Rules for an Enjoyable Summer.

I considered the title of Summer Rules, but then you would think I have lost my damn mind.  No, these are rules for my children so that they can have an enjoyable summer and I can make it through summer without my eye twitching uncontrollably.

1. SHUT THE DAMN DOOR!  Look, I went through this with my parents and, now, it is your turn.  Just for the sake of all our sanity shut the freaking door.  It isn’t really that hard and you will save the screaming…at the lizards and frogs that seem to think an opened door is an invitation to come on in and make themselves at home. If I have to come eye to eye with a lizard when I sit down on the sofa to relax, I am going to go homicidal.  On the lizard, of course.

2. Clean up after yourselves.  It is not that hard.  No one cleaned up after you at school and no one will do it at home for you.  What am I? Your mother?  Oh wait!…Scratch that.  I am not your maid, so if you keep missing your mouth while eating or drinking then clean it up.  Summer will be much better without me having a coronary everytime you spill something.

3. Just know that since I gave birth to you and you are at an age where you are capable of doing certain things that means you are my slave.  I know, I know, the Constitution outlawed slavery, but what the government doesn’t know won’t hurt me.  And let’s be honest here, I am doing the bulk of the workload, anyway.  I don’t need to add an hour long discussion on the merits of you taking out the trash to my workload.  Take it out and then you can plant your butt back on the sofa and watch your show while I  continue EVERYTHING ELSE THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE!

4. When I say enough with the My Little Pony show or any other show.  I mean ENOUGH!  There are only a handful of shows that make me want to go sit on the nearest cliff during the windy season and MLP is one of them.  I have enough screeching, whiny little creatures in real life, I don’t need to watch them on TV, too.  And Pinkie Pie needs to go away.  I don’t care where she goes, but either she can go away or get punched in the throat.

5. When I say NO, it is not a signal for you to keep asking me until my head splits in 2 and scream, ” I SAID NO!”.  No means no, even when it is said to child from parent.

6. If I tell you that we can’t go swimming this week, just leave it at that unless you want a lesson in the workings of the female body.  And walking away saying, “OH mom must be on her period” due to the fact that I just yelled at you, “NO MEANS NO!”, doesn’t help the situation.  Just know that soon you will be dealing with the same thing and I have a blog where I can enact my revenge.

7. No cracking out the kids!  This one is for SoHubby.  It is NOT 1978, which means there are other alternatives to Kool Aid to give our children.  I know you think it is funny to get them all jumpy on sugar and leave for work, but just know I have my own form of torture that I can dole out.  See number 6.

8.  If you would like to get home quick from grocery shopping, then don’t whine, complain and fart around while we are grocery shopping.  Making me remind you a million times not to stand directly behind or in front of the shopping cart, to stay with me, or to hurry up picking a toy that you just have to spend your money on takes up precious time that could have been spent racing around throwing random items into the basket so we can go home.

9. Don’t say you are bored, if you don’t want me to make you unbored.  I guarantee that whatever task I give you will be much more painful, in your mind, than the current boredom you are experiencing.  Look, there are baseboards to be cleaned, cabinets to be wiped down, extra school work that can be done, etc that will make that boredom seem like paradise.

10. There will be down days and super busy days.  The less complaining from you ensures we all have a fun summer.  I know all your friends are going on luxury vacations and having the time of your lives while you are stuck here with your parents and siblings, but it is the hand that you have been dealt so just deal with it.  You can always dream of the day when you move out of our house and do all those fun things we never let you do.  Oh and when you are daydreaming about how great your life will be once you are on your own, don’t forget to daydream that great fun job you got without any hard work where you make a ton of money.

Love,

Mom

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The Day I Lost it at the Office Max (or Teachers Really Do Hate Parents)

I have heard of these fictitious people who love to shop for school supplies.  All I see are moms with one eye on the supply list another on the kids, who are running around like mad people, and, yet, another scouring the shelf for the must have school supply.  She won’t find it, even though she has exhausted every store in the city.  She will come to you on the first day of school, wringing her hands and a small tear in her eye, and tell you that she did everything she could to find this item.  You will tell her that it is no big deal.  You can either substitute with this easy to find at any store item or you can go to this store that is only opened from 8am-9am on the third Monday of the 4th month of the 5th odd year during a lunar eclipse.    Today, against my gut feeling, I decided to become THAT mom.

Running errands with 3 kids is never fun.  It appears that if we are home for the day the kids complain.  If we leave to get some things done, the kids complain.  If their super cool and loving mom takes them to the coolest waterpark that New Orleans has ever seen they will complain.  Apparently, my kids are spoiled brats.  Well, after today they will learn what it is like to live in the olden days when parents didn’t care about their kids’ feelings.  Also known as the 80′s.  Momma is going to have a full week of watching whatever she wants,  cleaning without having to maneuver around small people, and eating when she wants.  And yes, that is a little bit of chocolate cupcake on the corner of her mouth. And no, you can’t have any!  How can I do this you ask?  The kids are punished.  Don’t worry, they will get an hour in the yard and their food will be slide through their doors at the appropriate times of day.

