Drama Queen
Today Samuel got his foot stuck in the door. It bruised it a bit but didn't break the skin. He was able to walk on it but was screaming like a banshee. I mean screaming so loud that I became 100% certain there are alien life forms and that Samuel has been chosen to communicate with them through his painful screams.
He made me carry him to the couch and asked if I would prop his foot up. Then he had the audacity to say, "I have a bad foot just like you Mom." No you don't Samuel. In fact, I told him just that: "No you don't Samuel. I know excruciating-talk-to-aliens-foot-pain and this isn't it." He didn't seem to buy it and just kept talking to the aliens. It's almost as if he thinks I'm being melodramatic.
I said, "Samuel, can you please stop screaming so loudly; it is going to be okay?" and he said, "Why do you keep saying it is going to be okay? It is never going to be okay ever again."
See what I'm living with? I'm living with myself. Only a worse version of myself: a 4 year old, out of touch with reality, version of myself.
If aliens really wanted to make contact with someone here on earth they should have chosen me over Samuel. I can give a much more accurate account of things.
Oh my gosh, while I was spell checking this Samuel said to me, "Mom, come over here and kiss me. I am close to death." Hahahahahaha! Is he English?
Showing posts with label My Kids are Gonna Need Therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Kids are Gonna Need Therapy. Show all posts
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Saturday, December 25, 2010
An Oldie But A Goodie
Tonight it is Christmas but I'm trying to blog more so instead of coming up with something new I'm giving you one of my favorites from the last year. You may remember the day my children fell out the window... I did but just rereading it made me laugh out loud enought to cause Hot Jeff to ask what I was up to. Enjoy.
February 5, 2010
I had given a clear warning of what was going to happen on Friday morning last night. And yet my children still decided to act like 2 and 4 year olds and ruin all the fun.
It started by them letting me sleep in. Yes, you heard that right. They let me sleep in. Jeff snuck off to work (lucky dog) sometime around 7ish. Samuel was up so Jeff put a video on and gave him a cereal bar. I was unaware of all of this, (because I was in the middle of a weird dream about losing my chap stick in a hospital cafeteria) as Jeff left for work, Samuel got bored and decided to let Mama sleep in. Now I know that sounds sweet but almost-4 year olds aren't sweet. They don't know how to put another person's needs first. They are sneaky and clever and coupled with a mother who can sleep through Disney World that is a dangerous, dangerous combination.
So Samuel got bored, came upstairs, shut my bedroom door, went and woke his sister up and down the stairs they went. For the record, I am just putting this all together from clues left for me because I was STILL SLEEPING and don't know any of it for a fact.
Some time around 8:15 I woke up with the refreshed feeling of I-can't-believe-the-kids-slept-so-late. I rolled over to see my door was shut and immediately panic rose in my chest. I crept down the stairs, frightened of what I would see. I rounded the corner in to the family room to see my kids happily eating cereal bars and watching Tinker Bell. Awwwww.
I got them some fruit, yogurt and water. I turned the video off and told them I was going to watch a "Mama show" with ear buds in and that they could play with the couch cushions. Its a small price to pay for an uninterrupted 47 minutes with Chief Shepherd and I was willing to pay it.
I snuggled down in my favorite chair with the kids in eye shot and got lost in my favorite hospital drama. With only a few minutes remaining Emily ran by and instantly a rank odor pierced my senses. It went up through my nose and penetrated my core. I recoiled and like any good mother said, "Roo, as soon as this is over I will change that wretched diaper".
Only seconds later Samuel tattled from the bathroom around the corner, "Mama, Emily took her diaper off". I paused Derek's meaningful speech to his staff and put Ruby down on the chair. I walked in to the bathroom; the air had turned a putrid green from the stench and fumes were wafting out. Emily was standing there with her pajamas around her ankles, her holocausted diaper lying in a child-thrown heap next to her with an enormous smile on her face. "Hallelujah" I said under my breath, thankful that she had done it in the bathroom and not on the carpeted floor. I turned my back to grab the wipes when she slithered past me like a stealth bomb; she traveled like an invisible dark angel the 3 feet to the carpet where she laid herself down and spread her legs awaiting a wipe all while spreading poop on my light beige carpet with her crap-covered hiney.
Sighing, I cleaned her up and sent her on her way. As I walked in to the kitchen to get the spot cleaner I saw what they had been up to while I watched Grey's in my McDreamy induced coma...they had spread animal crackers all over the kitchen floor. I vaguely remembered Samuel asking me if they could get some and me grunting "yes, just a few".
Surprisingly, I wasn't angered as I knew I couldn't expect too much from them as I had just been ignoring them for the last 45 minutes and that it was somewhat my fault. I began putting my full attention and elbow grease in to the butt shaped poop stain before me.
I was just starting to see an improvement when I heard Samuel say, "Mama, Emily just pee'd on the floor". Seriously. I had left her diaper off of her thinking that as soon as I got this stain up I would just go give them a bubble bath. They didn't have one last night and its a great time killer on a Friday when there isn't anything to do but wait for Daddy to get home so the weekend can start.
I got up from the stain and walked in to the kitchen. Urine soaked animal crackers danced around Emily's wet feet. She stood, smiling, with a remnant of pee trickling down her calf, onto her ankle and ultimately to the pool below her.
Sighing, I tip toed through the urine, crackers, and urine crackers and grabbed the naked toddler before me. Somehow I had the wherewith all to grab the dishtowel hanging over the sink and put it down on the carpet as a sort of arbitrary protector from Emily's sodden feet.
I formulated a plan, I would clean up the crackers and pee with paper towels, then mop, then sweep and then mop again. Samuel asked if he could get naked too so that he and Emily could do the "naked dance", a ritualistic, tribal bedtime routine our kids perform every night. I said yes, basically to get them out of my hair so I could go to task on the floors before me.
I started getting my mop water ready, the mix of Pine-sol and urine began to gag me so I opened the family room window for fresh air. The ground was soggy from the Oregon rain but the sun was shining and the temperature was climbing despite that it wasn't even 10 o'clock yet. Samuel and Emily were happily doing the naked dance, oblivious to the fire storm of annoyance brewing in my heart threatening to bubble over on to them.
As I finished the floor I realized I had done it backwards and now was on the other side of the floor from them. They were dancing in the family room and I was on the side of the dining room. The damp kitchen floor separated us and I exhorted, "Stay in that room. The floor is wet and I don't want you to slip".
The freshly mopped floor separating us felt like a beautiful metaphoric chasm. I took a deep breath and wished for an escape. Just for today. Just for today, I thought, I don't want to be a Mommy. I just want to go away and be Jeff's lover. I want to listen to music while we drive to the beach. I want to eat at Mo's and then walk on the beach. I don't want to just "get away"... I literally don't want Samuel and Emily to exist today. Just for today.
I love being a Mommy. I adore my kids. BUT, just for today if I could totally escape, I would. I began to formulate a blog post all about my day dream and thought about how you would all comment on how you have those days too and how you just loved the post and... a symphony of screams broke my reverie.
The shrieking was coming from outside. My mind raced and questions rose as I ran from the living room, over the still-wet floor to the family room. As quickly as it registered in my brain what had happened I saw the screen from the window I had opened earlier hanging by a bent frame, the bottom pushed out. I leapt up on to the couch and peered down out the bare window (about a 4 foot fall) to see my naked children lying in a tangled heap, bruised, covered in bark dust and howling like they had been drug behind a speeding '87 Chevy.
