The Pool

We joined a country club this year.  Um, yeah, it is not exactly what I think about when I think country club.  It is a bit on the outdated side with a bunch of seniors running around most of the day.  There are big plans afoot to make it more updated and more entertaining for the kids.  Well, the pool, anyway.  There is talk of a slide.  WooHoo!  And SoHubby doesn’t golf.  Anyway, we joined it, because YEAH! pool.

We haven’t been on a vacation for a few years, now, which was our time to soak up poolness.  Besides, we need something to look forward to and break up the day.  So I threw caution to the wind, which I am sure SoHubby would like me to do more often, and signed up.  I figured the pool would be fun and wear the hell out of these kids.  Apparently,  they get bored running errands and watching MY TV all day.  Huh, sounds like fun to me.  And I don’t think they burn much energy trying to kill each other every 5 minutes.

As much hope as I had for the pool to bring joy to the kids and give them something to look forward to this summer, I didn’t expect to basically move what goes on at the house to a giant pool of  water.  We spent 3 hours at the pool, today.  YEAH, mom! While there  I had to tell Sam to please stop whining and complaining about every DAMN little thing.  His first complaint was when I told him not to jump in the water next to an older boy.  He came up to me, and in a really loud voice, explained that he did that because that boy, you know the one right in ear shot, was being mean to those little girls over there.  It was his job to make sure this boy knew that Sam was not going to tolerate him being mean to those girls.  The problem?  I didn’t see this boy anywhere near the girls.  Commence the argument about who actually knew what the boy did or did not do.  The boy left.  *sigh* Next on Sam’s checklist: stopping flirting with the lifeguards.  Seriously kid!  You are 5. Not 25 yrs old at the club.  Or a sad 55 yrs old at the club.  Please  stop flirting with all the girls.  It is cute now, but later there will be stalker charges.  Then there was the constant request for food.  I am just going to tie food bag to that kid, at least, I won’t hear him ask for food.  And, of course, the million times I have to tell him to stop fighting with his sister.

Things were no different with Amber.  I had to tell her a million times to leave Evie alone.  Sure Evie is cute, but leave the poor child alone so she can live her life.  Eventually, she is going to grow up and she needs to know how to, I don’t know, walk, talk for herself, sit in a chair, eat her food, and every other everyday thing we have to know, in order, to live a life.  Then there was the ever so lovely conversation of what should she do.  Um, I don’t know.  Let’s see.  We are in a large pool of water.  Maybe…I don’t know…I am just spitballing here…you could…again, call me crazy…I don’t know…SWIM!  And, of course, stop fighting with your brother.

Both of them had to be told to leave the other people in the pool alone.  Besides, the poor tween boy that was falsely accused of harassing toddlers, get out of other people’s business.  I use to think my kids were social.  Now, I think they are obnoxious.  Sam was right in this poor woman’s face while she is trying to play with her baby.  Not sure what he had hope to get out of it.  The woman was too polite to say anything to him, but I am not…GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT WOMAN’S FACE!  Or if this is your child, I would have said, “I think your mom is calling you. Way over there.”

Some of my expectations did occur.  The day has moved a bit faster since we filled it with something to do.  There was fun to be had swimming in the pool.  We were cool as long as we stayed in the pool.  And it did tire out the kids…well…Evie.  She is sleeping on the sofa while the other 2 are running around mad arguing, asking for food, getting all up in my bizness and asking me a billion questions.  *sigh*  Yeah, summer.

 

 

 

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Our Maytag/Whirlpool Saga

Maybe you have heard of a blogger by the name of Dooce?  And maybe you even heard about a slight dust up regarding Dooce and the Maytag company.  Dooce, fresh home from delivering her second baby, was met with a brand new washer that didn’t work.  So as the dirty smelly clothes piled up, Dooce got more pissed off and blasted Maytag on Twitter.  Of course, because this involved Dooce a bigger dusted up occurred and more bloggers piled on, then the Doocites piled on top of those bloggers who dared to question their leader and a legend was born.  One that ended with a new washer for Dooce and another that was fixed.  Later the new washer would be donated to a charity and Dooce and her family lived another day in clean clothes.

My problem is that I am not Dooce, but I am one pissed off customer.  You see we have a Maytag French Door refrigerator.  It is pretty and shiny and did it’s job up until it sent in it’s resignation letter by way of our ice and water dispenser.  We bought our lovely new toy about 3.5 yrs ago.  How do I remember?  Well, 1. it was our Christmas present to each other (Yes, that is what adults do.) and 2. it was a year after Katrina (You know they way us New Orleanians tell time, now).  We waited a year, when everyone else was buying new refrigerators after they took one look at the horror that is having no power for a month does to the innards of one’s refrigerator.  Most smart people closed the doors, taped them shut and wheeled the smelly, maggot filled monster to the curb where it would sit for weeks until the Parish got it’s shit together to pick them up.  One day those refrigerators will make for a very lovely subdivision where air freshener sales will sky rocket.  Nope, we were being frugal and smart, so we thought.  SoHubby made it to our home a week after the storm and discovered that we had power.  However, he knew that it was best to throw out the contents of our old Frigidaire.  He even cleaned it up real nice, so that when ever I was able to make it home I would have a nice clean refrigerator in which I could fill with brand spanking new food.  The only problem was that I could never get rid of these little black flies.  They were always dead in the freezer, but a lifetime of dustbusting our freezer was too much for me.  So Christmas of 2006 when we were sure that we did survive after such a disaster we decided that we should be rewarded with a brand new fancy refrigerator.  And wouldn’t you know it, Maytag had just come out with it’s French door refrigerator with the…wait for it…dum, dum, da ice and water on the door.  On the door, you say.  ON the door.  I just had to have it.  In black.  And it served us well until August 7, 2010.