First let’s tackle these school supply lists.  I have had my share of tough school supplies in my day.  You can read about my first one here. Add the 3 kids and I want to stick hot pokers with the E.Coli virus on them in my eyes.  I understand that teachers have an important job, teaching our children, but does it really take 5 boxes of crayons and WASHABLE markers, 6 jumbo glue sticks, a box that measures 8 5/8 x 5 3/4 x 2 1/3 and a wire basket that measures 16 x 12 x 5 to teach the kids?  I hear in some countries it only takes a $1 a day to school a child.  Where can I get on that plan? Or are these things put on the list payback for putting up with our little demon spawns for the school year?  Teachers, be honest with me.  Just tell me that you put this weird crap on there so you can secretly watch us lose our shit in the middle of Office Max as our kids tear down the fire hoses.

Don’t think I forgot about the manufacturers of school supplies and the stores that sell them.  The teacher asks for 20 sharpened pencils, but the manufacturers make only 18 or 24 pencils.  Of course, they don’t make them all sharpened and you pay a premium for that little point on the end.  Also, can you explain to me why my 5 year old needs 60 pencils in Kindergarten?  Are you planning for them to reenact a fight scene from Game of Thrones using the pencils as small swords?  If so, I may not mind buying all the pencils, because that would be cool.  Otherwise, I am sure I will be handed 2.5 packs of pencils at the end of the school year.  Don’t scoff it has happened.  Or what about these oh so special colored notebooks that you demand request.  When I read that Amber needed a red single subject notebook and a blue 3 subject notebook I thought, “That ain’t no big deal. At least she didn’t ask for fuchsia.”  Guess what I found?  Freaking fuchsia!!  There was fuchsia everywhere, but I had to dig through a mound of notebooks to find the only red single notebook that Office Max had and even then I had to beat another mother off with my diaper bag to get it.  And the blue 3 subject notebook?  Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the baby is now working at the Office Max.  I hope to see her once she is promoted out of the stock room.  Last, but not least, please explain to me why Office Max has every fancy composition book under the sun, but no black marble composition book in all the land?  Who doesn’t have a friggin BLACK MARBLE COMPOSITION BOOK?  And why does my son need 2 of them?  He can barely write his name, I hope you are not expecting him to journal about his day.  If you are here is a sample, “Dear Diary, I am hungry.  The End.”  That is as good as it will get.

So excuse me if I lost it a bit while trying to talk to the manager about their weird sale on Crayola products when it was clearly marked on the shelves “Washable Markers” and my children decided to see if the baby can survive an attack from the exit door.  Again, I am sorry, I was DONE!  I had been to 3 stores (none of which are near each other), endured the constant stream of “I’m hungry. I have to pee.”, and the questionable lunch from Wendy’s only to discover that I still  have some shopping to do.  If I have an extra big smile on my face for the first day of school, know that I know that you think you got me, but the laugh is on you.  You will be spending 8 hours a day with my demon spawn.  Good luck with that.

 

 

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Our Mardi Gras

I believe there are three different groups of locals when it comes to Mardi Gras: those who do Mardi Gras, those who do something else on Mardi Gras and those who flee Mardi Gras.  We are the second group; we would like to be in the third group, but might consider the first if the kids would ever cooperate.  I guess it is safer to remain in the second group until the kids are older and that was never proven more than yesterday.

I thought since it was Fat Tuesday and we will be fasting and sacrificing through out  Lent that we should take advantage of IHOP’s unlimited pancake deal.  Those people are smart, because I don’t know anyone who can make it pass the first plate, but we tried.  We made it to plate number 2 and then I felt like  Violet Beauregarde and really just had to stop.  And even then Sam helped.  Before we could even partake of IHOP’s devilish scheme Sam showed the entire Westbank a bit of his demon.  He had fallen asleep in the car on the short trip there, which wasn’t a surprised when certain little people wake up at the butt crack of dawn everyDAMNday.  This was the cue that things would not go well, which is a major understatement.  He proceeded to fight the whole way to the door, because HOW DARE his daddy NOT CARRY HIM when he is carrying his baby sister.  It is not like he is 4 years old and can walk or anything.  This went on with a hellish fit that included screaming, “IHATEYOU!!!” and flailing about in the waiting area.  I removed him to a time out spot right outside while I stood inside next to the window to make sure he didn’t jump in someone’s car and go on a criminal rampage.  He continued on with the “IHATEYOU!!!!”, but ramped it up with pulling some plant out of the lovely IHOP garden.  That is when I grabbed him and put him in the car.  Of course, that would be the point when we were called to be seated.  I relayed my order to SoHubby over the phone and sat while Sam carried on with his “woe is me, my life is so hard act”.  Amber got on the phone and asked if she could have a bowl of whipped cream, cherries and chocolate chips.  Sure why not, because one out of control child is not enough let’s just cranked them all up on some sugar.  Then there was a quiet from the backseat at the words whipped cream, cherries and chocolate chips.  It was agreed that was what was needed to end this demon possession and move into the restaurant with the rest of civilized humanity.  Pancakes were eaten, a little girl complained about wanting sausage even though she didn’t tell anyone she wanted sausage, daddy would get annoyed because “you ordered that slop, you are going to eat that slop”, a little boy ate some of his slop but decided mom’s pancakes were much better and a little baby cried in the corner.  So what do we  decide to do, but take this crazy train to Target.  Yeah, Target!!!

