It’s a WHODAT Nation, Baby!

At the opening of the Superbowl, the year of two thousand and ten, all the men, women and children across this Cajun land,  will stand, put a hand over our black and gold and say the following:

I pledge allegiance to Da Saints and to Da great city of New Orleans, for which we’ll win,
One city, below sea level, under God
With Mardi Gras and alcohol for all.

Now, kick some pony ass and make us proud.

Bless You Boys!!!!

No Rest for the Weary: Catholic School Edition

The recession is in full swing down here in the Deep South which means that people are shuffling kids around from expensive private schools, which garner “oohs and aahs” when mentioned, to mildly expensive Catholic schools.  I have only looked at 4 Catholic schools and I am beat.  It is hard work showing up to Open Houses to take in all the information that comes at lightening speed.   Then there is keeping the different programs straight, “NO! That is not the school that offers chess club and advanced academics.”  “NO! This is the school that has the pre-3s across the street in the back and around the corner.”  At one point, I thought of throwing up my hands just sending the kids to public school, then taking the money that we would save on private school and going to Disney World.  I had to come back down to earth and think of reminding my daughter of the wonderful trip we took to Disney World while she held a steak, which we could afford because, duh, the kids are in public school, on her black eye.  You think I kid?  Well, I do to some extent, but not really.

The act of sending kids to Catholic school is very imbedded in the New Orleans culture.  Since the Americans took over our land in 1803, we have had a distrust of the “American Public School system” and prefer to leave the educating of our children to private and, mostly, Catholic schools.  If you don’t live down here, you might roll your eyes and think us ridiculous.  I am here to tell you that you will found all walks of life with kids in private schools down here.  So, please put away your accusations of a non-diversified student body and images of rich brats away.  You might get that with your more hoity-toity schools, but in general our private schools and, particularly our Catholic schools are diverse and incorporate teachings of many different topics.  There are even kids who go to the Catholic school and aren’t even Catholic.  *gasp*  Hell, I was told on one school tour that they had Muslim students as well.  All that is required of these students is that they learn about the Catholic religion, and be respectful when in Mass.  Which is why I can’t understand why the minority in public schools make a fuss over something they disagree with when they can just respectfully agree to disagree.  Whatever, the point is that many feel that Catholic schools give a better education at better prices and I have, finally, joined this group.

We are Catholic and we are active in our church, so going to a Catholic school is no big deal for my kids.  Actually, it will cut down on the amount of running and studying I will have to do for the kids to fulfill their religious requirements.  Try to explain the 10 Commandments to a second-grader, especially the one about adultery, along with the rest of the stuff we have going on.  We did it, but I think once the kids are being taught everyday in school that it will get much easier than their parents trying to cram it in an hour before religion class.  It will become second nature, which is not a bad thing.  I will admit here and now, that I, SoMo, should have started Amber into Catholic school at the ripe old age of 3 years old.  There I said it.  I can admit when I am wrong, but it is fleeting and I reserve the right to deny it, later.  Even if it is written on the Internet.    However, I must move pass my peeshaw moment and realize that we all live and learn.   

It was really a fluke on how I found the school that the kids will be going to come the new school year.  A friend called me to come to an Open House to, I guess, pick my brain on how this school measured up to Amber’s current school.  The call came at a good time, because I was very worried about having both kids in the current school at a tuition of $15,000 a year for both.   I think we can agree that it did, because when I took the tour and saw the prices, I wondered why did I get my tubes tied.  At these prices I could have been more fruitful.  Alas, the procedure is done and my uterus is closed for business.  I am not really shedding any tears over this, just for the record.  In an effort of equal time, I decided to tour other schools, but none really measured up to the first one I saw.  I do have a runner-up, just in case my darling children for some reason don’t get in to our first choice.  Sounds like we are searching for colleges, doesn’t it?  This is why I will probably leave that very important choice entirely up to my kids.  Nope, just your average Catholic education in a city that probably has more Catholic schools than McDonalds.  It wasn’t an easy decision and at one point I had to bring SoHubby in on the process.  Oh he scoffed at my gushing over the Chosen School’s library, until he saw the other school libraries at which he would whisper to me, “Is this it?”  Really?  I got the eye roll when I practically jumped for joy at the warm and inviting library of the Chosen School.  In the end, SoHubby’s eyes glazed over and I think I saw a little bit of grey matter ooze out the side of his head.  I think he secretly wished that I just left him out of it and made it all on mine own.  Oh, but I know better than that, because when the time comes to bitch about something, and it always does, regarding the school, I can simply give him the look that says, “Shut it, we were both there, so don’t be putting all the blame on me.”  Registration is taking place, soon, then will come the interview process,  the acceptance and tuition payment which means I can breathe come sometime in July.  Now, to prepare Sam for this whole ordeal.  You know the one that can’t get new shoes or underwear without a therapy session, a Valium and a promise of King Cake if he just does it already.  Wish me luck or send help if you don’t hear from me come September.

