Jack Handey used to have a skit on SNL in the 90's called "Deep Thoughts". On the most memorable skit he talks about telling his niece and nephew that they're going to Disney Land, and instead driving to a burned out barn in a field, and telling them that Disney Land had burned down, just to watch them cry. This story very closely resembles our trip to LEGO land. Approximately 250 miles each way, we decided to search for a little family togetherness this weekend and take an overnighter to Kansas City.
My home town is wonderful. In Kansas City, I know all the places to eat, shop, avoid getting mugged, road shortcuts, traffic schedules, and we have friends to stay with so we don't have to cram all 5 of us into a hotel. It was kind of a no-brainer to head north for two days this weekend before we all go back to work and school after new years. The opening of Lego Land, and it's neighboring aquarium has made quite a buzz among my friends. So we made plans and off we went.
Never have I been so wrong. This saga starts out with me on the Internet, checking out Lego's website devoted to the new attraction. It talks a good game, ticket prices look reasonable for a family of 5, looks like there are some rides for the older 2 ( a 3D ride, and a Merlin's Magic ride), and a toddler area for the baby (duplo village), several "attractions" so they won't get bored and even a snack bar. I'd heard that they limit the amount of time you can stay in the building on one ticket to 3 hours. Well, if there's more than 3 hours of stuff for them to do, then it'll be great. Riiiiight.
We park at Crown Center and walk across the street to the Lego building and there's a HUGE wait. About an hour in line, and shockingly OUTSIDE. It's 34 degrees outside, snowing, and we have three babies under the age of 5 with us. I'm amazed that any place catering to kids wouldn't have an inside waiting area. Several people in line had infants, many had children without hats or coats sufficient for the duration of the wait in the snow. Because really, who plans for an hour wait outside? My husband tucks our baby inside his jacket, and I gave my coat to our 2 year old to put over her coat because she was shivering. So already, this is a damned if you do, damned if you don't scenario. I can't walk away because the kids already know where we are supposed to be going, and I don't want to disappoint them. But I also don't want to wait outside in freezing weather with the kids.
There are heaters on the outside of the building, so I turn to one of the hundreds of workers standing around this place, seemingly doing nothing, and ask her if they can turn on the heaters since it's snowing and there's a long wait. She gives me a pitiful look and says "they are on." I told her that they wasted their money.
After the horrifyingly cold wait outside, we are given the chance to come in the building, and all three of my kids squeal in delight, or relief, I'm not really sure. We walk into the lobby, that's empty except for 5 or so people waiting to buy tickets. My husband looks around and observes that all the people waiting outside in the cold could easily fit inside the lobby. More dirty looks from the staff.
I tell the attendant/cashier that we have 2 free kids (2 and under), one child and two paying adults. She says that's $57. WHAT?!?!?!?!?? The web site says that a child and an adult is $20, additional adults are $10. She says that's an online price. I said that we tried to buy them online and it wouldn't process the purchase. She says that's because the tickets are sold out for today. I ask if the $57 is for tickets. She says yes. I'm annoyed. I can't understand why we had to wait outside for 40 minutes in the snow to pay twice the going rate. She says advanced purchase tickets have to wait too. I'm pretty sure I dropped the F-bomb. Several times. They know I'm a bitch, but I'm not going to back out and disappoint my kids. My husband says just pay the woman. Fine.
Tickets acquired, we going into an adjoining room with TV screens showing Lego cartoons, an attendant standing in front of a bank of elevators, taking tickets and putting people in the elevators by groups. It looks like an intro to some Willy Wonka type fun house. I'm pissed. Cold. And out $57. This better be good. I'm also a wee bit heartened by the fact that hundreds of people are here to see this attraction, surely it must be good. We get into the elevator, and the attendant says they're going to show us how Lego's are made, off we go.
Elevator doors open in a small room, maybe half the size of my kitchen. There's a window showing some geeky guy, prolly making six figures, using auto-cad software to design Lego models. There's a turn crank that's supposed to show them pushing plastic beads into a heater to melt them down, and a pull handle to show pressing the toys into molds. There's also a scale that takes your weight and tells you how many Lego's you are equal to. I'm not impressed. There's no explanation to these displays, they aren't really very fun, informative, there's no flow so you can see the stages of making Lego's, no narration. I can see my kids are confused, and bored. My daughter is trying to twist the head off the one Lego statue in the room. There's a stamping station for you to make some type of explorer book by stamping that you've completed each station. I ask the attendant (holding her jacket and a Starbucks cup, is she on break? Who knows,) where we get the books. She tells me that you have to print them out online. Awesome. There's a line that goes into the next room's activity. My husband is telling me how super excited he is because the next room is going to be the awesome part. Surely. He's holding the baby, and I'm trying to act like my son and daughter aren't mine, since at this point I've given up keeping them occupied, and they're running rough shod like hooligans, when an attendant comes over and asks us if we even want to wait for the 3D ride that's in the next room. Huh? Why wouldn't I want to ride the ride? I paid to get in, right? I think she thought she was being nice. Nice would have been a discount for everything this far being so boring.
3D ride was cool. Basically you get into a little cart that has Lego shaped guns and you ride through a firing arcade type tunnel. Takes maybe 4 minutes. I out shot my husband :)
The next room is dark. Like a closet dark. There are tons of models of buildings that they've made out of Lego's, then put them in a room that's too dark to actually see anything. There are boxes that have buttons on the displays, I'm sure you're supposed to hit the button and make a light go on and they say what the building is. They're broken. I see my husband point to a model and hear him say to my oldest son "that's this building, and where we waited forever in the cold." We fast foreword on.
Duplo Village. The toddler area. I was excited, then I realized that it's only about 5' square, has some rubberized over sized Lego blocks and is filled with older kids instead of actually being a toddler area. Too small and dangerous for the baby, we truck on.
About 1/4 of the area of the floor is taken up by the Lego Cafe. It's empty. We aren't hungry anyway. There's a movie screening area right across from there with a sign that informs movies begin every 15 minutes. I can't get my kids to stand still for 2 minutes, they're constantly in search of the Lego's in this Lego land, so we skip the film and head for the far corner.
The corner has an area where you're supposed to build different experimental race cars out of provided bins of Lego's. Baby's headed for a diaper change with dad, so I take the older kids and head for the building stations. There are no wheels. My son finds one wheel on a toy axle and tries to race his "car" on the "testing stations" set up for the cars you're supposed to be making. He gets pushed out by the older kids. One of the older kids has a bucket full of wheels. We move on.
I'm seething by now. The thousands of kids in this place aren't being parented or supervised in any way. My kids can't get a hold on any Lego's at all. We pass a maze type play area brimming with screaming kids. Their parents are sitting on the floor, outside the play area, watching the kids, so you can't walk through the area. These people really should be directed to sit in the empty cafe. Except all you can see from the cafe is the movie theater.
The last "attraction" on the whole floor is Merlin's Magic ride. It's a glider you pedal up into the air and it goes around like a carousel. My son loved it. The line's pretty short, maybe 5-10 minutes per turn around. Pretty neat ride. On return trip, since I have to ride with the kids and each glider only holds two, I realize my daughter is too short to be allowed on. Maybe they could have said something about that downstairs. I'm jokingly saying in line that all the dozens of workers at Lego land look like they've stepped on a dead frog. Some mixture of revulsion, resignation, and horror masks all their faces. The only bright spot in the day was the Merlin's operator, Kelley. Lovely young girl, allowed my daughter onto the ride. Thank GOD, because the tantrum would have been epic. I inquire as to the possibility that we can do the 3D ride again. That's a no-go. Of Course.
We've been here about 3 hours waiting in various lines, exploring all the things that we can't do, can't get close to, can't find parts for or are disappointed in and head for the descending elevator. My husband and I are looking for the Lego Sculptures, the guided activities, narrators on the making or building design process. I want a photo booth made entirely of Lego's, a guy wearing a Lego suit, a computer that makes your picture into Lego characters, possibly a take home Lego man, or coloring book, anything to show that this 3 hour block wasn't a complete waste. It doesn't come. It's like they spent all their money on this new building, they didn't have enough money for any neat things inside. Lego really needs to hire a new creative director. Or call me for some ideas.
You exit through the gift shop, and my normally mild mannered husband says he'll be damned if he will give this place another dime of his money. We both feel cheated and agree that we should have taken the $57 to a toy store and bought Lego's to take home and play with, or gone to Kaleidoscope, the Coterie Theater or the Crayon attraction all of which are in Crown Center. Next time, I'll take a page from Jack Handey's book and take them to a burned down barn instead.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
The "Happy" Factor
I started reading romance novels for the "happy" factor. Not that my home life wasn't happy, of course it is. At the time, the complete bleakness of my job in local law enforcement left me emotionally empty each day. Just the simple stupidity that I encountered at work, peoples dumb choices that hurt someone, killed someone or got them arrested bottled me up and left me looking for anything with a happy ending. The suspension of belief came after I started reading Heather Graham parnormal novels that had been loaned to me by a friend. After the first novel, I was hooked. Every story had a seemingly happy ending, boy meets girl, they overcome some amount of strife or danger, and they solve the problem with emotional serenity, thrilled with the new life they've found. Throw an interesting amount of paranormal characters in there so that it's just a bit left of reality, perhaps some humor, and you've got a winner.
By day I was encarcerating people who are the bottom of our evolutional barrel. A man who had murdered two people for the equivalent of $50 in change. A women who had shaken a baby to death, even though she maintained that she hadn't done it. Boys caught with kilos of cocaine. Old men sentenced for raping children in their family. Women who were so drunk they'd left their babies to cook to death on a radiator cover. Couple this with the utter stupidity in the office, because let's face it, rocket scientists don't become police officers; and the inherant danger for everyone working there, and anyone else would be looking for a little escapism as well.
I'm a voracious reader. I still read about a novel a day. I love a good vampire novel on most days but I'll also look to werewolf, ghost, time travel, fairy and shapeshifters for a story as well. Some of my favorite characters, Mercy Thompson, Anita Blake, Harry Dresden, Sookie Stackhouse, The Black Dagger Brotherhood, the Dark Hunters, Cat and Bones and more have amazing adventures and save themselves and the world time and again. Although not all of them get their happy endings, each book ends with a sense of rightness with the world that was completely lacking after each 10 hour shift. A sense of danger put to rest that my vocation missed. Danger seemed to follow me everywhere especially when our inmates threatened my family.
