I recently aspired to waking up in the morning with a much more enthusiastic and positive attitude for the day, even if I am run down and exhausted.
This morning I awoke around 4 am to my toddler lying next to me. Unbenounced to me, sometime during the night, he snuck into my bed and curled up between my husband and I.
I also awoke to a wetness streaming down my back.
He peed in our bed. A lot.
So much for aspirations. Better luck tomorrow.
On our recent weekend family getaway, this is what my daughter said to me as I laid her to sleep one night.
My daughter: "Mama, did you know that today the policeman brought my baby brother back to our room?"
Me: "What are you talking about honey?"
My daughter: "Yeah, when daddy brought us back to our hotel, the policeman found (brother) in the hallway, and knocked on our door."
Me to Husband: "Honey, what the heck is she talking about?"
Husband: "NO, it wasn't like that at all...it wasn't a policeman."
Me: "Yeah??"
Husband: "It was just a security guard."
With the recent addition of my newest baby, our fourth, the family dynamic has changed a bit. What was once a sometimes rambunctious household, has now turned into an all out every-man-for- himself, chaotic zoo. Some days I feel myself attempting to block out the myriad of "mamas!", and waterfalls of tears, but to no avail. Some days I am in such a exhausted stupor, that I forget things, like putting the stroller in the trunk, before I back out over it in the driveway. Yes, rare is the occasion that I can even hear myself think, but this morning I found myself drifting off into my brain, for just a quick second.
It all began as I pulled up to the gas pump and began pumping, as I listened to the screams of my six year old. She had gotten her hair entangled in the seat in front of her, while she was picking up the gum wrapper for her "collection." In doing that, she bumped into my two year old who was already screaming about the water bottle that he had dropped on the car floor. As the tears welled up in my eyes, (just a reflex), I found myself comparing the many facets of my job, to other jobs out in the world. And to my surprise, I concluded that the level of stress that I endure on a daily basis, is that much like these other high-intensity occupations. I have discovered that I am in fact, much more qualified for these positions, now, as a stay at home mom of four, then I would be if say, I went to a four-year private college. The following is a list of jobs that I might apply for when I retire:(Please add any additional occupations you think we moms, might be qualified for)
1. Hostage Negotiator--impeccable bribery skills
2. the next Survivorman--with the amount of food that I "save" in my minivan, a family of four could stay alive in an amazon jungle, for at least a month
3. Captain of a Cruise ship--my sense of direction is unwavering, even with passengers in complete pandemonium and disarray and all out fist fights
4. Wrestler--I can pry a bottle of body lotion away from my two year old faster than that baby jaguar on Diego, can climb a tree
5. Lawyer--let's face it, I read my kids like a book. I know when they're tired, when they're hungry and most importantly, when they have to go potty in the middle of a fancy restaurant
I just came across this very interesting post...
"Ask, and it will be given..."
Last night, my husband and I awoke to the unconsolable screams of my two year old. We waited for him to stumble down the stairs to us, and when he did, asked him what was wrong. I had assumed he was either thirsty or had a bad dream, but to my surprise, his response was neither. Through sobs and tears, my little darling cried, "my room is a mess!"
O-kay. Not exactly your typical toddler trauma, but understandably upsetting. I know that I've felt like waking in the middle of the night and screaming about the nine loads of laundry that were waiting for me in the basement.
Let's just say our town library probably won't be extending any personal invitations to my family, to return any time soon. Can someone please explain to me why my children insist on pooping every time we go to the library? I mean are they pumping microscopic fiber molecules through the ventilation system? Are they serving raisins and apple juice for snack time? I just don't get it. What is it about the library, that makes them have to go?
Not more than five minutes had gone by when my nine week old decided to do some major pooping, with sound effects mind you, at exactly the moment that I bent down to pick out some books for my kids. The embarrassment from that little incident alone, was enough for me to hightail it out of there. Boy was I naive. The real torture hadn't even begun. After I changed my daughter's diaper, I proceed back to the main children's area to pick out some more books, only to find my potty-training toddler holding the back of his pants saying, "pee-pee, mama!"
This of course turns out to be entirely false, as I go to help him up on the potty, and to my surprise, receive a handful of poop as a thank you. Yeah, did I mention my son mixes up the names of his bodily functions? It gets worse. Because I wasn't aware of this major accident when I placed him on the potty, by now there is poop everywhere...in his pants, down his legs, on the potty.