Pausing for a split second to wonder if I should grab the camera, (relax, I didn't) I rushed out the sliding glass door to their sides. They were fine. Pissed but fine.
I ushered them inside the house trying not to notice the enormous trail of bark dust they were leaving on the carpet. I soothed them as I calmly and sympathetically said we were finally going to head upstairs to take the long awaited bath I had promised 23 years ago. They both were lurching from the fright, pain and shock when the totally unbelievable happened. Yes, they both simultaneously wiped out on the wet kitchen floor. Their screeching reached deafening levels and I wondered if everyone in our neighborhood couldn't hear the chorus of chaos chiming loudly from the open window they had just fallen from.
So there you have it. The most unbelievable but true story of how things went utterly wrong in my world this morning.
I have since given them a bath, given them tylenol, fed them, put them down for naps, cleaned the house, got them up from naps and am now feeding them again. They are having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
This is where our story ends because I AM NOT KIDDING YOU, Emily just got up from the little kid table in the kitchen, pulled her bread apart and stuck a piece to my kitchen floor. She is smiling. She is the source of all evil.
Seriously.
Tonight it is Christmas but I'm trying to blog more so instead of coming up with something new I'm giving you one of my favorites from the last year. You may remember the day my children fell out the window... I did but just rereading it made me laugh out loud enought to cause Hot Jeff to ask what I was up to. Enjoy.
February 5, 2010
I had given a clear warning of what was going to happen on Friday morning last night. And yet my children still decided to act like 2 and 4 year olds and ruin all the fun.
It started by them letting me sleep in. Yes, you heard that right. They let me sleep in. Jeff snuck off to work (lucky dog) sometime around 7ish. Samuel was up so Jeff put a video on and gave him a cereal bar. I was unaware of all of this, (because I was in the middle of a weird dream about losing my chap stick in a hospital cafeteria) as Jeff left for work, Samuel got bored and decided to let Mama sleep in. Now I know that sounds sweet but almost-4 year olds aren't sweet. They don't know how to put another person's needs first. They are sneaky and clever and coupled with a mother who can sleep through Disney World that is a dangerous, dangerous combination.
So Samuel got bored, came upstairs, shut my bedroom door, went and woke his sister up and down the stairs they went. For the record, I am just putting this all together from clues left for me because I was STILL SLEEPING and don't know any of it for a fact.
Some time around 8:15 I woke up with the refreshed feeling of I-can't-believe-the-kids-slept-so-late. I rolled over to see my door was shut and immediately panic rose in my chest. I crept down the stairs, frightened of what I would see. I rounded the corner in to the family room to see my kids happily eating cereal bars and watching Tinker Bell. Awwwww.
I got them some fruit, yogurt and water. I turned the video off and told them I was going to watch a "Mama show" with ear buds in and that they could play with the couch cushions. Its a small price to pay for an uninterrupted 47 minutes with Chief Shepherd and I was willing to pay it.
I snuggled down in my favorite chair with the kids in eye shot and got lost in my favorite hospital drama. With only a few minutes remaining Emily ran by and instantly a rank odor pierced my senses. It went up through my nose and penetrated my core. I recoiled and like any good mother said, "Roo, as soon as this is over I will change that wretched diaper".
Only seconds later Samuel tattled from the bathroom around the corner, "Mama, Emily took her diaper off". I paused Derek's meaningful speech to his staff and put Ruby down on the chair. I walked in to the bathroom; the air had turned a putrid green from the stench and fumes were wafting out. Emily was standing there with her pajamas around her ankles, her holocausted diaper lying in a child-thrown heap next to her with an enormous smile on her face. "Hallelujah" I said under my breath, thankful that she had done it in the bathroom and not on the carpeted floor. I turned my back to grab the wipes when she slithered past me like a stealth bomb; she traveled like an invisible dark angel the 3 feet to the carpet where she laid herself down and spread her legs awaiting a wipe all while spreading poop on my light beige carpet with her crap-covered hiney.
Sighing, I cleaned her up and sent her on her way. As I walked in to the kitchen to get the spot cleaner I saw what they had been up to while I watched Grey's in my McDreamy induced coma...they had spread animal crackers all over the kitchen floor. I vaguely remembered Samuel asking me if they could get some and me grunting "yes, just a few".
Surprisingly, I wasn't angered as I knew I couldn't expect too much from them as I had just been ignoring them for the last 45 minutes and that it was somewhat my fault. I began putting my full attention and elbow grease in to the butt shaped poop stain before me.
I was just starting to see an improvement when I heard Samuel say, "Mama, Emily just pee'd on the floor". Seriously. I had left her diaper off of her thinking that as soon as I got this stain up I would just go give them a bubble bath. They didn't have one last night and its a great time killer on a Friday when there isn't anything to do but wait for Daddy to get home so the weekend can start.
I got up from the stain and walked in to the kitchen. Urine soaked animal crackers danced around Emily's wet feet. She stood, smiling, with a remnant of pee trickling down her calf, onto her ankle and ultimately to the pool below her.
Sighing, I tip toed through the urine, crackers, and urine crackers and grabbed the naked toddler before me. Somehow I had the wherewith all to grab the dishtowel hanging over the sink and put it down on the carpet as a sort of arbitrary protector from Emily's sodden feet.
I formulated a plan, I would clean up the crackers and pee with paper towels, then mop, then sweep and then mop again. Samuel asked if he could get naked too so that he and Emily could do the "naked dance", a ritualistic, tribal bedtime routine our kids perform every night. I said yes, basically to get them out of my hair so I could go to task on the floors before me.
I started getting my mop water ready, the mix of Pine-sol and urine began to gag me so I opened the family room window for fresh air. The ground was soggy from the Oregon rain but the sun was shining and the temperature was climbing despite that it wasn't even 10 o'clock yet. Samuel and Emily were happily doing the naked dance, oblivious to the fire storm of annoyance brewing in my heart threatening to bubble over on to them.
As I finished the floor I realized I had done it backwards and now was on the other side of the floor from them. They were dancing in the family room and I was on the side of the dining room. The damp kitchen floor separated us and I exhorted, "Stay in that room. The floor is wet and I don't want you to slip".
The freshly mopped floor separating us felt like a beautiful metaphoric chasm. I took a deep breath and wished for an escape. Just for today. Just for today, I thought, I don't want to be a Mommy. I just want to go away and be Jeff's lover. I want to listen to music while we drive to the beach. I want to eat at Mo's and then walk on the beach. I don't want to just "get away"... I literally don't want Samuel and Emily to exist today. Just for today.
I love being a Mommy. I adore my kids. BUT, just for today if I could totally escape, I would. I began to formulate a blog post all about my day dream and thought about how you would all comment on how you have those days too and how you just loved the post and... a symphony of screams broke my reverie.
The shrieking was coming from outside. My mind raced and questions rose as I ran from the living room, over the still-wet floor to the family room. As quickly as it registered in my brain what had happened I saw the screen from the window I had opened earlier hanging by a bent frame, the bottom pushed out. I leapt up on to the couch and peered down out the bare window (about a 4 foot fall) to see my naked children lying in a tangled heap, bruised, covered in bark dust and howling like they had been drug behind a speeding '87 Chevy.
Pausing for a split second to wonder if I should grab the camera, (relax, I didn't) I rushed out the sliding glass door to their sides. They were fine. Pissed but fine.