More recently, some of my authors haven't been delivering on the "happy" factor. Although Cat and Bones are safely tucked away in my mind, other charatetrs are left in turmoil at the end of the book. Tonight, I finished Lover Reborn by J.R. Ward. And while her books are always fun, this one finally gave our guy (Thorment) his happy ever, after losing his wife early on in the series. It took him about 10 books to get his gal, and while I'm happy it finally happened for him, I wonder why it took so long to get around to.
The most obvious answer, is that I had to read the 10 books in between to get there. And four years ago, I might have been downright distraught at the books lacking that "happy" factor. But now, I've gotten to know the authors voice, and her characters and I look forward to the journey more than the goody at the end. After all, these books aren't harlequin novels. It makes me look forward to more series like this, if there are any, that aren't just one night on my nightstand, but a journey through an alternate world so like ours but way more interesting. And I've realized that my "happy" is now coming from the anitcipation of the next book, and not just the end of the one I'm reading.
By day I was encarcerating people who are the bottom of our evolutional barrel. A man who had murdered two people for the equivalent of $50 in change. A women who had shaken a baby to death, even though she maintained that she hadn't done it. Boys caught with kilos of cocaine. Old men sentenced for raping children in their family. Women who were so drunk they'd left their babies to cook to death on a radiator cover. Couple this with the utter stupidity in the office, because let's face it, rocket scientists don't become police officers; and the inherant danger for everyone working there, and anyone else would be looking for a little escapism as well.
I'm a voracious reader. I still read about a novel a day. I love a good vampire novel on most days but I'll also look to werewolf, ghost, time travel, fairy and shapeshifters for a story as well. Some of my favorite characters, Mercy Thompson, Anita Blake, Harry Dresden, Sookie Stackhouse, The Black Dagger Brotherhood, the Dark Hunters, Cat and Bones and more have amazing adventures and save themselves and the world time and again. Although not all of them get their happy endings, each book ends with a sense of rightness with the world that was completely lacking after each 10 hour shift. A sense of danger put to rest that my vocation missed. Danger seemed to follow me everywhere especially when our inmates threatened my family.
More recently, some of my authors haven't been delivering on the "happy" factor. Although Cat and Bones are safely tucked away in my mind, other charatetrs are left in turmoil at the end of the book. Tonight, I finished Lover Reborn by J.R. Ward. And while her books are always fun, this one finally gave our guy (Thorment) his happy ever, after losing his wife early on in the series. It took him about 10 books to get his gal, and while I'm happy it finally happened for him, I wonder why it took so long to get around to.
The most obvious answer, is that I had to read the 10 books in between to get there. And four years ago, I might have been downright distraught at the books lacking that "happy" factor. But now, I've gotten to know the authors voice, and her characters and I look forward to the journey more than the goody at the end. After all, these books aren't harlequin novels. It makes me look forward to more series like this, if there are any, that aren't just one night on my nightstand, but a journey through an alternate world so like ours but way more interesting. And I've realized that my "happy" is now coming from the anitcipation of the next book, and not just the end of the one I'm reading.
Friday, October 5, 2012
A day in the life of a Little Boy
In tornado alley, everyone is wary of passing storms. It's a way of life. But more than a few people I know torment their kids during every storm, tear them out of bed at the sound of thunder, and hide in the shelter at the first drop of rain, waiting for the next "big one" even though statistically that will never happen again. I can't imagine what those kids must feel, being torn out of sleep by frantic parents rushing to the basement. Must be similar to Anne Frank and the Nazi's. How scary. I won't instill that kind of fear in my kids because the world is scary enough. I don't want to raise them to be afraid.
This afternoon my son was with his dad, while they were going to the bank a red car next to them was surrounded by police cars. The boys got caught in what we t.v. watchers would call a "take down operation" by our local police, who were trying to arrest a person in the car next to my family. My husband jumped a curb in his truck to get away from any possible stray gunfire. He took my son into the nearest bank, surely that's a safe place, right? And of course the bank goes into lock down so that no gun toting maniacs run inside. Apparently they don't know my husband. What a treat to be stuck in a locked building with my amped up 4 year old. Needless to say, he was very excited.
An hour later, I picked up my son and went to our local home improvement store to pay a bill. We walked in and were waiting in the customer service line, seemingly forever with three kids, when a cashier a couple isles over started yelling HELP! I jogged over, trailing two kids, to see a cashier on the floor. People were trying to hold her up. It was very obvious to me that she was having a seizure, poor lady, and that most of the people there didn't know what to do.
So, with my meager medical training, here's what I think. When some one's having a seizure, there's not really much you can do. Other than preventative drugs, you can't really stop a seizure. Don't put a stick or anything else in the person's mouth. Lay them on their back, or side if you think they're going to throw up, and just keep their head from banging on the ground. Pretty simple. They won't swallow their tongue. They may bite you if you stick anything in their mouth. Afterward, they'll come around and be very confused. Tell them to stay lying down until help arrives or they're aware of their surroundings again. Afterward they're usually tired. Feel free to email me if I missed anything here.
Luckily, another guy there has read this blog and knew what to do. Long story short, I spent part of the afternoon holding a stranger's head while my kids worriedly looked on asking why the lady was sick. Not exactly an easy situation, deep breath, and give calm explanations. I think this helped the other cashiers too. They all looked a little spooked. I jetted with the kids before the fire truck and ambulance got there. I felt a little like Batman. What? You wanted me to hang around?
See? The world is a scary enough place all on it's own.
Today my oldest son was in a police shoot out, a bank lock down and a medical emergency. True story. It wasn't a movie set or anything interesting like that, just the course of a normal day gone wrong in a lot of ways. And a day that was very lucky in others, since we are all home safe. So if all this can happen in a normal day of a 4 year old, then I won't ever understand why parents terrify their kids over events no one can control. I don't want to raise my kids to be afraid. I want them to be strong, and cautious, and smart. I want them to hide from tornadoes, not storms; run to help people, not away; and drive away from danger instead of getting hurt. I hope today taught him just those things.
P.s.- Writing this, I had over 500 views, not a lot for some, but I appreciate you all for reading
This afternoon my son was with his dad, while they were going to the bank a red car next to them was surrounded by police cars. The boys got caught in what we t.v. watchers would call a "take down operation" by our local police, who were trying to arrest a person in the car next to my family. My husband jumped a curb in his truck to get away from any possible stray gunfire. He took my son into the nearest bank, surely that's a safe place, right? And of course the bank goes into lock down so that no gun toting maniacs run inside. Apparently they don't know my husband. What a treat to be stuck in a locked building with my amped up 4 year old. Needless to say, he was very excited.
An hour later, I picked up my son and went to our local home improvement store to pay a bill. We walked in and were waiting in the customer service line, seemingly forever with three kids, when a cashier a couple isles over started yelling HELP! I jogged over, trailing two kids, to see a cashier on the floor. People were trying to hold her up. It was very obvious to me that she was having a seizure, poor lady, and that most of the people there didn't know what to do.
So, with my meager medical training, here's what I think. When some one's having a seizure, there's not really much you can do. Other than preventative drugs, you can't really stop a seizure. Don't put a stick or anything else in the person's mouth. Lay them on their back, or side if you think they're going to throw up, and just keep their head from banging on the ground. Pretty simple. They won't swallow their tongue. They may bite you if you stick anything in their mouth. Afterward, they'll come around and be very confused. Tell them to stay lying down until help arrives or they're aware of their surroundings again. Afterward they're usually tired. Feel free to email me if I missed anything here.
Luckily, another guy there has read this blog and knew what to do. Long story short, I spent part of the afternoon holding a stranger's head while my kids worriedly looked on asking why the lady was sick. Not exactly an easy situation, deep breath, and give calm explanations. I think this helped the other cashiers too. They all looked a little spooked. I jetted with the kids before the fire truck and ambulance got there. I felt a little like Batman. What? You wanted me to hang around?
See? The world is a scary enough place all on it's own.
Today my oldest son was in a police shoot out, a bank lock down and a medical emergency. True story. It wasn't a movie set or anything interesting like that, just the course of a normal day gone wrong in a lot of ways. And a day that was very lucky in others, since we are all home safe. So if all this can happen in a normal day of a 4 year old, then I won't ever understand why parents terrify their kids over events no one can control. I don't want to raise my kids to be afraid. I want them to be strong, and cautious, and smart. I want them to hide from tornadoes, not storms; run to help people, not away; and drive away from danger instead of getting hurt. I hope today taught him just those things.
P.s.- Writing this, I had over 500 views, not a lot for some, but I appreciate you all for reading
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Tis the season to be spooky
The weather is turning a little cooler, the calendar is creeping toward my birthday (October 25th) and all the vegetation that is left after this debilitating drought is slowly turning from green to gold and dropping to the ground. My thoughts turn toward Halloween costumes for my family of five, yes we all dress up together, children's Halloween parties for our moms group, my husbands birthday party, and preparing for winter on the farm. I hate feeling like the grasshopper that sang all summer, so we begin stockpiling hay, grain, and stall bedding. We clean out the messes in the barn and fix any fencing that has gone all summer but wont make it through the winter. We cut firewood and collect candles for the inevitable power outages where we will be stuck with no heat, water or power. But even with all the work to do, this is my favorite time of year hands down. And it's not just the chill in the air, bringing out the kids long sleeved shirts and snow boots, or the heavier meal plans in the near future, but the ghosts that really get me.
Last night on a coveted mom's night out, we went in search of the infamous Spook Light. In general terms, a spook light is a will-o'-the-wisp or perhaps the Latin term with translates to "foolish fire." But for us in southwest Missouri, there is only one Spook Light. Out by the Oklahoma border, there's a road lovingly called the "devil's promenade" where a mysterious light appears usually between 10 and midnight. The light can be yellow, orange, green or sometimes blue and can do any number of things from rolling through the woods to frolicking in the fields or even just hanging out on the horizon doing nothing. There are dozens of legends about where the light came from ranging from old Indian spirits to natural gas balls or even traffic reflections.