I attempted to clean up my squirming toddler and the library facilities, all the while using an appropriate library inside voice. Unfortunately, my attempts at remaining discreet in my mission failed, as my infant screamed in hysteria for me to pick her up. Did I mention how those bathrooms echo?
So, I finish the cleanup and head back out to my older two, who are patiently waiting to pick out some books. Just as I lay my baby back in her stroller, I hear the same daunting words all over again..."pee-pee mama." Yup, that's right. Poop mission number two, except this time it's even worse because I have no more wipes, and no more changes of clothes. Needless to say, after the second attempt to sanitize my son and the library bathroom, I promptly packed up my four children and headed home. From now on, I'm renewing my books over the phone.
After a long, hard day with the kids, I received a very interesting phone call from the telephone company. One that kept me wracking my brain for hours:
"Tiffany" the phone operator: "Hello, I'm calling because you have an outstanding portion of your bill that has gone unpaid. And in order to prevent an interruption of service, you're going to need to pay this portion."
Me: Oh, yes I know all about it. Yeah, we actually don't owe that, we returned the DVR box(babysitter), and we were told we would receive a credit."
Tiff: "Yes, there is an outstanding $300.00 on your bill for the box and I see no credit."
Me: "The box was returned, I know, I did it myself."
Tiff: "Right, but we are showing no record of that. The box would've gone to customer service, so you're going to need to work that out with them."
Me: "Okay, can you transfer me?"
Tiff: "Uh, no ma'am I can't. But I can give you their number."
Me: "Ok, I'll call them now."
Tiff: "So how would you like to pay your bill ma'am, to prevent interruption of service?"
Me: "umm.. I don't owe anything, but I was going to call customer service to work it out."
Tiff: "Yes, you'll need to work that out and then call us back...but as soon as you hang up, you will receive an interruption of service, unless you pay this portion of the bill."
Me: "Okay, so as soon as I hang up, my phone will not work?"
Tiff: "That is correct, ma'am. Unless you pay your bill."
Me: "But I don't have a bill. I have a credit."
Tiff: "Right, but we have no record of that, customer service does."
Me: "So, how exactly can I call customer service if my phone won't work after I hang up?"
Tiff: "Well, ma'am if you pay this portion of your bill, your service will not be interrupted."
Me: (banging head on table) "I'd like to speak with your supervisor."
"Please hold..."
This conversation resulted in the phone company admitting their mistake and crediting my account. They assured me my service would not be interrupted, and I no longer owed anything. I got off the phone and just as they said, it was not shut off. Later that day, I went food shopping and came home and mysteriously, my DVR box was shut off...
All aboard....
Four things. I only need four things. This was my mantra as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot yesterday, with a minivan full of children. My children to be exact. Although outings these days aren't as easy as they once were (yeah,right), I decided to forgo the risk that accompanies four small children in a grocery store. After all, I only needed four things.
I unloaded my gang and allowed my two year old the freedom to walk and hold hands with his sister. First mistake. I managed to walk my parade the 30 feet across the parking lot, into the store and right up to the redbox movie machine, (AKA: Date night.) And the meltdown begins. I tried to wait patiently for my two year old to slide the movie into the return slot. I noticed my eight week old begin to stir, and I knew my window of opportunity was closing in. I watched as my two year old stretched as tall as he could to reach the slot and tried to assist without him knowing, but my feeble attempt had failed. The second my finger grazed the machine, the wailing and body thrashing began. I decided I would not be completely controlled by this kid,(at least not this time), and I quickly pried the movie from his hands and shoved it into the box. Within seconds he had flung himself to the ground. And to top it off, at this very moment my hungry infant begins to cry.
As I picked up my baby, I couldn't help but notice the stares, some sympathetic, some just plain annoyed by the commotion. I strained my voice over the screams of both my children and managed to lure my two year old to follow me towards the bakery. I attempted to regain my composure and my thoughts long enough to remember what the heck I had needed at the store in the first place. But as my mind wandered, so did my son--right up to the freshly baked italian bread where he began to slide the loaves out of their paper bags, all the while telling me, "we need this." I motioned for him to put the bread down, and when he didn't comply, I grabbed his little wrist and made a bee-line for the diaper aisle. This pattern continued on as I maneuvered through the store looking for my four items.