The middle of the first week of August we would press the paddle with our cups and nothing.  We were perplexed.  What did we ever do to piss off the magnificent, almighty Maytag French door (I do love anything with the words French door) refrigerator that stands proudly in the corner of our kitchen?  Okay, a minor set back, but we can deal with getting or filtered water from the long unused water dispenser in the dining room.  And, of course, it is a pain to pull the ice maker tray out to get our ice, but hey the French don’t even have ice, so we moved forward.  I did consult the Internet and discovered that this was a common problem and could be fixed.  I even got a nice response to my question on Twitter regarding my problem and it was from @maytagcares, nonetheless.  I decided to move on with my day and keep my anger stuffed way down inside.  Little did I know that there was more to come.

We went to bed on Friday dreaming of waking to ice cold milk, orange juice and maybe some Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.  I was secure in the fact that the $200 I just spent at Sam’s that day would be safe, sound and cold in our refrigerator.  Sure the ice and water didn’t work, but surely that was just a minor set back?  The next morning we awoke to luke warm milk, orange juice and Pillsbury cinnamon rolls that begged to be baked, because man it was a bit stuffy in here.  I freaked!  What the hell were we going to do?  We called Maytag and were given some ridiculous service appointment of Wednesday.  That was it.  Yup, we took your money, we know you have just spent a buttload on a ton of food, but we aren’t budging from that 4 day away service appointment just to tell you what is wrong with the damn thing.  Next step was to find a local repair man to take pity on us and come out on a Saturday and not take our first born as payment.  We did find one.  He promptly told us that we need a new evaporated fan motor, which is why the freezer still remained cold.  Did you know that all the cold air for the refrigerator comes from the freezer?  Yeah, me neither and I didn’t really care.  I just wanted it fixed.  NOW!  Our repair man told us that it could take up to 3 weeks to get the part in, because you know Maytag didn’t sell many of this model, because, well….you know…it is a piece of crap.  A lovely, shiny $2500 piece of crap.

I called Maytag’s customer service number and yelled at the first person to answer the phone.  Because he was, of course, at fault and would be more than willing to help me fix my problem after I yelled at him.  After getting no where with that person he pawned me off on his supervisor who decided he was going to get smart with me and quickly learn I was not amused.  I was guaranteed a free part and a check for $50 to cover the food that would likely spoil.  Mildly satisfied I went to work saving our food.  Our neighbor offered up their garage refrigerator.  You mean people can have 2 refrigerators?  And setting up 2 ice chests with the things we use the most.  I would spend the rest of the day fuming, tripping over ice chests and wondering why has a pock  been put upon our house.  Later that day I would get an idea and it would occupy our entire Sunday.  We would move sister-in-law’s (She passed away on June 17 and we are in the process of cleaning her home, selling off items and getting the house ready for sale.) refrigerator to our garage.  At least, the problem of running to the neighbor’s to borrow my own milk was solved.  I tried to be upbeat and consider the walk to the garage as exercise.

That Tuesday our savior part arrived.  We called our repair guy and told him to hurry, come right away, because the PART IS HERE!  The PART IS HERE!  Yeah, well that was the wrong part.  Are you freaking kidding me?  Seriously, where is the camera, because it better be ready, my head is about to explode.  The repair guy got no where with the woman he spoke to about the part, but SoHubby did which gave him every right to scold  me  for not calling sooner. “Yeah, whatever!”, I said from my place in the corner.  Another 2 days later the REAL part arrived and we called the repair guy.  We gave the refrigerator a pep talk and waited for it to cool itself off.  The next day, nothing.  Still warm and, now, the freezer was getting warm, as well….So this is long enough, basically we are, now, waiting for a $200 part that the last customer service rep I talked to gave to me graciously at half the price with free express shipping.  Only after he made sure to ask me if my repair guy was reputable.  I explained that since he didn’t take my $2500 and give me a very large paper weight, I would say I trust him, unlike your company, sir.  I promise I didn’t jump through the phone and throttle him.  Now, we sit and wait for our very expensive part to come in and hope it works.  I think Maytag better pray, because I am a pissed off SAHM looking for a road trip.  I will find their headquarters and run my dud of a refrigerator right up there to give them a lovely lawn ornament.  If only, I was a big time blogger with more power to crash a large company with my mighty computer I might have a working refrigerator right now.  Until I rule the world from my sofa, I will have to be happy with walking to the garage to feed my babies and satisfy my need for sweet iced tea.  The plight of the typical commoner.  *sigh*

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Changes

Oh GOD! how I hate changes.  I am a routine kind of gal.  I need to know what is going to happen when and how each day.  Throw a monkey wrench into that situation and I can cut you quicker than a cat  on a mouse.