Last night, what we saw was a simple orange light. Just a light. One that came and went without any reason that I could tell. Some of my friends said it was a reflection from car traffic, some said it was a flashlight. I'm seeing a theme here. I really don't know what it was, just that it was awfully mysterious, just like the Spook Light has always been. But this isn't my first run in with something unexplainable.
When I was little, my mom owned an interior decorating business. She used to work with a fundraiser to benefit SIDS that required her to decorate a room in a show house of the committee's choice. One year in particular, they chose the Longview Farm outside Kansas City. Go ahead, look it up. A marvel of it's age, Longview is about 1700 acres and built in 1910's with over 48 rooms. It's also a creepy place. While she was decorating her assigned room on the top floor of the mansion, my brother and I had pretty much the run of the place. One afternoon we went exploring down the main staircase and at the first landing we stopped dead. I remember a strange eerie feeling just standing there. Probably my first hint of otherworldly intuition. No real reason to feel strange, but I did. And I remember hustling out of there in a hurry.
The week after my mom finished up the show house, she got a local magazine in the mail. The topic of the magazine was local haunts, with a picture of the stairway landing at Longview Mansion being one of it's primary locales. I can agree with that byline wholeheartedly.
When I was a little older, my first beau took me out to the Amarugia Higlands. At the time I thought it was a National forest, but it turns out that it's a wetlands preserve. Mostly known for local satanic rituals, the Amarugia Ridge Runner, similar to the "Jersey Devil", is a local superstition. We've spent many nights driving around the amarugia's looking for the ridge runner, with only superficial findings that left us all winded and headed back to the city.
In high school I went out on a search for spirits which landed us in Warsaw Missouri at a burned down farmstead. The silo was the only thing left standing on the farm, having all burnt down twenty years ago. The silo is gutted inside, and you can see nothing of the roof except starry night sky. But step back to the road and wait for a bit and you'll see the dark shadow of a fallen firefighter who died in the blaze pacing the top of the silo back and forth, over and over. I did.
We joke at our farm that we have leprechauns or maybe Fae. Things seem to disappear, reappear and sometimes even fix themselves without any explaination. We have found fencing that had to have been fixed with human hands but neither of us had done it. We have found fence posts lying on the ground that aren't the brand we buy, and neither of us has left them there. Who would? My husband swears he has personally seen a cougar in our yard, and with a little prodding he admits that he has seen some type of werewolf beast that's locally called the "momo" short for Missouri Monster but he doesn't want to sound crazy. But I believe him. We've had too many disappearing goats, dogs and cats not to.
Maybe I just want to believe that something else is out there, not in space, but sharing this earth with us. Honestly, humans can be so awful to each other, there is probably nothing to fear at all from ghosts, ghouls and monsters. It's the reason our ancestors left bowls of honey or milk outside their doors for the local fae. And if there's nothing there at all except the barn cats drinking the milk, then it serves only the purpose to make each fall a little more spooky. Tis the season.
Last night on a coveted mom's night out, we went in search of the infamous Spook Light. In general terms, a spook light is a will-o'-the-wisp or perhaps the Latin term with translates to "foolish fire." But for us in southwest Missouri, there is only one Spook Light. Out by the Oklahoma border, there's a road lovingly called the "devil's promenade" where a mysterious light appears usually between 10 and midnight. The light can be yellow, orange, green or sometimes blue and can do any number of things from rolling through the woods to frolicking in the fields or even just hanging out on the horizon doing nothing. There are dozens of legends about where the light came from ranging from old Indian spirits to natural gas balls or even traffic reflections.
Last night, what we saw was a simple orange light. Just a light. One that came and went without any reason that I could tell. Some of my friends said it was a reflection from car traffic, some said it was a flashlight. I'm seeing a theme here. I really don't know what it was, just that it was awfully mysterious, just like the Spook Light has always been. But this isn't my first run in with something unexplainable.
When I was little, my mom owned an interior decorating business. She used to work with a fundraiser to benefit SIDS that required her to decorate a room in a show house of the committee's choice. One year in particular, they chose the Longview Farm outside Kansas City. Go ahead, look it up. A marvel of it's age, Longview is about 1700 acres and built in 1910's with over 48 rooms. It's also a creepy place. While she was decorating her assigned room on the top floor of the mansion, my brother and I had pretty much the run of the place. One afternoon we went exploring down the main staircase and at the first landing we stopped dead. I remember a strange eerie feeling just standing there. Probably my first hint of otherworldly intuition. No real reason to feel strange, but I did. And I remember hustling out of there in a hurry.
The week after my mom finished up the show house, she got a local magazine in the mail. The topic of the magazine was local haunts, with a picture of the stairway landing at Longview Mansion being one of it's primary locales. I can agree with that byline wholeheartedly.
When I was a little older, my first beau took me out to the Amarugia Higlands. At the time I thought it was a National forest, but it turns out that it's a wetlands preserve. Mostly known for local satanic rituals, the Amarugia Ridge Runner, similar to the "Jersey Devil", is a local superstition. We've spent many nights driving around the amarugia's looking for the ridge runner, with only superficial findings that left us all winded and headed back to the city.
In high school I went out on a search for spirits which landed us in Warsaw Missouri at a burned down farmstead. The silo was the only thing left standing on the farm, having all burnt down twenty years ago. The silo is gutted inside, and you can see nothing of the roof except starry night sky. But step back to the road and wait for a bit and you'll see the dark shadow of a fallen firefighter who died in the blaze pacing the top of the silo back and forth, over and over. I did.
We joke at our farm that we have leprechauns or maybe Fae. Things seem to disappear, reappear and sometimes even fix themselves without any explaination. We have found fencing that had to have been fixed with human hands but neither of us had done it. We have found fence posts lying on the ground that aren't the brand we buy, and neither of us has left them there. Who would? My husband swears he has personally seen a cougar in our yard, and with a little prodding he admits that he has seen some type of werewolf beast that's locally called the "momo" short for Missouri Monster but he doesn't want to sound crazy. But I believe him. We've had too many disappearing goats, dogs and cats not to.
Maybe I just want to believe that something else is out there, not in space, but sharing this earth with us. Honestly, humans can be so awful to each other, there is probably nothing to fear at all from ghosts, ghouls and monsters. It's the reason our ancestors left bowls of honey or milk outside their doors for the local fae. And if there's nothing there at all except the barn cats drinking the milk, then it serves only the purpose to make each fall a little more spooky. Tis the season.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Not yo' Daddy
Tomorrow is our anniversary. Nine years. Sounds like a long time but it doesn't feel like any time at all, and yet here we are together, three kids later still plugging away, happy as clams I guess. I'm not sure if we married just out of love or maybe with a bit of good business sense. I married a man who is every bit as driven by success as I am. With our kids being so young, sometimes success is measured by how much you can provide for their happiness without taking any happiness away from them. Some people say that men marry women who are just like their mothers, and girls marry men who are like their daddies. For my husband, that couldn't be less true.
My father is a drunk. He's been a drunk my entire life. He's also a lawyer, and usually when he's drunk he either sits around watching TV or he's mean to my mom, after all a lawyer's great at arguing. I learned a lot about using language as a weapon from him, some of it I wish I didn't know. He's not a discriminator so he is mean to everyone, but my mother was the only one who was contractually obligated to put up with it. After 18 years she decided it was enough. He is the best example of who not to marry and was always my template to compare future suitors to, if they didn't fit, they're in. My father was a lousy parent, an only child, and a great cook. Some of the time he was drunk on the couch he watched Jeff Smith "The Frugal Gourmet" cook on TV. I still have one of this cookbooks in my house. I won't make anything from it for my kids, too much like feeding them the poisoned cool aid.
When I met my husband, he said he was looking for a wife. Just like that. No pretense about it. He doesn't beat around the bush much. Since I lived about 200 miles away from his hometown when we started dating, I asked him why he hadn't found anyone there. He said that he'd dated a couple women and that he could tell right off that they weren't the one, so he didn't ask for a second date. Apparently he could tell right away that I was the one. I could say the same about him.
Other than a wife, all my husband wanted was kids. At least two. Even after the birth of our first son, he was stuck on having at least one more baby. This drove me crazy thinking that just myself and our son weren't enough for him. When my daughter was born, he seemed complete, happy. Our third baby was just icing on the cake. He is a wonderful, doting father, never mean to the kids, happy to teach them anything he knows from tying their shoes to playing the piano. He only drinks occasionally, or socially, just at bbq's where the other dads are having one. He couldn't be a further comparison to my father.
My mother once told me that I would know I was ready to have a baby when all I wanted to do was be a mommy. Because once you're a mommy, there's nothing else in the world that matters as much. I believe her. But my father said that he wanted a family once but now all that matters is how much he can drink. And all my husband has ever wanted was to be a family, and now he is preoccupied with other things like work, but nothing matters as much as his family does. And that's just perfect for me. Happy anniversary babe.
My father is a drunk. He's been a drunk my entire life. He's also a lawyer, and usually when he's drunk he either sits around watching TV or he's mean to my mom, after all a lawyer's great at arguing. I learned a lot about using language as a weapon from him, some of it I wish I didn't know. He's not a discriminator so he is mean to everyone, but my mother was the only one who was contractually obligated to put up with it. After 18 years she decided it was enough. He is the best example of who not to marry and was always my template to compare future suitors to, if they didn't fit, they're in. My father was a lousy parent, an only child, and a great cook. Some of the time he was drunk on the couch he watched Jeff Smith "The Frugal Gourmet" cook on TV. I still have one of this cookbooks in my house. I won't make anything from it for my kids, too much like feeding them the poisoned cool aid.
When I met my husband, he said he was looking for a wife. Just like that. No pretense about it. He doesn't beat around the bush much. Since I lived about 200 miles away from his hometown when we started dating, I asked him why he hadn't found anyone there. He said that he'd dated a couple women and that he could tell right off that they weren't the one, so he didn't ask for a second date. Apparently he could tell right away that I was the one. I could say the same about him.
Other than a wife, all my husband wanted was kids. At least two. Even after the birth of our first son, he was stuck on having at least one more baby. This drove me crazy thinking that just myself and our son weren't enough for him. When my daughter was born, he seemed complete, happy. Our third baby was just icing on the cake. He is a wonderful, doting father, never mean to the kids, happy to teach them anything he knows from tying their shoes to playing the piano. He only drinks occasionally, or socially, just at bbq's where the other dads are having one. He couldn't be a further comparison to my father.
