If you ask any of my friends and my hubby, they will tell you that I am a pretty good cook and I make a mean cake. So why is it that three times this month I have managed to burn my soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?
The grilled cheese, I must confess, is my culinary Achilles heel. I'm just not patient enough to wait for it to brown up properly and tend to have the heat turned up too far. Thankfully, my hubby says he likes them "dark." Honestly, I think he's just taking pity on me. Either way, I don't care, he eats them and I don't have to throw them out and start over!
The soup...well, I just forget!
I put it on a back burner with the heat turned down and walk away to take care of the boys lunch. Between 1-2 HOURS later I will be at the sink making the boys their afternoon bottles and I will hear the distinct bubbling sound that only boiled down soup can make and then rush to take it off the burner. Like that last half-second is miraculously going to save it right? Sort of like leaving the lights on in your car at the mall and running the last 10 feet through the parking lot to shut them off and magically saving the battery. Anyway, I digress....
Burning things is not a norm for me. I like to be in the kitchen. My center island is a commercial prep table because I spend that much time in the kitchen (it was thousands cheaper than an actual island) and I am a good cook. I have traded recipes with professional chefs!
It's the kids!
I get so distracted with the boys that I completely forget what I am doing.
Imagine my horror! I have been told by multiple professional chefs that I am an "excellent cook" and am now reduced to burning canned soup?!
I used to make gourmet meals like shitake mushroom risotto and chicken marsala. My friends used to call me for cooking advice...now I burn soup.
Now that it's cooling off, we're in comfort food season. On a good night, I'll get the chicken in the oven and rice in the cooker in time to put something on the table that resembles a balanced meal.
Bad nights we're eating "dark" grilled cheese sandwiches and burnt soup.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Rolling with the Punches vs. Panic
About a month ago three of my BFFs flew in from across the country and Canada to spend the weekend, play with the babies and get in some much needed "girl time." They had coordinated their flights to land within a half-hour of each other which made picking them up at the airport insanely easy.
We left the airport and headed to out for Sushi.
I haven't had Sushi since the weekend we closed on this house two years ago November. When I was pregnant nothing looked appetizing except turkey subs and Sushi was an especially nauseating thought never mind the fact that I was not allowed to have it. I have been craving Sushi for months now, so I made sure that everyone was on board with it and found a highly recommended place in Baltimore.
It did not disappoint.
Two of us LOVE Sushi, one likes it and the other, at the end of the meal, declared it good...except for the fish. Ha! It's a good thing that I wasn't drinking anything when that line was uttered or I would have had iced tea shoot out my nose!
Some of the pieces were extremely large. I don't cut my sushi I just dive in and stuff the roll into my mouth. One of the girls figured out how to pull the seaweed apart so that she could divide it in half. One of them tried to copy that technique and used her chopsticks...like a knife and fork...as if she were cutting filet mignon. I tried to not make fun of her but after watching her do this, seemingly endlessly with no visible result, I and the other two girls just burst out laughing. She might as well have been trying to cut down a tree with a herring. (note the Monty Python and the Holy Grail reference).
We laughed hysterically, jumped from topic to topic and left with our bellies full but our wallets not ridiculously light. I even ordered some sushi rolls to take home to hubby who was being daddy extraordinaire with the boys for the afternoon and evening.
The next day hit the Amish Market and got pretzel wrap sandwiches which are AMAZING and just for good measure picked up some pretzel wrapped cheddar wurst and some pretzel cinnamon sticks. As if that wasn't enough we cleaned out the day old table at the bakery and grabbed some pumpkin bars just in case anyone got hungry!
On the way back from the market we went around two cars that were stopped on a back road and three young ladies standing on the side of the road looking beyond confused. As I backed up to their cars to check on them I noticed that one of their cars had a flat tire.
I know my way around a car pretty well so we parked our car and gave the girls a hand. None of them had any idea how to change and flat and the car with the flat didn't even have a jack in it! The rim with the flat tire on it only had three lug nuts holding the wheel in place. There are supposed to be four. She said her mechanic said she didn't need the fourth. Um...yeah...I'm pretty sure the fourth one isn't just there for looks.
I hate mechanics like that.
How would he feel if someone told his daughter some crap like that. She was driving up and down the turnpike on that thing!
While removing the lug nuts, one of them broke in half. Apparently, the know-it-all mechanic put them on too tight and in the process of trying to loosen it, it just snapped off.
And then there were two.
She asked if I thought she could make the 50+ mile trip to Baltimore for the weekend. I'm not 100% sure but I think we all shouted, "NO!"
While all of this was going on my twins were just hanging out in their infant seats on the embankment. They love to be outside and watching all the action was plenty to keep them entertained.
The girls that we helped were really excited to have learned how to change a flat tire and I explained that as single girls traveling alone there are certain things that they should know...that is one of them.
I love these weekends with the girls. We stay up entirely too late, eat horrible foods and laugh...a lot!
The weekend was a weird comedy of errors that had us running in odd directions dealing with things that most people never have to deal with much less all in one weekend. But, it's par for the course when we get together and we always weather whatever comes.
Most of my friends, if not all, can pretty much roll with the punches. We seem to be able to adjust to whatever comes without much fanfare. I can't say as much for my hubby.
My hubby is a wonderful, loving, patient, kind, understanding, good hearted, fun loving guy...until the babies are crying or he is behind the wheel of a car. Those are truly his major weaknesses. Well, that and he is a horrible multi-tasker. Give him a task and he will knock it out of the park. Try to have a conversation with him while he is doing it and he will completely stress out. Throw a crying baby into the mix and...well...all bets are off!
