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. 

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

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

***********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*********

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

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

The real reason I am still wearing my maternity clothes:  It is true, I can button my pre-pregnancy pants and my shirts can make it over the barrel that I call  my stomach.  However, as a friend once called it, maternity clothes are outside pajamas.  They are roomy, when you don’t have a large belly containing a baby pulling at the stitches, and oh so comfortable.  The extra fabric makes me more comfortable about nursing in public.  I know there are nursing tops, but you need to have an engineering degree to work them while holding a squirming, screaming baby.  Also, I am either going through early menopause or my hormones are still partying it up in this bitch because I am constantly hot and most nursing tops are layers that can’t be removed.  I know one day I will have to toss aside my large, roomy clothes for the confines of my regular clothes, but, as I keep telling myself in order to feel better about the lack of weight loss, it has only been 3.5 months.  You can smack me when I say, “It has only been 18 years.”

The bathroom is the heart of this house:  I am hearing all the time that the kitchen is the heart of the house; it is where everyone gathers to talk and share a good time.  In this family, the bathroom has been the place to meet and mingle.  I am not sure who made this decision, but I would like to point out on the Internet right this minute, it wasn’t me.  We have 3 bathrooms in the house and one in the office out back.  Logic would dictate that if someone is in one of the bathroom that maybe the right thing to do is to go to one of the other rooms with a toilet.  Do I have to remind you that logic and children do not mix?  The exact opposite happens, if you are using a bathroom that is the one that is sought out.  It never fails if I am taking a shower, getting dressed, brushing my teeth or any of the other things that go on in the bathroom little people, and sometimes a larger, hairy person, magically appear.  Amber has to use our toilet at 5 in the morning, because…hell, I don’t know.  Sam has to brush his teeth while I am standing there buck nekkid doing my morning routine, even though there is a perfectly vacant bathroom down the hall.  And don’t think it happens just because it is the master bathroom, which is not all that, major questions must  be answered while I am showering in the hall bathroom.  See. Master bathroom not all that.  We all have to shower or bathe in the hall bathroom, because someone the size of a noodle designed our master bathroom shower.  I keep hearing that as kids get older they crave privacy, can someone give me a time line on that, because it is getting crowded and uncomfortable in here.

Evangeline really does fall asleep with a burp cloth on her head:  And since she is unable to get it exactly the way she wants it, I will help her out and put it on her head for her.  What are moms for?  We get strange looks all the time and I am sure someone is going to accuse me of trying to smother my baby.  I assure you it really does put her to sleep and she can breathe.  NO, we do not cover her entire face at night, but that would only be a concern if she was sleeping by herself, which she isn’t and OHMYGOD would she please start sleeping in her crib. 

Photographic proof. 

Calm, but not asleep.  Get the picture?
(That is how she rolls in the shopping cart. I guess the blue camo
is why I get so many “HE” is sooo cute.)

Then your older sister will take it a step further and give you the hat
that all the old people will claim your mother should have on your head, anyway,
in such nippy weather.  Which leads me to my next keeping it real item:
My kids don’t wear hats.  I have fought the good fight and, now, have given up.
The older 2 are still alive so I am guessing it is not that important.

I have no shame when disciplining my kids in public:  Sure I put up a good front when it was just Amber.  There was no yelling and everything was discussed at length.  Come to think of it that is how we did it at home, too. Interesting.  Then I had another kid, time got short and patience got even shorter.  At this point, you are lucky I am not screaming with the pedal to the floor near the nearest cliff, which in Louisiana is far, far away.  Lucky me.  Today, I warned my son that he would get a hide tanning if he didn’t stop climbing all over his sister.  Next, I took away Amber’s gymnastics class, because she decided it would be a good idea to rolling around on the floor of Toys R Us.  Who does that?  Yesterday, I grabbed Sam and fought every fiber of my being not to beat him in the bank parking lot when he decided that being mad at me was worth getting hit by a car.  He pulled away from me and came inches from hitting the car door of a car that was moving through the parking lot.  Luckily, my reflexes have become cat-like and the man was driving slowly.  All this happen without me dropping the carseat containing Evie.  I’ve got mad mom skillz, YO!