My mother once told me that I would know I was ready to have a baby when all I wanted to do was be a mommy. Because once you're a mommy, there's nothing else in the world that matters as much. I believe her. But my father said that he wanted a family once but now all that matters is how much he can drink. And all my husband has ever wanted was to be a family, and now he is preoccupied with other things like work, but nothing matters as much as his family does. And that's just perfect for me. Happy anniversary babe.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Ten Commandments of Grocery Shopping with Kids
I go to the grocery store once every two weeks. On payday. It a big box store that pretty much carries anything you'd ever want. The kind my husband plans to head for during the zombie apocaplypse. I buy the bulk of our groceries in one large trip, meals planned and coupons clipped. We will only go back to the store for perishables if we run out. I take all three of my kids. And you will NEVER catch them screaming in the store. NEVER. It's not allowed. Most people ask me how I manage this, or they simply bask in the adorableness that is my family on a shopping trip. Don't believe it? Try a trip my way and see. I'm going to give you all the "holy commandments" for shopping with kids.
First commandment- Make a list. This is the best rule for anyone going with kids, and those of you on a budget. Impulse buys really rack up your bill, and they waste time which will eventually lead to crankier kids. I plan out a certain number of meals, in most cases 12 because I figure we will either eat out or eat leftovers two nights in a two week period. Dinners only, then add snacks and lunch options for myself and the kids thinking that my husband will be at work during the day.
Second Commandment- Organize your list according to your store. I know where things are in my store and so should you. Make your list and then copy it according to where things are stored to save time running in circles. I organize right to left, in a round pattern, so that when I walk into the store, I visit the right front, then right back, then left back then left front of the store. This also neatly bypasses the toy department. This way you only have to walk around the store ONCE.
Third Commandment- Let the kids help. Really. Let them help. I don't buy many items that are in glass bottles, mainly food is sold in plastic or cardboard boxes, so what's the harm in letting them pick up the item and toss it into the cart? We make a game out of it. My older kids hang onto the cart and ride holding onto the outside with their feet on the cart rail. When I get to an item I need, then I say what the item is, and how many we need and they get to retrieve it from the shelf and toss it in. This allows me to have enough time to make goo goo faces at the baby and it keeps them engaged in the activity and makes people think you're super mom because your aren't shrieking at the top of your lungs "DONT TOUCH THAT!!!!"
As a side note, I will say that your childrens safety in public is your first priority. By using this commandment, you will gain the ability to just look at your kids, instead of turning your attention from them to decide which products to buy.
Fourth Commandment- Let the kids pickout their own snacks. Unless you're on a super tight budget, let the kids pick out their own snack brands. So what if they want the Angry Bird gummies instead of the cheaper off brand. It will save you .30 but they're more likely to eat things they've picked out themselves. If I let them get My Little Pony toothpaste, they'll ask to brush their teeth instead of acting like it's a chore. I wish they made cartoon branded cleaning supplies.
Fifth Commandment- Make it a game. I play a variety of games with my older kids, ages 4 and 2. My oldest son loves I spy in the produce department. I tell him what we need, then he has to look for it. Then I let him get a bag and count out the number we need. For my daughter, I ask her to pronounce all the foods we are passing on the way to whatever we need. Can you say asparagus???
Sixth Commandment- Do not take hungry or tired children shopping. I know sometimes you just HAVE to stop and pick up something for dinner. I will usually pick up takeout before I'll set foot in the store with hunrgy or tired kids. Plan a shopping trip well before nap time, and after either lunch or breakfast. This will cut down on low blood sugar fits in the isles, or your kids trying to tear open all the packages before you get home. And if you're one of those people at the store at midnight with a child under ten, and it's NOT the zombie apocalypse, I think you should be flogged.
Seventh Commandment- If you find yourself ignoring the Sixth Commandment, or you're just really stuck in a jam (like your husbands family is coming over in two hours for dinner and you havent even showered today), then listen up. Make a race out of shopping. I'll push the cart and let the older two kids trot after me while I'm saying "don't get me, don't get me", and they'll giggle "gonna get you, gonna get you!" Sometimes the giggling is a little louder than I'd like, but most people would prefer a laughing child that a fit throwing child. This works if your kids are constantly running away from you in a store, it's a way to get them to run with/after you which is the first step toward getting them to stop running away! It's a way to speed things up when they're nearing their patience limit. And it allows me to get to the products I need quickly, without them all wiggling in the basket and sniping at each other.
Eighth Commandment- Have a marching song. We love Carly Simon's Winnie the Pooh song "Sing Ho." See if you can find it on You tube, it's awesome. Anytime I need them to follow me quickly and mostly quietly, I start singing "Sing Hooooo, for the life of a bear, sing Hooooo for the expedition!" They will both fall in line behind me like good little soldiers and keep marching until I finish the song. Sometimes they sing along, and there is nothing cuter than my two year old marching. Even in the grocery store.
Ninth Commandment- If all else fails, cut your losses. Always have an escape plan. Just get enough food to get you through a day or two and cut your losses. Find a fast checkout line, and JET.
Tenth Commandment- Grocery shopping is a team effort. If I forget something that I just NEED to make dinner (chardonnay in beef stroganoff, sour cream for tacos, olives for spaghetti) and I'll have my husband pick up an item or two on his way home from work. He never minds. I just convince him that whatever item I need is ESSENTIAL for whatever culinary masterpiece I'm making for dinner. If he wants to eat, he has to bring it home.
First commandment- Make a list. This is the best rule for anyone going with kids, and those of you on a budget. Impulse buys really rack up your bill, and they waste time which will eventually lead to crankier kids. I plan out a certain number of meals, in most cases 12 because I figure we will either eat out or eat leftovers two nights in a two week period. Dinners only, then add snacks and lunch options for myself and the kids thinking that my husband will be at work during the day.
Second Commandment- Organize your list according to your store. I know where things are in my store and so should you. Make your list and then copy it according to where things are stored to save time running in circles. I organize right to left, in a round pattern, so that when I walk into the store, I visit the right front, then right back, then left back then left front of the store. This also neatly bypasses the toy department. This way you only have to walk around the store ONCE.
Third Commandment- Let the kids help. Really. Let them help. I don't buy many items that are in glass bottles, mainly food is sold in plastic or cardboard boxes, so what's the harm in letting them pick up the item and toss it into the cart? We make a game out of it. My older kids hang onto the cart and ride holding onto the outside with their feet on the cart rail. When I get to an item I need, then I say what the item is, and how many we need and they get to retrieve it from the shelf and toss it in. This allows me to have enough time to make goo goo faces at the baby and it keeps them engaged in the activity and makes people think you're super mom because your aren't shrieking at the top of your lungs "DONT TOUCH THAT!!!!"
As a side note, I will say that your childrens safety in public is your first priority. By using this commandment, you will gain the ability to just look at your kids, instead of turning your attention from them to decide which products to buy.
Fourth Commandment- Let the kids pickout their own snacks. Unless you're on a super tight budget, let the kids pick out their own snack brands. So what if they want the Angry Bird gummies instead of the cheaper off brand. It will save you .30 but they're more likely to eat things they've picked out themselves. If I let them get My Little Pony toothpaste, they'll ask to brush their teeth instead of acting like it's a chore. I wish they made cartoon branded cleaning supplies.
Fifth Commandment- Make it a game. I play a variety of games with my older kids, ages 4 and 2. My oldest son loves I spy in the produce department. I tell him what we need, then he has to look for it. Then I let him get a bag and count out the number we need. For my daughter, I ask her to pronounce all the foods we are passing on the way to whatever we need. Can you say asparagus???
Sixth Commandment- Do not take hungry or tired children shopping. I know sometimes you just HAVE to stop and pick up something for dinner. I will usually pick up takeout before I'll set foot in the store with hunrgy or tired kids. Plan a shopping trip well before nap time, and after either lunch or breakfast. This will cut down on low blood sugar fits in the isles, or your kids trying to tear open all the packages before you get home. And if you're one of those people at the store at midnight with a child under ten, and it's NOT the zombie apocalypse, I think you should be flogged.
Seventh Commandment- If you find yourself ignoring the Sixth Commandment, or you're just really stuck in a jam (like your husbands family is coming over in two hours for dinner and you havent even showered today), then listen up. Make a race out of shopping. I'll push the cart and let the older two kids trot after me while I'm saying "don't get me, don't get me", and they'll giggle "gonna get you, gonna get you!" Sometimes the giggling is a little louder than I'd like, but most people would prefer a laughing child that a fit throwing child. This works if your kids are constantly running away from you in a store, it's a way to get them to run with/after you which is the first step toward getting them to stop running away! It's a way to speed things up when they're nearing their patience limit. And it allows me to get to the products I need quickly, without them all wiggling in the basket and sniping at each other.
Eighth Commandment- Have a marching song. We love Carly Simon's Winnie the Pooh song "Sing Ho." See if you can find it on You tube, it's awesome. Anytime I need them to follow me quickly and mostly quietly, I start singing "Sing Hooooo, for the life of a bear, sing Hooooo for the expedition!" They will both fall in line behind me like good little soldiers and keep marching until I finish the song. Sometimes they sing along, and there is nothing cuter than my two year old marching. Even in the grocery store.
Ninth Commandment- If all else fails, cut your losses. Always have an escape plan. Just get enough food to get you through a day or two and cut your losses. Find a fast checkout line, and JET.
Tenth Commandment- Grocery shopping is a team effort. If I forget something that I just NEED to make dinner (chardonnay in beef stroganoff, sour cream for tacos, olives for spaghetti) and I'll have my husband pick up an item or two on his way home from work. He never minds. I just convince him that whatever item I need is ESSENTIAL for whatever culinary masterpiece I'm making for dinner. If he wants to eat, he has to bring it home.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
The best worst day all year
I can handle anything. Really. I've seen and done quite a few icky things including being a med tech at the local county jail, providing medical help after the tornado here in town, and being a professional horse poop shoveller several times. It's doesn't bother me at all. There are only two days a year that I'm truly uncomfortable. Picture day and my kids birthday parties.