I ushered them inside the house trying not to notice the enormous trail of bark dust they were leaving on the carpet. I soothed them as I calmly and sympathetically said we were finally going to head upstairs to take the long awaited bath I had promised 23 years ago. They both were lurching from the fright, pain and shock when the totally unbelievable happened. Yes, they both simultaneously wiped out on the wet kitchen floor. Their screeching reached deafening levels and I wondered if everyone in our neighborhood couldn't hear the chorus of chaos chiming loudly from the open window they had just fallen from.
So there you have it. The most unbelievable but true story of how things went utterly wrong in my world this morning.
I have since given them a bath, given them tylenol, fed them, put them down for naps, cleaned the house, got them up from naps and am now feeding them again. They are having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
This is where our story ends because I AM NOT KIDDING YOU, Emily just got up from the little kid table in the kitchen, pulled her bread apart and stuck a piece to my kitchen floor. She is smiling. She is the source of all evil.
Seriously.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Nothing Says 'Merry Christmas' Like a Dead Pet Story
Before I spread a whole lot of Christmas cheer by telling you our dead hamster story I have to just tell you my wonderful Mommy story. This just happened and it seriously validated me as a mother.
We had just put the kids to bed and I went downstairs to get Ruby. While I was down there I got a Mike's Hard Lemonade and a glass of water. As I was making my way through the kitchen and living room, here came Samuel wondering what I was doing. Heaven forbid I go downstairs if he is upstairs.
I started back up the stairs with my hands full with the laptop, my Mike's and a glass of water. Samuel was a stair ahead of me and turned and took the water from my hand and said, "Let me help you Mama".
Ok seriously, how sweet is that? My heart just flip flopped that Samuel would be aware of someone other than himself and jump right in and help. It was this little glimmer of promise that he is going to someday grow out of this egocentric, albeit developmentally perfectly normal, stage and be a fully functioning person who doesn't throw a fit if you give him a blue cup instead of an orange cup.
And because I make everything about me, I also felt like maybe I am doing something right! Ok, so maybe I was heading upstairs to drink a hard lemonade while watching "Celebrity Rehab" but my kid is thoughtful! Yes, I am definitely doing something right. I also feel like I'm modeling responsible drinking. Like you know, drink as much as you want as long as you don't end up like those fools on Dr. Drew's show!!
Ok, on an unrelated note, I took a Tylenol PM right before I started writing and mixing that with a Mike's may have not been my best idea--I'm getting sleepy! Last night I could not sleep because Hot Jeff was putting on a show with his snoring. It sounded like a plague of locusts. Well tonight, thanks to my little Tylenol cocktail, he may think he's Moses.
The more tired I get (and Hot Jeff just put Avatar on and thinks I am going to be able to stay up fr 2.5 hours?!) the less I feel about writing about Riley. Sorry. You're going to get the short-I-feel-a-little-buzzed version. (How funny is it that I'm a little buzzed off half a Mike's and one Tylenol PM? Can you slur your typing?)
Last weekend Coach Riley the hamster died. We were sad.
Oh ok, I can do a little better than that.
I'm not really sure what happened to her but when I got home from work last Friday she was lethargic and way tame. For example, usually when we open her cage she would run (she was far from tame) but this day she as just lying in her wheel, motionless. Suspecting she didn't have much time left I told the kids & Jeff that I thought she was going to die.
We held her (usually when I held her she kind of struggled so we just hurry and put her in her ball and let her cruise around) and her little listless body just rested in our different, gentle hands.
Sometime in the night little Riley died; Samuel had decorated a little box with a cross on it and Jeff put her in it. We said our goodbyes and Jeff put the lid on the box. Precious, tender hearted Samuel said, "Dad, I need to see her one more time". Jeff patiently took the lid off and Samuel looked down on her and with tears streaming down his face said, "I wish you could have lived forever. You were the best hamster but you will have a good time in Heaven being with Jesus on His birthday".
So precious. It really was so tender and sweet and I was so proud of him.
That same night (we buried Riley in the backyard) we got a new hamster. Her name is Molly. The funny thing about Molly is that she is super fun. She seems like she is a lot more active and comfortable with us. Watching Molly has made us wonder if hamsters really do have different personalities or was maybe Riley sick from the beginning??
So that's the scoop. New hamster and a life lesson: don't drink Mike's Hard Lemonade and take Tylenol PM. You're just asking for trouble and just asking to not be able to get through Avatar.
Man, I'm tired.
Before I spread a whole lot of Christmas cheer by telling you our dead hamster story I have to just tell you my wonderful Mommy story. This just happened and it seriously validated me as a mother.
We had just put the kids to bed and I went downstairs to get Ruby. While I was down there I got a Mike's Hard Lemonade and a glass of water. As I was making my way through the kitchen and living room, here came Samuel wondering what I was doing. Heaven forbid I go downstairs if he is upstairs.
I started back up the stairs with my hands full with the laptop, my Mike's and a glass of water. Samuel was a stair ahead of me and turned and took the water from my hand and said, "Let me help you Mama".
Ok seriously, how sweet is that? My heart just flip flopped that Samuel would be aware of someone other than himself and jump right in and help. It was this little glimmer of promise that he is going to someday grow out of this egocentric, albeit developmentally perfectly normal, stage and be a fully functioning person who doesn't throw a fit if you give him a blue cup instead of an orange cup.
And because I make everything about me, I also felt like maybe I am doing something right! Ok, so maybe I was heading upstairs to drink a hard lemonade while watching "Celebrity Rehab" but my kid is thoughtful! Yes, I am definitely doing something right. I also feel like I'm modeling responsible drinking. Like you know, drink as much as you want as long as you don't end up like those fools on Dr. Drew's show!!
Ok, on an unrelated note, I took a Tylenol PM right before I started writing and mixing that with a Mike's may have not been my best idea--I'm getting sleepy! Last night I could not sleep because Hot Jeff was putting on a show with his snoring. It sounded like a plague of locusts. Well tonight, thanks to my little Tylenol cocktail, he may think he's Moses.
The more tired I get (and Hot Jeff just put Avatar on and thinks I am going to be able to stay up fr 2.5 hours?!) the less I feel about writing about Riley. Sorry. You're going to get the short-I-feel-a-little-buzzed version. (How funny is it that I'm a little buzzed off half a Mike's and one Tylenol PM? Can you slur your typing?)
Last weekend Coach Riley the hamster died. We were sad.
Oh ok, I can do a little better than that.
I'm not really sure what happened to her but when I got home from work last Friday she was lethargic and way tame. For example, usually when we open her cage she would run (she was far from tame) but this day she as just lying in her wheel, motionless. Suspecting she didn't have much time left I told the kids & Jeff that I thought she was going to die.
We held her (usually when I held her she kind of struggled so we just hurry and put her in her ball and let her cruise around) and her little listless body just rested in our different, gentle hands.
Sometime in the night little Riley died; Samuel had decorated a little box with a cross on it and Jeff put her in it. We said our goodbyes and Jeff put the lid on the box. Precious, tender hearted Samuel said, "Dad, I need to see her one more time". Jeff patiently took the lid off and Samuel looked down on her and with tears streaming down his face said, "I wish you could have lived forever. You were the best hamster but you will have a good time in Heaven being with Jesus on His birthday".
So precious. It really was so tender and sweet and I was so proud of him.