I am typing this while Evie screams in the background and I have told Amber to wait for her dinner*: This isn’t the first nor last time I will demand that my kids wait.  Frankly, Evie is often left crying in her swing at this time, because the other 2 seem to wait food at the same time every night.  It is hard and I would think not safe to hold a small baby while working with hot liquids or near hot surfaces, so really it is for her safety.  I have no excuse for the blogging, except that I never have time and I would hate to lose another idea, no matter how great or not great it might be.

The swing is more than our friend, it has taken the place of my arms and a rocking chair: When it was just Amber I had all the time in the world to develop bedtime routines, work on perfecting them and patiently rocking her to sleep. Repeat as often as needed.  All that fell apart once Sam came along.  There were activities we had to be at, another child to bathe and feed, and on and on.  These days I barely have time to pee or eat, which would explain why I eat most of my calories at night.  I am thinking that doesn’t help with weight loss.  I have started holding Evie on the sofa while I watch TV or surf the Internet.  She eventually falls asleep, but I fear at this rate she is lucky to get a bath most weeks and all hopes of a bedtime routine are lost.  I am hoping that it will just fall into place, kind of like it did with Sam.  Then I remember those days and cry silently, you know so I don’t wake the baby.

Everyday I think of weaning  Evie: Mainly for the weight loss.  Weird, I know, it goes against everything you ever heard about breastfeeding.  Well, stop reading those books, because they don’t know shit. Okay, I am a bit bitter.  However, the 13 extra lbs I am carrying doesn’t compare to the being able to stay asleep while feeding the baby or the spacious interior of my diaper bag.  Nuff said.

 *I am not completely heartless, I did stop what I was doing and proofread after the kids had dinner and the baby was sleeping. 

When did Halloween become such a big holiday?  The stores start putting the stuff a month early, (which is when you know you really made it) there are tons of parties, many opportunities for trick or treating, and decorations.  When I was a kid (Yes, I am so old, now, that I have started many sentences with those 5 words.) we dressed up in our drug store costumes (which were made out of very hot plastic and I am sure are still languishing in a landfill somewhere) and begged trick or treated for candy.  Then it was home for mom to plifer check for razor blades in our candy.  AH, the good ole days!

Now, parents try to out do each other with the most “look at how wonderful my kids are they picked a non-mainstream costume” and the most original non-candy treat.  Or so I hear around the Internet.  Down here in the Boonies, Deep South, we like to keep to the old school of things.  People sit out with their fire pits (a must if it drops below 70 degrees), hand out big handfuls of candy, the kids look like they stepped right out of the TV, and YES, you will see the adults walking around with beers in their hand.  Why should Halloween be any different?  There is not much done around these parts without beer in  hand.  No biggie, everyone is responsible.  The best part is the “hayride”.  Well, it is basically just a tractor pulling a flatbed trailer with ice chests and chairs on the back.  Don’t give us too much slack, we have large plots and walking, especially for the short-legged, gets tiring quick.  We stuck to our wagon and stroller, except when SoHubby decided to hitch a ride on the back of the trailer. 

Halloween at the Old Homestead:

It seems we have a pest problem.
I better get our Orkin man on the phone, quick!
At the very least, ask for a refund.  I don’t think that last visit took.

Around Halloween, we get fancy.
Meet our lovely welcomers.
Hey, if  Walmart can have them, so can we.

Damn!  I thought I saw Uncle Earl leave after our last party.
I guess he was too drunk to drive, so he just hung around.

Neighborhood fun:

Hey, when are we going to get this party started?
Sam had picked out a nice (read $20) Ironman costume, only to decide he wanted
to be Batman, again.  Something tells me that Sam will be Ironman, whether he likes
it or not, next Halloween.

This one is not shy.  This was our first house and she had no problem setting down her
bucket and parking in front of the fire pit.
Amber, also, decided to change her costume at the last-minute.
She started out wearing a green dance costume, only to change to this dance costume.
When asked what she was, “Cupid’s big sister”.
Whatever, she was in a costume and that is all that is required on Halloween.

The hayride, just replace hay with ice chests and lawn chairs.

Last stop, the Storytellers’.
Where the rides are free, the potato soup is hot and the father of your children
is either a monk or the Grimreaper.  It all depends on the mask at the time.

Evangeline (and yeah, I still stop sometimes to think how to spell it. too) turned 3 months old on Saturday, October 24.  I would have missed it, if  I didn’t plan to take the kids to a haunted house and had a rare clear moment.  These past months have been a time of adjustment, dazed and confused, and lots of running around between nursing and napping sessions.  However, I have learned a few things about Evie in her short time here on Earth.