When the girls were planning their trip they not only coordinated their arrivals but they coordinated their departures too. This made pick up and drop off very easy! The one difference was that one of the girls has a friend who lives in Virginia and she had made arrangements to have that friend pick her up at the airport at the same time I was dropping everyone off.
Great idea until the friend was almost an hour late!
For the most part the kids are pretty easy. Their fussiness is usually short-lived and they giggle at the drop of a hat. Unfortunately, my hubby is not all that easy to distract and once the kids start crying his ability to think goes out the window.
I understand that crying or fussy babies can get on your nerves; they get on mine too. What I don’t understand is the panicked response to it.
My mother assures me that this is just a normal male reaction to crying babies.
Unfortunately, I don't think this is a stage that my hubby is going to grow out of!
We left the airport and headed to out for Sushi.
I haven't had Sushi since the weekend we closed on this house two years ago November. When I was pregnant nothing looked appetizing except turkey subs and Sushi was an especially nauseating thought never mind the fact that I was not allowed to have it. I have been craving Sushi for months now, so I made sure that everyone was on board with it and found a highly recommended place in Baltimore.
It did not disappoint.
Two of us LOVE Sushi, one likes it and the other, at the end of the meal, declared it good...except for the fish. Ha! It's a good thing that I wasn't drinking anything when that line was uttered or I would have had iced tea shoot out my nose!
Some of the pieces were extremely large. I don't cut my sushi I just dive in and stuff the roll into my mouth. One of the girls figured out how to pull the seaweed apart so that she could divide it in half. One of them tried to copy that technique and used her chopsticks...like a knife and fork...as if she were cutting filet mignon. I tried to not make fun of her but after watching her do this, seemingly endlessly with no visible result, I and the other two girls just burst out laughing. She might as well have been trying to cut down a tree with a herring. (note the Monty Python and the Holy Grail reference).
We laughed hysterically, jumped from topic to topic and left with our bellies full but our wallets not ridiculously light. I even ordered some sushi rolls to take home to hubby who was being daddy extraordinaire with the boys for the afternoon and evening.
The next day hit the Amish Market and got pretzel wrap sandwiches which are AMAZING and just for good measure picked up some pretzel wrapped cheddar wurst and some pretzel cinnamon sticks. As if that wasn't enough we cleaned out the day old table at the bakery and grabbed some pumpkin bars just in case anyone got hungry!
On the way back from the market we went around two cars that were stopped on a back road and three young ladies standing on the side of the road looking beyond confused. As I backed up to their cars to check on them I noticed that one of their cars had a flat tire.
I know my way around a car pretty well so we parked our car and gave the girls a hand. None of them had any idea how to change and flat and the car with the flat didn't even have a jack in it! The rim with the flat tire on it only had three lug nuts holding the wheel in place. There are supposed to be four. She said her mechanic said she didn't need the fourth. Um...yeah...I'm pretty sure the fourth one isn't just there for looks.
I hate mechanics like that.
How would he feel if someone told his daughter some crap like that. She was driving up and down the turnpike on that thing!
While removing the lug nuts, one of them broke in half. Apparently, the know-it-all mechanic put them on too tight and in the process of trying to loosen it, it just snapped off.
And then there were two.
She asked if I thought she could make the 50+ mile trip to Baltimore for the weekend. I'm not 100% sure but I think we all shouted, "NO!"
While all of this was going on my twins were just hanging out in their infant seats on the embankment. They love to be outside and watching all the action was plenty to keep them entertained.
The girls that we helped were really excited to have learned how to change a flat tire and I explained that as single girls traveling alone there are certain things that they should know...that is one of them.
I love these weekends with the girls. We stay up entirely too late, eat horrible foods and laugh...a lot!
The weekend was a weird comedy of errors that had us running in odd directions dealing with things that most people never have to deal with much less all in one weekend. But, it's par for the course when we get together and we always weather whatever comes.
Most of my friends, if not all, can pretty much roll with the punches. We seem to be able to adjust to whatever comes without much fanfare. I can't say as much for my hubby.
My hubby is a wonderful, loving, patient, kind, understanding, good hearted, fun loving guy...until the babies are crying or he is behind the wheel of a car. Those are truly his major weaknesses. Well, that and he is a horrible multi-tasker. Give him a task and he will knock it out of the park. Try to have a conversation with him while he is doing it and he will completely stress out. Throw a crying baby into the mix and...well...all bets are off!
When the girls were planning their trip they not only coordinated their arrivals but they coordinated their departures too. This made pick up and drop off very easy! The one difference was that one of the girls has a friend who lives in Virginia and she had made arrangements to have that friend pick her up at the airport at the same time I was dropping everyone off.
Great idea until the friend was almost an hour late!
I was not really concerned
because this gave me some really good one-on-one time with her that I would not
have had otherwise.
Hubby was home with the
kids who were evidently fussy and my cell phone started blowing up! So much for
“quality time” with a friend that I get to see once a year!
Rather than being able to
enjoy our extra time together, I was peppered with phone calls from a stressed out hubby
who had evidently lost the ability to think on his own and despite my telling
him otherwise, and our repeated conversations about the drop off schedule, thought I was
going to drop them at the curb and head right back home.
I sent text messages to
both of my mother’s helpers begging assistance and discovered that neither was
home and therefore unavailable!
I contacted a friend and
told her what was going on and she said she’d go right over. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!
I understand that crying or fussy babies can get on your nerves; they get on mine too. What I don’t understand is the panicked response to it.
My mother assures me that this is just a normal male reaction to crying babies.
Unfortunately, I don't think this is a stage that my hubby is going to grow out of!