That same night (we buried Riley in the backyard) we got a new hamster. Her name is Molly. The funny thing about Molly is that she is super fun. She seems like she is a lot more active and comfortable with us. Watching Molly has made us wonder if hamsters really do have different personalities or was maybe Riley sick from the beginning??
So that's the scoop. New hamster and a life lesson: don't drink Mike's Hard Lemonade and take Tylenol PM. You're just asking for trouble and just asking to not be able to get through Avatar.
Man, I'm tired.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
There Is No G Spot...
But Just For Today
Don't worry ladies, the G Spot will resume (I think) next week. The G in G Spot has a life. I know, I know it doesn't seem fair, does it? Yep, she's shirking her blogging duties for her real life and while I'm as bummed as you are I am not a task master so I gave her the day off. She will be back next week to delight us and answer our questions so you better post some questions or I'm going to ask her about my awful Urinary Tract Infection...
Yep, I am SO going there. I am so going to put the Too in Too Much Information. I'm not going there right away but will get there eventually and you'll get a whole lot of other useless knowledge about me as well.
It begins with me not being able to sleep tonight which is as ironic as it is troublesome because all I've done for the last 6 days is sleep. 2 weekends ago I started feeling the symptoms of a bladder infection or Urinary Tract Infection; it wasn't terribly bothersome but bothersome enough and like any infection it zapped me of energy. By Monday I was feeling fine and went about my week. That takes us to this last weekend where I was a total and complete sloth. Layin' around feelin' all slothlike, taking more naps than usual and having zero energy to do anything but go upstairs and nap some more.
Monday morning was fine, still tired but fine but by Monday afternoon I was peeing fire. (And here we go with the TMI...) Seriously, tears-in-my-eyes-bite-down-on-something-solid-where-is-the-fire-extinguisher pain in my girly parts. Called my Doc, she called in a heavy dose of antibiotics, angel from Heaven next door neighbor Melissa went and picked it up along with some of that urethra numbing, pee staining stuff and I was on my way to wellness. So I thought.
Tuesday: painfully tired. Wednesday: painfully tired, vomiting, back pain, painfully tired. Thursday: still a little nauseated, still painfully tired but overall feeling like the antibiotics are kicking in and that I'm not going to die from undetected, stage 4, metastatic bladder cancer. I know, what a relief, eh?
So this brings me to why I can't sleep. For being so tired you'd think I could sleep right? Well to add insult to injury to my miserable life my home is in shambles. I haven't done much cooking or cleaning or laundry in the last week and the house is looking like it. It looks like a 2 and a 4 year old live here and they don't have a mother and their Dad doesn't give a rip about laundry or clean dishes. And when my home is in shambles it stresses me out and I don't deal with stress like most people. Most people get a headache or they drink 2 beers or they go target practicing or ok, its true, I really have no idea what most people do when they are stressed out but I'm pretty sure they don't completely melt down with a panic attack. That's what I did.
Because I am awake and because I am self-aware I know what triggered it. We were putting the kids down after a perfectly normal evening and Emily couldn't find her binkies and she was FREAKING OUT because she couldn't find her binkies. And of course I couldn't find her binkies and all I could see were piles of laundry, strewn about shoes, strewn about toys and piles of mail that needed to be sorted. Finally after frantically, and I mean frantically searching for binkies I found 2 (she needs one to suck and one to rub her nose with) and put her to bed. Hot Jeff was putting Samuel down and somehow, literally by the grace of God I was able to push through the tightening in my chest to sing Emily a song and get her down before my heart exploded. Someone give me a Mother-of-the-Year Award stat.
As soon as I walked out of her room this insane pressure filled my head and I felt dizzy and short of breath. I seriously felt like there were weights on my chest and that the house was being spun like a top. I went downstairs and outside and stared up at the starry sky and tried to picture the fresh night air filling my lungs back up. Later I explained to Jeff that I felt like my heart was a balloon that when you squeeze it it gets really thin and pale and you know you could pop it with the slightest touch.
Recognizing that I was indeed having a panic attack and not a heart attack I went to Jeff, who was reading, and told him what I was feeling instead of calling an ambulance. I did all the things you're supposed to like breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and self-talk that it was just anxiety and it would pass. I said out loud to Jeff, "There really isn't a semi on my chest. There really isn't a semi on my chest. There really isn't a semi on my chest" until I finally believed it.
Then we watched Grey's Anatomy and I felt much better.
With all of that said, my ferocious bladder infection caused me to feel crummy all week leading to me falling off the housewife duties leading me to not be able to find binkies leading me to have a debilitating panic attack leading to way too much adrenaline being released in my body leading to me not being able to sleep at 11:52pm on a Thursday night leading me to write a blog post in place of The G Spot. And its probably because of my own G spot that led me to having too much sex-a-roni with Hot Jeff which probably is how I got the darn UTI in the first place.
I think the word we're looking for here is circuitous.
How do you deal with stress? Have you ever had a panic attack? Do you target practice?
But Just For Today
Don't worry ladies, the G Spot will resume (I think) next week. The G in G Spot has a life. I know, I know it doesn't seem fair, does it? Yep, she's shirking her blogging duties for her real life and while I'm as bummed as you are I am not a task master so I gave her the day off. She will be back next week to delight us and answer our questions so you better post some questions or I'm going to ask her about my awful Urinary Tract Infection...
Yep, I am SO going there. I am so going to put the Too in Too Much Information. I'm not going there right away but will get there eventually and you'll get a whole lot of other useless knowledge about me as well.
It begins with me not being able to sleep tonight which is as ironic as it is troublesome because all I've done for the last 6 days is sleep. 2 weekends ago I started feeling the symptoms of a bladder infection or Urinary Tract Infection; it wasn't terribly bothersome but bothersome enough and like any infection it zapped me of energy. By Monday I was feeling fine and went about my week. That takes us to this last weekend where I was a total and complete sloth. Layin' around feelin' all slothlike, taking more naps than usual and having zero energy to do anything but go upstairs and nap some more.
Monday morning was fine, still tired but fine but by Monday afternoon I was peeing fire. (And here we go with the TMI...) Seriously, tears-in-my-eyes-bite-down-on-something-solid-where-is-the-fire-extinguisher pain in my girly parts. Called my Doc, she called in a heavy dose of antibiotics, angel from Heaven next door neighbor Melissa went and picked it up along with some of that urethra numbing, pee staining stuff and I was on my way to wellness. So I thought.
Tuesday: painfully tired. Wednesday: painfully tired, vomiting, back pain, painfully tired. Thursday: still a little nauseated, still painfully tired but overall feeling like the antibiotics are kicking in and that I'm not going to die from undetected, stage 4, metastatic bladder cancer. I know, what a relief, eh?
So this brings me to why I can't sleep. For being so tired you'd think I could sleep right? Well to add insult to injury to my miserable life my home is in shambles. I haven't done much cooking or cleaning or laundry in the last week and the house is looking like it. It looks like a 2 and a 4 year old live here and they don't have a mother and their Dad doesn't give a rip about laundry or clean dishes. And when my home is in shambles it stresses me out and I don't deal with stress like most people. Most people get a headache or they drink 2 beers or they go target practicing or ok, its true, I really have no idea what most people do when they are stressed out but I'm pretty sure they don't completely melt down with a panic attack. That's what I did.