Target was mostly uneventful and pretty much a usual trip.  Sam went in and out of tantrums, Amber wanted everything and did her best Scarlet when she got none of it, I tried to get what was needed then got pissed because “Why am I the only one working on this school project?”, Evie sat in the stroller looking at us fools and eyeing for the nearest cart to jump into, then there was the finale of “Where the hell did everyone go?”  The 2 adults decided they learned their lesson and headed home, then the phone rang.  Oh the damn phone on Mardi Gras day.

SoHubby had a problem near the French Quarter.  Those mere words sent shivers down my spine.  The French Quarter? On Mardi Gras day? Drive in the French Quarter?  ON MARDI GRAS DAY?  Why the hell not, we haven’t suffered enough and it is the season to suffer.  During certain times, I will offer for SoHubby to drive.  It takes a special skill to drive during such times and I don’t possess any of them.  I prefer to use unsavory language and scream from the safety of my car.  SoHubby prefers to scare the drunken souls and have beads thrown at his vehicle.  Oh, but it was decided that I would just stay behind the wheel, because you know we just haven’t suffered enough.  Besides,  we weren’t really going into the French Quarter, just French Quarter adjacent.  Let the games begin.

We made it to Frenchman rather uneventful.  The kids and I sat in the car while SoHubby went off into the sea of people to fix whatever needed to be fix.  Sam was napping, Thank God.  Amber was watching a movie, Thank God.  Evie whimpered.  My dear sweet last baby can’t sleep anywhere except in her bed and she was tired.  I thought second and third kids developed a lassiez faire attitude regarding where they sleep and how much noise was going on during the process.  Not my kids because they are special.  And you can take that to mean anything you want.  We sat there sucking in the stench of Mardi Gras.  The French Quarter, or French Quarter adjacent, is not the best smelling on a regular day, but add hundreds of thousands of people still high from a Saints’ wins of the Superbowl and the stench reaches up and strangles you until you cry, uncle, then it slithers down and laughs at you while you gag.  Finally, SoHubby shows up out of nowhere and we are off.  Why not go directly into the French Quarter, because we just haven’t suffered enough.  This is what we encountered:

Help!!
Please bring food, water, and toilet.

That will be our view for the next 40 or so minutes.  Apparently there was a band playing in the middle of the street.  Just a spontaneous explosion of music and everyone, drunk and sober a like, stopped to dance.  Finally something happened and it was over.  We were then swallowed by the mob:

And this is when I got to put into practice a rule my mom always taught me,
Never accept Oreos from a drunken monk.
It is a rather specialized rule, but does come in handy.

The mob wasn’t too scary. More like a drunk and happy mob that offers you beer and cookies.  We passed, I mean we just had a large breakfast.  Amber enjoyed a fist bump from a fairy and really where else but New Orleans would that happen?  We moved on with much yelling from SoHubby at me to just honk my horn and inch up.  However, I know that if I happen to accidentally run over a part of the mob that we would never get out.  We made it through and were on our way home with our only obstacles the craters that had erupted up out of nowhere.  I am really out of practice driving through the streets of New Orleans.

The rest of the day was spent playing football, with tantrums from Sam because his sister caught him (did you expect anything else?), helping Amber with her school project that seems more like something she would do in 4th grade and roast beef po-boys with gravy.  Not your typical Mardi Gras day that you will hear about in the travel guides, but just another day in the life of living and loving in New Orleans.

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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. 

 

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I Found Heaven. It is Not What You Think.

Recently we have had to adjust our budget, which meant that the grocery budget had to be cut.  This is hard to do, because we don’t buy a lot of things that coupons could be used.  One thing I have done is switch grocery stores.  I stayed with the same grocery chain, which is local, but changed locations.  If you don’t know or haven’t noticed, depending on where the grocery store is located will determine the prices and products that are sold.  I always knew this to some degree, but it was really driven home when I had to stop by this local chain store near my house and found milk was about .50 cheaper than the store I normally shop. 

That’s right I go out of my way for groceries.  The store I use to go to was in a more upscale neighborhood.  This meant there was a better selection for produce and meat.  Their selection of not so typical grocery items were bigger.  There was, also, more of the finer things available, even if I didn’t partake of those finer things very often.  It was nice to know they were there.  I will admit that I felt that my groceries were somehow better when purchased from this grocery store.  Finally, the customers were younger, usually single (Oh, the things you can tell from one’s grocery cart), and had more disposable income.  In these close to desperate times drastic measures have to be taken, so I figured I would stay with the same chain store but different location.  Times aren’t so desperate that I have to brave the bright, wide open aisles, and loudness of Walmart.  I still enjoy the atmosphere of an actual grocery store as opposed to an all in one store. 