We neared the registers and as I pulled into the lane, my sweet child proceeded to grab numerous candy bars and throw them into the cart. With my infant on one arm, I used my other arm to wrestle the candy from his hands and lifted my son into the cart. A feat that had to be seen to believe. As the screams intensified I tried to remain calm long enough to scan my items and pay. Gotta love self-checkout.
I was pretty much to my boiling point as I headed out to the car with two of my four children screaming at the top of their lungs. I lifted my two year old out of the cart, and wrestled him over to the driver side to put him in his carseat. Unfortunately, I could not even get to the driver side, as a large orange pickup had pulled into the parking spot next to mine, so close that only a paper thin person could fit through. And unfortunately, paper thin I am not. At this very moment I actually thought to myself, "Now I understand why people key other peoples cars." Terrible thought,yes, but sadly enough, true. So, I head back around to the other side of the car with my kicking and screaming toddler and catapult him across the baby seat, into his car seat. Once all my children were securely fastened I jump the passenger seat to get to my seat, and sped off towards home.
The moral of the story is this: If you're thinking about going on an outing with all of your children, ask yourself this, "do we really need bread?"
This morning my two and a half year old playfully drove his Imaginext safari jeep into the living room. Alongside his "bounty hunter," (thank you husband), was one spankin new nursing pad. Shortage of toys, you say? Afraid not.
Here she is, born two weeks early...
Grace Kathryn
June 6, 2008
7lbs. 3 oz
20 in. long
Keep checking my posts, as this mama will be back in service very soon.
My husband has a problem. A serious problem. Actually, it's more of a condition, then a problem. He's a chronic thrower-outer. And yes, that is the official medical term. You see, he throws everything out. And I mean everything.
Any type of food that has had it's temperature altered for more than thirty seconds, is game for the garbage pail, at any given moment. That last, juicy piece of Easter ham that you had been craving all day--gone. Oh, didn't you see? A smidge of mashed potato cross contaminated it while you were transferring it into the tupperware Sunday night. Yeah, it had to be thrown out.
And that Reese's peanut butter cup that you had hidden in the fridge, for that late night chocolate fix--Sorry...freezer burn, had to get rid of it.
This has been the story for many a food item at my home in the past seven years. And for the most part, I've gotten used to it. Typically, if I want any food that I don't eat in the first 24 hours after I bring it home from the grocery store, I try to make it well-known. And I have somewhat established the rule of, if there is nothing growing on it in the fridge, then it is still edible, and it is off limits to the garbage man. I've also adjusted pretty well to the fact that the term "leftovers" is null and void at our home. The Good Lord knows leftovers don't stand a chance next to my husband.
So, as a good wife, I've put up with many disappearing food disappointments, and I've accepted the numerous stories of my husband's bouts of "food poisoning"... If I had a nickel for every food poisoning episode...
As adjusted as I am, in this state of pregnancy that I am in, certain things are just unacceptable. Like the disposal of a perfectly brand new bag of sour cream n' onion Baked Lays--completely unacceptable. I had bought them about three days ago, and then like most things I bring into my car, they were stranded to my front seat since. (It was either carry up the chips, or my sleeping two year old.)
This evening, as I felt a crunchy craving coming on, I asked my husband what he did with my brand new bag of Baked Lays. I should've suspected their fate, as I watched my husband's face droop, and his words begin to stutter. He couldn't even look me in the eye. I knew it.
"You threw them out???"
"I didn't throw them out."
"I cannot believe you threw them out!"
"I'm telling you I did not throw them out. While I was cleaning out the garage with the kids, we opened them up and started eating them."
"And then you threw them out?"
"NO! I did not! We started to eat them...and then...(he totally was trying to make it up as he went along,) our son was eating them all, so I put them on top of the car."
"Wait, let me guess, the old man up the street walked by and asked if he could borrow some potato chips?"
"NO, I'm telling the truth."
"Okay, so what...technically you didn't throw them out...the kids probably dropped them on the floor, and all these bugs started to come, so you had to vaccuum them up real quick...right?"
"No, I didn't."