First smile/laugh. 
The smile is much harder to catch on film than that big, all out there laugh.
Evie is very free with her laughs.  All it takes is a little time, funny faces and
a some binky play and you get all the laughs you can handle.

Bribery is a good thing.
Evie decided that since she got to go to my doctor’s appointment,
and Sam had to stay home, that we should get him a little something.
Apparently, Evie has already learned that the way to Sam’s heart is
through his stomach.  And the gateway only opens for cookies.

Someone might have mastered cloth diapering.

I suggest you just go with the line that, “No! Your butt doesn’t look big
at all!”  Use that high pitch voice that really tells the person that you are
sincere.

We learned that Mom has no problem about balancing large pumpkins
so close to her young baby to get a seasonal picture.
Get use to it kid, there will be lots more pictures where you are asked
to do things you don’t want so Mom can have some memories.

That sometimes all 3 kids will cooperate on the first try.
And cute pictures will be the result, as well as happy mommas.

Little babies are stubborn and set in their routines.
Still sleeping in her swing and having nothing to do with the lovely, spacious crib
sitting empty in Amber’s room.
Also, I am finding that Evie doesn’t like to be in the sling too much.
She seems to like to watch the world go by.
It is a little sad for me, because it does make life easier and it is nice to have her close.

When your back is turned, someone will steal your spot on the sofa.
The youngest seems to be more aggressive than the other two. 
Amber waited until she was about 2 years old before she tried something this bold.

Evie likes to chew on her burp cloths. She especially likes them draped on or near her
face when trying to go to sleep.
So if you see a sleepy woman chasing after an almost 4-year-old boy with a rag over her
baby’s face, just know we have a system.  And she started it.

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.

Sam is just down from his room where he was sent after a normal tantrum.  Sam and I have a delicate dance of power, I have it and he wants it.  Sometimes I worry that I am breaking his spirit, so to speak, but, hopefully, I am helping him deal better with his temper than I ever did as a child.  I don’t know if I was told directly or indirectly, but I knew it wasn’t okay to get angry.  That manifested itself into a temper that got me into a lot of trouble.  After almost 37 years, I have learned that you catch more flies with honey, which sometimes comes in the form of a calm discussion, than you do with vinegar, which usually cames in the form of yelling, crying and the throwing of objects. 

When Sam gets angry, and Amber too, I look into his eyes and tell him that it is okay to be angry, but it is not okay to hit, throw things or yell.  Sam has learned to yell, “I am angry at you!”  Okay, we all need work on the yelling part, but, at least, we are not ducking items whizzing through the air.  Okay, not every time.  Then we try to find a solution to whatever it is that he is angry with, usually it is simply just needing to calm down and not taking anything, like the lid being replaced on the toy box, as a personal insult.  And just asking nicely for Mom to remove said lid and go about playing.

Today, Sam wanted the control and I was not ready to give it to him, especially not in the way that he was presenting it.  Even after we went through our motions, Sam gave me the mean face.  He pouts out his lips, grunts, puts his hands on his hips and glare his eyes.  That is unacceptable.  It tells me that I am going through the motions with you, but I want you to know that I am pissed at you and ready to attack.  I think all of this is just in the male make up.  One must show that he is in charge.  The only problem is that Sam has an Alpha Mom and I don’t back down easily.  And this is where I worry if I am neutering him for the future. 

For both kids, I dole out the control on my terms and see what gets them to bite.  Sam and I went toe to toe, today, but he learned that on this issue I will not back down.  He will be civilized, even if it kills us both.  However, on the issue of cake I am more than willing to share, especially if it means getting it out of the house and off my hips.  The battle over control was long, but didn’t take much effort on my part.  Basically, I told him he was allowed to come out of his room, if his attitude changed.  It didn’t so he stayed in his room for a long time until I decided that he might have succumbed to the attitude adjustment.  He did, especially after the adorning of a Pull-up ceremony, which means it is nap time.  And even though he can’t tell time, Sam knows that nap time doesn’t come at 930 in the morning.  This showed him I was not playing around.