Parenting Sam

Sam has been alive for 4 years and from the minute he was given to me swaddled in the hospital blanket he has left me confused, defeated and completely tired at the end of each day of his life.  Sam is full of anger.  About what, I am not sure.  Is it because I was a stressed mess for the last half of his pregnancy due to Katrina?  Is it because he has inherited my anger?  Did he learn my anger?  Is it because we still don’t understand him 100% of the time? (We are still waiting to hear from the parish about his speech therapy.)  Did his shyness turn into anger?  Sad to say I think it is a combination of all these things. 

I am not a calm person.  I try my hardest to go with what life hands me, but it is just not my nature not to worry and stress over pretty much everything.  I have found a few things that I can throw into the wind and not mind where they go, but the big things still weigh heavy on my shoulders.  This amount of stress cause little things to get to me.  I know I have a problem when I start to think, if YOU would just do what I tell you then MY world would be so much better.  It doesn’t help that many of the little things that I have learned to let go of, SoHubby tends to fight to the death on the battlefield.   My point is that all this stress leads to me losing my shit on a daily basis.  Oh I start out on a good foot each morning.  I plan not to go apeshit over the papers strewn across the kids’ table or the dust gathering in the corner, but it never fails by the end of the day I am yelling at someone, anyone, to just pick up the mess or stop questioning when I ask them to do things.   Back to if YOU did what I said MY life would be better.  And I think Sam has picked up on this. 

Since it seems that Sam has my anger I try to deal with him opposite from the way my parents dealt with mine.  I want to stay calm, even though the blood is boiling in my veins.  I want to hug him instead of yell and raise both of tempers.  I want to understand him, instead of just demanding that he listen to what I say.  The problem is that when he, or anyone, is in these rages they can’t and won’t hear you.  All they want is to yell and kick until their energy level is down to where they might be willing to listen.  The problem is that is not an proper way to go through life.  One must learn to control oneself, no matter how angry one is.  But how do you ask a 4 year old to do something that a 37 year old has trouble with sometimes.  I have gotten better over time, but I would like to spare my son a lot of the “learning” I went through to get to this point. 

So I have tried the ignore, let him get it out of his system approach.  That just leads to more and higher pitched screaming.  Not really something you want to let go on, say, in the middle of Burger King, right before the tour of a possible school for your little demon sweetie, where the elderly population has decided to gather for a quiet breakfast.  I have learned long ago not to show embarrassment when dealing with my children, because that means they have won the power in that situation. And I am here to tell you that once those little darlings have seen that they can embarrass the parent or the parent will discipline differently in public than at home, they have the upper hand and known how to wield it.  My kids know that I treat them the same no matter at home or out in public and when I start to count they either shape up or deal with the consequences.  Amber usually straightens up at the mention of 1, Sam waits for 2 to see how serious I am.  Do you see my problem? 