Monday, October 28, 2013
The Climb to the Top
As I have mentioned in previous posts, we have a fireplace with a raised hearth. Many people, mostly well meaning family members, have questioned our decision to not put padding around the edge of the hearth. We refuse the bubble wrap the house! They all fear that the boys will crash into it and hurt themselves. This may in fact be a concern but it's hasn't been...yet.
For weeks now, we have been keeping the boys from climbing up onto the hearth for fear that they will fall off it. We have hardwood floors, installed by yours truly and the hubby, and the fall is a solid 9.5". (Yes, as a matter of fact, I did measure it.)
The battle to keep them off the hearth was unending. They were bound and determined to climb up on the damn thing. When they weren't trying to climb up they were pulling on the screen and the fireplace tools. The screen is not really a big deal because it is very light and there are not really any sharp edges. The tools are another story completely. Not only are they heavy but this is a wood-burning fireplace and we use the tools...they are dirty!
In an effort to win at least one battle, hubby put the tools behind the screen inside the fireplace.
Nice idea but it missed the mark.
Now the kids saw the screen as a challenge. Every-freakin'-day was a constant battle to keep them from trying to pull the screen down to get to the tools. It was a nightmare.
As their crawling improved, so did their strength.
Not only could they stand at the hearth and hit the screen, they could climb onto the hearth and pull on it. Of course the inevitable happened. One twin pulled and the screen came down on top of the other.
Oh joy!
The one that managed to pull down the screen was very excited that his access was no longer blocked and he was not at all deterred by the fact that his brother was crying. I now had one twin on the hearth happily enjoying unencumbered access to filthy fireplace tools and another on the floor screaming! He was not hurt but it scared the crap out of him.
I moved them off and away from the hearth and put the screen back but I knew that this was not over.
A couple of days later while talking to my hubby I had to pull the kids off the hearth about 10 times in as many minutes and we decided that it was time to teach them how to safely get down off the hearth. We practiced the "feet first dismount" a couple of times and the first time we let them crawl up there without resistance from us David let out a triumphant growl while clenching his fists and wiggling his feet. We laughed.
Battle lost.
The next day David once again, won the battle of the kitchen island shelf. This one is 13" off the floor ( yes I got the ruler out again) and a much tougher climb. Up he went and again I got the growl.
Another battle lost.
I keep a pile of spare baby blankets on the love seat in the playroom. It's convenient and I don't really have anywhere else to store them. Anyway...last weekend the kids were in the playroom while I was getting breakfast ready when I heard my hubby shout, "Oh my God!" I looked up and there was David ON the love seat...growling!
The dynamic duo had figured out that if they pulled the blankets off the sofa and climbed up onto the pile they could get up on the cushions.
Oh goodie!
So exciting because I certainly didn't have much to worry about before.
I am not delusional; I never actually expected to win any of these battles but I didn't expect to lose them so soon.
For weeks now, we have been keeping the boys from climbing up onto the hearth for fear that they will fall off it. We have hardwood floors, installed by yours truly and the hubby, and the fall is a solid 9.5". (Yes, as a matter of fact, I did measure it.)
The battle to keep them off the hearth was unending. They were bound and determined to climb up on the damn thing. When they weren't trying to climb up they were pulling on the screen and the fireplace tools. The screen is not really a big deal because it is very light and there are not really any sharp edges. The tools are another story completely. Not only are they heavy but this is a wood-burning fireplace and we use the tools...they are dirty!
In an effort to win at least one battle, hubby put the tools behind the screen inside the fireplace.
Nice idea but it missed the mark.
Now the kids saw the screen as a challenge. Every-freakin'-day was a constant battle to keep them from trying to pull the screen down to get to the tools. It was a nightmare.
As their crawling improved, so did their strength.
Not only could they stand at the hearth and hit the screen, they could climb onto the hearth and pull on it. Of course the inevitable happened. One twin pulled and the screen came down on top of the other.
Oh joy!
The one that managed to pull down the screen was very excited that his access was no longer blocked and he was not at all deterred by the fact that his brother was crying. I now had one twin on the hearth happily enjoying unencumbered access to filthy fireplace tools and another on the floor screaming! He was not hurt but it scared the crap out of him.
I moved them off and away from the hearth and put the screen back but I knew that this was not over.
A couple of days later while talking to my hubby I had to pull the kids off the hearth about 10 times in as many minutes and we decided that it was time to teach them how to safely get down off the hearth. We practiced the "feet first dismount" a couple of times and the first time we let them crawl up there without resistance from us David let out a triumphant growl while clenching his fists and wiggling his feet. We laughed.
Battle lost.
The next day David once again, won the battle of the kitchen island shelf. This one is 13" off the floor ( yes I got the ruler out again) and a much tougher climb. Up he went and again I got the growl.
Another battle lost.
I keep a pile of spare baby blankets on the love seat in the playroom. It's convenient and I don't really have anywhere else to store them. Anyway...last weekend the kids were in the playroom while I was getting breakfast ready when I heard my hubby shout, "Oh my God!" I looked up and there was David ON the love seat...growling!
The dynamic duo had figured out that if they pulled the blankets off the sofa and climbed up onto the pile they could get up on the cushions.
Oh goodie!
So exciting because I certainly didn't have much to worry about before.
I am not delusional; I never actually expected to win any of these battles but I didn't expect to lose them so soon.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Collision in the Dark
One thing that my hubby does on a regular basis is to trip over things. He's gotten better lately. He actually went two weeks without a seriously calamitous collision with an obstacle on the floor.
Unfortunately, when he did collide with something it was immovable and he re-injured the toe he broke when tripping another time.
Each time he does this the thud is followed by a loud "OOMPH!" and sometimes a swear or two. Which is usually answered with me laughing.
I don't know what it is wrong with me but the sound of him tripping or colliding with something, especially in the dark can throw me into a fit of giggles that leaves me gasping for air and groping for my inhaler!