I am not totally new to this location.  It has been a place for a quick runs and is close to a favorite pregnancy stop, the Krispy Kreme.  However, I never really paid attention when going there.  I have been there a couple of times, now, and these stores are worlds apart?  First, the most glaring difference are the clients.  There are tons of old people.  And I use the term old, because these people are old.  They are throwing things into their carts without much thought, because they have been buying the same things for decades and hell they might not be around long enough to enjoy the items before they expire.  If these people were famous, people would be shocked to hear that they were still walking around among the living.  One thing you need to know about this sect of the tribe is they love the babies.  Men and women.  More than one time I have turned back to my cart to find some random old person peering into the seat at Evie.  What shocks me the most is that they have no problem with touching some stranger’s baby.  I am keeping a watchful eye to make sure one doesn’t tuck Evie under their arm mistaking her for a loaf of bread.  The next class of clients is the They Might Be Drug Addicts.  I don’t say this to be mean, but because I really think they might be drug addicts.  The saddest couple was the one with a young toddler, who couldn’t decide which Chef Boyardee to get the boy and were easily distracted by shiny objects which were all in their imagination.  And they are always in a couple, a fighting couple.  Today, I walked by one of these couple where the woman was going on and on about some product she picked up and the man was just not that interested to the point that he blurted out, “Just put the bullshit in the cart and let’s go!”.  See, SoHubby, Sam doesn’t learn all those words from me.  I try to stay as far away from this group of people as possible.  Luckily, I only see one couple at a time on our shopping trips.

Another glaring difference is the amount of traffic in the more common grocery store.  The more upscale store had a more relax vibe where people would carefully look at labels, compare different items not for prices but quality and agonized over sushi or salad for lunch.  The more common store seems more rushed.  There is always restocking of something with people waiting, the lines are always at least 3 people deep, there are way more head on collisions occuring and there is always a crowd of the olds around the bakery.  I wasn’t quite sure why, then I discovered there is free coffee and donuts there.  If you are in the market for an eligible, wrinkled, with his own scooter man this is the place to find him.  Add a disco ball and some old wartime songs and it would be the parallel universe of club for the over 90′s set. 

Next up on my saving saga, Target.  The place where I have always gotten my non-food items has recently expanded its grocery area.  I am comparing prices and jumping for joy that they are giving .05 off for each reusable bag you use.  Yeah,  this is my life.  I guess I shouldn’t hold my breath for a piece of the Real Housewives’ franchise?  Hell, I don’t think I would be in the running for even Desperate Housewives.

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Cloth Diapers: Fail or Hybrid?

I will admit in a pregnancy haze I didn’t think cloth diapers all the way through.   The only thing I knew was that  I was thoroughly disgusted with slamming down $20 a week for diapers and I was ready to be rid of them forever.  Besides, there are many, many different and cute designs of cloth diapers and wouldn’t they look so cute on a wittle baby bottom?  Internet shopping and an awkwardly moving pregnant woman aren’t a good match.  It is a little overwhelming to go through pages and pages of different styles of diapers, but  I refused to admit that maybe I was in over my head.  It wouldn’t be difficult; just a bit of extra laundry. 

I wanted something easy.  I mean let’s not get crazy here.  I don’t mind doing my part to save the environment, not to mention save $20 a week, but I wasn’t going to do anything that made my life more difficult.  I was having a baby, afterall, and that is enough upheaval for anyone.  I decided that BumGenius was the ticket.  It had the velcro, so no fussing with diaper pins, which scared the crap out of me.  Can you imagine trying to work a diaper pin on a wiggly newborn while being very sleep deprived?  Yeah, me neither.  Besides, everyone on the cloth diaper board raved about BGs. 

I wasn’t totally stupid about this.  I did get a couple of different diapers to try on Sam.  I mean a 3 year old and a newborn are practically the same thing when it comes to diapers.  If I could work them with Sam, then a newborn would be a piece of cake.  I must have been smoking something, because I totally spaced on the fact that 3 year old boys lay a load nothing like a newborn.  I, also, chose not to listen to all those well practiced mommies on the CD board that said that even though Bumgenius says their diapers are good for 8lbs to 35lbs, diapers sized more for newborns would be better in the beginning.  Oh peeshaw!!  My baby would be on the small side (7lbs 6ozs), but what is the big deal.  So much for all that research. 

Well, the big deal is that she will look like she a badunkadunk butt meaning that the diaper wouldn’t fit that well on her, which cause some leakage.  No problem, I had just the thing to fix this problem without spending a large chunk of money.  You know pass what I spent on all those one size Bumgeniuses.  I got me a couple of the gDiaper covers and would use the newborn inserts from the Bumgenius diapers.  I am a genius!  Um yeah, that work okay except I wasn’t-and still not- that quick on the draw for changes.  Somehow diaper changing was moved to the bottom of my list of things to check when baby is non-stop screaming.  Who says wisdom comes from experience?  Did I mention I am sleep deprived? 