I had stayed away from spanking in the past, because 1. I didn’t want to spank out of anger and 2. I didn’t think it helped a child in the throes of a rage with more rage.  It has taken some time, but I think I understand when parents have said they spanked but not out of anger.  I have heard the majority of thoughts on this issue and all I can say is, I pick and choose when to use it.  I know it has power and I try to save it for the times the kids really need an attention grabber.  Also, I do my very best to not spank during those times when I am so angry I could spit nails.  During those times, I am more than willing to give myself a time out, which gives Sam much pleasure.  Often times when we are out, Sam will get angry at me, point his finger and say, “Mommy, when we get home you are going to YOUR ROOM!”  Problem is I am more than happy to go to my room.  He hasn’t really caught on that this is not a big threat to me as it is for his sister and him. 

My efforts  haven’t seem to have made an impact with Sam.  The biggest concern at the moment is how will he do at school?  The number one school on my list of Catholic schools, said that they try to weed out behavioral problems.  So I have to ask is Sam a behavioral problem or does he just act like this for our benefit.  I have seen him around other people in authority and it goes 2 ways, he is shy and stands off a bit before interacting, the key here is for the adult in question needs to not be pushy or if the person in authority approaches him in just the right way (and that can change from minute to minute) he can be the sweetest most talkative little boy you have ever met.  My plan for this interview of the school, if we choose it, will be to make sure he is well rested and in a proper food stupor before.  As I see that some of Sam’s rage stems from being tired (waking at 6am to get ready to bring his sister to school and then fight his afternoon naps) and his constant need to have snacks in his mouth.  That is a whole other post in itself, but the short of it is that on the one hand I am trying not to make food an issue, but on the other trying to get his diet to consist of something more than chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, goldfish and cookies.  And yes, I have tried all the tricks since the day he put solid food into his mouth the boy ain’t falling for it.  That was clear the day he spit his peas back in my face.  He hasn’t touched them or any other vegetable since.  He won’t even eat the food he helps me make, unless it is mac and cheese, from the blue box like Applebee’s make. *sigh*

I have been told by seasoned parents that the kids who are so difficult at such a young age usually turn out to be a bit easier to handle at an older age.  That gives me comfort and immense fear at the same time.  Amber is a pretty easy going kid, which means that I should expect black fingernails, piercings and tattooed boyfriends.  Sam is the exact opposite of easy going to the point that he needs therapy and a heavy dose of coddling just to buy new tennis shoes, which means I can expect that he will be all calm and reserved as he gets older.  So, basically no rest for me until I am in the grave.  The only thing that I am sure of is that my grey hairs will multiple, my frown lines will get so deep that you will need a pirogue to across them and once the children leave our house to set out on their own SoHubby and I will have to really fight the urge to pack up and leave without a forwarding address.  All I do know is that being a grandma is going to be so sweet.  I will finally be the good guy and the moment the kids start acting up away they go to become their parents problem.  Yes, mom I do understand and you were right I would once I had kids.  Pay back is a bitch and she usually brings an army with her.

A Rose by Any Other Name Smells Just as Sweet

I have had a few problems with Evie’s name.  Mainly, people pronouncing it wrong, even after I have said it to them.  I try not to get too bitchy about it, because I am dealing with Southern accents and a name that many haven’t heard before.  Then I discovered the problem, yesterday, while on the phone, with all people, our financial advisor. 

He asked how to spell her middle name, which is fairly common, but not about her first name, fairly uncommon.  So I asked, “Do you need me to spell her first name?”  “No”, was his reply.  I was stunned, how did he get so smart that he didn’t need to spell my daughter’s beautiful, unique, classic name?  So I asked and he answered, “Isn’t it spelled like the parish?”  Huh?  What?  My baby already has a parish named after her.  Apparently, somewhere in the middle of the state of Louisiana near Mamou (I dare you to try and say that name, HA), there is a parish (county to those who don’t come or live in Louisiana, those pesky French) named Evangeline.  That wasn’t the end of my lesson, “Ya’ll say it different though.”  Really, I might be all upset with people and I could be the one wrong all along.  No way, because I am never wrong.  “Yeah, ya’ll say EvangeLINE and the parish is called EvangeLYNN.”  *smacks head*  And here I thought it was just a bunch of lazy Southern tongues.   To add to my misery there is an EvangeLEEN in the new movie “The Princess and the Frog” (A great movie, by the way).  It hasn’t started, yet, but I am sure I am going to run across someone that after I say, EvangeLINE, they will return with, EvangeLEEN. 