I am not good at this “going through a rough time” thing.  I keep thinking if this was just squared away things would be much better, but the this never end.  There seems to always be another this waiting around the corner to take over the this we just took care of.   And my worse trait is I get angry at those that seem to have pulled out of their rough time, whether I know for sure they have or not.  I pout and think when is my turn to pull out of  the rough spot.

I even got angry at God, yesterday.  Oh yes, I looked up to the heavens, put my hands on my hips and said in a really pissed off tone, SERIOUSLY?  Because, SERIOUSLY, what is up with this shit.  And why should God be immuned to my attitude and tirades.  If anything he should consider himself lucky, because He can probably see them coming.  And what is any relationship without turning to the other person and saying, “Seriously, if you don’t stop I am going to poke you in the eye.”

What was the one more thing that just got piled onto this pile of shit that is growing higher and higher with each waking moment, the A/C in SIL’s house was broken, after we thought it was fixed, and leaking water everywhere.  Why is this our problem, because SIL is no longer here to have the problem.  She passed away on June 17.  I wonder if Amber will ever notice that bad things have started happening on or around her birthday in the last couple of years.  I was hoping it wasn’t a trend, but I am getting really scared.  Last year, a friend was murdered on her birthday.  It is just hard to be happy and sing when you know bad shit has gone down hours before.  Anyway, SIL seemed to fall ill rather suddenly and then pass.  Basically, she had the same kind of cancer that her mother and father had, but she fell much earlier than they did.  She was only 56 years old and no one, NO ONE, expected her to go this early.  The real fucked up thing about all this was that her life finally seemed to be where she wanted it to be.  She was doing something that she loved.  She had an entire community helping, laughing, and living with her and then BAMMED, like a blast to the head it is gone.

So needless to say this has not been the summer I have hoped.  It never is, really, so I don’t know why I keep hope alive.  I should smash it and get it over with.  It has been a summer filled with anxiety, stress, trips to the hospice, making sure nursing homes were treating her well and general suckiness.  It has been hard with the kids, because they have been asked to do and go places that children really shouldn’t go, but I think they have handled it all pretty well.  Amber spoke at SIL’s memorial and did a great job.  Sam asked questions, although sometimes inappropriate and did his best to understand as much as he could.  It really wasn’t that hard when he got plied with ice cream everytime we went to the hospice.  Now, we are dealing with our household and trying to figure out how to dismantle another one.  That is the hardest thing about death, LIFE.  Life continues on whether you are ready for it or not. There is no breather. No time to just grieve and settled for a moment until you continue on with the disposing and selling of people’s things.  The last couple of times I was at the house I could swear I could hear SIL scream at me that what I was about to throw away was really important.  But nope, she wasn’t, it was just me and George faced with what to keep and what to throw out.  To be honest we haven’t even made a dent.  There are many other things that seem to need to be done first.  OR maybe we would just rather the uncomfortable part of going through someone else things and being the final decision makers would go away.

I am in a state of unrest, because I feel our life is in the same state.  And the only reason I believe that is because I have no control.  Like that is any surprise to anyone.  Things run better when they run MY way, unforuantely, the man upstairs tends to do things His own way.  Although, people keep telling me that what is happening is part of the plan and that out of bad times come good ones.  The problem is that I want the good times, now.  I am done with the bad times.  I wish I was one of those people that could push all the crap aside and just smile through it, but I am not.  I am the worrier that plans for the worse.  And now, the worrier is losing hope that good times may ever come.  The light at the end of the tunnel keeps getting further and further away.  I guess it is good that I can still see the light, eh?

I know this all sounds dark, gloomy and call the hotline stuff, but really it is not.  It is just life and we are living in it’s world.  We will continue on doing one thing at a time and doing it to the best of our ability.  We will fall, get angry, say some not so nice words (maybe just me) and pout.  Only to get back up, relax a bit, apologize for the words (again, just me) and try to find the small goodness that life brings along with the mountain of shit.  One day we will look back on this time and wonder how we got through and be happy that we are out of it.  At least that is what SoHubby keeps telling me and I am holding him to his word.

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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.

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30 Weeks

Once a month I go to my OB, she listens to the baby’s heartbeat, measures my stomach, gives me a bit of information and sends me on my merry way.  Last week, her bit of information was to inform me that I had to start seeing her every 2 weeks.  Her receptionist, being ever so efficient, made every appointment until July 24 when I will go in and have this little bundle of joy.  It was overwhelming to say the least, especially since I had planned to not leave my house beginning June 15 until I was forced out by an eager baby ready to be born.  It is hot out there and no place for a bulging, easy to anger mama, like myself.

Oh but the joys of pre-natal care ramped up a bit at my ultrasound appointment, today.  I was ready for the long wait.  Unless you get an appointment time of around 8am, you are going to wait at least an hour pass your appointment time.  I don’t like it, but not much I can do about it.  Today was worse.  Not only was I there a half hour early hoping that I would get in around my appointment time, but the doctor left me waiting in the ultrasound room for over 30 minutes.  As the clock ticked closer to 1pm, my appointment was for 11am, I informed SoHubby that if she wasn’t in here by 1pm I was leaving.  And we know I mean it.  I had just hopped off the table and began wiping the goo off my belly when the click, click of the doctor’s heels made their way to my room.  I hopped back on the table and that is when she looked at me and asked what was wrong.  “You look uncomfortable”.  Really, you think?  I have only been sitting here trying to control a tired little boy and an antsy husband while covered in goo and trying not to suffocate under the weight of my belly.  NO, no I am not uncomfortable at all. 

