next visit. 

There's something else about reading to a dog and not a hyped-up mother who corrects every other syllable...  it's calming.  I was concerned when he began reading to Lucy back in September, that every Tourettes tic he had displayed thus far would come bursting out.  Nope.  He just... read. 

This all is why Saturday when Patti, Lucy's owner, asked if Cooper would like to participate in the photo I was so excited.  "I thought he would be great because he's my star student" she said.  Coop took all this in with his usual, 'whatever' attitude, but I was busting at the seams.  I wanted to tell everyone.  When we met up on Monday to take the picture, it was all I could do to keep from bawling right there in the library.  There was Cooper, reading clearly, fluidly and perfectly.  No tics.  And a small crowd had begun to gather of school kids and parents to see what all the commotion and camera flashes were all about.  My shy guy kept his cool and kept right on going.  I was beyond proud.  I was proud of Cooper and honestly, I'll say it... proud of myself.  I taught someone to read.  And if you can read, you can learn anything.  This was a moment my heart took a picture of.

For more information on the READ therapy dog program: 

Here is Lucy herself.
http://www.librarydogs.com/index.html
readingpaws.org

For the article itself:
Paulding Library Offers Reading Program to Wag About

Five For Friday

It has been a pretty good week here at the Awesome abode.  And I mean that sincerely.  And I like when I can mean that sincerely.  Here are some odds and ends of the week:

1.  We turned the freaking heat on, okay.  OKAY?!  Geesh.  Pretty good, I think.  My goal was to make it to December 1st and here we are at the 9th.  It's funny what you can get used to though... yesterday as the temperature reached 68 in the house both the Hubs and I complained it was getting too damn hot and had to knock it down a bit.  I think we're (I say 'we', isn't that cute?) going to try plastic wrapping the windows.  I've heard great things about it and that it really is efficient.  I'm just wondering... how it looks.  do I care?  Suppose not.

2.  Michelle Duggar was the big ol' story on Twitter yesterday and I decided to check into it.  It had just come out that she had miscarried her twentieth child.  It was positively scathing.  Terrible.  Left and right people had tweeted horrible things about how 'she deserved it' or 'it was coming' or that it 'was a good thing'.  What???  Who deserves this?  A miscarriage.  Does it really affect these people's lives how many children she has?  Ridiculous.  This is a soapbox I have to step down from or the whole post could be about this.  I could seriously punch people that say asinine things like this.

3.  I am going to work today.  This pisses me off.  The chicky I was supposed to massage Tuesday called me... at 2:30... as I was in the shower... getting ready... to meet her...at 3:15.  It was a 2 hour time slot.  She left me with no time to fill the damn space.  I get paid peanuts filing or whatever at the office compared to what I get paid to massage.  Nevermind I had to move 4 kids schedules all over the damn place to be ready by said time, but Hubs missed out on overtime because he had to be home with the kids.  So today, once again... (because monetarily, she has me by the short hairs...) I must meet with her to get this damn massage done.  Moral of the story:  there are reasons people charge 'no show' fees when you don't give 24 hours notice for missed appointments.  I should...or at least, the doc I work for should... although I'd see none of it.  Anyway, if you make an appointment with someone, freaking show up... you never know what they've done just to be with you.  PSA complete.

4.   Max got so mad this week that he literally broke a window.  He was asking for something that he just wasn't getting... I forget what it was... but its at the point with his temper that you just don't want to have to tell him no.  Of course you have to, but lordy, do the repercussions SUCK.  So on Wednesday, when I said something like, "no, you can't have a tenth banana" or something just as obviously a no...  he freaks and just begins slamming his hand on our fragile, fragile... thin, rickety, old, single-paned windows.  ...And crack.  What the hell are you so mad about, TWO YEAR OLD?  Budget getting on your nerves?  Mortgage due?  Car shit the bed?  What could be irritating you so badly that you burst into rages so many dang times a day??  Sigh.