I don’t want to be a total turd by constantly correcting the way people say my child’s name, but I am wondering if Evie will ever come when she is called with 3 different pronunciations out there.  Then again, the other 2 have common names that no one messes up and they don’t come when I call either.  I guess Evie will just have a better excuse.

Houseguest Beware

Amber had asked if her friend from church could spend the night since they were out of school for the holidays.  I agreed knowing full well what was in store for me.  I knew that Sam would try his best to be involved in every thing the girls did.  I knew that there was a possibility of a girl fight and the  girls leaving angry at each other.  And I knew that I would be in for a little more work than usual.  What I didn’t count on were the details.  The devil is always in the details.

First detail, where would Evie sleep.  Apparently, I am still living some first time mom fantasy where I lay my cooing baby down in her crib and she sweetly drifts off to sleep, despite the loud noise that fills the house.  I must have hit my head and totally forgotten that it  has been a long process, lately, getting Evie to sleep.  This would be a blessing and a curse for our first time sleepover guest of the under 4 ft variety.  SoHubby got the joy of watching The 12 Dancing Princesses (a movie I despise) and Madagascar 2 (a movie I was happy to see once) while I rocked, burped, fed and rocked a baby that refuses to sleep while watching a Lifetime movie upstairs.  When I finally did get Evie to sleep in her crib, it was time for everyone to go to bed.  Hey, if my bedtime is 10pm then it is for the little people as well.  Did you know that little girls don’t drift off to sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow?   Old people, like myself, do, but not little girls who are so excited to have a sleep over.  Evie woke up from the laughter and chatter of 2 very excited little girls.  I couldn’t blame them, but I did smack my head because how stupid could I be?   So, Evie would sleep with us.  Again, I have that whole fantasy thing going, because of course she would lay her head down and go right to sleep in the middle of our bed with no discomfort to me, because this has worked so well for me in the past.  In case you were wondering, it hasn’t.  My night was filled with not moving an inch or breathing or giving SoHubby the stank eye because he moved or breathe in order not to wake up the baby who slept with her doll on her face the whole time. 

Second detail, I have a boy living in the house.  It is so great how well Sam has done with his potty training once he realized we were not kidding about the whole no diapers thing.  The part I could do without, the nude parade that must commence every time the boy has to go to the bathroom.  I am constantly yelling telling the kids that there is a one person per bathroom at a time and to allow the other person to pull their pants up fully before entering.  Yeah, do that a million times a day and you get the same result as banging your head against a brick wall.  We have all gotten use to a foot against the door to prevent an unexpected small visitor while we are in the bathroom.  Or just bear through listening to a story that couldn’t wait until we were finished.  Of course, we are constantly telling him to wait, knock, etc., but he is almost 4 years old and a boy. He doesn’t really care much for all these fancy social graces we keep trying to push on him.  So it shouldn’t have been no surprise to me when our houseguest and I were brushing our teeth for Sam to walk in without a care in the world, drop his pants and proceed to sit on the toilet.  I tried my best to scream, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO through a mouth full of toothpaste.  All I got from Sam was a look of calm down, MOM, what is your problem.  Our houseguest had a look of terror on her face, because she lives in a house with grown-ups who I am sure don’t combine bodily functions with grooming.  You know, fancy people.  As our houseguest darted out of the bathroom, I reminded Sam that we don’t use the bathroom while others are brushing their teeth, that we have 2 other bathrooms he could use and for GODSAKE keep your pants on in front of guests, at least.  What did Sam muster up as a response, “I had to go to the bathroom, Mom!”, because I am the unreasonable one here. 