 That lead to our next big problem, major diaper rash.  Diaper rash so bad that Evie screamed everytime I changed her.  You say, no problem, a little Boudreaux’s and she is good to go.  Oh no, grasshopper, you can’t use regular diaper cream with cloth diapers.  And the diaper creams you can use can not be found at your local Target and my will to wait patiently for shipping or even googling went out the window when my c-section was opened for the third time.  So, I threw in the towel and bought a box of Pampers. 

I still haven’t given up, though.  I went ahead and bought some prefolds and Thirstie covers.  I decided that if I couldn’t go all the way cloth then I would hybrid it.  I use the prefolds and covers while at home and disposable while out.  It was getting a little crowded in my diaper bag for the inserts and the Ziploc of dirty inserts, anyway. 

Can you see the common theme in all this?  Money.  Yeah, I spent money on one size Bumgenius diapers, then on gDiaper covers (which are so cute) , then on prefolds and Thirsties covers and finally, every 2 weeks on a box of Pampers.  I do have hope that once Evie has a little more meat on her bones, we will go to Bumgenius all day and night.  We are still having a bit of a problem with diaper rash, which I go strictly to disposables and Boudreaux’s.  Also, SoHubby is doing his best on cloth diaper duty, but I either forget to mention something, like not wrapping the cloth diapers like you do a dirty disposables diaper (poop gets on the cover) or not putting a fabric sheet in the dryer.  I will admit he is really trying, even though  he was very against this whole cloth diaper thing.  The one thing, that I thought would be the biggest problem, that has not turned out so bad is the washing.  And, now, that our diaper changing station is ontop of the dryer, it makes it that much easier.  So, basically, I have achieved continuing to spend money on disposables and destroying the earth while using cloth diapers.  Who knew I was an overachiever?

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A 3 year old, a 20 dollar bill and all of Target at his Mercy

Sam will be turning 3 in a few days and as is customary in a grandparent kind of way, my dad and stepmother sent him a $20 slipped in a birthday card.  I should say that the card, also, had my littlest sister’s name, but I doubt she had much thought in it.  You know those 13 year olds, all obsessed with romantic vampires, text messaging and being left alone.  However, I will give credit where credit is due.   When Sam got his card he fell in line with the rest of us when we get a birthday card that might have money in it, he squealed like a stuck pig and danced around the kitchen for a bit.  I put it back in the card and, again like a regular 3 year old, quickly forgot about what wasn’t currently in front of his face and probably screamed for food.  You know, because only feeding him every 30 seconds is basically starving him. 

I informed Sam that he would get to take his crisp new 20 dollar bill to Target and get whatever he wanted on our regular shopping day.  Now, if this was Amber, she would already be contemplating exactly what she wanted and then asking for something 3 times the price of the money she had available.  Sam, on the other hand, was overjoyed for the few seconds I let him hold his money and then promptly forgot about it, again.  At this point, I considered tucking the $20 into my wallet and putting it toward Mommy’s Getaway Tour.  And if you think about it, that is sort of a gift to him, because I won’t be here to tell him to stop asking me for food, ALREADY!   Okay, are you getting the boy never stops eating or, at least, asking for food?  Then I thought that would be wrong and karma will come to bite me on the ass, like having Helga the German Prisoner Guard available for my next massage. 

Once in the store, the only thing that was on Sam’s mind was “playing with the toys”.  I asked him several times what he wanted to buy and he said, “I don’t want anything” added with a wave of the hand to leave him alone to “play with the toys”.  After a few times of this line of questioning he would scream his answer at me and I really started to consider my Getaway fund.  I mean he passed up the Handy Mandy Tool box with the dancing and singing tools.  The one toy he has asked for since he saw it in the beginning of January.  Everytime we go to the store, he has to hear this toy about 50 times before I drag him away kicking and screaming, but NOPE he didn’t want to take the bilingual tool box home.  I am sure this was God’s way of thanking me for not stealing my son’s birthday money, because Spanish singing tools bouncing around in a toolbox would probably drive me to accidentally “lose” it after only a few moments of possession.  Just when we hit the end of the toys that interested him, I suggested, like an idiot, to look at Thomas.  I bent down, looked him in the eye, and said “Surely, you can find something you like on the Thomas aisle.”  Huge mistake.  See, even us moms that have been around the block or two make dumb mistakes.  Only difference is that we know it is a dumb mistake before the last syllable leaves our mouth, but it is too late to stop it.  Once all of the possibilities of Thomas were opened up to him, he wanted needed everything.  That Thomas stuff ain’t cheap and worse, yet, it needs adult participation to put all the crap together.  Not that I don’t love playing with my son, but have you ever sat there scratching your head trying to figure out how to put all these little train parts together with a screaming toddler smacking you on the butt telling you to hurry up, already?  No fun.  So that is when I made the call to SoHubby.  After figuring out that he wasn’t his assistant, I explained that it seems all Sam wants is Thomas the Train items and what does he think about that?  Dumbfounded as to why he was brought in on such an issue, I was left with silence.  Then I say, “If I get this stuff you are going to have to put it together, because I don’t know if I can take another few hours jamming train tracks together.”  There was laughter and an assurance that yes he would “play” with Sam.  So we ended up with the engine wash, the Great Race and extension tracks, made possible by PawPaw and Nana.  Why do I see me sitting hunched over the train table cursing under my breath, because I can’t get the damn tracks to fit together right and it looks nothing like the picture?