5.  We are kicking ass, home school style.  I've decided it all runs in cycles.  By 'all' I mean, any damn thing you can think of.  Life.  In the case of home school, there are just some really bad weeks sometimes when everybody wants to throw in the towel.  Then there are some weeks where we are all kicking asses and taking names.  Math?  Bam.  rocked it.  Phonics?  Done and done.  Spelling?  what spelling?  finished it.  I will relish this moment... now that I've discovered the cycle.

Welp... if you've noticed, I've joined 'Top Mommy Blogs'.  Every time you visit me, if you'd click the little button you could make my ego swell a bit.  I like to have my ego swelled...  (tee, hee.)

Have an rockin' weekend.  We will.  I'm back to hard-core organizing.  Last week was the shit in the organizing department.  (Odd where we get our kicks once we're older 'eh?)

Sing to Me, Eddie.

The moment was like some bright beacon calling from a distant shore.  Angels sang.  Planets aligned.  Dogs and cats played peacefully together.  Eddie Vedder could be heard whispering from a far corner, "Damn, you are Awesome." (with some guttural "yeeeeeeeeeeeah...")

"Mom.  If 4+4 = 8 and 8-4 = 4, then all those numbers are related."

Maybe the average teacher is used to hearing epiphanies like this one, but me, just some regular ol' person...  It's still magic.  You can preach and preach, but until they figure it out for themselves, it's really all just talk.   If I hadn't decided to home school, I would have given these moments to someone else.  That wasn't one of our original reasons for home schooling, but it's become one of the biggest.  The first time I experienced "a moment" was last year when Coop, after working on phonics for several weeks, uttered, "lllll....ah....guh.... LOG!" and from there we were off and reading.  I'm not going to lie, on top of having a comfortable environment for the children to learn and stretch out in... I really get off on the fact I taught someone to read.

I don't mean to make it all sound easy though.  Most days are tough.  Crazy tough.  And if you're smart, you don't have 3 other kids under the age of 3 getting into stuff while the 6 year old is schoolin'.  But when the epiphanies do come sporadically and far between, every tough day is just so worth it.

Pictures, Part I

Welp, I said I'd do it, so I'm gonna.  This is just a sneak peak at the pictures taken at Lola's birthday.  I've probably looked at them 10 times already today.  If ya don't know me personally, this may just be a very boring entry.  You'll get over it.

 

 

You'll probably notice I know nothing of picture placement or formatting....  Yes, I considered having people sign a waiver saying they wouldn't breathe a word if they noticed things from Pinterest.  At least I can say I've done more than just gawk at The Pinterest!

This was just one of the best days.  It was a sacrifice to have someone there to take pictures, but I am still so glad we did it.  I think I'll just be pleased forever.  We've got amazing pictures to look back on.  I can't wait 'til he brings the disc!!

Fatty McFat Fat

The only way for me to get anything done on a permanent basis is to take it step by step.  For instance...  say, my weight makes me want to puke...  well, not my weight per se, but this amazing baby pouch that does not flatter jeans... or yoga pants, or shirts, or sweaters, or sweatshirts, or skirts, or cargo pants, or... 

So, knowing myself and the budget we're on and the fact that the kids won't sit around and eat salads with me and just a million other details that factor into anything I do... I've decided to change things (broad, but we're speaking broadly) one step at a time.  About three weeks ago, suffering from daily headaches, I decided to take caffeine out of my diet.  Yes, you are right, you normally get headaches when you are used to having caffeine...  I had been drinking A LOT of it though.  (No, I still had the very occasional Coke... are you crazy??)  The headaches went away a bit, but I also chalked it up to hormones and girlie things.  Anyway, it got me thinking... why don't I improve my world one weird thing at a time on a weekly basis?  But minus pressure...  I didn't want to proclaim, "I AM ON A DIET!" only to feel like crap once it didn't work out.  The following week I began drinking more water.  Guess what... headaches subsided.  Mayhaps I had just been dehydrated...  which makes me feel like a dumbass.  Last week I decided to get back on to SparkPeople.com. 