Third detail, sleepover means up late and up even earlier.  I was surprised the crank factor didn’t enter the equation faster, but I did forget about it all together.  While I ushered everyone to bed at 10 pm, there were still little voices floating through the air around 11pm.  Who knows when they fell asleep, because at the point that Evie decided to give into the Sandman, I flung myself at him.  I think the girls were up at 545 am, but I don’t know for sure.  I do know that SoHubby was up earlier than his usual 7am wake up time, but I only opened my eyes enough to grunt out a small whimper of “Keep it down” to no one in particular.  I would be up at 8am after the first gleeful scream of the morning.  At around 230pm a sweet game of bang a balloon around my foyer would show the effects of a late night and early morning.  It was time for the sleepover to end and my goal of ending on a happy note was smashed to pieces.  I gave up when Amber ramped up the drama, but I stood by and watched the Dads give it a go.  So baffled they were that the girls couldn’t just make up and go on their way.  I mean boys punched and trash talked each other all the time, then go out for a beer root beer when the dust settles.  Aw, the  complexities joys of femalehood. 

Fourth detail, all your secrets will be reveal for the judgement of other parents.  I don’t know why this never crosses my mind.  I mean every time Amber has had a sleepover we get the full scoop on the parents when she returns.  My only hope is that our houseguest’s report will not resort in a visit from an official from the state and I won’t have to answer why I can’t afford pants for my son.

Is Santa Real?

You tell me.  All 3 kids quiet and cooperating, especially the boy.
Thanks, Santa.

Rebuilding

I have deleted this post, because like I always knew things that are written down will come back to bite you in the ass.

One Day She Will be in Charge of the Dynasty

This week I decided that Amber would do her book report that is due on December 8.  I am doing this more for me than her, because I know how I will have to push, plan, explain, yell, and curse under my breath just to get this project done.  [An aside: What ever happen to reading a book and writing a page or two book report?  Why are the kids required to be creative, which means the parents have to be creative, which then means money spent on things that may or may not be used and can not be used for anything else?  Just asking.] I need time for all of that to take place and, of course, I like making my daughter’s life a living hell.  You know, because it is just so much fun for me.

 I took time on Saturday to reread the directions, to confer with SoHubby on what might be needed and ideas, and made a list of things to get.  Then on Sunday, we did a bit of running around trying to find all the supplies that Amber would need for HER project.   Amber wanted no part of this; she was mad that we didn’t let her go to her friend’s house.  How dare we make her do her homework.  And how dare her homework be something that took more thought than the 10 minutes a night she usually spends.  Amber is a smart girl.  It is proven every semester with her report card of straight A’s.  It is further proven that she doesn’t study, more like I am too busy being a human pacifier that I don’t know she had to study until it is too late, but she still makes A’s on her test.  However, she tends to hurry through things and makes silly mistakes.  It is pure torture to make her stop, think and take her time on things.  So while in Target as she stomped away with arms folded scrawling that if she got an F on this project it would be her father and mine’s fault.  I lost it.  LOST IT!  I had taken time out of my weekend to help her and how DARE her  sassing me.  I bent down, grabbed her arm, got in her face and explained to her in a stern voice that if she didn’t be quiet and show some interest in this project then I was going to put everything back and she could just find her own way to the store, get her own supplies with her own money and do her own DAMN project on her own. 

Sounds like a good idea.  I mean I don’t remember my mom putting much effort into my projects.  She might have bought some poster board, but the rest was up to me.  My only instructions from her was to get it into school on time.  It seems that these days schools are requiring so much more than just some graphs on poster board.   Amber has to recreate the book she read for her book report.  That’s right she needs to read it, write it in her own words and then be creative enough to make it look like a book.  Don’t tell me there are second graders out there that can do that totally on their own.  Hell, I needed SoHubby’s help  just for ideas on what supplies she might need.  This is only the beginning, too, I have seen the future and it ain’t pretty.  One of  our friend’s daughter had to make a car that ran on its own.  WTF?  Seriously, WTF?  If I would have known about the cars that needed to be built out of nothing, nursing bras that needed to be snapped while holding squirming babies and complicated train tracks that I would be required to put together I would have forgotten about that Liberal Arts degree and got something more useful, like an engineering degree. 