Because I am awake and because I am self-aware I know what triggered it. We were putting the kids down after a perfectly normal evening and Emily couldn't find her binkies and she was FREAKING OUT because she couldn't find her binkies. And of course I couldn't find her binkies and all I could see were piles of laundry, strewn about shoes, strewn about toys and piles of mail that needed to be sorted. Finally after frantically, and I mean frantically searching for binkies I found 2 (she needs one to suck and one to rub her nose with) and put her to bed. Hot Jeff was putting Samuel down and somehow, literally by the grace of God I was able to push through the tightening in my chest to sing Emily a song and get her down before my heart exploded. Someone give me a Mother-of-the-Year Award stat.
As soon as I walked out of her room this insane pressure filled my head and I felt dizzy and short of breath. I seriously felt like there were weights on my chest and that the house was being spun like a top. I went downstairs and outside and stared up at the starry sky and tried to picture the fresh night air filling my lungs back up. Later I explained to Jeff that I felt like my heart was a balloon that when you squeeze it it gets really thin and pale and you know you could pop it with the slightest touch.
Recognizing that I was indeed having a panic attack and not a heart attack I went to Jeff, who was reading, and told him what I was feeling instead of calling an ambulance. I did all the things you're supposed to like breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and self-talk that it was just anxiety and it would pass. I said out loud to Jeff, "There really isn't a semi on my chest. There really isn't a semi on my chest. There really isn't a semi on my chest" until I finally believed it.
Then we watched Grey's Anatomy and I felt much better.
With all of that said, my ferocious bladder infection caused me to feel crummy all week leading to me falling off the housewife duties leading me to not be able to find binkies leading me to have a debilitating panic attack leading to way too much adrenaline being released in my body leading to me not being able to sleep at 11:52pm on a Thursday night leading me to write a blog post in place of The G Spot. And its probably because of my own G spot that led me to having too much sex-a-roni with Hot Jeff which probably is how I got the darn UTI in the first place.
I think the word we're looking for here is circuitous.
How do you deal with stress? Have you ever had a panic attack? Do you target practice?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Last night Hot Jeff and I decided it had been way too long since we took overly tired kids to Target to let them fight, beg, scream, cause a scene and eventually have to be taken to the car so we decided that on an evening when we had both worked full days was a great time to make some family memories.
Before going to Target to humiliate and torture ourselves we stopped off at Red Robin for some burgers and endless fries. While happily dining Red, a 5' 7" red feathered bird-like creature, came around the tables waving at kids and slapping fives with the adults. About the time he reached our table Little Roo locked eyes with the furry freak, let out a scream and darted under the table where she refused to come out from under for at least 5 minutes.
A few hours later I was tucking Roo in and saying goodnight prayers. Upon saying 'amen' she looked at me and said, "Where's Red?" At first I didn't know who she was speaking of so I asked her what she had said. She replied quickly and clearly, "Red. Where's Red? Red from Red Robin." My mind quickly processed the sweet little girl clinging to my legs under the table, quivering with fear to the demon possessed child screaming at the top of her lungs in Target because I had just told her that she may not have a Tinkerbell nightgown.
In my most soothing voice I answered, "He's asleep with his Mommy and Daddy in a cozy little nest...In your closet."
Nighty-night.
Before going to Target to humiliate and torture ourselves we stopped off at Red Robin for some burgers and endless fries. While happily dining Red, a 5' 7" red feathered bird-like creature, came around the tables waving at kids and slapping fives with the adults. About the time he reached our table Little Roo locked eyes with the furry freak, let out a scream and darted under the table where she refused to come out from under for at least 5 minutes.
A few hours later I was tucking Roo in and saying goodnight prayers. Upon saying 'amen' she looked at me and said, "Where's Red?" At first I didn't know who she was speaking of so I asked her what she had said. She replied quickly and clearly, "Red. Where's Red? Red from Red Robin." My mind quickly processed the sweet little girl clinging to my legs under the table, quivering with fear to the demon possessed child screaming at the top of her lungs in Target because I had just told her that she may not have a Tinkerbell nightgown.
In my most soothing voice I answered, "He's asleep with his Mommy and Daddy in a cozy little nest...In your closet."
Nighty-night.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Verbal Processing
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with me lately but it seems everything I do I only do half way. And it appears my house is a microcosm of my life. Let me paint a picture:
On my night stand, next to my bed which I rarely make, is 5 books. FIVE BOOKS. All of them are started, underlined, being enjoyed but none of them are finished. It is ridiculous.
In my kitchen, everything is clean but there is clutter. There is a pile of mail that needs to be sorted, the kitchen aid mixer is on the counter and just needs to be put underneath in a cupboard, Emily's lunch box is leaning on the back splash and I have seriously no idea how long its been there--it just needs to be put in a cupboard that is 2 feet away but I just keep looking at it and wiping around it.
In my family room the laundry is clean, folded and waiting for me to put it away. We just keep grabbing clean clothes out of the pile and adding freshly washed clothes to it. A whole week its been stacked there on the back of the couch.
In my heart I feel the same way. I sit down in the mornings to spend time with Jesus and the phone rings or the kids need something or I think of something that has to be done right now and my Bible just sits open in my big, red chair waiting to be read.
The kids and I are in a disconnect. They are seriously pushing my buttons; I mean ganging up on me like nobody's business and taking me down. Lately it seems like a game of who can be more disobedient and it is totally my fault because I'm not following through with consistent (consistent, not constant) discipline. Again, just kind of half way. Insert funny story: earlier this week I told Samuel that if he didn't put his markers away I was going to take him down to China town. His reply: "Is China town a real place?"
I'm half way to the weight I want to lose by my birthday and I cannot, to save my life, get back on program. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY PUT THE CARBS DOWN.
I know you're thinking it so let me go ahead and tell you: I'm in a good place mentally. My increased dosage of my crazy pills are doing the trick and I feel sane and balanced. With that said, I am having some motivation problems and am not sure if the root lies with my struggle with depression and anxiety or something else. I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty quick to label things "Due to Depression" but I sense in my heart that this is something more. I sense this is a Me n' Jesus thing--in a good way. In a "hold your horses" way. I'm not trying to imply Jesus is telling me to not to clean out the fridge, although THAT WOULD BE AWESOME IF HE DID, I'm just processing what's going on in my heart and I think it is kind of manifesting itself in my home. Either that or I am getting incredibly lazy with age.
I feel a stirring. Does that make sense? And how ironic is it that the stirring is zapping me of any energy, vision or follow through yet I still think its a stirring? I'm not sure. I'm hoping the wise Jen Roth will read this post and shed some light on it. Good ol' Bex Mann appears to have the perfect Scripture verse for anything and is spiritually strong beyond her years so I'm hoping she'll leave a comment that spurns direction. No pressure ladies.
If all else fails, Shannon got home last night from vacation and she will at a minimum tell me to get off the computer and go get my house picked up. Shannon is a firm believer that house clutter equates mind and heart clutter and I think she may be on to something. If I'm really lucky she will come over with a bottle of something red and sand my dresser.
One final thought, clutter is clutter and its not hurting anything but I know it is not God's intention to work in my heart and while He does so me get lazy with my parenting. I do know that so will you please pray for me that I will have a good discussion with the kids about some ground rules and then have the patience and desire to follow through. Samuel and Emily deserve that and I need to give that to them instead of the short tempered, quick to swat version I've been giving them for the past couple of weeks.