I had been counting calories there for a few months and guess what... it worked!  duh.  But this is where all the factors come into play.  On our budget, we handmake a lot of stuff.  (I say we.  Isn't that cute?  It's not we.)  So instead of plugging "bread" into the calorie counter, I've gotta plug in the whole damn recipe.  That sucks.  BUT, isn't it worth it??  I truly believe in "calories in, calories out".  It's all just science and math.  I've got one life and I would rather not live it fat-ly.  thank you. 

So it's one more thing.  I'm not gonna complain about it though. Yesterday, on our Sunday that I brag about where we don't do anything and just relax, I found myself bouncing off the walls with nothing to do.  I made raisin bread.  (it was freaking kick ass.  if I could give you a sample through the computer, I totally would.)  Anyway, what I mean is, I think I'd die if I had nothing to do... it would feel too weird.  So, I'll plug calories into the computer and envision myself in a bikini by June.  (Who am I kidding... moms of 4 don't necessarily obtain bikini bodies...  even I shudder to think...)

So, in case for some reason you are fascinated by all of this, I think I'm going to give myself another week getting used to keeping up with calories.  Next week:  working out again.  Egads.

Five For Friday

The re-telling of a kick ass week.  (just kidding... it was totally...  whatever.)

1.  My stepson is here.  This is great.  The kids all love him and get crazy excited when they know he's coming.  For instance, I know Z asked about when he was coming LITERALLY 50 times before breakfast was over on Thursday.  That all being said, the stepson and I butt heads constantly.  I totally try to see where he's coming from, remember he's from a different household, etc.  He was once diagnosed with O.D.D.  (Oppositional Defiant Disorder) He does seem to have relatively outgrown it... sometimes I think he keeps just a sprinkle for me though to bring out at really... special... times... 

2.  This made my day today:  Sleeping and the Power of Functionality on The Bro's blog.  Every time I hear this story about Coop I giggle.  He still does this.  As does Z.  Max just smiles... big.  Why?  Why do these little people do this?  How can I start doing it??

3.  I HAVE DEFEATED THE COUPON NINJAS.  Bitches.  Publix's ads begin on Thursday.  Hubs came home a smidge early yesterday and I (nearly) literally ran to Publix as soon as he stepped in the door.  Muahahahaha!  I have conquered them.  I got everything on my list.  I shit you not, this week I'll be feeding this family of 6 on $60.  And for part of the week, there's 7 of us.  Now I just need a way to get to Publix early on Thursday every. single. week...  hmm...

4.  This may sound nerdy, but I've been waiting all week for the SyFy guys to tweet that Haven has been picked up for another season.  The longer they make us wait, the more anxious I get to find out!  They left it at such a cliff hanger that I will be pissed if that is just... it.  It would remind me of Carnivale and the way HBO pulled that out from under my nose.  Anybody remember that??  sad face.

5.  I've been pondering Lola's birthday without writing any of it down.  There's so much work to be done around the house I've considered just telling everyone to bring a blankie and meet us at the park.  Then I think, well... if these are our friends, they won't care if our house needs work.  I don't know what happened, but lately I feel a little like Adam and Eve.  One day God says, "hey, you're naked" and they're all like, "damnit!  I can't believe we're freakin naked!"  I feel like my house has been like this, but suddenly I'm all conscious of it.  Siding.  the deck.  door frames.  paint.  falling retaining wall.  It all needs some loving.  Mayhaps I will just blind fold our guests til they're in the house??...

side note:  the other day Coop asked about Adam and Steve...  I asked him if he was talking about the folks "in the garden"... he said, "yeah, Adam and Steve".  I giggled pretty hard... probably embarrassed him... and realized we gotta start talking about the Bible a little more often...  it's gone neglected somehow...


Happy Weekend, peeps.  If your house is nice and quiet, do NOT take it for granted.