I thought the Target incident was a one time thing.  Amber was mad that she had to do homework, spend time with her oh so boring parents when she could have been at her friend’s house having a grand time.  I mean, even though the house is similar to ours, it is way better and so much cooler.  Not to mention her friend’s mom is so great that Amber would sell her right arm if she would just adopt her.  I would soon find out that Amber is trying on a new attitude and we are simply disagreeing about its fit.  She thinks her britches are fitting just fine and I think that her they  are way too big for a 7-year-old girl.  Along with the too big britches comes a sense of entitlement, a smart mouth and the attitude of a 16-year-old.  It takes every fiber of my being not to scream and shake her.  Somehow I am thinking that shaking her might just shake that smartass right out of her.  It hasn’t been proven, so I will continue to grit my teeth and try to be civil. 

Today, we stop at Wal-Mart for some Christmas shopping. [And yes, I know some of you will see only this and give me the "YOU go to Wal-Mart?" speech.  Yeah, yeah, times are tough all over.]  I stopped in the Wal-Mart salon (Can you call it that?) to see if they sell a certain hair product that I use.  The “lady” (a transgender stylist) asked if we needed help.  Amber took a liking to her and begged for me to get her bangs trimmed.  This pissed me off for a couple of reasons: 1. I have been asking her to get her bangs cut for months, now.  She had decided she was going to let them grow out, because one of her friends doesn’t have bangs. and 2. We just came from having pictures taken.  When I told Amber that we could get her bangs trimmed for half the price at Wondercuts she went into the whining,” buuuuuut Mooooom” voice.  Here is where everyone tells me you should have stuck to your guns.  I admit I kicked myself wondering why I didn’t just say no and be done with it.  Mainly, I didn’t like being put on the spot like that in front of another person and didn’t you just read I had just come from having pictures taken with three kids.  And one of those kids was Sam, who I apparently tortured by taking his shoes and socks off.  I was worn down to the nub.  After we left I explained to Amber that we need to be frugal with our money and that she can’t be so impulsive.  When I got the “it’s only money” look, I grabbed her face and told her that she needs to leave that princess attitude behind.  We ain’t living in no castle.  Can’t you tell, we are at da Wal-Mart?

These instances just make me scared for the future.  When Amber was younger we could afford to buy her anything and I practically did.  Once Sam came along, I started curtailing the frivolous spending and teaching the kids that we can’t have everything we want right when we want it.  It was sinking in, but it is a hard fight against peer pressure and the power of commercial TV.  Let’s face it, my kids may not have everything their peers have, but they are not suffering one bit.  I thought by giving Amber an allowance, requiring her to buy certain things  and making her save would do the work for me, but I have to be a constant reminder that money doesn’t grow on trees and there is hard work behind every dollar that is spent.  It is a hard road and I hope that one day she will get it.  I have already started the talk that if you are in our house after you graduate high school then you need to work or go to school.  Hell, maybe even both.  I hope the entitled sass talking little girl that is here, today, will be a much wiser girl in the future.  It is making me rethink any preconceived ideas I might have had for when my kids become teenagers.  That beat up old Chevy that they pay for themselves is looking better and better with every sass talking entitlement word that comes out of her mouth.  Her brother and sister are going to be pissed. 

 

Strapping on the Old Feed Bag

I knew that once my son got to be a teenager, I would never see his face, again.  It would be stuck in the fridge looking for something to eat until we kicked him out to buy his own food and use the money we save to take that Hawaii vacation we always wanted.  I relaxed, because that was a long way off,  10 years to be exact.  But I forgot something, to tell Sam that he is suppose to eat like a normal human being until the hormones kicked in.  Today, like many other days, we were only a mere 10 minutes from the house, on our way to drop Amber off at school, when the little voice from the backseat started screaming for a snack.  I reminded him that he had just had breakfast and had to wait, because you know I am driving up here. 