"Okay, so if that didn't happen, and you didn't throw them out, then could you please go down to the garage and get my Baked Lays?"
"Okay, I will."
My loving husband proceeds to walk down the basement stairs. I heard him get halfway down and then head back up.
"OH, I remember what happened...the kids were starting to eat them all...and so I let them eat some, and then put them on top of the car...and then when we drove to the park, I forgot I had put them on top of the car, and I drove off."
"So, you are honestly telling me that my chips are spread out through our entire neighborhood?"
"Yeah, they're probably down the big hill, ya know, the one with all the bumps?"
"Unbelievable."
I had no more words. I could not and still cannot, grasp the untimely demise of my chips. Undeserved I say, undeserved.
And so the reign of my husband, the garbage man, continues on, and one more innocent food item gets thrown into the trash bin...or in this case, pavement.
How bad is it when your five year old nephew tells your sister that you were "grouchy" yesterday?
...one of the many fleeting thoughts I had this afternoon, as I attempted to keep composure during my two year old's 30 minute tantrum. Thoughts that shortly followed that, "how invasive is a tubal ligation?" and "I wonder if I have enough cheddar for dinner."
So, it's been awhile. I'm sure all six of my avid readers(family members), greatly missed my sarcastic rants. My apologies for my lack of commitment, but lately my days consist a great deal of driving back and forth to kindergarten, peeing every seven minutes, and catching at least 45 minutes of the ever popular American Idol, right before my husband and I doze off to sleep at approximately 8:56 p.m. Sadly, that is a pretty accurate description of my days. Throw in some daunting sciatic pain, an expanding backside and you have me, a just turned 27 year old, mother of three, who is 25.4 weeks, towards being a mother of four. And yes, the .4 matters. A lot.
Back to my original question...As of today, I have decided that this time I give birth, I am going to stay at the hospital as long as I possibly can. To some, the hospital may seem sterile, and smelly. A place where comfortable sleep is nearly impossible, and the food is worse than tv dinners. But to me, at least this time, the hospital will be my little paradise. I'm pretty sure our vacationing will cease to exist the second my fourth baby takes her first breath outside of my womb. So, I am going to treat my short stay, as a little treat, a little break, a little breath of fresh air. I mean sure, the food is pretty bad, but...I don't have to cook it, and that there, is worth its weight in gold. And ideally my vacation wouldn't include hours of painful labor, but hey, they've got epidurals. And typically I would prefer more "spa like" accommodations, rather then the "break down" beds they currently offer, but hey, at least I know I'll be sleeping alone there. All in all, not such a bad deal, I mean going from three kids at home, to one kid in the hospital? Sounds like a vacation to me...
Beggars can't be choosers, you know.
It seems that lately I am a magnet for running into very interesting people, on my day to day journeys. And wouldn't you know it, I always seem to run into them on those days when everything seems to be going wrong, and I'm just about to my breaking point(signing myself into an asylum), and then BAM!--there they are, smack down right in the middle of my chaos. Hmmm...maybe He is trying to teach me something? You think??
That's what happened this Tuesday--after my two year old had been complaining he had a boo-boo back for three days, and then woke up with a fever. Wouldn't you know I landed myself right in the x-ray department of the local hospital...at 9 a.m....with three kids...ALONE...
And there she was.
I wouldn't have guessed it when I saw her, she seemed nice enough--just doing her job(Or so I thought). Now, I could go through the whole story of how I met her, but I decided instead, I would just write her a letter...a letter in honor of our meeting:
Dear Carol,
If only we had met at a different time, or even a different place...maybe we could've been friends. Okay, maybe not friends, but I know for sure, we could've at least been friendly.
Sure, our meeting definitely could've been better. I can still remember looking up when those elevator doors opened, and then closed again, as I wrestled with my two year old to stop arching his back and dragging his feet, just long enough so I could actually exit the elevator. Yes, I remember your face as I finally squeezed my troop out of those doors. And although I could hardly hear you as my toddler screamed blood curdling screams, I'm pretty sure when I asked you if the wait would be long, that I sensed a bit of irritation in your voice. Was I bothering you Carol? Did I disturb your work that day? Or were you just annoyed that you couldn't concentrate with the screaming toddler in the background? If that's the case, I surely can understand. Maybe you can get some earplugs though, as I'm almost positive I am not the only mother in the world who totes around a screaming toddler. If I am, however, scratch the ear plug thing, as my children typically scream at higher-than-normal decibels.