I am most proud that I kept my calm, only raising my voice over his and didn’t result to spanking.  I could have easily gone that route and have in the past.  The problem with spanking, that I find, is that it doesn’t really solve anything.  Sure it may make the parent feel relieved, but only in a release of anger kind of way, but the child is left crying and, usually, more angry than when they started.  We have resorted to spanking when all else has failed, but as the kids get older and better understand directions and an explanation of another way to handle the situation I have found that spanking is not needed.  Besides, the mere mention of time-out in the hallway will send either of them into tears and a pleading to do better next time.  I am ashamed that I have resulted to it in the past and it was mostly out of I can’t think of any other way to get my point across. 

I am finding that after 7 years of parenting and 3 kids, I am realizing that I can let the chaos go on around me without losing my cool.  I am not saying I am perfect and there are times when I do lose my cool, but it is less than before.  Like last night when SoHubby was outside talking with the neighbor instead of helping me with the kids. I was in the house with a screaming baby, a naked Sam and Amber needing to do her homework at 730pm.  I was in lightning fast mode and determined that Sam would just have to put on a Pull-Up until I was done feeding the baby and Amber’s papers would have to wait, as well.  So what if the kids went to bed after 8pm, hopefully, they wouldn’t be crawling into bed at 4am.  Sure once George got into the house, once everything was done and the kids were just about to get into bed, I let him know that I was angry, but even that wasn’t as bad as back in the days of Amber’s babyhood.  I have accepted that this is what goes on in a house filled with 3 kids and a husband who can’t say no to a conversation.  Things will get done and most times behind schedule.

If Amber made me a mother and Sam taught me that babies cry, then Evie has reinforced the idea that babies don’t die when they cry and that a little snuggle time makes it better for all.

Evangeline will be 3 months on October 24.  That is four days away.  Four. Days. Away!  And I am still not in my prepregnancy clothes. 

I know all the PC crap that is spewed whenever a previously pregnant woman complains that she hasn’t lost all the weight, yet: “It took 9 months to put it on, it is going to take 9 months to take it off.”  “You are breastfeeding, all that weight should be sliding off anytime, now.”  “With just a little exercise and eating right, you should lose the weight in no time.”  To all of that I say, bullshit!  This is kid number 3 and the weight never just slide off while I breastfed them.  Matter of fact, my fat hangs onto my body like it is waiting for the time I am stranded on some island and we all have to survive off my milk.  (Don’t think on that too long or you might just yak.)  I was Shredding, but even Jillian Michaels couldn’t cut through my mountain of fat.  I had high hopes, because there this mom blogger who started to Shred when she was 5 months postpartum and not only does she have a rocking new body, but a new found love of exercise.  Yeah, not so much for me.  I have 7 days left on my 30 days and I doubt I will finish it.  Frankly, the results I was getting wasn’t enough for me to continue to get up at 5am every morning after waking up multiple times a night after sleeping in one position  to avoid rolling over the little person sleeping next to me who demands to eat at all hours of the night.  My friend cut out eating out and she is down 13 lbs.  Woo!Hoo! for her.  I have adopted the same frugal policy and still can’t lose a pound. 

Confession time, I guess.  I may, just may, be expecting major results in record time.  I think this has always been my downfall in the weight lost arena.  I mean one should never expect to see a pound lost after working out for 2 hours, 5 days a week in the gym for a year.  I will give you, that I might have not pushed myself as much as I should, but there should have been some weight lose, right.  Even if it was a pound.  Hell, I think I even gained a little weight.   After that, not even the lure of child free time could get me into the gym, again.  So when I heard about the 30 Day Shred, I shouldn’t have expected to look like Jillian Michaels in 30 days.  Maybe, those last 7 days are the ones that will do it, but at this point I am not willing to try.  I have been sweaty and cranky for weeks and nothing, nothing.  

Second, exercising makes you hungry and carrots don’t fill you up.  Ah, sure you can listen while all those skinny bitches tell you how good low calorie, low fat food is, but they ain’t got nothing on Paula Deen.  That’s all I am saying.  Not only am I Southern, but Italian and neither of those groups are known for their low calorie meals.  Yeah, yeah there are vegetables involved in these food cultures but they are usually slathered in a cream sauce or tons of butter.  I did get the Cooking Light cookbook at Amber’s school book fair and we have been enjoying many of our dinners out of there.  I especially like it because it uses ingredients I would normally use, like whipping cream, but in much smaller amounts.  So you get the taste or creaminess, but not as many calories.  However, you get a little disappointed when you see the serving size.  I will be the first to admit that my eating habits could use a great big ol smack.  It is very hard to pass up the massive amounts of cake leftover from the pumpkin party or not letting good food go bad. *ahem*  People talk about will power and I guess I was in the cake line when it was handed out, because I obviously don’t have any. 