Picture day is the one day every year that I stress about what we wear. Are our outfits timeless enough or will we get tired of looking at them in twenty years? I have to hope that my kids, who are otherwise pretty smiley kids, will smile and pose and listen to commands on someones schedule. The less they listen, the more I yell, and the more they threaten to break into tears. Not a good combination. They have to stay clean on the way there, and usually on the way home because the clothes they get pictures taken in are not every day clothes. God forbid I have to nurse the baby in the middle of the session, because we are on someone else's time schedule. This is why I have to put faith in our local photographer and just hope for the best. The more I try to control the situation the more it deteriorates. Just try to relax and go with the flow.
Birthday parties are a completely different matter. I'm not entirely sure why I had three kids since I dislike hosting birthday parties for my kids the way some people disdain smelly homeless people, paying taxes, or receiving a mail order fruit cake. It's the pressure of providing an experience that shows how much you care about your kid, that other people enjoy too. It's too much. I stress over the location, the theme, the cake, the favors (oh GOSH how I stress over the favors), and especially the RSVP system which never seems to work. It's an exercise in gracious hosting that I have never mastered because you can see the tension on my face. I have faced down angry felons with less tension and trepidation. I'm not southern, and while everyone IS welcome at our house, it's hard for me to make people FEEL welcome at our house.
So this year my daughter had her 2nd birthday party. I had planned a wonderful barn yard themed party at the local petting zoo. I invited all our friends and their kids. I made a "dirt cake" with banana pudding and crushed oreos. I had matching table cloths, napkins and cups. I found barn animal hand puppets for favors that I wrapped in cow print fabric squares and tied with twine, and stored in a galvanized tub. It was all perfect.
Now, it hadn't rained at our place in weeks. A drought of epic proportions. A drought the likes of which we hadn't seen in 30 years or more the news said. Such a bad drought that most states have been declared disaster areas so that we can afford to buy hay for our livestock. And I schedule the party, outdoors, without a second thought. The difficulty of the day was compounded by an early trip to the vets office with a couple of our horses.But then Hurricane Issac made it to Missouri and brought with it 5 inches of rain in 12 hours or so. And everything is a wet sloppy mess outside.
The entire party is rained out, and the next thing I know, 15 kids and their parents are at my house with no activity other than out toys. I think the kids all had a wonderful time. Really, when kids have any toys that aren't their own and somewhere to play they're usually happy campers. Add in a huge cake and all you can drink pouch juice and it really is a party.
Now I know my daughter wont even remember her birthday party today, but I will. My husband always says that I'm good at making it work no matter the situation, but it doesn't always feel that way to me. Hopefully, with any luck at all, my kids will look at the pictures from today and be happy that we threw them a party at all. They won't care about the rain, or the cake, or even my tension filled face, but that in the pictures, they are smiling, and so are all their friends. And thats why I do it all.
Picture day is the one day every year that I stress about what we wear. Are our outfits timeless enough or will we get tired of looking at them in twenty years? I have to hope that my kids, who are otherwise pretty smiley kids, will smile and pose and listen to commands on someones schedule. The less they listen, the more I yell, and the more they threaten to break into tears. Not a good combination. They have to stay clean on the way there, and usually on the way home because the clothes they get pictures taken in are not every day clothes. God forbid I have to nurse the baby in the middle of the session, because we are on someone else's time schedule. This is why I have to put faith in our local photographer and just hope for the best. The more I try to control the situation the more it deteriorates. Just try to relax and go with the flow.
Birthday parties are a completely different matter. I'm not entirely sure why I had three kids since I dislike hosting birthday parties for my kids the way some people disdain smelly homeless people, paying taxes, or receiving a mail order fruit cake. It's the pressure of providing an experience that shows how much you care about your kid, that other people enjoy too. It's too much. I stress over the location, the theme, the cake, the favors (oh GOSH how I stress over the favors), and especially the RSVP system which never seems to work. It's an exercise in gracious hosting that I have never mastered because you can see the tension on my face. I have faced down angry felons with less tension and trepidation. I'm not southern, and while everyone IS welcome at our house, it's hard for me to make people FEEL welcome at our house.
So this year my daughter had her 2nd birthday party. I had planned a wonderful barn yard themed party at the local petting zoo. I invited all our friends and their kids. I made a "dirt cake" with banana pudding and crushed oreos. I had matching table cloths, napkins and cups. I found barn animal hand puppets for favors that I wrapped in cow print fabric squares and tied with twine, and stored in a galvanized tub. It was all perfect.
Now, it hadn't rained at our place in weeks. A drought of epic proportions. A drought the likes of which we hadn't seen in 30 years or more the news said. Such a bad drought that most states have been declared disaster areas so that we can afford to buy hay for our livestock. And I schedule the party, outdoors, without a second thought. The difficulty of the day was compounded by an early trip to the vets office with a couple of our horses.But then Hurricane Issac made it to Missouri and brought with it 5 inches of rain in 12 hours or so. And everything is a wet sloppy mess outside.
The entire party is rained out, and the next thing I know, 15 kids and their parents are at my house with no activity other than out toys. I think the kids all had a wonderful time. Really, when kids have any toys that aren't their own and somewhere to play they're usually happy campers. Add in a huge cake and all you can drink pouch juice and it really is a party.
Now I know my daughter wont even remember her birthday party today, but I will. My husband always says that I'm good at making it work no matter the situation, but it doesn't always feel that way to me. Hopefully, with any luck at all, my kids will look at the pictures from today and be happy that we threw them a party at all. They won't care about the rain, or the cake, or even my tension filled face, but that in the pictures, they are smiling, and so are all their friends. And thats why I do it all.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
The best tool in your arsenal
For some time, I've been working on topics for this blog. Some are long and some are short, some memorable or flippant, some are good advice and some are the ramblings of a lady who feels older every day. So as hurricane Isaac gets closer to Missouri, a place we don't EVER worry about hurricanes, I'm planning my day for tomorrow. It's supposed to be pouring rain. Which brings me to my topic today, the best tool in your "mommy arsenal" is your car.
I have no idea how new yorker mommies do it, my car is one of my best friends. Without my car, I'd be lost. I'd carry around big bags of stuff like other mommies, pretending to be a pack mule and that each piece of luggage is a necessary and essential part of the day. I drive a Honda Pilot, which isn't really a car at all, but an SUV. I've had people try to talk me into a Mini Van, and although I dearly miss my Camry's gas mileage, and my mustang GT, the Pilot is about as good as it gets. I happened to luck into a deluxe model, which not only has a DVD player to keep the kids quiet, but has a snazzy system that allows them to watch TV while I play the radio up front. I love music. Happy or sad, there's a song for every mood.
I used to be one of those parents who hated car DVD players. Why would the kids need to watch TV in the car? They'll miss all the wonderful sights on the highway. When I was little, we used to look out the winder and yada yada. Really, we take the same route into town each day and nothing ever really changes on it. Gradually I learned that car time is my time.. It's a great opportunity to turn on the DVD player and while it's quiet, return a missed phone call, make a mental grocery list, or do my makeup. Just kidding, never do your makeup in the car.
My Pilot carries all of my crap. Dozens of diapers in different sizes, the double stroller, multiple changes of clothes for each family member just "in case", my wallet, spare change and cash, an extra pair of flip flops in case my shoes make my feet hurt, toys and movies for the kids, snacks, an umbrella, and anything else I need. It has a flat deck area in back for diaper changes in the parking lot, and the hatch will keep me dry while I change that diaper in the rain. That will come in handy tomorrow while I'm running to the store, dropping my son off at school, and going on a play date with my daughter. Noah can build the ark, and I'll still run errands.
In the war for motherhood, your car is the absolute best tool. I never have to carry around bags of stuff like other moms, especially since I have three kids, I don't have a hand to devote to a huge bag or purse. My car IS my purse. And it even makes my butt look smaller.
I have no idea how new yorker mommies do it, my car is one of my best friends. Without my car, I'd be lost. I'd carry around big bags of stuff like other mommies, pretending to be a pack mule and that each piece of luggage is a necessary and essential part of the day. I drive a Honda Pilot, which isn't really a car at all, but an SUV. I've had people try to talk me into a Mini Van, and although I dearly miss my Camry's gas mileage, and my mustang GT, the Pilot is about as good as it gets. I happened to luck into a deluxe model, which not only has a DVD player to keep the kids quiet, but has a snazzy system that allows them to watch TV while I play the radio up front. I love music. Happy or sad, there's a song for every mood.
I used to be one of those parents who hated car DVD players. Why would the kids need to watch TV in the car? They'll miss all the wonderful sights on the highway. When I was little, we used to look out the winder and yada yada. Really, we take the same route into town each day and nothing ever really changes on it. Gradually I learned that car time is my time.. It's a great opportunity to turn on the DVD player and while it's quiet, return a missed phone call, make a mental grocery list, or do my makeup. Just kidding, never do your makeup in the car.
My Pilot carries all of my crap. Dozens of diapers in different sizes, the double stroller, multiple changes of clothes for each family member just "in case", my wallet, spare change and cash, an extra pair of flip flops in case my shoes make my feet hurt, toys and movies for the kids, snacks, an umbrella, and anything else I need. It has a flat deck area in back for diaper changes in the parking lot, and the hatch will keep me dry while I change that diaper in the rain. That will come in handy tomorrow while I'm running to the store, dropping my son off at school, and going on a play date with my daughter. Noah can build the ark, and I'll still run errands.
In the war for motherhood, your car is the absolute best tool. I never have to carry around bags of stuff like other moms, especially since I have three kids, I don't have a hand to devote to a huge bag or purse. My car IS my purse. And it even makes my butt look smaller.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Welome Home, Baby
I have a friend who just adopted her second child. I just can't wrap my mind around it. She must have the patience of a school marm because she weathers all my inane questions without any snide remarks. I couldn't handle people being in my business with so much detail. She flew to pick up her little boy, alone, into a tempestuous part of the world, while her husband stayed home with their first child. I think shes a pretty brave lady. Not just because she made this journey, twice, with a little boy, but because she's willing to take on this resposibility for the rest of her life without the genetic "safety net" the rest of us have.
I think I need that 40 week duration before the baby's born to steele my resolve that I have to make this work. It's not at all like the waiting period on a new gun, once you're pregnant, the baby is a cash and carry deal. No returns. Of course, my babies can probably feel my hesitation, which is why they are more like 42 weekers.