In his defense, there are a great number of obstacles that now exist in the house that never used to be there before. However, he is not Helen Keller...he can see where he is going. He just doesn't look down when he is moving through a room. This may be good social etiquette but is dangerous in a house with ankle biters.
This is not a condition that started with the arrival of the boys either. This has been going on for quite some time. The most memorable of all events was when I was about 5 or 6 months pregnant. We had brushed our teeth, taken our vitamins and headed to bed when I complained that I was hot.
Being the wonderful hubby that he is, he valiantly hopped out of bed and headed downstairs to the dining room where the thermostat is located adjust the AC.
We have a center-hall colonial style house with a foyer at the bottom of the stairs. To the left is the dining room. Between the foyer and the dining room is a small alcove. When I finished the vacuuming earlier that day, instead of putting it away I tucked the vacuum in the alcove because I had more to do but was tired and needed to rest. I wasn't on full bed rest for my pregnancy but wasn't allowed to do much. Vacuuming was pushing it!
To get to the thermostat hubby was going to go from the bottom of the stairs, across the foyer and through the alcove.
It was nighttime, it was dark and we live alone. There was no one else in the house so rather than putting his sweats on and turning on a light, he just ran downstairs in the dark. Naked.
OMG THE VACUUM CLEANER! Before I could yell down to him I heard him make contact with the Dyson.
OOMPH!!! F*&@!!!
Fortunately, he did not hurt the Dyson.
Unfortunately, when he did collide with something it was immovable and he re-injured the toe he broke when tripping another time.
Each time he does this the thud is followed by a loud "OOMPH!" and sometimes a swear or two. Which is usually answered with me laughing.
I don't know what it is wrong with me but the sound of him tripping or colliding with something, especially in the dark can throw me into a fit of giggles that leaves me gasping for air and groping for my inhaler!
In his defense, there are a great number of obstacles that now exist in the house that never used to be there before. However, he is not Helen Keller...he can see where he is going. He just doesn't look down when he is moving through a room. This may be good social etiquette but is dangerous in a house with ankle biters.
This is not a condition that started with the arrival of the boys either. This has been going on for quite some time. The most memorable of all events was when I was about 5 or 6 months pregnant. We had brushed our teeth, taken our vitamins and headed to bed when I complained that I was hot.
Being the wonderful hubby that he is, he valiantly hopped out of bed and headed downstairs to the dining room where the thermostat is located adjust the AC.
We have a center-hall colonial style house with a foyer at the bottom of the stairs. To the left is the dining room. Between the foyer and the dining room is a small alcove. When I finished the vacuuming earlier that day, instead of putting it away I tucked the vacuum in the alcove because I had more to do but was tired and needed to rest. I wasn't on full bed rest for my pregnancy but wasn't allowed to do much. Vacuuming was pushing it!
To get to the thermostat hubby was going to go from the bottom of the stairs, across the foyer and through the alcove.
It was nighttime, it was dark and we live alone. There was no one else in the house so rather than putting his sweats on and turning on a light, he just ran downstairs in the dark. Naked.
OMG THE VACUUM CLEANER! Before I could yell down to him I heard him make contact with the Dyson.
OOMPH!!! F*&@!!!
Fortunately, he did not hurt the Dyson.
Don't Put That in Your Mouth!
I have mentioned in previous posts that hubby and I have our usual chores around the house. I do the laundry and cleaning and he does the guy stuff like taking out the trash. One morning a few weeks ago, after harvesting the pumpkins and squash, before leaving for work, he decided to empty the diaper pail in the playroom.
To be honest, it was really stinky!
I love that he takes out the trash and does the "hubby jobs" around the house. I hate that he has this really annoying habit of forgetting to put a new bag in the can. As was the case this particular morning.
I didn't notice this until I rushed one of my boys to the diaper changing table with a massive blowout in his footie pajamas.
Not good!
Hmmm...well, I thought, I'll just put the diaper at the end of the changing table and dispose of it when I was finished. In theory this should have worked out really well.
There was a fatal flaw in my thinking.
At 11 months he is pretty long and his feet come to the end of the diaper changing pad. I couldn't leave him on the table to go get a new bag, I couldn't set him on the floor covered in poop and couldn't put the diaper on the floor because my other son was now standing between my legs.
I removed said diaper and placed it at the foot of the changing pad, hoping for the best, and tackled things with the wipes. Lots and lots of wipes. I piled them up on the offending diaper and grabbed a new diaper to put on him.
That's when the trouble started.
The boys' desire to squirm or rollover is directly proportional to the amount of crap on their butts. The bigger the poop, the more they want to squirm.
When I prevented him from rolling over he got really mad and slammed his feet down...right into the poop filled diaper.
I screamed. Yeah really actually screamed. It sort of...splashed!
My scream startled him and he began to cry, then in a show of some sort of twin solidarity, the other one started to cry too.
Greaaaaat!
Not only do I have a colossal friggin mess but now I have two screaming children to deal with, one of whom was also naked and covered with poop!
When all was said and done, the baby had a new diaper, tears had been dried, the pad on the changing table had been changed and, most importantly, there was a new bag in the diaper pail. Of course I handled it like a pro but then again I am here alone, it's not like anyone else was going to do it. It's just another poopie experience to add to the list.
But...what I am proud of is the fact that I didn't call my hubby and rip him a new one. I didn't even send him an obnoxious text message. Mostly because one of the boys fell down again and needed his boo-boo kissed and by the time I finished dealing with that it was snack time. Ranting at him about something like a trash bag just seemed so menial at that point.