Nonetheless, I sensed the irritation when you answered me, yet I wasn't bothered, as I figured maybe you too, were having a morning like mine.(although I highly doubt it)
I must admit, I was so involved in trying to appease(shut up) my screaming toddler, that I didn't even notice you were still staring at me, that is until you spoke. Yes, as I threatened my child with the all too familiar and yet completely uneffective "time-out," I couldn't help but hear a small voice in the background. It was your voice Carol. While I would've hoped for maybe a more helpful voice, or even a Higher voice, I heard your voice.
"Don't say that!"
I'm pretty sure those were the three words that once vocalized, would annihilate(at least for a time), our chances of ever becoming amigos. I questioned you, just to make sure that you were in fact speaking to me...and you were. You may have noticed my mouth drop as you went on to protest me telling my son that he would receive a time-out in of all places, the hospital. And though I think I may have passed out for a second or two, as you went on and on, I'm pretty sure I heard most of your argument claiming that I would make him afraid to come there--there, being the hospital--the place where sick people go--the place that typically doesn't evoke happy feelings in children.
Nonetheless, you stuck to your guns...as did I. Though I didn't agree with your position, or even your involvement in the disciplining of the child whom I birthed, I find it somewhat kind--your concern for my child, and his future fears. I'm not sure I told you that though. Umm...yeah, I'm pretty sure I didn't tell you that. So for that, I am sorry.
And when I told you that you obviously didn't have children...well, I suppose I could've jumped the gun there. Maybe you do have children, but maybe, just maybe, you slept through their toddler years. So, for that unnecessary comment, I am sorry again.
As far as you calling out another hospital employee, and claiming that I was causing a problem...I'm not sure that was necessary. In response to that action, I've got to ask, what did you think a pregnant woman with three small children, was going to do in an x-ray waiting room? Just curious.
So there you have it--our meeting. Not exactly a pleasant one, for either of us I'm sure. In closing, I just have one question for you Carol: Do you actually know what a time-out is? Because to be honest, it really isn't all that bad. Just sitting in a chair, that's all. And for my toddler, a two minute time-out, is usually completely forgotten about in, well, two minutes. I thought I'd tell you, as you may have mixed up time-out, with the word for midieval torture device. I can understand that.
So, my only hope is the next time we run into eachother, (there aren't any other hospitals to deliver my baby in), that we could be cordial to one another, maybe even smile at eachother. Maybe you won't even remember my gnarled face, and we could start fresh, meeting eachother all over again, for the first time. Yes, I think I hope for that.
My Best,
Mamaofthree
Some of you may think I'm completely confused and delusional, because Christmas was just about a month ago, but I can't help it. I feel like I have just received another Christmas present...the best Christmas present.
Remember that first morning after you brought your first baby home? Do you remember what it felt like to look into the bassinet and realize that it wasn't all a dream, and you actually are a mom? That always felt like Christmas morning to me--I was so excited, I just couldn't wait to wake up. (Yes, maybe I am delusional)
So, if you did the math, you'd know that I did not have this baby yet.
But my Christmas present...I am getting a GIRL! Yeah!! I've prepared the ol' "I don't care either way speech," as much as the next guy. But honestly, with one girl and two boys, I really wanted to even up the teams over here. Lord knows, if one more Hotwheels car enters this house...
So, if you can excuse me, I am going to celebrate with a trip to the baby girl clearance aisles at Target...
As I flipped through the latest pregnancy magazine, I can't help but think that the pregnant women in them, are not really pregnant. Actually, I'm thinking that they aren't even moms.
Take pregnant lady A, for example: She's lovely alright...long, wavy hair, soft glowing skin, perfectly rounded tummy. I say....complete fraud. Okay, so maybe it's her first baby. I know for sure she doesn't have more than one, because if she did, she would have not one rounded tummy, but two. As far as I know, you only get that perfectly rounded belly the first time around. Once baby number two hits, you've got yourself, what I like to call, "double trouble." Consider it a pregnancy gift, or a little memory book you carry around with you forever, either way you slice it, you've got yourself a small belly looking pouch from your previous baby, and then you've got your larger, more substantial belly containing your, now growing, new baby. I want to see the pregnant woman who looks like that. Where is that lady?