After wanting to beat my head with the engine wash toy if Sam asked me one more time what the long pieces of rubber are that hang down at the end of the car wash, we made it to the cashier.  I thought it was only fitting that Sam pay for HIS toy with HIS money.  I don’t think the cashier felt the same as I in this being a perfect time to teach my 3 year old basic economics.  Sam put his toy on the belt and his money, too.  When the helpful customer behind us tried to hand him his money he showed her whose boss by screaming that, “HE WANT TO DO IT!”  She dropped the money and strongly considered never having children.  Sam tried to reach the $20 bill, but was having trouble since he couldn’t see the 5 inches above his head.  The cashier wanting to just hurry this little lesson along grabbed the money and handed him his changed.  She folded it nicely as to keep the change from falling everywhere, but that was just a lesson in trying to be logical when dealing with a 3 year old.  Of course, the change went flying everywhere, as soon as, Sam had his grubby little hands on the money.  Although, he thought it was a hoot to chase down a wayward nickel, I was ready to leave and get on with the our grocery store adventure.  I put his change in his cargo pocket and we went on our way.  I would then hear the saga over and over again all the way to the grocery store and there after everytime the change jingled in his pocket.  Later, after his nap, he would cry and cry to put his money in his alligator bank.  So I sat there watching the minutes tick by wondering if we would be able to pick up Amber before dusk  as he pushed each little coin into the alligator’s belly.  And true to 3 year old form, Sam has forgotten all about the toys he just had to have hours earlier and will be totally surprised when he unwraps them on Sunday.  This stage of the game does has it’s advantages.

 

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Bare Minerals: The Totally and Completely Unpaid Review

I am far from a cosmetics expert.  Basically, I used whatever I can find on the shelves at Target.  I never bought into the expensive make-up, because the cheap stuff gave me what I needed or so I thought.  Slowly, I had branched out to some department store products.  Ablush here, a lipstick there and, generally,   I was happy with my purchases. The products  lasted a long time, which could be because I don’t use much.  The stuff that I used the most of, I figured I should spend the less on.  Doesn’t really make sense, but live and learn. 

My daily routine is very simple:  Clean and Clear face lotion with SPF 15, liquid cover-up, a powdered foundation, mascara and some blush.  It was quick and easy, which is all I ask.  However, I have oily skin and it would show a couple of hours after application.  In the summer it is worst, especially if using a liquid foundation.  That stuff basically just slides off my face once the temperature and humidity reach the upper digits.  I had seen Bare Minerals infomercial many times and shrugged it off like most of those paid advertisements.  But in my frustration to look fresher longer, and curiosity regarding the new Sephora store that just opened in our mall,  I decided I would just go look at the product.  Well, we know what happens when certain people just “look” around.

I entered with a cookie covered Sam and a mission to look great without much effort.  I wanderedaround the Bare Minerals section for a few minutes and then grabbed a salesgirl to explain my situation.  I basically wanted something that was easy and would stay looking like when it was first applied all day.  She had my answer and the way to my credit card.  She assessed my color and showed me the greatness of Bare Minerals.  So I was in, but I didn’t know how far in I was until I was at the check-out.  If I was going to get the foundation powder then I needed the mineral veil to keep everything fresh and the oil at bay, which then meant I needed the proper tools to apply all this stuff properly.  My answer was the started kit.  It came with 2 foundation colors, a mineral veil, 3 brushes and a bronzer.  I am always leery of kits, because I tend to not use all of the products and it seems like a waste, but if I was going to get foundation, mineral veil and 1 brush I was going to spend way more than $60, anyway, so might as well get more for less.  I was sold and paid, with some doubt, for my starter kit.

The kit, also, comes with an instructional DVD and a quick reference guide.  Since I didn’t have time to watch the video and figured the salesgirl told me everything I needed to know, I put the kit on my bathroom counter and waited til morning. ( The little tidbit of “cooking” the powder in the lid was a bit disconcerting, but I wasn’t ask to main line it so all was good.)  This morning I set out, cautiously, on a mission to make this stuff work.  The salesgirl told me that I could use the fairly light foundation as cover-up, which was a plus since she diagnosed me as a fair.  Everything was easy to apply and after a little reading of the quick guide I knew a little bit more of what to apply when and how.  Since my skin is very oily I used the mineral veil first, then I tried the fairly fair foundation as cover-up and discovered that I need something a little more for the bags under my eyes.  However, it is 12:35 pm and not a shine to be found.  I am interested to see how this works when the temperature and humidity rises.  Needless to say I am happy and if this stuff last close to a year, like the salesgirl promised, then I will be more than happy.