Falling down is the norm around here. They are constantly hitting their heads...usually on the floor. They have learned to avoid the coffee table and the bottom of the kitchen hutch but they trip...when crawling no less, and face-plant. Either or both have been known to have pretty good bruises on their foreheads at least once a week.
I've gotten used to the sounds of their playing...and falling. Depending on the sound of the thump, I've learned to respond appropriately. Sounds in general tell me what's going on but more importantly, the sound of silence is even more telling.
Last week, during our morning ritual, I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the rocker in the bedroom while the kids played in the hallway. They like to crawl around in the hallway, the bathroom, their room and our closet.
It suddenly dawned on me that it was completely silent.
Not good!
I left my coffee and headed down the hall to find that one of the boys had unraveled most of a roll of toilet paper, which was now piled up in the middle of the floor, and the other was happily chewing away on a wad of it that was so big it would make a professional baseball player jealous.
About the time I walked into the bathroom the one that had been doing the unrolling, discovered this little handle thingy on the toilet tank.
Flush!!!
Unfortunately, he liked the sound. Fortunately, it takes about 35 seconds to refill the tank on the toilet. Which is approximately the amount of time necessary to gather up the toilet paper, remove the disgusting pulp from the one's mouth and move both boys out of the room and close the door.
The bathroom door is now closed all the time and, just in case one of us should happen to leave the door open, the toilet paper is now located on the edge of the sink.
I draw the line at removing the flush handle.
As I've mentioned, I like to start my day slowly with a cup of coffee and the boys like to play upstairs. We now keep all doors upstairs closed with the exception of the master bedroom and the master closet.
They love to play in the closet.
Chewing on shoelaces is a favorite pastime as is, evidently pulling dirty clothes out of the laundry basket that serves as our hamper.
This was discovered one morning as I sat happily rocking away, sipping my coffee and reading the news. I noticed that the boys were a little too quite. As I was getting up to head into the closet to see what they were doing, one of them came crawling out of the closet with a pair of my panties in his mouth like a lion dragging home a kill!
Eeeeeeeeeew!!!
Nobody saw it and if I didn't write about it, no one would even know...but I was mortified! They carry stuff in their mouths all the time...just not my underwear. I don't even think it would have been ok if he had had a clean pair in his mouth. Somethings you just don't put in your mouth...period!
This no doubt will not be the last time that I am completely grossed out by something that one of my boys' puts in his mouth. I am sure the words, "Don't put that in your mouth!" will be said at least a million times but hey, that battle's got to be better than dealing with a flailing, poop-covered baby...Right?!
To be honest, it was really stinky!
I love that he takes out the trash and does the "hubby jobs" around the house. I hate that he has this really annoying habit of forgetting to put a new bag in the can. As was the case this particular morning.
I didn't notice this until I rushed one of my boys to the diaper changing table with a massive blowout in his footie pajamas.
Not good!
Hmmm...well, I thought, I'll just put the diaper at the end of the changing table and dispose of it when I was finished. In theory this should have worked out really well.
There was a fatal flaw in my thinking.
At 11 months he is pretty long and his feet come to the end of the diaper changing pad. I couldn't leave him on the table to go get a new bag, I couldn't set him on the floor covered in poop and couldn't put the diaper on the floor because my other son was now standing between my legs.
I removed said diaper and placed it at the foot of the changing pad, hoping for the best, and tackled things with the wipes. Lots and lots of wipes. I piled them up on the offending diaper and grabbed a new diaper to put on him.
That's when the trouble started.
The boys' desire to squirm or rollover is directly proportional to the amount of crap on their butts. The bigger the poop, the more they want to squirm.
When I prevented him from rolling over he got really mad and slammed his feet down...right into the poop filled diaper.
I screamed. Yeah really actually screamed. It sort of...splashed!
My scream startled him and he began to cry, then in a show of some sort of twin solidarity, the other one started to cry too.
Greaaaaat!
Not only do I have a colossal friggin mess but now I have two screaming children to deal with, one of whom was also naked and covered with poop!
When all was said and done, the baby had a new diaper, tears had been dried, the pad on the changing table had been changed and, most importantly, there was a new bag in the diaper pail. Of course I handled it like a pro but then again I am here alone, it's not like anyone else was going to do it. It's just another poopie experience to add to the list.
But...what I am proud of is the fact that I didn't call my hubby and rip him a new one. I didn't even send him an obnoxious text message. Mostly because one of the boys fell down again and needed his boo-boo kissed and by the time I finished dealing with that it was snack time. Ranting at him about something like a trash bag just seemed so menial at that point.
Falling down is the norm around here. They are constantly hitting their heads...usually on the floor. They have learned to avoid the coffee table and the bottom of the kitchen hutch but they trip...when crawling no less, and face-plant. Either or both have been known to have pretty good bruises on their foreheads at least once a week.
I've gotten used to the sounds of their playing...and falling. Depending on the sound of the thump, I've learned to respond appropriately. Sounds in general tell me what's going on but more importantly, the sound of silence is even more telling.
Last week, during our morning ritual, I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the rocker in the bedroom while the kids played in the hallway. They like to crawl around in the hallway, the bathroom, their room and our closet.
It suddenly dawned on me that it was completely silent.
Not good!
I left my coffee and headed down the hall to find that one of the boys had unraveled most of a roll of toilet paper, which was now piled up in the middle of the floor, and the other was happily chewing away on a wad of it that was so big it would make a professional baseball player jealous.
About the time I walked into the bathroom the one that had been doing the unrolling, discovered this little handle thingy on the toilet tank.
Flush!!!
Unfortunately, he liked the sound. Fortunately, it takes about 35 seconds to refill the tank on the toilet. Which is approximately the amount of time necessary to gather up the toilet paper, remove the disgusting pulp from the one's mouth and move both boys out of the room and close the door.