By the way, the 5th book that is on my night stand..."Grace Based Parenting". A wonderful book by Ted Kimmel that changed my view on discipline and how I want my kids' hearts to look at and realized last night I need a refresher. I lost my cool on them after they dumped water out of the bathtub and while Jeff brushed their teeth I went and got it off the bookshelf. I managed to get a few chapters in last night.
Oh Ted Kimmel, can you move in?
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with me lately but it seems everything I do I only do half way. And it appears my house is a microcosm of my life. Let me paint a picture:
On my night stand, next to my bed which I rarely make, is 5 books. FIVE BOOKS. All of them are started, underlined, being enjoyed but none of them are finished. It is ridiculous.
In my kitchen, everything is clean but there is clutter. There is a pile of mail that needs to be sorted, the kitchen aid mixer is on the counter and just needs to be put underneath in a cupboard, Emily's lunch box is leaning on the back splash and I have seriously no idea how long its been there--it just needs to be put in a cupboard that is 2 feet away but I just keep looking at it and wiping around it.
In my family room the laundry is clean, folded and waiting for me to put it away. We just keep grabbing clean clothes out of the pile and adding freshly washed clothes to it. A whole week its been stacked there on the back of the couch.
In my heart I feel the same way. I sit down in the mornings to spend time with Jesus and the phone rings or the kids need something or I think of something that has to be done right now and my Bible just sits open in my big, red chair waiting to be read.
The kids and I are in a disconnect. They are seriously pushing my buttons; I mean ganging up on me like nobody's business and taking me down. Lately it seems like a game of who can be more disobedient and it is totally my fault because I'm not following through with consistent (consistent, not constant) discipline. Again, just kind of half way. Insert funny story: earlier this week I told Samuel that if he didn't put his markers away I was going to take him down to China town. His reply: "Is China town a real place?"
I'm half way to the weight I want to lose by my birthday and I cannot, to save my life, get back on program. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY PUT THE CARBS DOWN.
I know you're thinking it so let me go ahead and tell you: I'm in a good place mentally. My increased dosage of my crazy pills are doing the trick and I feel sane and balanced. With that said, I am having some motivation problems and am not sure if the root lies with my struggle with depression and anxiety or something else. I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty quick to label things "Due to Depression" but I sense in my heart that this is something more. I sense this is a Me n' Jesus thing--in a good way. In a "hold your horses" way. I'm not trying to imply Jesus is telling me to not to clean out the fridge, although THAT WOULD BE AWESOME IF HE DID, I'm just processing what's going on in my heart and I think it is kind of manifesting itself in my home. Either that or I am getting incredibly lazy with age.
I feel a stirring. Does that make sense? And how ironic is it that the stirring is zapping me of any energy, vision or follow through yet I still think its a stirring? I'm not sure. I'm hoping the wise Jen Roth will read this post and shed some light on it. Good ol' Bex Mann appears to have the perfect Scripture verse for anything and is spiritually strong beyond her years so I'm hoping she'll leave a comment that spurns direction. No pressure ladies.
If all else fails, Shannon got home last night from vacation and she will at a minimum tell me to get off the computer and go get my house picked up. Shannon is a firm believer that house clutter equates mind and heart clutter and I think she may be on to something. If I'm really lucky she will come over with a bottle of something red and sand my dresser.
One final thought, clutter is clutter and its not hurting anything but I know it is not God's intention to work in my heart and while He does so me get lazy with my parenting. I do know that so will you please pray for me that I will have a good discussion with the kids about some ground rules and then have the patience and desire to follow through. Samuel and Emily deserve that and I need to give that to them instead of the short tempered, quick to swat version I've been giving them for the past couple of weeks.
By the way, the 5th book that is on my night stand..."Grace Based Parenting". A wonderful book by Ted Kimmel that changed my view on discipline and how I want my kids' hearts to look at and realized last night I need a refresher. I lost my cool on them after they dumped water out of the bathtub and while Jeff brushed their teeth I went and got it off the bookshelf. I managed to get a few chapters in last night.
Oh Ted Kimmel, can you move in?
Friday, May 7, 2010
Potty Training--WWSVD?
I'm wondering what Slutty Vixen would do.
Nana sent Roo some Big Girl Panties and so yesterday afternoon after her nap I put them on Roo to let her see how they felt. She's been going potty in the potty before bath times so I know she's not completely clueless on how the whole panty-diaper thing works. She also shows one of those old Gigi-says-she's-ready signs of going and "hiding" to do her #2 bid-ness.
And although I didn't expect her to actually potty train TONIGHT I didn't expect what happened to happen.
She was doing great. No accidents. Every 10 minutes or so I would ask her if she needed to go pee and she would say 'no'. We had dinner and were in about hour 2 of panty wearing when I told her she was going to need to go potty in 2 minutes. She protested. I set the timer. The timer went off and I went to get her. She protested some more so I said we would all go potty together. Samuel chimed right in, thinking this was the most fun game ever, and grabbed her other hand. The 4 of us started marching in to the potty when Emily stopped, looked me directly in the eye and peed in her panties. With urine dripping down her leg she said, "I go potty in the potty".
What??
What was that all about? I literally have NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING. Samuel potty trained himself. And I mean that. 2 months before his 3rd birthday he walked up to me, handed me the diaper he'd been wearing and said, "I'm done with these". He's been peeing in the potty (and outside) ever since. I can count on one hand how many accidents he's had and that includes night time accidents. This is a new playing field for me.
So what would Slutty Vixen do? I think Slutty Vixen would sign Emily up for one of those potty training classes where they feed the kids juice boxes and doritos all day and if the kids pee on the floor they make them wipe it up themselves. Rumor has it that the kids are potty trained by the end of the 8 hour day. I think Slutty Vixen would take Emily to one of those classes and drink wine slushies out of a Starbucks cup all day. I think Slutty Vixen would also flirt with all the hot dads.
I'll take any advice you have. And if you don't have good advice but instead have a funny scenario of what Slutty Vixen would do, throw that in as well. I could use a good laugh.
I'm wondering what Slutty Vixen would do.
Nana sent Roo some Big Girl Panties and so yesterday afternoon after her nap I put them on Roo to let her see how they felt. She's been going potty in the potty before bath times so I know she's not completely clueless on how the whole panty-diaper thing works. She also shows one of those old Gigi-says-she's-ready signs of going and "hiding" to do her #2 bid-ness.
And although I didn't expect her to actually potty train TONIGHT I didn't expect what happened to happen.
She was doing great. No accidents. Every 10 minutes or so I would ask her if she needed to go pee and she would say 'no'. We had dinner and were in about hour 2 of panty wearing when I told her she was going to need to go potty in 2 minutes. She protested. I set the timer. The timer went off and I went to get her. She protested some more so I said we would all go potty together. Samuel chimed right in, thinking this was the most fun game ever, and grabbed her other hand. The 4 of us started marching in to the potty when Emily stopped, looked me directly in the eye and peed in her panties. With urine dripping down her leg she said, "I go potty in the potty".
What??
What was that all about? I literally have NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING. Samuel potty trained himself. And I mean that. 2 months before his 3rd birthday he walked up to me, handed me the diaper he'd been wearing and said, "I'm done with these". He's been peeing in the potty (and outside) ever since. I can count on one hand how many accidents he's had and that includes night time accidents. This is a new playing field for me.