I thought I had fixed this problem by telling SoHubby to feed both kids some protein in the morning, you know to fill them up.  Again, we forgot to tell Sam that this was the plan, because it is not working.  Most days I skip breakfast so early, but when I get home I make up some eggs with ham and cheese.  I, too, am trying to eat less.  I will give Sam some more eggs at that time, as well.  It never fails soon after he is screaming for a snack or dinner, what he calls lunch.  Another trick I thought I would try was offering things that I thought he wouldn’t eat.  My son was never a healthy eater, even as a baby he refused vegetables and most fruits.  I would offered him a piece of fruit or yogurt.  To my surprise he would pick one of those.  At least we are making progress in one area.  We still have the annoying problem of Sam asking me for food pretty much around the clock.  So I have to wonder if I was lead astray, boys don’t just eat you out of house and home once puberty hits, but straight from the womb.  One of the many parenting shockers I have encountered.  I guess I take comfort that he is not tall enough to start living in the fridge while I turn into my grandfather and scream, “Hey are we cooling the whole damn neighborhood!”  Ah, the circle of life.

***********

Along these lines, but changing the subject a bit, I have been hearing about the family dinner, again, lately.  This subject comes up on regular rotation through many societal discussions that goes on.  I will admit we don’t eat dinner as a family.  I will further admit it is because I am lazy.  And sure to hammer the final nail into my parenting coffin, the TV is on whenever we are home.  We are one of those families, you often wondered where we were and now you know. 

What can I say, the only time we ate dinner all together, when I was growing up,  was at holidays or at other family members’ home.  Later it progressed to each of us taking plates to our rooms and eating there by ourselves.  That is the number one reason I will not let my kids have a TV in their bedrooms.  Some day, SOMEDAY, I might let them have a TV in the playroom, which I will assume will become more of their gathering place downstairs once the toys become obsolete.  And yes, we have a TV in our bedroom, but we are the parents and what we say goes.  Being the responsible ones has some benefits.  

 We have tried the family dinner and I learned quickly that my role was the gopher. 

“Hey, could you go for some ketchup?”
“Hey, could you go for some iced tea?”
“Hey, could you go for some salt?”

You get the point.  I would find myself sitting in front of a plate that was full and cold while everyone slid back from the table satisfied off to continue their evenings without me.  Even that wouldn’t last long, because I was needed to break up a fight over who hit who first or demand that certain little people keep their clothes on or stay in the bathtub.  It didn’t take me long to discover that it was easier, if not particularly healthy or the right thing to do, to eat my dinner at the counter.  I was closer to the things that I would need to “go for” and if my food was going to get cold or I needed a reason to shovel it in at fast pace speed, at least, my kitchen would be clean.  The kids still sit at their table in the dining room and while their discussions revolve around screaming at Sam not to feed the dog or stop elbowing each other, they are spending quality time together. That’s my story and I am sticking to it.

It is sad to say that the only time we do eat as a family is when we go out to eat.  We still have the problem of SoHubby being pre-occupied with his phone and the random threat with a butter knife if he doesn’t put it down, but as long as we have someone else to gopher we can relax and eat as a family.  I figure once the kids are grown and learn to stop picking their nose for comedy or disgust value, we can have Norman Rockwell family dinners.  Until then I will ignore the signs of ever growing afterschool activities, busier husbands, and cursing Norman Rockwell for his unattainable expectations of family life.  I will focus on making sure there is at least one meal where we sit down as a family during the day, finding other ways to talk to my kids about their day and start writing my ad for a live in gopher.

Cloth Diapers, Potty Training. Basically, the Poop Side of Things

In previous post I wrote about how I hadn’t fully jumped into using cloth diapers.  All that has changed.  Well, most of it has changed.  Okay, okay, we are still using disposables at night.  What can I say, I value my sleep at the moment and disposables can hold more than cloth diapers. And yes, I know about using more inserts and the Loopy Do, but at the moment the thought of changing my bed, because of a leaked diaper, at 3 in the morning doesn’t sound fun.   Beside that, we are using cloth during the day at home and out, and up until the minute before we put Evie to bed.  And when I say put her to bed, I really mean she is screaming from hunger, in her swing, at 1am which wakes up SoHubby from the sofa, he changes her to a disposable, because “Ew gross there is poop on this diaper and you want me to put it where, besides the trash”, then plops her in our bed next to me where I think I pop out a boob and feed her.  Sometimes I wake up and wonder where this baby came from, who am I and how was I on the floor of Congress debating the healthcare bill.  We really need to stop falling asleep to Fox News every night.   