The bathroom door is now closed all the time and, just in case one of us should happen to leave the door open, the toilet paper is now located on the edge of the sink.
I draw the line at removing the flush handle.
As I've mentioned, I like to start my day slowly with a cup of coffee and the boys like to play upstairs. We now keep all doors upstairs closed with the exception of the master bedroom and the master closet.
They love to play in the closet.
Chewing on shoelaces is a favorite pastime as is, evidently pulling dirty clothes out of the laundry basket that serves as our hamper.
This was discovered one morning as I sat happily rocking away, sipping my coffee and reading the news. I noticed that the boys were a little too quite. As I was getting up to head into the closet to see what they were doing, one of them came crawling out of the closet with a pair of my panties in his mouth like a lion dragging home a kill!
Eeeeeeeeeew!!!
Nobody saw it and if I didn't write about it, no one would even know...but I was mortified! They carry stuff in their mouths all the time...just not my underwear. I don't even think it would have been ok if he had had a clean pair in his mouth. Somethings you just don't put in your mouth...period!
This no doubt will not be the last time that I am completely grossed out by something that one of my boys' puts in his mouth. I am sure the words, "Don't put that in your mouth!" will be said at least a million times but hey, that battle's got to be better than dealing with a flailing, poop-covered baby...Right?!
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Mornings, Midnights and Mayhem
I am not a morning person.
If I could sleep until 7:30 every morning I would be a happy girl. Most mornings however, at least one of my boys is awake at 6 am or 5:30, 5:00, 4:30, 7:00, 7:30...you get the point.
There doesn't seem to be any real consistent time that he sleeps until. And, before you go analyzing it, there isn't any particular reason either. This is the child that can go 5-6 hours on a 20 minute power nap. The fact that I ever even get to sleep until 6 is often a miracle.
My favorite mornings are the ones where both boys are awake and "talking" to each other across the room.
I love waking up to giggles.
I truly believe that there is no better way to wake up in the morning than to happy, giggling babies. This used to be the exception but lately it has been the rule. There is just no way to have a bad day when your kids wake you up like that.
I wish the nights were as wonderful. Unfortunately, one of my boys has been having night terrors.
Despite my repeated attempts to clarify the difference between nightmares and night terrors to my mother she insists that it has something to do with the way we play with the boys.
The boys love, love, LOVE to be tossed around. One of them in particular really gets a kick out of being swung by his ankles, upside down and dropped on his back onto the bed or sofa. He gets the biggest smile and laughs out loud.
Truly a LOL - not the I'm smiling to myself LOL that we associate with Facebook.
The higher the better. If we can toss him onto the bed and make him bounce he gets even happier.
He is our wild child.
The other one likes to bounce but prefers to be on the bed on his back and have one of us bounce the bed. He thinks it's hysterical. He is also the one that is capable of entertaining himself for long periods of time with no other human interaction. He will sit and turn pages of books as if he is reading or study a pair of plastic toy pliers like he is looking for a way to improve them. He will be the head of engineering.
The daredevil is happiest on a lap. He loves people and doesn't care who they are. He will go to anyone and be happy as a clam in their arms. He is very stubborn, throws temper tantrums when told "No", smiles at everyone in the stores and already likes to be the center of attention. He will be the head of marketing.
Night terrors, as you may know, have no similarity to nightmares other than sharing the word "night." It is a sleep disruption, not related to dreaming. When we pass from one sleep stage to another it is usually a seamless transition that we don't notice because, well...we're asleep.
Kids with night terrors are disturbed by the transition.
You know when you're falling asleep and suddenly get the sensation that you're falling from a cliff? That's the same thing that happens to cause the night terror. They never wake up they just thrash and cry and sometimes scream. It can last anywhere from a couple of minutes to half and hour and there is really nothing anyone can do about it other than keep the child from hurting themselves when thrashing around.
In doing research I discovered that children don't often experience these until about 18 months. Mine are 11 months. We are ahead of the curve, so to speak.
Lucky us.
The good news is that he's been having these about an hour and a half after he's been asleep - and I am still awake. Dealing with an incoherent, unresponsive child is difficult enough. Doing so from a sound sleep is harder. I usually pick him up and sit in the rocker until he settles down and goes back to sleep. I wait a few extra minutes to make sure that he's really under and then put him back in his crib. Fortunately, once the episode is over he's usually down for the night.
If all goes well I wake to giggling.
We usually start the day upstairs in the master bedroom. I bunch up the comforter from our bed and have the boys lie down on it to have their morning bottles while I hang out in the rocking recliner sipping my coffee. The boys will play with each other for about 30-45 minutes while I read my email and then we venture downstairs for morning snack and more playtime.
Most days are pretty good. But... I'm sure you've heard of Controlled Chaos? Well, I live in Managed Mayhem.
They have learned to divide and conquer. If I catch them doing something that requires the word "no" and I have to head over to them they will crawl in opposite directions.
Smart little buggers!
I usually grab whoever is the closest and, if need be, put them in the playpen or at the very least, move them to the playroom. The head of engineering will usually busy himself with whatever I put in front of him. The head of marketing will decide that he needs a new plan and will head in another direction.
In addition to crawling the boys have begun to climb. I do know that there is little we can do to prevent this from happening. Oh sure, we've installed the baby gates at the top and bottom of the stairs. The basement door is now closed all of the time and we have locks on the cabinets with dangerous or breakable stuff in them.
However, my kitchen island is actually a commercial prep table with a shelf on the bottom of it that has been cleaned off of all baking items. Recently the boys have begun to climb on it. I use it as an easy place to store toys when I'm cleaning. Now, I am constantly trying to keep them from climbing on that shelf and the lower shelf of our end table.