The worst part about these appointments is that they feel very rushed.  The tech does measurements first, but can’t tell you much.  You know legal stuff.  Her degree just doesn’t cut the mustard when explaining what the hell she is doing pushing and gliding all over you belly.  Then the doctor comes in rushed from all her appointments that have gotten behind, because she deals with nothing but pregnant women with some sort of problem or another.  I am guessing I am low on the problem scale, so things tend to get lost in the wash. 

Last appointment, I left wondering about the kidneys.  This appointment I left wondering why the hell do I have to go in twice a week for non-stress tests.  And telling me to come in for a NST and “take it easy” on a week when I am suppose to be preparing for an 8 hour trip to Tennessee and stay a week alone with my kids  doesn’t help in the stress department.  Yeah, what were you saying about taking it easy, because really that means nothing to me.  By the way, the kidneys are fine.  The right is perfect and the left is a little backed up or maybe it is the other way around.  Basically, all this worrying about backed up kidneys was just the pre-party to the placenta worry party going on right now.  My placenta seems to be covering half of my cervix and the doctor hopes that as the baby grows she will push it aside.  Even me reminding her that I am already scheduled for a C-section and a long and closed cervix (EW!) didn’t earn me a get out of NST free card.

Just this Sunday I was having second thoughts about having my tubes tied,  those thoughts have been squelched.  Now, I am thinking I am glad I signed those papers last week, when I had a moment of clarity, because I am more than willing to leave my reproductive years behind me.  Especially, if the older I get is the ticket to all these fun tests. 

NOTE:  The ultrasound doctor didn’t call my OB to notify her of my NSTs, which I was informed means that this is merely a precautionary measure and nothing to be too concerned with.  It seems that the ultrasound doctor is very thorough and careful.  Basically, don’t worry until there is something to worry about.  Which only leaves me wishing we had more birthday cake so I can drown my angst.

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Crying Tired

Yesterday, Amber’s teacher asked me if anything had been going on at home, because Amber has been melting into tears over the silliest things.  We couldn’t talk much, we were at carpool and those teachers running it are hard task masters, but I did mention that Amber’s once strict bedtime has become very lacked lately.  I have noticed that Amber is in a particularly cranky mood most days, especially school days.  It came to a head last Sunday.  She insisted on staying up late Saturday night, which played well on my emotions because 1. SoHubby has worked late most days and 2. I have been so regimented regarding bedtime, for my own purposes, that I felt maybe staying up late wouldn’t hurt.  We all snuggled into bed and watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding.  Why?  Who knows?  Probably because there are not many choices when watching TV upstairs.  After about an hour of kids jumping on me, each other, and general annoyance I announced it was bedtime.  That was 830pm and the groans could be heard a mile away.  Just as I suspected, Amber was up bright and early Sunday morning and was in full crank mode by the time we went to church at 11am.

I learned long ago the weird sleep pattern of kids, or at least my kids.  The earlier they went to bed the longer they slept.  Oh I had my doubts early on, especially with a baby Amber waking at 6am every morning.  I would try the old logic, if she stayed up later she would sleep later.  Nope!  She would wake multiple times during the night, where she had previously slept  all night.  It was odd and went against all that I have ever known, but it was welcomed.  I could put her to bed at 6pm and have until 6am all to myself.  I was drunk on no baby time, which I would pay for when I, myself, would stay up too late.  Yeah, that old logic of sleep when the baby sleeps still holds true.  I would get crap for having a 15 lb blob controlling our late afternoons and evenings, but they never had to get up at 2am to calm a screaming baby only to do it again an hour later.  The bedtime routine worked for Amber and that is all I needed to know. 

Enter another little screaming blob and all went to hell.  Sam was the entire toolbox that was thrown into the well-oiled machine.  It was tough to get a newborn, with their whole witching hour thing, to settle while doing a bedtime routine for the 3 year old.  It took sometime, but eventually we would work out a system, which involved a lot of running on my part.  Two hours of chaos was worth the hours upon hours of silent. 

Lately, I have become lazy or just plain tired.  I am more than happy to wait for SoHubby to get home to put the kids to bed.  And then there is the lost of the 5pm hour.  Seriously, I don’t know where it has gone. It seems everyday I look at the clock and it says 6pm,  I sit bewildered wondering where 5pm went.  It seems we need to change back to our old tyrant like schedule, because it is affecting Amber outside of the home.  Sure it was miserable when her crankiness was saved just for us, but when it starts to run into the outside world we have to do something.  I really don’t want her sent off to a therapist because she cried over her teacher telling her to wait before passing out the pens.  And my point has been proven after just one night.  I sent both kids to bed at 7pm, last night.  Sam was up at his normal time of 630/7am, but Amber is still sleeping at 819am.  Now, if I can tackle the problem of her coming into our bed at 3 in the morning.  Logic would dictate that if you are cold in your room you get a blanket or if your bed is cold then you STAY IN YOUR BED.  All I can say is kids don’t run on logic.

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Why, why, why?

“Go take a bath, Amber.”

“Okay, I was planning to, anyway.”

“Put clothes on when you are finished, not pajamas.”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE WE ARE GOING OUT TO EAT. NOW, GO DO IT.”