My stash, as us cloth diaperers call it, is not as impressive as others.  I have only 19 pocket diapers by  BumGenius, 15 prefolds and 3 Thirstie covers.  There are a million choices out there for cloth diapers, which means I got overwhelmed and went with the popular choice.  I will say that I am very satisfied with BumGenius 3.0s.  I do have one All-in-One, One Size BumGenius, which is my absolute favorite.  So simple.  Snap the buttons to fit your baby, fasten it like a disposable and toss the whole thing into the wash when you are done.  I swear I never thought in a million years that, 1. I would cloth diapers, because “EW gross, you want me to put that diaper where, besides the trash.” and 2. that it would be so simple.  Seriously, even washing them hasn’t been much of a chore.  It is nothing like I remember my mom or my Aunt going through back in the day.  Everytime I toss a diaper in the wash, I think of my Aunt holding her nose as she dunked a poop diaper in the toilet.  Oh, I chuckle, now, but my time is coming, but I think it is still easier than it was back in the ’70’s.  The only thing that taxes me a bit is remembering that I have a load in the wash.  I am still getting use to doing wash at night.  I even have SoHubby hanging them to dry, because I want to go to bed before the last rinse cycle is done.  I will admit even leaving them in the washing machine over night hasn’t hurt, but I like to have them dry for the next day.

As for fit, I have gotten use to the bulkiness.  Although, the All-in-Ones seem to be a bit trimmer than the pockets.  I think it took some time to get use to the fit and Evie getting a little bigger.  The One Sizes may say they fit 7lbs-35lbs, but, for us, it was more closer to 9lbs that the fit was good. 

I like pre-folds, but I don’t trust them to keep the leaks at bay like I do the BumGenius.  This has to do with folding, which I am not that great at, and a fastener, which I am not using.  I am on the search for a snappi at a local store, but I think I will have to break down and get one online.  This is why the prefolds are for home use, in our house. The Thirstie covers are great and have made up for my less than stellar folding skills.

All in all cloth diapering hasn’t been half as bad as I expected.  I do recommend you do some research before you start.  Start here.  It may seem overwhelming, but once you narrow it down, it is not bad at all.

*********

In more poop news, Sam has done great with his potty training.  It seems just as I was about to give up and prepare to send him to college in Pull-Ups, he got it.  And that was that.  I don’t have to remind him to go and he has only had one accident since his first *plop* in the toilet.  I can’t expect more since he is only 3.5 years old and as fascinating as many public restrooms are they don’t quite measure up to chasing kids around the Firemen’s hall and dancing. 

It took me three kids to figure out that they are all different.  I mean I knew that Sam was very different from Amber and Amber is a bit different from her peers, but I kept trying to force things that worked on Amber onto Sam.  Being the strong-willed boy that he is, he was having now of it. While I was giving him tough love, he was throwing it right back at me.  I am not sure if Evie is an easy baby out of personality or necessity.  Hell, I am not even sure she is really easier than the other two or I am just not the same mom I was with Amber or Sam.  I have learned that some things aren’t as important as others and things don’t have to be the same as every other day.  I am a Virgo, however much stock you put into such things, and like my routine very much.  It gives comfort and security, while change brings stress and chaos.  I am learning that, in order, to have fun as a parent, and in fact have my second childhood, I need to let go on many hard and fast rules I use to have and just let things be.  Sometimes I think to myself, if money wasn’t an issue I would have had 10 kids.  Then I laugh and remember I may have loosened up; I haven’t gone nuts.  I am very happy and satisfied with the 3 that I was blessed to have.  Besides, we are short on spring chickens around here and it is hard to have zone defense when you are old and tired.  Yes, 3 is enough.