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Not in my Landfill!!

I promised SoHubby that with this baby there was no need for any new expensive equipment.  I had done it right the second time and bought what I wanted and didn’t worry, too much, about the price.  Also, I have learned the baby doesn’t care what kind of stroller, swing, crib, mattress, sheets, etc he has as long as it doesn’t irritate his wee delicate skin, then he is all good.  Then a certain blogger ( I would link to her, but she has asked that we not) started talking about her prepareness for her new baby and I found something that stuck with me, cloth diapers. 

Ask anyone, go ahead I dare you, I am so far from the crunch set I can’t even smell their granola, but I have started down their road for very selfish reasons.  That is right.  I am not considering cloth diapers, or use my reusable grocery bags, because I want to save the planet for my kids.  I figure they need to learn to fix the problems of their ancestors just like the rest of us and they will be many.  I do these things out of my own convenience.  I use my grocery bags, because I hate having a million plastic bags tumble out of my pantry everytime I open the door, they stand up nicely in the back of the Suburban (I always chuckle putting my reusable grocery bags in the back of my honking SUV) and I don’t have one damn item in one plastic bag.  Although, I do have to assure the baggers that they can pile my bags as high and as wide as they can.  Sure I get funny looks and sighs, but it is getting less and, at this point, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think of my bags they make my life easier and that is all that matters.  We use our bags for more than just groceries, too.

Why am I considering cloth diapers as opposed to the highly coveted disposables?  Because I am DAMN SICK of buying the DAMN things.  I have had 2 kids that have worn diapers for, at least, 3 years, which then you move onto disposable training pants.  Sam is still going strong with his plastic britches.  And that means we have spent about $3120 for those 3 years, for each kid.  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!   As far as I can tell with my starting research I may be able to get by with about $600 in start up and be done.  Sure I was on the bandwagon with the naysayers, cloth diapers aren’t really that environmental with the extra washing and drying, but like I said I am not really doing it for the environment.  Also, I am finding that most of the time these diapers can air-dry in about 30 minutes which ensures they last longer.  Really this is all because if I have to buy one more box of disposable diapers I am literally going to scream in the middle of Target.  I have better things to spend that $20 bucks a week on, like Icees and Swiss cake rolls.   

I guess in my old age I have become cranky and sick of our disposable lifestyles.  Don’t get me wrong there are still things that I will gladly use once and throw away, but it just gets out of hand.  Recently, we took a little walk through Best Buy.  We weren’t going to buy anything, just walking off our La Madeleine.  There was tons of pretty shiny and exciting new electronics that we lusted after.  The lust started to wane, and the sick started to set in, when we starting adding up the prices of a new entertainment system or laptops or desktops.  I just kept thinking what the hell are we going to do with the stuff we already have that is working perfectly fine.  I mean we have a TV and sound system that is only 7 years old and it works.  Sure we had our audio receiver go out and it had to be fixed to the tune of $200, but as the prices and garbage started to pile up I started to feel better about that cost.  Sure we could have bought a new receiver for less, but now we have a system that sounds just as good as when we bought, it matches and we weren’t talked into buying this cable, plug, whatever to ensure that our new receiver worked with our old system.  That is when I broke SoHubby’s heart and told him that it would be a long time coming before we bought a new flat screen TV, Blu-ray player, sound system that would blow our neighbors to the next hood or re-bought our entire DVD collection, AGAIN.  You see more technology means more money flying out of our bank account.  It is starting to make me physically ill.   Of course, the sales people will sit there and still you this picture quality is better, but the kicker is we would have to pay more with our cable company to get that picture quality.  And really, do I need to see Rachel Ray in crisp, clear state of the art picture.  Uh, no.  She is annoying enough with our mediocre picture quality.  I am sure the kids aren’t going to come home one day and demand to see Handy Mandy or Hannah Montana in the best picture, EVER.  And if they do, I will give them the want ads. 

Our whole society is built on who has the best toy, but the problem is no one ever wins.  You can never get ahead, because as soon as the latest and greatest comes out it is rendered obsolete by the newest latest and greatest.  I am just so tired of it all.  I am happy with our 7 year old TV, TiVo, sound system.  I mean I can watch TV and hear it, which is all I really ask.  I am happy with our 5 year old Suburban, as long as it doesn’t give me any troubles.  Sure I can get a hybrid, but the one we have now will be paid off soon and really I haven’t seen a hybrid SUV that is actually, you know, a hybrid.  I guess in my old age I have come to the realization that I would like to keep our money to ourselves instead of throwing it at the snake oil salesman of the 21st century.  And if I can keep the funk down from our neighbors, the landfill, then more the better.