Once they are born, I don't have time to stop and think "What have I done?" The baby needs milk, the baby needs changed, the baby needs rocked, the baby needs me. When they're born, they already recognize my voice, my smell, my husband's voice, and sometimes our basic habits like being lulled to sleep by the car or calmed by my favorite music (thank you sarah brightman). The baby is soothed by our familiarity. I'm a co-sleeper, which I know is a very controversial topic, but we haven't squished a baby yet, so I think it's ok. And the baby usually sleeps better and more soundly when they sleep next to us than in their cribs.
My friend doen't have such luxury. Her family has to welcome this new child, and convince him that they're in for the long haul. After being abandoned by his mother, I'm sure it's a struggle to trust anyone again, maybe especially people who are pretty foreign to you. He doesn't know your voice, your smell, heck, this is a totally different country than he was used to. I can't imaging as a mother, beginning at that point. Takes guts. And patience.
I'm excited for her struggle, mostly because I know it takes a village to raise a baby, and I hope th, at in some small way we can help her family bolster the idea that we are all together, for the long haul. And hopefully he will get to know all these things, smells, people, and places so that they can comfort him in the future. Welcome home, baby.
I think I need that 40 week duration before the baby's born to steele my resolve that I have to make this work. It's not at all like the waiting period on a new gun, once you're pregnant, the baby is a cash and carry deal. No returns. Of course, my babies can probably feel my hesitation, which is why they are more like 42 weekers.
Once they are born, I don't have time to stop and think "What have I done?" The baby needs milk, the baby needs changed, the baby needs rocked, the baby needs me. When they're born, they already recognize my voice, my smell, my husband's voice, and sometimes our basic habits like being lulled to sleep by the car or calmed by my favorite music (thank you sarah brightman). The baby is soothed by our familiarity. I'm a co-sleeper, which I know is a very controversial topic, but we haven't squished a baby yet, so I think it's ok. And the baby usually sleeps better and more soundly when they sleep next to us than in their cribs.
My friend doen't have such luxury. Her family has to welcome this new child, and convince him that they're in for the long haul. After being abandoned by his mother, I'm sure it's a struggle to trust anyone again, maybe especially people who are pretty foreign to you. He doesn't know your voice, your smell, heck, this is a totally different country than he was used to. I can't imaging as a mother, beginning at that point. Takes guts. And patience.
I'm excited for her struggle, mostly because I know it takes a village to raise a baby, and I hope th, at in some small way we can help her family bolster the idea that we are all together, for the long haul. And hopefully he will get to know all these things, smells, people, and places so that they can comfort him in the future. Welcome home, baby.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Evolution of a Dream
My dad says all the time that he wants to move to the beach. He's been saying this for the 22 years I've known him. He's said this since the first day my moms started dating him. He said it before my little sister was born and every day since. He has no plan on what to do when he gets there, he just wants to live by the beach. He's moved from Texas to Kansas city and back twice, but has moved no further towards the coast. I've never understood why.
When I was five, I wanted to be a dancer. Then I saw what
dancers should look like, and what they eat, and decided that I wanted to be
part of the Canadian Royal Mounted Police. Mounties get to ride horses all day,
saving people from terrible danger, avid the wonderful and wild vistas of
Canada. Sounds peachy, right? Sure, throw in a Nora Roberts type romance, and
bingo! Exciting future awaits.
Somewhere between 5 years old and my 21st birthday when I met a guy, my resolve to move north waned a little. He was cute, and horribly smart and I gave him my number before he asked. I realized that it was my new dream to marry him. Two years later, we were married and began fending off questions from his family about when we would start having kids. I was finishing college before I realized that I probably needed to get an adult type job. In America, there are very few mounted police. This was a harsh fact for me to accept. The fact that most of our local police are less than well educated was an even harsher fact for me to digest after I became a county sheriff.
Achieving part of a childhood dream is an interesting thing. By the time the county commissioner was swearing me in, I realized that my heart wasn't really in this type of law enforcement. My new dream was to have a baby. I spent two years at the SO before I had my first son and became a stay at home mom.
Holding that sweet little boy in my arms, all I wanted to be was the best mom ever. Which was a great dream to have since his little sister, and brother came less than four years later. While I was raising my kids, and building two businesses, I started to dream of the perfect home.
We had bought our house with the idea that we would ad onto it some time in the future. We were always in the middle of having a baby, or short on funds. I talked my husband into taking the leap. I had a 5 year timeline planned out to finish the remodel, but 18 months later, we are almost finished. Seems amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it.
So here I am, at 32 years old and I don't have a dream. Or maybe you could say that all my dreams have come true. I don't feel like a Disney princess, especially knee deep in dirty laundry, dirty diapers and dirty dishes. But we are happy, really happy. And now I do realize what's kept my dad from moving to the beach. My sister and I are in Missouri. Suddenly Canada doesn't look so peachy after all.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Party's Over: A note about nursing
Driving home yesterday, I saw a billboard that read "Life doesn't end at breastfeeding." I'm certain a man printed this sentiment. And although the experience of nursing our three wonderful babies has brought me much bonding with them, quiet time, and some introspection, I wouldn't tell other moms that the party continues after baby decides you're an all you can eat diner.
Apparently I could feed triples in a desert in the middle of a drought. I've always been that way. Too much milk is a horrible problem, so much so that it usually results in me screaming at my husband, crying, and wandering around the house topless until my supply can calm down. It's always been my argument that if his balls suddenly swelled to three times their normal size, he'd be crying too. It's hands down the worst pain I've felt including child birth, breaking my ankle in eight places at once and being burnt by an acetylene torch. I'd go through it again. Mostly because I've heard stories from other moms who had been robbed or talked out of nursing their babies by crappy nurses and doctors who were too busy to help them. Honestly it's just easier for them to demand the baby take formula.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no nursing Nazi. I'm a total freedom of choice mommy. But I know that a support system is necessary to successfully nurse a baby, especially in the first 36 hours. You also need someone to push drinking water into your hand every time the baby gets hungry. Luckily by now my husbands got that down. Unfortunately, the road to nursing success is long, and hard, and usually a little painful unless you're a nursing savant. I'm not. You'd think that something so basic and essential to the babies survival would be easy. Alas, not so.
We all know the reasons it's a good idea to breastfeed. Better for the baby, better for you, lose post baby weight faster, cheaper and easier than formula, no bottles needed and on and on. What they don't tell you in all the public service announcements is that its terribly lonely. All the baby books would have you believe that you spend tons of time nursing the baby and gazing wondrously into your newborns eyes contemplating the joys of your union and togetherness. That's crap. Usually, the little sluggers fall asleep about three minutes after you "plug them in" and then you're left playing human pacifier to them until they nod off completely. So what do you do then? Assuming that you're like me, you aren't nursing in front of strangers with your first child. I didn't. I'd run to the bathroom, hoping that there was a chair, or the nursing room at the mall or the car in a pinch. I'm pretty sure it makes my father in law uncomfortable, so I'd head to the sitting room away from everyone else when the baby started getting fussy. That's when you up your score, one handed, on angry birds. I'd say this qualifies as the party being OVER.
A long long time ago, when my son was small, my in laws had just bought a lake house. We drove down to visit, and one of the neighbors invited us all out on his speed boat. Assume the nursling cant be away from me more than 90 minutes or so, and I have no idea when the SS Minnow would return. A baby has NO reason to be on a speed boat right? So I spent the afternoon cooling my heels with the baby treating me like an open bar. I'd say this qualifies as a serious downer.
Another time, my husband's brother and sister in law were in town from Alaska. We drove 45 minutes away for some of the best friend chicken on earth. Of course, baby got hungry right as the plates hit the table, so I spent the next 40 minutes or so nursing him in the restroom. We finally get back to the table and my dinner's been boxed up. I will NOT cry in front of family in a post-natal hormonal temper tantrum brought on by low blood sugar. Just keep repeating that and it will become true, right? Complete party fail.
So my point here ladies (and maybe a few gents) is that we are doing no favors to the mommies of tomorrow by ill preparing them for breastfeeding. The party IS over because you're nursing. You cant just go off and do whatever you want anytime you feel like it anymore. That baby needs you, and nature is going to do its best to insure that you want to be with that baby. The real story is that it doesn't have anything to do with nursing, but everything to do with parenthood. Believe me, the party's over for the next 18 years at least. Welcome to the next evolution.
Apparently I could feed triples in a desert in the middle of a drought. I've always been that way. Too much milk is a horrible problem, so much so that it usually results in me screaming at my husband, crying, and wandering around the house topless until my supply can calm down. It's always been my argument that if his balls suddenly swelled to three times their normal size, he'd be crying too. It's hands down the worst pain I've felt including child birth, breaking my ankle in eight places at once and being burnt by an acetylene torch. I'd go through it again. Mostly because I've heard stories from other moms who had been robbed or talked out of nursing their babies by crappy nurses and doctors who were too busy to help them. Honestly it's just easier for them to demand the baby take formula.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no nursing Nazi. I'm a total freedom of choice mommy. But I know that a support system is necessary to successfully nurse a baby, especially in the first 36 hours. You also need someone to push drinking water into your hand every time the baby gets hungry. Luckily by now my husbands got that down. Unfortunately, the road to nursing success is long, and hard, and usually a little painful unless you're a nursing savant. I'm not. You'd think that something so basic and essential to the babies survival would be easy. Alas, not so.
We all know the reasons it's a good idea to breastfeed. Better for the baby, better for you, lose post baby weight faster, cheaper and easier than formula, no bottles needed and on and on. What they don't tell you in all the public service announcements is that its terribly lonely. All the baby books would have you believe that you spend tons of time nursing the baby and gazing wondrously into your newborns eyes contemplating the joys of your union and togetherness. That's crap. Usually, the little sluggers fall asleep about three minutes after you "plug them in" and then you're left playing human pacifier to them until they nod off completely. So what do you do then? Assuming that you're like me, you aren't nursing in front of strangers with your first child. I didn't. I'd run to the bathroom, hoping that there was a chair, or the nursing room at the mall or the car in a pinch. I'm pretty sure it makes my father in law uncomfortable, so I'd head to the sitting room away from everyone else when the baby started getting fussy. That's when you up your score, one handed, on angry birds. I'd say this qualifies as the party being OVER.