So what would Slutty Vixen do? I think Slutty Vixen would sign Emily up for one of those potty training classes where they feed the kids juice boxes and doritos all day and if the kids pee on the floor they make them wipe it up themselves. Rumor has it that the kids are potty trained by the end of the 8 hour day. I think Slutty Vixen would take Emily to one of those classes and drink wine slushies out of a Starbucks cup all day. I think Slutty Vixen would also flirt with all the hot dads.
I'll take any advice you have. And if you don't have good advice but instead have a funny scenario of what Slutty Vixen would do, throw that in as well. I could use a good laugh.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
God Reads This Blog
God reads this blog. And I have proof. I wrote about serving my kids and about being all excited to serve them and guess what? They got sick. And while most of the time I don't blame God for illness and other generally bad things, I'm pretty sure this was His doin'. Just a little test to see if I would actually follow through with my good intentions of serving my kids.
Serving your kids is pretty darn easy when they are well enough to follow the house rules, go outside and enjoy a nice day, don't pull at pant leg all day and whine. Oh the whining...
When your kids are sick? Well that's just a whole 'nother ball game of service.
Now don't misunderstand me here; I am not talking about compassion. I've got all sorts of compassion for the poor babes...come on, I'm not a monster. How can you not feel bad for the little buggers when they are all feverish, and shivering and their little coughs sounds like they've swallowed a rottweiler so much so though that I don't know whether to give them cough syrup or perform an exorcism? Poor little things.
No, no, I'm talking service. Like true-I-love-you-more-than-I-love-myself service. That's a hard kind of service. Especially when that service calls for just sitting on the couch and holding them both while watching a marathon of animated favorites. Now like most stay at home Moms our schedules are pretty full so when a "stay home day" (as Samuel calls them) rolls around I like to knock me out some chores so you can imagine with 2 kids on the couch not making a mess behind the one I just cleaned up is rather appealing to me.
Yet when you've got a 2 and 4 year old who are EXACTLY like their mother and want to be loved on when they are sick there is NO house cleaning, or laundry, or bill paying, or blog writing, or thank you card catching up on, or anything else going on. Nope, its pajama snuggle time all day long with only the every 4 hour break to administer more fever reducer. And should I dare to get up and update my Facebook status or get a drink of water or PEE FOR GRACIOUS SAKES its all sorts of drama and whining. So I pretty much sit and hold and snuggle and don't drink nearly as much water as I usually do.
And I while I sit I wonder why its so hard to be still. I think about how in 10 years when they are sick and home from school they will just sit and text and want me to leave them alone. I wonder why I can't just stop looking at the dishes piling up in the sink and enjoy these lovable moments where both of my babies are by my side and holding my hands and not needing anything in the whole world but their Mama.
Last night I fought the urge to get online and watch Hulu while Emily slept next to me in my bed. It was 7:00 and she was sleeping fitfully; it was too early for me to sleep but whenever I left her she whimpered so I laid next to her and stroked her hair and fought the urge to go get Ruby and watch a Grey's Anatomy rerun. I thought about all the times my Mama just held me and loved me when I was sick and how I never, ever felt like she wanted to be anywhere else but with me. I thought about service and if how a feverish Jesus was lying in my bed I would never dream of watching TV or reading a book instead of singing a soothing lullaby. I thought about how I wanted to serve my kids better and how I wrote about it (and that's when it dawned on me that God must read my blog) and that this was my first chance to practice what I preached.
So I snuggled with that Baby Roo all night long. I stroked her forehead and sang her songs and kissed her sweet, soft hair (that was nice and clean after our bath together washing her vomit off of both of us). And today I put my big girl panties on and loved those babies of mine all day long. We had another movie marathon but my heart was a little less self-centered and a little bit more service centered and I can honestly tell you there was no other place I would have been than on the couch with Samuel and Emily.
God reads this blog. And I have proof. I wrote about serving my kids and about being all excited to serve them and guess what? They got sick. And while most of the time I don't blame God for illness and other generally bad things, I'm pretty sure this was His doin'. Just a little test to see if I would actually follow through with my good intentions of serving my kids.
Serving your kids is pretty darn easy when they are well enough to follow the house rules, go outside and enjoy a nice day, don't pull at pant leg all day and whine. Oh the whining...
When your kids are sick? Well that's just a whole 'nother ball game of service.
Now don't misunderstand me here; I am not talking about compassion. I've got all sorts of compassion for the poor babes...come on, I'm not a monster. How can you not feel bad for the little buggers when they are all feverish, and shivering and their little coughs sounds like they've swallowed a rottweiler so much so though that I don't know whether to give them cough syrup or perform an exorcism? Poor little things.
No, no, I'm talking service. Like true-I-love-you-more-than-I-love-myself service. That's a hard kind of service. Especially when that service calls for just sitting on the couch and holding them both while watching a marathon of animated favorites. Now like most stay at home Moms our schedules are pretty full so when a "stay home day" (as Samuel calls them) rolls around I like to knock me out some chores so you can imagine with 2 kids on the couch not making a mess behind the one I just cleaned up is rather appealing to me.
Yet when you've got a 2 and 4 year old who are EXACTLY like their mother and want to be loved on when they are sick there is NO house cleaning, or laundry, or bill paying, or blog writing, or thank you card catching up on, or anything else going on. Nope, its pajama snuggle time all day long with only the every 4 hour break to administer more fever reducer. And should I dare to get up and update my Facebook status or get a drink of water or PEE FOR GRACIOUS SAKES its all sorts of drama and whining. So I pretty much sit and hold and snuggle and don't drink nearly as much water as I usually do.
And I while I sit I wonder why its so hard to be still. I think about how in 10 years when they are sick and home from school they will just sit and text and want me to leave them alone. I wonder why I can't just stop looking at the dishes piling up in the sink and enjoy these lovable moments where both of my babies are by my side and holding my hands and not needing anything in the whole world but their Mama.
Last night I fought the urge to get online and watch Hulu while Emily slept next to me in my bed. It was 7:00 and she was sleeping fitfully; it was too early for me to sleep but whenever I left her she whimpered so I laid next to her and stroked her hair and fought the urge to go get Ruby and watch a Grey's Anatomy rerun. I thought about all the times my Mama just held me and loved me when I was sick and how I never, ever felt like she wanted to be anywhere else but with me. I thought about service and if how a feverish Jesus was lying in my bed I would never dream of watching TV or reading a book instead of singing a soothing lullaby. I thought about how I wanted to serve my kids better and how I wrote about it (and that's when it dawned on me that God must read my blog) and that this was my first chance to practice what I preached.
So I snuggled with that Baby Roo all night long. I stroked her forehead and sang her songs and kissed her sweet, soft hair (that was nice and clean after our bath together washing her vomit off of both of us). And today I put my big girl panties on and loved those babies of mine all day long. We had another movie marathon but my heart was a little less self-centered and a little bit more service centered and I can honestly tell you there was no other place I would have been than on the couch with Samuel and Emily.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Worst Day of the Year
Certainly the worst day of the year has to be the 3rd day after Christmas. For days and days my children have been living on sugar. Their diet has consisted of that which resembles an elf's: "candy, candy corn, candy canes and syrup". I've gladly been letting them hog it down so that when its gone its gone and I don't have to be bothered with it anymore. For the record, I do this exact same thing after Halloween. For days and days they just bounce off the walls and I hear things like, "Mama is a dooty head, a dooty head, a dooty head. Mama is a dooty head and I like to eat vacuums." Just rude, non-sensical stuff that I chalk up as "the sugar talking". Now don't be too alarmed, I've mixed in an occasional bowl of cereal and macaroni and cheese but for the most part they've stuck to their elf diet and I haven't heard much complaining about it. None in fact. Its been bliss. When I was a little girl I was convinced that heaven was going to be filled with my Gigi's No-Bake cookies and now as a mother I can only hope it is because my kids are never as happy as they are when they are holding a cookie. It would bum me out to have to fight with my kids about eating in heaven. That would be a real drag.