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Trial Run

Since 3 Kid Wednesdaywas moved to Friday due to the holidays, I figured I would make a trial run taking 3 kids grocery shopping.  The biggest problem is scheduling.  Naptime is around 10 am and I knew that we would run over that, but the younger kids would fall asleep in the car and then I could just transfer them to their beds, riiiiiiiight?  Uh, that would be a big fat no, shown by the 2 screaming kids upstairs right now.  However, the alternate of waiting until after naptime was not good, either, because then I would run into the drop off/dinner hour combo.  So, naptime was the one to be sacrificed and I live on hope for the rest of the day with 2 very cranky and tired toddlers.

Target was a nightmare.  Little Sun was perfect perched in the shopping cart seat, but the 2 loose heathens just couldn’t help themselves from annoying the crap out of each other which in turned annoyed the hell out of me.  I swear I don’t understand the appeal of annoying another person.  Wait, yes I do, because I love annoying SoHubby most of the time, but I don’t have a much taller, angrier person screaming at me to JUST STOP IT, ALREADY!!!  I am sure that would affect my wanton desire to lick my finger and stick it in SoHubby’s ear.  The biggest annoyance tactic is when I ask, no one in particular but mostly to Sam, to please push the button, turn off the TV or any other mundane task and Amber feels the need to run ahead of him and perform the tasks.  Tasks that would only bring joy to a toddler in his quest to prove his independence or his older sister that has proven her evil by loving to taking his only life’s joy away from him.  I know I should emphasize SAM when asking for something to be done, but what do you want from me.  As my belly grows my brain shrinks.  I swear I couldn’t count out .36 cents at the Target snack counter, today, so I just handed the woman a bunch of change and hoped she was honest.  My rule seminar and bribery of popcorn and Icees did nothing to sway the kids from acting like they had totally lost their minds.  It is against the law to lean the kids in the car with a movie and shop in peace, riiiiiight?  I mean I would lock the door and leave some food and water in there with them.  Damn responsibility and doing the right thing!

The grocery store would prove to be less of a lesson in torture and more of a dream that I never wanted to wake from.  Against my better judgement, which proves I should do the opposite of my better judgement, I asked the kids if they wanted the car cart.  You know those carts that feel like you are pushing a semi-truck through the narrow aisles of the grocery store.  Surprisingly, the weight of both kids made the cart much easier to maneuver and Amber and Sam were able to sit next to each other with tormenting, torturing, or killing each other.  Maybe the threat of knocking skulls really worked or they expended all their energy torturing each other and me at Target.  Sun was in heaven with the extra room of the double cart seat and snacks.  I am not totally out of it, I did remember the snacks.  I was able to find everything I needed and wanted and actually could look at what I was buying, instead of just throwing and hoping that  it was what I needed.  There was only one mental fart that I would discover once we got home.  It hadn’t occurred to me that since Sun had sipped on her entire sippy cup of water the entire time we were out that she might have needed a diaper change.  Not sure why this didn’t occur to me, but I made the same mistake earlier this week with Sam.  I discovered my mistake the same way in both situations, picking said child up and feeling the nasty wetness that is diaper leakage.  At least, it was only pee.  I felt bad that I had made her endure a 4 hour trip in an incredibly wet diaper, but I think if it really bothered her then she would have spoken up or, at the very least, screamed at me in that cute earsplitting way that only a toddler can.

Of course, missing naptime had caused the 2 younger kids to fall asleep in their carseats with their lunches hanging from their mouths.  I guess this mental drain, I got going on, caused me to believed that I would be relaxing on the sofa with a lap perched laptop for a couple of hours while those little angels dreamed of whatever it is little kids dream of.  Well, I missed the phenomenon that is a toddler nap of 15 minutes in a car is like a 2 hour nap in their comfy beds at home.  So here I sit listening to a chorus of screams, just hoping that they fall asleep so we are not tormented by their tired antics later tonight.  I would love to reason with the both of them and tell them how much they need a nap and that one day their only quest will be to nap meaning they should take advantage of them, NOW, but that would be like talking to a brick wall so I think I will just bang my head on one instead.  And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as there was some quiet the doorbell rings and the dog barks.  Next on my list of to do things today, KILL THE UPS MAN!!!

I realize that this is not a true trial run, because I will have to do this with a newborn and that brings on all sorts of new dynamics.  One being the need to nurse every 5 minutes and needing to explode a diaper the minute you enter anyplace outside of your house.  I fear my shopping trips are going to take all week and have nothing to show for it.  At least, I was able to practice getting 3 kids out of the car, configure them in a cart, not losing any of them and not leaving them in the toy aisle as I sneak off to find the alcohol.   Why do I have this sense that I am soon to be largely outnumbered crying in the middle of Target asking passer-bys to put me out of my mercy?  QUICK,  because I can hear the pitter-patter of little feet.  Only time will tell.

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