The worst part is that I know it can be done.  I see the results everywhere.  There are friends that have given birth close to me and they are back to looking like they did before they were pregnant.  There are family members that have worked hard and are back to their fighting weight.  I would like to point out that these family members are not blood related and this is where I blame my genes on that spare tire I am sporting.  Every night I tell myself this is the last day that I eat.  Oh yes, I make a vow to not eat again until I can fit into my jeans without fear of taking out someone’s eye.  Then morning comes and after feeding a baby for most of the night, Mamma is hungry.  I start off good and then it is all downhill starting at 10am.  Another factor is that I know I will eventually be back into my clothes.  It took about 9 months with Amber (when I stopped breastfeeding her) and about 3 months with Sam.  I was hoping that I would cut my record down with Evie, but no such luck.  I think my girls have the same effect on my body.  So, I will have to push aside the thoughts and wishes of  comments of how good I look after just having a baby.  It was my one Christmas wish this year.  And no it doesn’t count if you read this and tell me; it has to be true.  *sigh*  I will continue on with wearing my maternity clothes mixed with the few regular clothes I can wear and hope that one day I won’t be mistaken for the Michelin man breastfeeding a baby.

Amber goes to Catechism every Monday.  That is the Catholic church’s version of Sunday school, but as you can see it doesn’t happen on Sunday and it is not while the parents are in Mass.  I assume this is done to test the commitment of  us, Catholics, because it is a big sacrifice to drive our kids 5 minutes to drop our kids off and then do it again an hour later.  The other test is learning to pay attention during an hour long Mass while sitting on little kids to keep them quiet or prevent embarrassing outbursts, like Sam screaming, “I am ready to go, NOW!” or “Is it over, yet. I hungry!”  Anyway, Amber goes to Catechism to learn all about the Catholic religion and prepare her for all the fun events like First Communion, First Confession and Confirmation.  I know I might have missed something, but my Catechism was interrupted when my religion got lost in the divorce settlement as a child.  I have promised to finish my obligations as soon as I get the rest of these kids grown up enough to not need a boob every 2 hours throughout the day and night.  For now, the kids will have to be the one obligation that I can fulfill.

 Amber came home all excited that they talked about heros at Catechism that night.  I thought that is funny, shouldn’t you be learning about God, Jesus, the Pope and how to perform the Catholic ritual of up, down, up down, kneel?  That thought was erased and my heart filled with joy when she said that she drew a picture of her daddy and I as her heros.  I didn’t see the picture, so I can only go by her word, but let me tell you this girl knows how to play her cards.  The next day Amber would tell me how Michael Jackson was a hero, too.  WHAT?!  Michael Jackson is a hero like me, no way.  I asked her where did she hear that, thinking it was something the little girls talked about at a recent sleepover.  Nope, she heard it at Catechism.  And how is Michael Jackson a hero?  Because he paid to have little kids go to the hospital.  Yeah, and Roman Polanski was just mentoring that young teen girl on the ways of the world. 

I have a couple of problems with this, I don’t believe that pop stars, athletes and other members of the tabloid set should be held up to our children as heros.  Shouldn’t my daughter have walked away from that conversation with the impression that Jesus is a hero?  After my initial shock, I explained to Amber that she should look to others in her world that are heros to her.  I didn’t want to go into the complex discussion of yes, Michael Jackson might have paid for some kids to go to the hospital, but some of his other actions are in question.  Sure I don’t want to talk to Amber about child predators, although we have had a discussion before, but another big question is what the hell are these adults, that I have entrusted my daughter to, thinking?

First we had some objections to what her school teacher was telling her: dirty old men are homeless and you should tell your parents to give them money, my car is a clunker and I should get a new one (okay, maybe she didn’t say MY car), she had to get the H1N1 flu shot or she would get the swine flu (we never have gotten the shots and been fine) are just a few of the things that Amber berates us about on a daily basis.  Now, we have a Catechism teacher that hails the good deeds of an accused child molester.  I am finding that it is not the children that make this parenting gig hard, but the other adults who come in contact with the children.