And never mind a perfect, little, inny belly button. After four pregnancies, I'm not even sure I have a belly button anymore. I think mine got swallowed up by pregnant belly number three, never to be heard from again.
Clue number two that this would be this woman's first baby...her long, wavy hair. Lord knows, if this woman was a mom already, her hair would have some sort of crusty, unidentifiable substance in it. Either that or sprinkles of baby powder--due to her inability to find the time to wash her hair that day.(you all know that trick, don't ya?) And the long part? Well, if it were her second, third or fourth child, her hair probably wouldn't look so healthy and long. I imagine her hair would be falling out in clumps from the surges of pregnancy hormones, not unlike my own. But the good thing is she wouldn't realize it until that one day she finally found time to clean the shower. Then she'd notice, for sure.
So, maybe it's better they don't show the real pregnant women after all...the shocking photos might deter some of the more put together women, to question the whole motherhood route. Luckily, I'm not one of those more put together women.
The Perfect Plan
Have you ever wondered why God chose to bring new life in the form of newborn babies? I mean, besides the whole size aspect and the need for new life to be able to fit in our womb, think about it. He had the perfect plan when He designed new life to be brought forth by a woman, in the form a tiny, newborn baby. I mean can you imagine if instead of having newborns, every time you had a baby it would be a two year old? You see, but He knew us. He knew us, because He designed us. And He knew that if new life would come in the form of a screaming, biting, tantrum throwing two year old, there is no way in this lifetime, that we would ever, ever, EVER, have more than one child. We just wouldn't. But He knew that, and that is why He chose to bring new life in the form of a perfect, sweet, pink, tiny baby. And that is why we, most of us anyway, choose to have more than one child. Want to know how I know this? Because I have lived through two two-year olds, am in the process of trying to live through one more, and wouldn't you know it, am choosing to have one more child, which consequently purposes me to yet one more round of the "terrible twos." Aren't you glad God knows what He's doing?
1) Your non-maternity underwear are so tight, they put a semi-permanent indentation in the top of your thigh.
2) You pack two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and no drink in your daughter's lunchbox.
3) Your eyes well up with tears as you watch the new Bank of America commercial, or even just think about it.
Ummm...spoken from experience.
Let's see, it's about 10:43 a.m., and the desperation set in at about 8 o'clock this morning. I know, it's too early to be desperate, too early to be negative about the day, but I am...well, I was anyway.
My cries of insanity started because my two year old has taken a real liking to all types of destruction--dumping things, spilling drinks, knocking down chairs, he's pretty much like a bull in a china shop, and well, I'm not gonna lie, it's starting to get to me a bit. But it's because he's two right? His utter defiance is completely normal, right??? Right??? Normal or not, it's making me feel the need to find a new career, outside of my home. Paper route, anyone?
So, the combination of the cornstarch spilled on the floor, the lotion squirted on the carpet, the fact that not one single spoon was clean and remembering that my husband would be working a double shift today, I knew that if I didn't gain just one minute of sanity, the day was headed for disaster. And then it happened...
I didn't even see it coming. It was like the good Lord above, came down to my home for just a minute, answered my prayer, and sent a little distraction...in the form of a fly. My son caught sight of it by the bay window, and was completely enthralled. In fact, he was so excited as he watched it fly up and down the window, that my daughter heard him, and came over to try and catch the fly. Not only did they watch the fly for at least ten minutes, their interest sparked a whole little play scenario, where my daughter acted as though she were a reporter interviewing my two year old, the fly catcher. So for about 20 sweet minutes, I had peace. There were no screams, no pulling hair, no knocking down picture frames, no dumping out sippys on the carpet...just peace...the kind of peace that could only come from a fly.
As I ate the last bite of my homemade pizza this evening, I looked up directly across my kitchen and saw this bottle of soda. Come to think of it, I saw this bottle of soda when I was making the pizza. Even worse, I think I might have even seen it in the middle of my kitchen floor when I woke up this morning. And as I watched my children do their usual insane laps around my kitchen after dinner, I noticed that they ran directly around the bottle. I think that they think it belongs there. Actually, I'm starting to think it belongs there.