All the questions.  Questions, questions.  About everything and anything.  And they always pop up right when a good song, important news story or interesting bit of information that I would like to hear comes on.  When I ask Amber why does she have so many questions, she asks me, “How will I learn, momma?”  Uh, how dare she be so logical, I just want to listen to the radio while I drive 40 minutes to and from school.  You would think after being in school all day, answering questions she would like a little quiet time.  Not my girl, she needs answers and she needs them NOW.

There are just so many questions.  Questions about the weather, dinosaurs, reptiles, our marriage, when she was little, on and on and on.  Most of the time I don’t have answers ready for her, so I tell her I don’t know.  That usually stops her.  However, when I do have answers they bring up more questions.  Oh God!!!  Someone put me out of my misery.  I had a friend tell me that is was good she had so many questions.  I told him not if you had to answer them all the time. 

I am not opposed to teaching my daughter, but really do I have to be interrogated every day.  There has to be some time when she doesn’t need to know how many minutes she has been alive or how much is 2 million plus 350.  The math questions.  THE MATH QUESTIONS!!! are the worst.  They come so fast and furious that I don’t have time to think before she is all over me for the answer.  I am living with a future game show host and it is painful. 

SoHubby doesn’t have this problem.  He loves answering questions that his sweet little girl has.  I do have to deal with the aftermath, though, and that sucks more than the questions themselves.  Recently, politics has taken over our house.  SoHubby is a card carrying member of the Republican party.  Yes, an actual card.  And often I have been know to rock Sam in our room while watching Bill O’Reilly or Hannity.  That is not so bad, until SoHubby wants to explain politics to our daughter.  The problem is that he puts his spin on it, which is not cool, especially when it fuhreaks Amber the hell out.  Sunday night, Amber came downstairs crying her little eyes out, because Obama is taking all her money from the bank.  Yes, she does have a sizable amount of non-earmarked (HA!) money in the bank, for a 6.5 year old, but I doubt Obama is going to come a knockin for her allowance money.  BUT SoHubby thinks it is amusing to talk to her about these things, but doesn’t realize that she does not get sarcasm and takes everything LITERALLY.  When I find out what she is crying about, I wave her off and tell her Obama doesn’t want her money and to go to bed.  Then I holler upstairs for my dear husband to shut his trap and stop talking to our daughter about things she has no need to worry about.  After this little discussion, I have had to remind Amber, several times,  that she has no need to worry about politics.  I think as her rebellion she will become a flaming liberal with a long haired boyfriend with multiple piercings.  Just to get back at her father. And after he drops dead right there in our foyer,  I will scream, “I told you so!” , while I eat my bon bons.

I wonder if all these questions are normal for her age.  Knowing Amber, I would say, yes, this is normal, but normal on crack.  Amber doesn’t do anything even keeled, everything is above and beyond what other kids are doing.  I am just waiting for her to get her mega spotlight and trap me in a room wondering why I switched brands of bread, didn’t buy her stuff from Build a Bear or how exactly she got into this world.  When that time comes I plan to go brain dead and demand to be put on life support, so I can avoid the pain of death by heat stroke or rapid fire questions, all delivered by a pint size interrogator.

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Christmas Wrap Up

NO STRESS BAKING

I have never done the massive baking that some do for Christmas, because I am not a very good baker.  Oh I have tried even with the aid of many a recipes, but most times my creations end up in the trash.  Unfit for human consumption.  Just ask those that ate my pecan pie only to discover the runny middle.  Not good.  So, since this year I am pregnant and grumpy I decided to go with a fool proof way of baking.  Besides, all the kids wanted was to sprinkle little candies ontop of some dough and eat the ones that got away.  No one has asked about the cookies, since. 

First, we started with anything and everything that could be bought at the local grocery store.

Then the little clumps of dough were laid out for the kids to do with what they will.

There was much care taken with each piece of dough.

You must choose your sprinkles carefully.  Don’t pay any attention to the fact that
there are six different sprinkles to go with 6 clumps of dough. That is just silly logic.

Now, they are all purty and ready for a little heat.

While those other ones baked, we decorated some with icing.

You see he didn’t have to sweat all day to be proud of his cookies.
He just needed a little help from the store and learn to stand up to his pushy older sister.

Santa seem to enjoy them.  And we suspect the dog, too, as these pieces would not
be left for the kids to find the next morning.

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CHRISTMAS EVE

No rest for the weary.  After a night of parties, looking at Christmas lights and meeting Santa, JUST WALKING ON THE STREET,  there was a rush home to make sure we didn’t miss the big guy in red.  Everyone was tucked in by midnight, which ensured a late wake up call.  Well, I guess that is true if some of us weren’t knocked up and had to peed every 5 minutes. 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.
You are damn tooting “with care”.  Last year we lost one of our very special silver snowglobes,
because someone wasn’t careful.
Santa went light on the stockings, this year.

The presents were stacked under the tree with anticipation of giddy little kids.

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CHRISTMAS DAY

Can’t you see his excitement and not my bad photography.
This would not be his favorite present, although it would make a good first impression.

We couldn’t catch her excitement, because the little stinker snuck down earlier to
take a peek.
This would not be her favorite gift.  Not really sure which one was her favorite.