Spontaneity and the Library

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...  (or it could have been another planet, even... I'm pretty sure...)  There was a New Year's Eve party.  I went on a whim.  The Sugar Bowl was in New Orleans the next day and a few of my friends were going... on a whim.  Meaning, no tickets... well, one had a ticket... the other two were going for the hell of it.  I decided I'd go for the hell of it too.  Went home, packed a change of underwear and a tshirt and.  just.  went. 

This baffles my mind.  Spontaneity.  I had it.  I did things like this:
 

 and this:

 and this:

and then this happened...

true story:  a guest at one of our parties once saw this picture and asked "who's this?" WTF.  Have I changed so much?

and this...

and finally

this.   

No, the former me wasn't skydiving or anything... but the former me used to say she wanted to, at least.

So you say, Damn!  What's your point already??  Besides digging up pictures today that didn't make me want to puke... (did you see my boobs in the one??  Hells yeah.  Boobs don't look like that after 4 kids... I'm just sayin...) 

I went to the library today.  The effing library.  For story time.  Where once I'd decide and pack it up to go to New Orleans all in an hour... I planned this for a week.  Maybe not consciously, but last week I began thinking...  can I do it?  Single stroller or double stroller?  Can I get both the 2 year old and the 3 year old safely across the parking lot while pushing the 10 month old in her stroller?  Will they sit still?  Is it worth it to go?  I'm not even gonna lie...  if I work I wear scrubs, if I sleep I wear jammies... somewhere in the middle is a very gross uniform of smelly tshirts and hole-y jeans and shorts... what will I wear??  Granted.  This may all sound ridiculous.  But there's 2 in diapers... pack a bag!  I'd like to be all, "Dude.  Whatever."  But they're little people and while people have been doing this forever, the logistics of it can be overwhelming sometimes.  Truth is, it was only in the last few days that we were able to get a vehicle that the Hubs could take back and forth to work so that I would have a vehicle during the day... so this was one of the first times I did it all myself.  When he got his truck I thought, "FINALLY!" and then it crept in my head, "oh dear God... that's a mess.." 

But we did it.  We're home.  The house is in shambles.  Super Nanny always advises to write up a schedule and adhere to it.  Done and done.  Awesome.  Now my kids and I are completely unable to accept spontaneity.  Good job, mom.  Or maybe I should learn to accept just not getting it all done?  Hard one.  But we did get out, smelled the roses and what-not.  And Maximus Prime was just beside himself getting to hang with other kids and be all... social... and stuff.  The other mothers were wearing the appropriate uniforms:  jeans.  tshirt.  baseball cap.  (but then there's always one, right?  dressed to the nines.  curse you.  you make us all look frumpy.)  I think we'll do it again next week...  then our spontaneity will become... routine? 

Me. A-Z.

This is floating around and I thought it would be fun...  kinda like the AOL days of high school...