Yesterday evening I heard the dreaded words, "Mama, I'm hungry" and I realized all the moose munch, sugar cookies, Santa shaped chocolate bars and plastic candy canes filled with M&M's must be gone and I was sad. So sad. And hence, the 3rd day after Christmas when all the sugared food is gone and I have to start preparing meals again is the worst day of the year. You see feeding my children is my least favorite thing about my life. If I could change anything it would be my childrens' taste buds. Samuel and Emily wouldn't know a vegetable if it stood up and bit them in the butt. They are convinced that vegetables are those plastic toys that go with the play kitchen. Last week when I was cutting up carrots for my salad Samuel asked me why I was eating reindeer food. See what I mean?
When they were babies and toddlers they ate and ate vegetables. And of course I was the bestest mommy ever and made all my own baby food (mixed with breast milk, of course) so you'd think they would have this wonderful foundation of healthy eating. Apparently not.
They will eat fruit. Of course fruit is just nature's version of candy so of course they like fruit. I'm thinking of starting to roll their vegetables in sugar and see if they'll eat them like that. Or perhaps peanut butter. It will be like giving a dog medicine...you just roll it in peanut butter and shove it in before they know what you're giving them. "Here Samuel and Emily, try this long crunchy piece of peanut butter; you'll LOVE it!"
New Years doesn't offer much in the candy category so it looks like the battle lines have been drawn until at least February when we have Valentines day and I have heart shaped chocolates to look forward to. Hooray!
Certainly the worst day of the year has to be the 3rd day after Christmas. For days and days my children have been living on sugar. Their diet has consisted of that which resembles an elf's: "candy, candy corn, candy canes and syrup". I've gladly been letting them hog it down so that when its gone its gone and I don't have to be bothered with it anymore. For the record, I do this exact same thing after Halloween. For days and days they just bounce off the walls and I hear things like, "Mama is a dooty head, a dooty head, a dooty head. Mama is a dooty head and I like to eat vacuums." Just rude, non-sensical stuff that I chalk up as "the sugar talking". Now don't be too alarmed, I've mixed in an occasional bowl of cereal and macaroni and cheese but for the most part they've stuck to their elf diet and I haven't heard much complaining about it. None in fact. Its been bliss. When I was a little girl I was convinced that heaven was going to be filled with my Gigi's No-Bake cookies and now as a mother I can only hope it is because my kids are never as happy as they are when they are holding a cookie. It would bum me out to have to fight with my kids about eating in heaven. That would be a real drag.
Yesterday evening I heard the dreaded words, "Mama, I'm hungry" and I realized all the moose munch, sugar cookies, Santa shaped chocolate bars and plastic candy canes filled with M&M's must be gone and I was sad. So sad. And hence, the 3rd day after Christmas when all the sugared food is gone and I have to start preparing meals again is the worst day of the year. You see feeding my children is my least favorite thing about my life. If I could change anything it would be my childrens' taste buds. Samuel and Emily wouldn't know a vegetable if it stood up and bit them in the butt. They are convinced that vegetables are those plastic toys that go with the play kitchen. Last week when I was cutting up carrots for my salad Samuel asked me why I was eating reindeer food. See what I mean?
When they were babies and toddlers they ate and ate vegetables. And of course I was the bestest mommy ever and made all my own baby food (mixed with breast milk, of course) so you'd think they would have this wonderful foundation of healthy eating. Apparently not.
They will eat fruit. Of course fruit is just nature's version of candy so of course they like fruit. I'm thinking of starting to roll their vegetables in sugar and see if they'll eat them like that. Or perhaps peanut butter. It will be like giving a dog medicine...you just roll it in peanut butter and shove it in before they know what you're giving them. "Here Samuel and Emily, try this long crunchy piece of peanut butter; you'll LOVE it!"
New Years doesn't offer much in the candy category so it looks like the battle lines have been drawn until at least February when we have Valentines day and I have heart shaped chocolates to look forward to. Hooray!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Childhood Truths by Samuel
It has come to my attention that my loving mother has been trying to donate me to science. Well guess what Mom? I'm going to tuck this little nugget away and someday when you are old and grey, you need to be spoon fed
and your bladder is failing I will pull this little trump card out...
"Oh Mom, I'd love to have you come live with us but
I was thinking of donating you to science instead".
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Things That Make You Go "Hmm"
If you're reading this in the morning before or during breakfast like Bestie Kim I just apologize right now because I am about to ASSAULT YOUR SENSES with my latest attempt to put my kids in therapy.
Warning: The following pictures may be offensive to some. I give you Hot Dog Octopuses (or is the plural octopusi?):
Facebook friend Margaret posted these pictures on Rachel's Facebook page because Rachel is always making fun things for her kids to eat. I was so intrigued by them I had to make them for my kids. They gobbled them right up and were totally enamored by "sgetti" coming out of hotdogs. Can you blame them??
Here's how you make them: quarter a hotdog and with a toothpick poke holes all the way through the dog. Insert uncooked noodle. Boil until noodle is tender.
If you're reading this in the morning before or during breakfast like Bestie Kim I just apologize right now because I am about to ASSAULT YOUR SENSES with my latest attempt to put my kids in therapy.
Warning: The following pictures may be offensive to some. I give you Hot Dog Octopuses (or is the plural octopusi?):
Facebook friend Margaret posted these pictures on Rachel's Facebook page because Rachel is always making fun things for her kids to eat. I was so intrigued by them I had to make them for my kids. They gobbled them right up and were totally enamored by "sgetti" coming out of hotdogs. Can you blame them??
Here's how you make them: quarter a hotdog and with a toothpick poke holes all the way through the dog. Insert uncooked noodle. Boil until noodle is tender.Tip: I only inserted 4 noodles per hotdog and thought they came out looking a little wimpy. Next time I will use more noodles even though it will make my octopus anatomically incorrect.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Samuel is wonderfully clear about what he likes and dislikes; its one of the perks of being 3. Macaroni and cheese--like. Curious George--like. Baby sister--like. Wearing clothes--not so much.
Its no so much that I have a problem with him running around naked, doesn't bother me, however, when we're at Aunt Shannon's house playing with Jackson, Kate & Claire and Samuel appears from playing upstairs with only his shirt on then we may have a problem.
In an ongoing attempt to put my kids in therapy, that night we were sitting around the living room playing and I said, "Samuel did you know that someone else lives in the couch with Alice?" He looked up at me with an excited grin. "Yes", I went on, "In the couch with Alice is a penis snapping turtle. He preys on little boys who leave their penis out and when they least expect it, SNAP, he bites their penis off".
Samuel looked at me with wild eyes. I waited for him to go running to the bathroom to retrieve his underwear and pants. He continued to just sit there, Lightning McQueen in hand and eyes firmly on my face reading my every expression, he threw his head back and laughed maniacally. "You just teasin'" he confirmed. "There no penis snapping turtle with Alice".
Hot Jeff sat on the opposing couch shaking his head; well that didn't work.
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