The feeding frenzy:

Then tragedy strikes and therapy bills start to mount:

While SoHubby was busy putting this thing together:

(This would be one of Sam’s favorite gifts.)

I was put on the duty of releasing all the toys from their wired, taped, plastic prisons, which resulted in this:

Yes, that’s right folks, I decapitated Hannah Montana, IN FRONT OF Amber.
There was much wailing and rolling around on the floor, because “MOM, KILLED HANNAH MONTANA!”.
Well, someone had to, HA! 
It didn’t matter that not only does Amber have 2 other Hannah Montana dolls plus a Miley Cyrus, but she has
about a bazillion other Barbies that could fill in, while this one made a quick trip to Santa’s doll hospital.

See:

Sorry for the nudity, but when you have this many dolls to clothe, you ran out of time.
Note to toy companies, there is no reason in this world that you need to include a Barbie
in every accessories or new play set. I am drowning in Barbies over here. And Hananh Montanas.

Once I explained that I would contact Santa and ask him to send a new one, things calmed down and we went to church.  Obviously, to pray for Hannah Montana and to release the demon that made Mommy rip her head off.

Later, we would catch the toys just hanging out:

Batman (Sam’s most favorite toy in the world) would hold court while the Star Wars gang
decorated for Christmas (a little late guys) and Ironman pouted, because he wanted to be
in charge.

Hannah Montana and Lily would hang out at Rico’s for much of the day, while Fancy
Nancy looked on, feeling left out.  Later, Hannah and Lily would claim to be too full
from nachos and fruity beverages to eat the holiday meal I prepared.
INGRATES!!!

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THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS (OR THE REASON I HAVE THE BIG ‘OL SUV)

I am not big on Black Friday shopping, but I am big on getting those after Christmas sales,
especially on decorations.  We are all set for next year at half the price.  I can’t wait to have fully functioning reindeer
and enough lighted garland to wrap the house.  And along with all the new toys comes a desperate need for more storage.

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Christmas was fun, but I can’t wait to see what the new year brings.  Next year there will be 3 kids and hopefully a fully functioning mother to do all the things that we might have missed this year.  Tops on my list will be to get a picture of all the kids in a Nativity scene.  I have my Mary, Joseph and, finally, a Baby Jesus.  I am all set for the perfect Christmas picture.  I can’t wait!  I can feel the anticipation and dread in the air.  Stick around to find out how it all turns out. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!  and may it bring you joy and happiness.

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Summer Update 7: I Survived

Amber hates our dates night.  So much so, that you would think that when we leave we will never come back and she will have to live the rest of her life with MawMaw.  I haven’t told her, but I think if she just took a minute to thinkabout it, it wouldn’t be such a bad setup.  MawMaw tires easily and is quick to give in.  This pass week, with our visitor, I had decided that it would be better to take her along with us.  This led Amber to more hysterics, because why does Teen get to go and not her.  Well, because I am a horrible mother hell bent on destroying my daughter’s life.  That’s why.  Of course, Daddy rushes in and becomes Amber’s knight in shining armor.  And they say those only appear in fairy tales.  He promised her that they would have a date day, to which Amber excitedly replied, “Wewillgettogotoamovieanddinnerjustlikeyouandmommy!!”  Yes, all in one breath.  It would later evolve into date day with Sam, as well,  where he would be dragged on the big day of fun with Daddy leaving the evil mother (that would be me, if you have lost track) home all by her lonesome.  YIPPEE!!!

Saturday night, after a long day of dropping off Teen and cramming other errands in, I felt a little sickness afoot.  Sunday, I awoke feeling like the living dead, except that wasn’t enough and someone decided to kick my ass, too.  I think I have traced it back to the half eaten brownie that my daughter had gnawed on before rejecting.  It was the last of the brownies and I just had to have it.  Well, I think my little carrier monkey gave me the crud.  Like always, the crud for kids is pretty much nothing, but for adults it leaves you immobile and very cranky.  Oh lucky day, I get to stay home all day feeling like death warmed over while the kids and Dad get to have buckets of fun.

The agenda:
Church
Brunch with friends
Movie
Dinner at Shogun, which has become Amber’s favorite restaurant because all the Asian ladies called her, Princess on her and Daddy’s last date night.  It helped that she had on her very puffy dress and every piece of toy jewelry she could find.
Home

Somehow, George managed to work in some leftover work he needed to get done and a trip down to Da Parish.  Needless to say, I was not happy about it, but decided not to give him too much grief.  I recieved various status reports and while the children were well behaved, George claimed to be tired.  Oh, poor baby is tired.  Welcome to my world, muthasucka!

Me?  I laid around wishing for death and watching a few movies that are inappropriate for wee ones.  On the showing list:
Old School:  You my BOY, Blue!!  And Will Ferrell, you are the master. 
Love Actually:  The best love story that was ever made.  Those British are funny, with all their weird accents and insulting everyone left and right.  Maybe the Revolutionary War was just a misunderstanding of words between us colonists and those squirrelly Brits.  Nah!
My Cousin Vinny:  More funny speaking humans.  Marisa Tomei really deserved that Oscar for that movie.  Favorite line:  It’s called disclosure, DICKHEAD!!  Well, you know it is better if she said it.

The day would conclude with me greeting the kids home with hugs and kisses, because I missed them, then quickly realizing why I needed a day off.  Only next time, God, when you answer one of my prayers make sure I am as not sick as a lab monkey.  Thanks.