We also have a stone fireplace and a rather large hearth.
The other day I was working at the kitchen table and looked up to find both boys on the hearth holding onto stone the fireplace as if they were about to begin a rock-climbing exercise.
A week ago, the boys were in the playroom which is located in the front of the house next to the stairs. They like to rattle the gate at the bottom of the stairs and I thought to myself that I hadn't heard the gate so I went to make sure that it was closed.
It wasn't.
I turned the corner and the head of marketing, who was 2/3 of the way up the stairs, turned and reached for me. He cartwheeled and as his feet came up over his head I caught his ankles. He was not injured and surprisingly I did not suffer a heart attack. I keep the gate closed almost all of the time now.
Between snacks, playtime, meals, naps, picking up toys and laundry my days fly by. Things I thought I would be able to finish in a day - take two, sometimes three, days to complete and of course I frequently forget what I was doing before I was interrupted by the heads of engineering and marketing to settle a dispute...or change a diaper.
The house frequently looks like FAO Schwartz puked in it. I pick up the toys two to three times a day. Not because I am some sort of anal-retentive neat freak but because I like to keep my ankles in whatever working order they have left.
We have the bottom shelf of the island in the kitchen, a cabinet in our entertainment center and the bottom shelf of the diaper changing table for toy storage. And if I am in a rush I just grab everything and toss it into the playpen. Thinking about this now, I'm surprised that I don't do that more often.
Some days I feel like all I do is follow the kids around the house saying, "No" or "Aah, aah, aah?" And, you know all those sayings that we swore we would never, ever say to our kids when we were younger? Yup, I'm there and they're only 11 months old.
I find myself actually saying things like, "Nobody wants to hear that noise, get your finger out of your brother's ear, and today was the first time I actually uttered the words: stop fighting."
I hate to admit it...But I sounded just like my mother.
If I could sleep until 7:30 every morning I would be a happy girl. Most mornings however, at least one of my boys is awake at 6 am or 5:30, 5:00, 4:30, 7:00, 7:30...you get the point.
There doesn't seem to be any real consistent time that he sleeps until. And, before you go analyzing it, there isn't any particular reason either. This is the child that can go 5-6 hours on a 20 minute power nap. The fact that I ever even get to sleep until 6 is often a miracle.
My favorite mornings are the ones where both boys are awake and "talking" to each other across the room.
I love waking up to giggles.
I truly believe that there is no better way to wake up in the morning than to happy, giggling babies. This used to be the exception but lately it has been the rule. There is just no way to have a bad day when your kids wake you up like that.
I wish the nights were as wonderful. Unfortunately, one of my boys has been having night terrors.
Despite my repeated attempts to clarify the difference between nightmares and night terrors to my mother she insists that it has something to do with the way we play with the boys.
The boys love, love, LOVE to be tossed around. One of them in particular really gets a kick out of being swung by his ankles, upside down and dropped on his back onto the bed or sofa. He gets the biggest smile and laughs out loud.
Truly a LOL - not the I'm smiling to myself LOL that we associate with Facebook.
The higher the better. If we can toss him onto the bed and make him bounce he gets even happier.
He is our wild child.
The other one likes to bounce but prefers to be on the bed on his back and have one of us bounce the bed. He thinks it's hysterical. He is also the one that is capable of entertaining himself for long periods of time with no other human interaction. He will sit and turn pages of books as if he is reading or study a pair of plastic toy pliers like he is looking for a way to improve them. He will be the head of engineering.
The daredevil is happiest on a lap. He loves people and doesn't care who they are. He will go to anyone and be happy as a clam in their arms. He is very stubborn, throws temper tantrums when told "No", smiles at everyone in the stores and already likes to be the center of attention. He will be the head of marketing.
Night terrors, as you may know, have no similarity to nightmares other than sharing the word "night." It is a sleep disruption, not related to dreaming. When we pass from one sleep stage to another it is usually a seamless transition that we don't notice because, well...we're asleep.
Kids with night terrors are disturbed by the transition.
You know when you're falling asleep and suddenly get the sensation that you're falling from a cliff? That's the same thing that happens to cause the night terror. They never wake up they just thrash and cry and sometimes scream. It can last anywhere from a couple of minutes to half and hour and there is really nothing anyone can do about it other than keep the child from hurting themselves when thrashing around.
In doing research I discovered that children don't often experience these until about 18 months. Mine are 11 months. We are ahead of the curve, so to speak.
Lucky us.
The good news is that he's been having these about an hour and a half after he's been asleep - and I am still awake. Dealing with an incoherent, unresponsive child is difficult enough. Doing so from a sound sleep is harder. I usually pick him up and sit in the rocker until he settles down and goes back to sleep. I wait a few extra minutes to make sure that he's really under and then put him back in his crib. Fortunately, once the episode is over he's usually down for the night.
If all goes well I wake to giggling.
We usually start the day upstairs in the master bedroom. I bunch up the comforter from our bed and have the boys lie down on it to have their morning bottles while I hang out in the rocking recliner sipping my coffee. The boys will play with each other for about 30-45 minutes while I read my email and then we venture downstairs for morning snack and more playtime.
Most days are pretty good. But... I'm sure you've heard of Controlled Chaos? Well, I live in Managed Mayhem.
They have learned to divide and conquer. If I catch them doing something that requires the word "no" and I have to head over to them they will crawl in opposite directions.
Smart little buggers!
I usually grab whoever is the closest and, if need be, put them in the playpen or at the very least, move them to the playroom. The head of engineering will usually busy himself with whatever I put in front of him. The head of marketing will decide that he needs a new plan and will head in another direction.