A. Age: 31
B. Bed size: King. I don't think I could ever go back to a small size.  It's amazing.
C. Chore that you hate: I put off cleaning the kids toilet as long as possible.  The very second I realize the eldest is capable of cleaning it decently I am totally delegating that shit.
D. Dogs: Sammy, the itchy, stinky wonder dog.  He's the best dog I've ever had.
E. Essential start to your day: coffee.  coffee.  coffee.  ...and a stare out the window as my body gets used to being awake.  The best is when I get up on my own without being shaken awake by children... then I can ease back into reality.
F. Favorite color: orange! 
G. Gold or Silver: silver.  or white gold....  my wedding band was white gold at one time... it's now turning gold gold.  hrmph.  Time for new bling, bling, Hubs.
H. Height: 5'4"
I. Instruments you play: I once played the trumpet.  I now play a pretty mean cowbell.
J. Job title: I love to enter 'wild banshee wrangler' whenever someone asks.  ...gives the true effect.  I'm also a massage therapist.
K. Kids: 1 step son.  3 boys.  1 girl.  and a partridge in a pear tree.
L. Live: Georgia
M. Mother’s name: DD
N. Nicknames: Manders, once upon a time.  hard to explain.
O. Overnight hospital stays: not having another baby this year, the Hubs and I have said we actually miss our 'over night vacations' of the past 3 years... yeah, we're nuts like that.  4 with the kids.  and an emergency gall-bladder removal.
P. Pet peeves: braggers.  
Q. Quote from a movie:
"A little nonsense now and then, is relished by the wisest men." - Willy Wonka (Gene Wilder)
R. Right or left handed: Right handed.
S. Siblings: 1 brother and 1 sister.  1 half brother and 1 half sister.
U. Underwear: yes?  what?
V. Vegetable you hate: I have made peace with the brussel sprout.  I still hate beets.
W. What makes you run late: usually untimely big fat poopy diapers or something I didn't forsee.  I have anxiety like that.  And can't stand to be late anywhere.
X. X-Rays you’ve had: dental and my knee after a wreck.  oh, and my ankle after twisting it, but refusing to not go to a weekend-long concert.
Y. Yummy food that you make: I have heard my banana bread is pretty good.  I like my chicken-fried steak. 
Z. Zoo animal: the otters.  always the otters.

Cokes and Crayons

Today was the first day of school and, my bad, I forgot what these days are really like.  I got up with the Hubs to be sure I was full-on ready.  Schedule in hand, I went about making my bed, writing a to-do list and going over the curricula to be used today.  This is all circa 5:30am.  I got all the little crayon boxes put together complete with new crayons and sharpened pencils.  At 7:30 I woke their little booties up and proceeded with said schedule.  After breakfast and morning chores we sat down at the table and...


We worked diligently for 5 minutes, Coop, Z and I.

...and then all hell broke loose.  As it does with a 6, 3, and 2 year old and a 10 month old.  I guess in all my planning I forgot I was...  teaching kids.  (heathens?!)  For some of his studies, the six year old has amazing workbooks that he can do a bit of by himself, but still needs guidance especially on the first day.  The 3 year old is just getting familiar with his letters and keeps screeching, "Mommy! Help me with my letters!"  This prompts the 2 year old to just simply screech.  ...because everyone else is...  and what is that 10 month old???  Oh.  You dropped your toy.  Again.  Chaos.

It's so easy to plan things out, but kids seem to always have an agenda of their own.  A lot of people tell me I'm crazy for home schooling.  Sometimes I am offended by this.  Other days I sit back and think... oh yeah... I AM crazy.  I'm not gonna lie... most days are as nuts as this one.  Everybody all over the place, screeching at the top of their lungs.  But it's the little moments that I wouldn't trade for anything...  the first time Coop read a word by himself, the first time Z wrote "his letter: Z".  It seems like complete chaos sometimes, but at some point during our day both Z and Coop will come to me with some amazing fact or something that trickled in and got absorbed somehow.  It's all pretty amazing.

So, when all else fails, I do have one vice.  I do not keep it in the house because I would be as big as a barn.  I don't smoke.  I don't drink too often.  But when the times get tough, the times need a...

Coke.

Hits the freakin spot.  (And please don't judge... I am assuming the chicken neck is due to a six year old vantage point... I could be wrong... please don't tell me if I'm not...)  I felt much better after downing and drowning my crazy chaos.  Tomorrow will be better... or not... but we're learning.  That's what matters.


(Hey, Hubs... go ahead and pick me up another Coke... )

Oh No She Didn't...

Check this... 

I made stuff today!  I feel like Farmer Fran... I also feel like The Shit.  This stuff is amazing:

Mmmm... Pina Colada jam!  I'll have to add the recipe to the ol' blog tomorrow. 

I also threw together some curtains.  It's called being frugal (I prefer that to cheap)...  found this bit of cloth in a closet... had Liquid Stitch, but no sewing talent...

and... BOOM.  Curtains.

It's really pretty fabulous.  If only I could now make my own amazing camera so the pictures didn't look so ridiculous.  I will work on this...