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Today, I woke up worse than yesterday.  I had hoped and prayed that it was a 24 hour thing, but sadly God doesn’t answer prayers of those who don’t go to church come hell, high water and massive mucus build up.  Oddly I did have the energy and will power to clean house.  Needless to say, we missed swim class, because hey who wants to be in cold water in the hot humid summer while your head is as filled as a zit ready to pop.  Then there is the fact that no one wants to be near you, your dripping nose and swim in your snot.  I think I made the right decision.  However, I knew that I needed to get out of the house at some point.

I had a hankering for fish.  Not just any fish, but Zea’s Trout Lafitte.  Oh, the creamy sauce with huge lightly fried shrimp swimming over a perfectly grilled fillet of trout.  One thing I didn’t realize was that it was “Be a Huge Asshole Day” at Target.  First, no parking spot to be found.  No big deal, I am willing to walk, even if I am half-dead and craving fish flesh.  A new kind of zombie.  I do not like finding a parking spot in the vicinity of Timbuktu only to have to push 2 carts out of the way and then to the cart corral.  Oh yeah, I am nice like that.  Of course, you know I cursed the sonabitch that left them there.  I thought of just leaving them in the middle of the parking lot, but then I got a glimpse of Karma having someone hitting said carts right smack into my car. So, I walked my sick ass pushing 2 carts and guiding 2 wayward children away from certain death by car.  Our journey wasn’t quite over as we stood at the edge of the parking lot waiting to cross to get to the restaurant.  Not one rude ass muthafucker stopped to let us pass.  There were old men barely able to see driving at top speed, there was the stupid bitch oblivious to the world around her on the phone and just random assholes not willing to stop for a mere 20 seconds so we could cross.  So, if the kids and I wanted to eat we had to make a run for it.  I held onto Sam’s hand tight and instructed Amber to RUN FOR HER LIFE!  I am proud to announce that we made it safely to the restaurant and enjoyed our meal.

While at Target, I got a neti pot .  (Oh wait, how did I just make it to Target?  Well, the restaurant is in a mall that has a Target, duh.  Keep up will ya.)  I get these sinus problems often and my friend has told me many times to get this little marvel of the times gone by and all will be better.  I think I need more practice.  First, I had to ask the Pharmacist for one, which made me wonder if I really wanted this device.  You know anything behind the Pharmacist counter should be handle with care and by a professional.  I am capable of neither. 

Then, I use it.  Holy mother of God.  One must remember to leave one’s mouth open.   I forgot and paid dearly.  This leads to much choking and disorientation.  I didn’t see any mucus removal, but there was much tearing and tasting of salt water.  The kids, of course, gathered around to watch the spectacle that is their mother.  I mean how many times do you see your mother make a little pot of salt water tea and then proceed to shove it up her nose to only watch it drain out the other side.  If this was back in the olden days, I would be proclaimed a witch and burned at the stakes.  Anything for some relief.  Afterwards, I did feel a little bit better, but suddenly I could hear the ocean in my ears. 

Another helpful reliever of my sinus problems is the Coke Icee.  And you don’t need a prescription, just a freakin place that doesn’t have their machine on defrost.  I stopped at 2 Burger Kings, my regular dealer supplierplace to get an Icee.  What the hell is going over there?  At 2pm in the afternoon, both places were packed.  Did someone get the munchies all at the same time?  Oh, but I remembered, hey, I could use some gas and they sell Icees at my local gas station. What I found when I entered was not Icee, but something called Snoee.  What the fuck?  Well, I was desperate and much like the drug addict who will smoke oregano when faced with no hope, I went straight for it.  Wasn’t bad.

Our gas station has recently be taken over by a large group called, Brothers.  They are forgein.  Don’t ask me where they are from, because I don’t care as long as they have some form of my drug beverage of choice.  I asked the guy at the counter if they were still going to sell Shell gas.  He said, “Chicken?”  ”No,” I say “Shell gas.  Are you still going to sell Shell gas?”  Unintelliable, “we will have a kitchen over there,” he replied  I give him the money and wonder if I have gone deaf, like someone else, or if I am just crazy from the sickness.  I chosen  to believe he doesn’t speak the English too well and go about my business. 

Next stop to drop off my directionally challenged daughter at gymnastic class.  I don’t normally just drop Amber off, but I was way past due on my oil change and thought my hour sitting trying to see her class alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll the way in the back would be better spent getting said oil change.  I told Amber to take off her dress, get out of the car and go into the building.  The first thing my lovely daughter does is go the wrong way.  The gym is in an industrial area and there are many large trucks barreling through the parking lot.  I promptly yelled, as she had already made it about 2 offices down, for her to get her lily white heiney back here .  Then I noticed that her leotard is on backwards.  Good Lord!!  Help this girl make it through her elementary years.

I hopped out of the car giving Amber an earful as I stripped her down in the back of the Sub to right her leotard and get her going in the right direction.  Ah, unseemly, maybe, but sometimes you got to do what’s you got’s to do.  I informed her that she was headed in the wrong direction and maybe she would have more fun, if, you know, she didn’t go into the office furniture store but into the gym.  My completely blonde little girl, without a clue, shrugged her shoulders and, finally, made it to the correct door.