A long long time ago, when my son was small, my in laws had just bought a lake house. We drove down to visit, and one of the neighbors invited us all out on his speed boat. Assume the nursling cant be away from me more than 90 minutes or so, and I have no idea when the SS Minnow would return. A baby has NO reason to be on a speed boat right? So I spent the afternoon cooling my heels with the baby treating me like an open bar. I'd say this qualifies as a serious downer.
Another time, my husband's brother and sister in law were in town from Alaska. We drove 45 minutes away for some of the best friend chicken on earth. Of course, baby got hungry right as the plates hit the table, so I spent the next 40 minutes or so nursing him in the restroom. We finally get back to the table and my dinner's been boxed up. I will NOT cry in front of family in a post-natal hormonal temper tantrum brought on by low blood sugar. Just keep repeating that and it will become true, right? Complete party fail.
So my point here ladies (and maybe a few gents) is that we are doing no favors to the mommies of tomorrow by ill preparing them for breastfeeding. The party IS over because you're nursing. You cant just go off and do whatever you want anytime you feel like it anymore. That baby needs you, and nature is going to do its best to insure that you want to be with that baby. The real story is that it doesn't have anything to do with nursing, but everything to do with parenthood. Believe me, the party's over for the next 18 years at least. Welcome to the next evolution.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Just Breathe
I have never had a near death experience, at least none that I can remember. I'm sure that my brother and I probably gave my mom quite a few heart attacks. There have been a couple times that my kids' lives have flashed in front of me, whisked by in a smear of color and I have enough time to think "oh, shit" before shoving that fear away and acting to prevent or deflect most of the danger. My shrink has called this "compartmentalizing" and aparently I'm great at it. Unfortunately that emotion usually presents itself later at the least opportune time.
I find it imortant to designate care givers because we have so many children. I'm not sure how other moms handle this, but I have this need to designate which kids are which adult's responsibility any time we get out of the car or leave a building. Because parking lots and crowd are dangerous for tiny kids. The problem is when the adults don't pay enough attention.
This first time we had a miscommunication, my son wound up running towards a busy street. He thought he was playing and running around our parallel parked car. Of course he didn't notice the busy road, or the oncoming traffic. We had stopped in between the parked cars, to say goodbye to my mom, her boyfriend, and my sister after having dinner with them. Just as I looked at my husband and said "Where's Liam" we all saw him (then 3) running around the front corner of the car towards the street. Luckily, my moms boyfriend was the farthest from us, and being a quick thinking guy, he ran in the opposite direction around the car, sweeping up my son just before he ran out into the road. Definitely an oh shit moment. This being the first time I'd been exposed to one of my kids almost getting creamed, I didn't even know what to say. I wound up just looking over at him and nodding, inadequately speechless. I vowed then to be better prepared.
The second time left me feeling just as guilty, powerless and angry at myself. My daughter, then about a year old, fell off a step at a friends house. Literally, one step. About nine inches. In full view of three adults. Of course, she fell backwards smacking her head on the tile floor. First she started crying and then she siezed up and stopped breathing. This was a great time to push away that oh shit feeling. My husband had headed upstairs to get her pacifier before he knew she was really hurt. I told our friend to call 911, and laid her on the kitchen cabinet to start CPR. In my head all I could think about was our First Resonder class teacher in college saying "if you have to start CPR, they're already dead." Of course while I was trying to remember the number of compressions for each breath she started breathing again on her own. Fast forward to me bawling over her in the ER while she played happily as if nothing ever happened.
This experience also left me a little empowered. I'm not happy at all that she was hurt, but it is a bit comforting that when she needed help, I could remember what to do.
So today, we went out to feed the horses, and my daughter trailed along. To feed them, we have to roll a 2000lb. round bale of hay about ten feet and then toss a heavy metal ring around it. We had rolled the hay out (our tractor is too small to lift one up) and I was standing by my daughter about eight feet from the bale, while my husband rolled the ring over to drop down around the hay bale. If you cant see this in your mind, google bale ring feeder. Our baby horse was on the far side of the bale so I told my husband not to drop the feeder ring onto her. I wasnt' paying attention to him, because my daughter began picking up handfulls of dirt and yelling "a me!" which means "look at me". When the feeder ring hit the ground, it scared our other three adult horses into running right at us. Lady, our paint mare who is approximately 1200lbs spooked toward us and I could see her whole body jump sideways with all four hooves off the ground. Her right side was toward us and she angled to run away from the bale, right into us. I had a moment to think oh shit, and pivoted to be between the horse and my tiny daughter. She screamed and I closed my eyes and just breathed, waiting for Lady to smack into me. I have no idea how she avoided us. If she hadn't, it would have been BAD. Instead she brushed right by me out into the pasture without a sound.
So I guess the message here is to just breathe but maybe not with my eyes closed this time. I can't wait our entire lives for the next awful thing to happen or not. I'd could get too caught up waiting for the next fall, danger, injury, or accident.And so could you. I can't always keep the kids out of the pasture with the horses, I can just hope that they are all smart enough not to hurt or be hurt by each other.
I find it imortant to designate care givers because we have so many children. I'm not sure how other moms handle this, but I have this need to designate which kids are which adult's responsibility any time we get out of the car or leave a building. Because parking lots and crowd are dangerous for tiny kids. The problem is when the adults don't pay enough attention.
This first time we had a miscommunication, my son wound up running towards a busy street. He thought he was playing and running around our parallel parked car. Of course he didn't notice the busy road, or the oncoming traffic. We had stopped in between the parked cars, to say goodbye to my mom, her boyfriend, and my sister after having dinner with them. Just as I looked at my husband and said "Where's Liam" we all saw him (then 3) running around the front corner of the car towards the street. Luckily, my moms boyfriend was the farthest from us, and being a quick thinking guy, he ran in the opposite direction around the car, sweeping up my son just before he ran out into the road. Definitely an oh shit moment. This being the first time I'd been exposed to one of my kids almost getting creamed, I didn't even know what to say. I wound up just looking over at him and nodding, inadequately speechless. I vowed then to be better prepared.
The second time left me feeling just as guilty, powerless and angry at myself. My daughter, then about a year old, fell off a step at a friends house. Literally, one step. About nine inches. In full view of three adults. Of course, she fell backwards smacking her head on the tile floor. First she started crying and then she siezed up and stopped breathing. This was a great time to push away that oh shit feeling. My husband had headed upstairs to get her pacifier before he knew she was really hurt. I told our friend to call 911, and laid her on the kitchen cabinet to start CPR. In my head all I could think about was our First Resonder class teacher in college saying "if you have to start CPR, they're already dead." Of course while I was trying to remember the number of compressions for each breath she started breathing again on her own. Fast forward to me bawling over her in the ER while she played happily as if nothing ever happened.
This experience also left me a little empowered. I'm not happy at all that she was hurt, but it is a bit comforting that when she needed help, I could remember what to do.
So today, we went out to feed the horses, and my daughter trailed along. To feed them, we have to roll a 2000lb. round bale of hay about ten feet and then toss a heavy metal ring around it. We had rolled the hay out (our tractor is too small to lift one up) and I was standing by my daughter about eight feet from the bale, while my husband rolled the ring over to drop down around the hay bale. If you cant see this in your mind, google bale ring feeder. Our baby horse was on the far side of the bale so I told my husband not to drop the feeder ring onto her. I wasnt' paying attention to him, because my daughter began picking up handfulls of dirt and yelling "a me!" which means "look at me". When the feeder ring hit the ground, it scared our other three adult horses into running right at us. Lady, our paint mare who is approximately 1200lbs spooked toward us and I could see her whole body jump sideways with all four hooves off the ground. Her right side was toward us and she angled to run away from the bale, right into us. I had a moment to think oh shit, and pivoted to be between the horse and my tiny daughter. She screamed and I closed my eyes and just breathed, waiting for Lady to smack into me. I have no idea how she avoided us. If she hadn't, it would have been BAD. Instead she brushed right by me out into the pasture without a sound.
So I guess the message here is to just breathe but maybe not with my eyes closed this time. I can't wait our entire lives for the next awful thing to happen or not. I'd could get too caught up waiting for the next fall, danger, injury, or accident.And so could you. I can't always keep the kids out of the pasture with the horses, I can just hope that they are all smart enough not to hurt or be hurt by each other.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Go out and be Awesome!
I firmly believe that you have to take children into public so that they know how to act in public. It's not doing them any favors to refuse to take them in the car, or out to eat because they act like ravening zombies. Now I know, maybe better than some, the logistical issues with taking children to the mall or grocery store. It's truly like herding kittens. But I think of the outings as some tactical drill in this war. It's something that has to be done often so that you can get good at it.I have many mom friends who refuse to leave the house either because of their fear of their children's behavior or because they're afraid of how people will react to their children's behavior.
My children have been going into public with me since they were days old, several times a week. I actually feel as if I'm depriving them of an experience if we don't go out and see something each day. It still amazes us how many people compliment my children on how well mannered they are (as if I give them a choice). And I'm constantly amazed how many of my friends are hiding away for fear.
Which is why days like today are so special. Rarely there days where I have absolutely no reason to go into town. Or maybe a have a reason not to drive that far (at 3.57 a gallon!). We live about 15 miles from the nearest grocery store. So any errands that need to be run take careful planning and must be performed after breakfast and before nap time, which is about a two hour window. Now, I've already talked about how I make a list, tear it in half and lower my expectations for the day. So usually I have to go into town several times a week, for play dates, appointments, errands and at least to pickup my oldest son from preK.
Today, we stayed home, caught up on the mammoth pile of laundry that's been growing in the laundry room, snacked on the fruits of the latest grocery run, caught up on the DVR'd season finales, and napped. Well, the kids napped, I mostly got some things "cleaned", did some work around the house (laundry, dusting, vacuuming, made a pork roast for dinner, etc). I think this is also a chance for the kids to catch up on their allotment of my attention that they don't get while I'm driving around in town, their naps which seem to run longer on down days, nutrition because other days it's usually drive through for lunch, and some much needed tickle time. While the older kids are napping, I get to spend some one on one time with the baby so that we can talk and snuggle a bit before he drops off to sleep.
When my husband finally gets home at 5:30, the house is a bit cleaner, smells like cooking meat, the kids are happily watching My Little Ponies, and I feel like my stay-at-home-friends may be onto something.
My children have been going into public with me since they were days old, several times a week. I actually feel as if I'm depriving them of an experience if we don't go out and see something each day. It still amazes us how many people compliment my children on how well mannered they are (as if I give them a choice). And I'm constantly amazed how many of my friends are hiding away for fear.
Which is why days like today are so special. Rarely there days where I have absolutely no reason to go into town. Or maybe a have a reason not to drive that far (at 3.57 a gallon!). We live about 15 miles from the nearest grocery store. So any errands that need to be run take careful planning and must be performed after breakfast and before nap time, which is about a two hour window. Now, I've already talked about how I make a list, tear it in half and lower my expectations for the day. So usually I have to go into town several times a week, for play dates, appointments, errands and at least to pickup my oldest son from preK.
Today, we stayed home, caught up on the mammoth pile of laundry that's been growing in the laundry room, snacked on the fruits of the latest grocery run, caught up on the DVR'd season finales, and napped. Well, the kids napped, I mostly got some things "cleaned", did some work around the house (laundry, dusting, vacuuming, made a pork roast for dinner, etc). I think this is also a chance for the kids to catch up on their allotment of my attention that they don't get while I'm driving around in town, their naps which seem to run longer on down days, nutrition because other days it's usually drive through for lunch, and some much needed tickle time. While the older kids are napping, I get to spend some one on one time with the baby so that we can talk and snuggle a bit before he drops off to sleep.
When my husband finally gets home at 5:30, the house is a bit cleaner, smells like cooking meat, the kids are happily watching My Little Ponies, and I feel like my stay-at-home-friends may be onto something.
The Importance of Being
Tonight was Moms Night Out with the girls. This is one of the most important and sacred mommy rituals. And highlights my topic of thought today, the importance of being. Even though we all have responsibilites, it’s nessecary to shirk them , dress up to remind ourselves that underneath the dirty diaper smell, hairy legs, and hair that hasn’t been brushed in a week because my daughter made off with my hair brush, I’m a pretty hot momma.
It’s always a fun sort of routine for me to actually get ready for a night out. This is one of the parts of dating that I do miss. As a mom, I rarely get fifteen minutes ALONE in the bathroom, much less enough time to take a full and proper shower. Mostly I try to take a shower and jump out at the first scream from the living room only to find that everyone’s fine (Dora just came on elliciting a squeal of glee) and that I haven’t managed to rinse all the body wash off of me. Gone are the days of leisurely shaving legs and underarms, washing my hair twice, and conditioning once or even standing under the spray until the water turns cold, except on MNO days. It’s the one day a month where I have the option of showering, dressing in something that doesn’t have spit up on it, a bra that doesn’t unsnap for easy access, and shoes that cannot be even remotely described as flip flops. Dust off the makeup and perfume, it’s time to head out.
I think I picked a lovely spot at a local Mexican place with margarita happy hour. It was a nice day out so we got to sit on the deck and have a few drinks. I’m always astounded how my friend will talk about anything from their favorite recipes to their best fellatio techniques unless the talk turns to babysitters. A good babysitter’s name is worth it’s weight in gold, and these mommas are as tight lipped as a preist in confessional.
By the end of the night, I’ve had a pitcher of margaritas, some good food and even better conversation. My feet hurt, and my teeth are the only thing fuzzier than my head. But I’m happy to head home to warm babies who have been fed, bathed, and tucked in while I was out reminding myself that I do not cease to exist away from my family. I cant imaging how women who don’t have a support system or the chance for a break from the kiddos do it. For me, it’s easier to see being away from my family, makes being with them the only place I want to be.
It’s always a fun sort of routine for me to actually get ready for a night out. This is one of the parts of dating that I do miss. As a mom, I rarely get fifteen minutes ALONE in the bathroom, much less enough time to take a full and proper shower. Mostly I try to take a shower and jump out at the first scream from the living room only to find that everyone’s fine (Dora just came on elliciting a squeal of glee) and that I haven’t managed to rinse all the body wash off of me. Gone are the days of leisurely shaving legs and underarms, washing my hair twice, and conditioning once or even standing under the spray until the water turns cold, except on MNO days. It’s the one day a month where I have the option of showering, dressing in something that doesn’t have spit up on it, a bra that doesn’t unsnap for easy access, and shoes that cannot be even remotely described as flip flops. Dust off the makeup and perfume, it’s time to head out.
I think I picked a lovely spot at a local Mexican place with margarita happy hour. It was a nice day out so we got to sit on the deck and have a few drinks. I’m always astounded how my friend will talk about anything from their favorite recipes to their best fellatio techniques unless the talk turns to babysitters. A good babysitter’s name is worth it’s weight in gold, and these mommas are as tight lipped as a preist in confessional.
By the end of the night, I’ve had a pitcher of margaritas, some good food and even better conversation. My feet hurt, and my teeth are the only thing fuzzier than my head. But I’m happy to head home to warm babies who have been fed, bathed, and tucked in while I was out reminding myself that I do not cease to exist away from my family. I cant imaging how women who don’t have a support system or the chance for a break from the kiddos do it. For me, it’s easier to see being away from my family, makes being with them the only place I want to be.
Know When to Cut Your Losses
So, this is a running theme in my head. Know when to cut your losses. On an average day, I’ll make a list of things that need to get done. (List? Yes. I’m a Scorpio after all) Dry Cleaners, Grocery store, Shop for new outfit for anniversary, Pick up gift for birthday party, Bottle of wine for Moms Night Out this weekend, you get the picture. I put the errands in order, from absolutely needs to get done to if I have time. Once I have that done, I tear the list in half. Start at the top and head out. I’m going to be too exhausted after the grocery store to care if the dry cleaning gets picked up or not but we all have to eat right?
I truly believe that I did something awful in a previous life in order to be required to go through the Teething stage three times. My daughter, the almost two-year old, is getting her canine teeth. Three of them at once. I think it’s even worse that they have to go through it. Attacks can happen at any time, without warning. She’s whiny, cries all the time, everything requires five times the tantrum than necessary. And she’s clumsier than normal which just amounts to a perfect storm.
Take today for instance, we went to our friend’s sons’ birthday party. A lovely, and completely abnormal 80 degree summer day. It’s wonderful out, a little overcast, saturday and my husband is home to help me take the kids to the party, at a local park. Ten minutes into the party, and she’s become a crying snotball. I’m ready to toss her into the trunk of the car for the afternoon (DONT actually do this!!). My husband is looking at me like my head is about to explode and all the other parents are giving me that sympathizing, kind of annoyed, how’s she going to calm down that rabbid child-look. You know “the look.”
Solution: cut your losses! I left my husband with the two happy boys at the party. Took the baby girl to the nearest drug store for emergency pain relief and a small amount of candy becasuse I’m a sucker. She was totally happy after that, but we missed most of the party.
I truly believe that I did something awful in a previous life in order to be required to go through the Teething stage three times. My daughter, the almost two-year old, is getting her canine teeth. Three of them at once. I think it’s even worse that they have to go through it. Attacks can happen at any time, without warning. She’s whiny, cries all the time, everything requires five times the tantrum than necessary. And she’s clumsier than normal which just amounts to a perfect storm.
Take today for instance, we went to our friend’s sons’ birthday party. A lovely, and completely abnormal 80 degree summer day. It’s wonderful out, a little overcast, saturday and my husband is home to help me take the kids to the party, at a local park. Ten minutes into the party, and she’s become a crying snotball. I’m ready to toss her into the trunk of the car for the afternoon (DONT actually do this!!). My husband is looking at me like my head is about to explode and all the other parents are giving me that sympathizing, kind of annoyed, how’s she going to calm down that rabbid child-look. You know “the look.”
Solution: cut your losses! I left my husband with the two happy boys at the party. Took the baby girl to the nearest drug store for emergency pain relief and a small amount of candy becasuse I’m a sucker. She was totally happy after that, but we missed most of the party.
Hello World
Here’s my new blog. This started out as an idea for a moms book about how to handle issues with having many kids at different ages especially in todays world where moms are everything to everyone all the time. It’s exhausting. The responsibilites, not the kids. So today, after my husband may/or may not have erased the first couple of chapters from the “book”, I’ve decided to start a blog instead in the hopes of getting some of my ideas out there in print, and maybe to make it easier to organize them into words for a later publication.
A little about us-
I’m a work from home mom, similar to a stay at home mom, but I actually have a couple of jobs which bring in a little extra income. I own an online bookstore which is an easy way to pay for my book habit. I’m an INSANE bibliophile, and we will talk at lenght about that later. We (my husband and I) have about 50,000 books here at our house, and hopefully one day they will all be rehomed for someone else to read. I also manage our rental properties in the area, taking care of tenant complaints, and rounding up the rent checks every month.
We live on a horse farm in southern Missouri. Right now we have three adult horses, a baby horse, and a mini pony named Mac (short for macintosh) for the kids. We also have three barn cats, and four outdoor dogs.
I have three kids. They are 4, almost 2, and 5 months. That takes up a lot of time.
I’m also the head for a local moms group. There are about 60 moms and their families in the group and we hang out with each other for fun, and support.
I was an english major at one point, then a business major before settling on Political Science right before I got my degree. I’ve been married 9 years. He’s a great husband, father, and best friend. Most days.
A little about us-
I’m a work from home mom, similar to a stay at home mom, but I actually have a couple of jobs which bring in a little extra income. I own an online bookstore which is an easy way to pay for my book habit. I’m an INSANE bibliophile, and we will talk at lenght about that later. We (my husband and I) have about 50,000 books here at our house, and hopefully one day they will all be rehomed for someone else to read. I also manage our rental properties in the area, taking care of tenant complaints, and rounding up the rent checks every month.
We live on a horse farm in southern Missouri. Right now we have three adult horses, a baby horse, and a mini pony named Mac (short for macintosh) for the kids. We also have three barn cats, and four outdoor dogs.
I have three kids. They are 4, almost 2, and 5 months. That takes up a lot of time.
I’m also the head for a local moms group. There are about 60 moms and their families in the group and we hang out with each other for fun, and support.
I was an english major at one point, then a business major before settling on Political Science right before I got my degree. I’ve been married 9 years. He’s a great husband, father, and best friend. Most days.
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