It was a long mucus filled day with many adventures.  One I am happy is over.  Now, onto the next day where I hope we will find ourselves at swim class or have us swimming far into the winter months.  *sigh*  My life, can someone stop it so I can get off?

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Summer Update #6: I am too weak for a title.

As I walked into the restaurant, last night, I guided my brood.  I had successfully guided them throughthe dangerous parking lot, intact, and was attempting to guide them to the front of the restaurant without tripping a server, who would, with my luck, be loaded down with hot steaming food.  There was Amber (6 yrs old) in front, Sam weaving in and out of our line, my 13 yr old sister (staying with us for a week) and little Sun hanging on my hip.  I had just spent a very exhausting day feeding bottomless pits, breaking up WWIII between Sam and Sun(She, with a lot of glee, kept knocking down his train track), not yelling when someone repeated whatever I just said and trying to let it go whenever Amber bugged the Teen.  Yeah, welcome to the world of young siblings.  HA!HA!  Then I heard it.  It was faint and not for my ears, “Did she just push her?”  If I had any strength I would have whipped around, with baby on my hip in true Redneck fashion, and torn a new one into this perky chested, flat stomached, obviously childless bitch who dare judge me for a small action capture in a second time period of my day.

Have you ever tried to steer people who don’t know their left from their right? (George, you can shut up right about, now)  Have you ever tried to give directions to small children in a loud restaurant?  Have you ever tried to get to the front of the line, you are trying to guide, weighed down by 18 lbs of toddler,  while avoiding stepping on a small toddler that loves to be underfoot ALL THE DAMN TIME?  No, well it is like herding cats.  Have you ever herded cats?  Well, give it a try and when you are found in the bathroom sucking on a bottle of whiskey to erase the memory, you will be close to where I was last night.  I was yelling at the top of my lungs, which I am sure the other patrons loved, for my lovely daughter to go forward.  When that didn’t work, I tried to yell go straight.  Hmmm…no luck.  You would think that these directions would be easy enough for a young child or 13 yr old to follow.  Not really, when the 6 yr old can’t find her way out of a wet paper bag with a flashlight and a map and the 13 yr old claims, “Well, I have never been here, before.”  So, I reached over and let my hand guide Amber in the direction I needed her to go.  I pushed her head forward so lightly, that I don’t think she even noticed, and you know what happened?  By golly, my little preshus knew actually where to go.  Or it jogged her memory, because we have only eaten at this restaurant about a million and one times.  Ask me how it went when I discovered that my friend was already there, seated in the far back, and I had to guide this ban of unruly through the restaurant of many tables close together.  On second thought, don’t.  It would contain more curse words than I even know and most of them would be directed at the customers laughing and pointed when we hit a dead end.  In case the server finds this blog and wonders what happened to that poor little girl, who didn’t even blink an eyelash when I pushed her head? She got a big ole cup of ice cream after dinner.  Mainly, because I needed some and I am not that kind of cruel that makes her sit and watch me eat ice cream while making yummy sounds at her.  Now, that would be a justified case for CPS to look into.

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I never thought that adding a teen into the mix would be that hard.  Hey, for a little bit I thought, “Great free help.”  That hope dashed when Teen and Amber started arguing over the dumbest things I have ever heard.
“Stop! touching me!”
“What do you mean?”
“You are touching me with your feet.  I hate that.”
“Hee, hee!!”
Teen moves to the floor and Amber gets that whole side of the sofa for herself, which I think was her objective.  Therefore meaning she is an evil genius and must not be leashed out into the world. 

Or that the teen gets mad when Amber “teases” her or repeats something she says.  I find this hilraous, because karma is, well, you know.  Teen has been following me around repeating phrases that I say.  I am not sure why, but I choose to ignore it because 1. I don’t have the mental energy to try and figure out these younger than 30 types and 2. it is better to not ask.  So, I was confused when I heard this:
“That is not nice, Amber!”
“What are you talking about?”
“YOU are being mean.  I am not going to stay in this room with you if you keep teasing me.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I AM NOT BEING MEAN!”
Then Teen walks down the stairs and I ask for the story.  It seems that Amber was telling Teen that she is “an old lady”.  I had to laugh, because this is something that my mom tells Amber whenever she jumps with glee announcing her birthday.  “OH!  YOU are such an old lady!”, my mom would say and then Amber would giggle.  But then again, that little thing called karma rears it’s ugly head.

What I have learned from this little experiment is that I don’t want my kids to catch this terminal illness called teenager.  Where you are unable to fill their tummies, their wants, their expectations, etc.  I have given up, because I was trained by the best carrier of the disease, the Teen’s older sister, my now 20 something year sister.  I have learned to not look into the face to judge how the trip is going.  Don’t stare at them, because they tend to take the fight stance and it always starts with a “Why are you staring at meeeeeeeeee?”  And never under any circumstances tease them about being a teenager, because that will just result in your immediate demise.  I feel the daggers shoot from Teen’s eyes whenever George teases her about teen angst and then I jump out of the way, because hey we have small children and someone has to be here to take care of them.

I know, I know, my kids will one day catch this disease and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  However, I have a simple solution for some short relief, a long visit with their old and feeble PawPaw.  I can be found on an uncharted island sipping tropical drinks and soaking up the rays.  It is called the circle of life, get to know it.  MWAHAHAHAHA!!!!

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