In addition to crawling the boys have begun to climb. I do know that there is little we can do to prevent this from happening. Oh sure, we've installed the baby gates at the top and bottom of the stairs. The basement door is now closed all of the time and we have locks on the cabinets with dangerous or breakable stuff in them.
However, my kitchen island is actually a commercial prep table with a shelf on the bottom of it that has been cleaned off of all baking items. Recently the boys have begun to climb on it. I use it as an easy place to store toys when I'm cleaning. Now, I am constantly trying to keep them from climbing on that shelf and the lower shelf of our end table.
We also have a stone fireplace and a rather large hearth.
The other day I was working at the kitchen table and looked up to find both boys on the hearth holding onto stone the fireplace as if they were about to begin a rock-climbing exercise.
A week ago, the boys were in the playroom which is located in the front of the house next to the stairs. They like to rattle the gate at the bottom of the stairs and I thought to myself that I hadn't heard the gate so I went to make sure that it was closed.
It wasn't.
I turned the corner and the head of marketing, who was 2/3 of the way up the stairs, turned and reached for me. He cartwheeled and as his feet came up over his head I caught his ankles. He was not injured and surprisingly I did not suffer a heart attack. I keep the gate closed almost all of the time now.
Between snacks, playtime, meals, naps, picking up toys and laundry my days fly by. Things I thought I would be able to finish in a day - take two, sometimes three, days to complete and of course I frequently forget what I was doing before I was interrupted by the heads of engineering and marketing to settle a dispute...or change a diaper.
The house frequently looks like FAO Schwartz puked in it. I pick up the toys two to three times a day. Not because I am some sort of anal-retentive neat freak but because I like to keep my ankles in whatever working order they have left.
We have the bottom shelf of the island in the kitchen, a cabinet in our entertainment center and the bottom shelf of the diaper changing table for toy storage. And if I am in a rush I just grab everything and toss it into the playpen. Thinking about this now, I'm surprised that I don't do that more often.
Some days I feel like all I do is follow the kids around the house saying, "No" or "Aah, aah, aah?" And, you know all those sayings that we swore we would never, ever say to our kids when we were younger? Yup, I'm there and they're only 11 months old.
I find myself actually saying things like, "Nobody wants to hear that noise, get your finger out of your brother's ear, and today was the first time I actually uttered the words: stop fighting."
I hate to admit it...But I sounded just like my mother.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Shut Up and Get in the Car!
Over the summer we spent four weekends away from home. Each trip was met with pretty good levels of success with a couple of little blips on the sleep schedule that can be more readily attributed to teething and growth spurts than to being in a different house. The kids are crawling so arriving anywhere involves an immediate sweep through the residence to put breakables, and pet food, out of reach.
It was such a relief to have these trips go well because packing for them was insane. I honestly had no idea what it took to get a family of four packed up and on the road. One night away or three, didn't matter the amount of stuff that we needed was nothing short of crazy!
When I was child my grandparents owned a farm in Chesapeake City, MD on the Bohemia River. We would spend a week or two at "the farm" every summer. To us kids, the farm was nothing short of heaven. Acres of cornfields that led down to the woods through which one had to travel to get to the boat house and the Bohemia River. There was old barn that housed a big beautiful owl, multiple out-buildings for exploring and a tractor and trailer that was used, among other things, to tow us kids around the property.
Depending on the time of day, you could walk forever before actually getting to the water if the tide was out. There was no shortage of rocks to look under, shells to collect and snakes to catch. If you were willing to sit quietly for long enough the deer would just about walk over you and woodchucks were abundant. Legend has it that my grandfather's dog even chased one up a tree.
The house was three stories tall with a central bannister that was sturdy enough to slide down from the very top all the way to the bottom, which we did every day. I don't think I ever actually walked down the stairs. I mean really, why would I? There was a banister. The front porch had the best swing imaginable. Napping on that thing was pretty commonplace.
The farm was such a great place! As a kid I could never understand why my parents weren't as excited about going there as we were...until now. I had no appreciation for the work that went into packing up a family for vacation.
Not only did mom have to do the laundry and pack for all five of us but she had to go to the grocery store, with us three in tow, to stock up on food for the week or two that we were going to be there. Dad would arrive home from work and pack the car or begin first thing the following morning while we all had breakfast. The last thing to be loaded was the dogs, one of whom would inevitably barf in the way-back of the station wagon.
Just before we got in the car the bathroom, "but I don't have to go!" battle would begin. We were instructed just to try sitting on the potty to see if maybe there was something that would come out. Then there was the seatbelt fight. My dad worked in the insurance industry. I'm pretty sure we were the only family whose children wore seat-belts in the early 70s.
The stress of getting the family ready for vacation had to be almost overwhelming!
The drive wasn't much more enjoyable either. True to form, my little sister would pass out as we backed out of the driveway. My brother and I would proceed to play volleyball with her head for as much of the trip as we could until one of us would bounce her head a little too hard, she would cry and the fights would begin.
We had a country squire station wagon with vinyl seats and no AC. Air conditioning then was 4/60: four windows down at 60 mph. If we were lucky our parents would angle the little triangular window on the door toward the back so that the breeze would really blow.
There was almost always a chorus of she's/he's touching me followed by my dad shouting, "don't make me pull this car over!" If we kicked the back of his seat or pushed our knees into the back of his seat he would perform the most amazing contortionist act where his arm would come over the seat and his vice-like hand would get ahold of the top out our knee. If you saw it coming you could try to squirm out of the way; however, remember - we wore seat belts, avoiding his grip was really almost impossible.
I distinctly recall asking every parent's most dreaded question: "Are we there yet?"
Why they never left us on the side of the road is beyond me!
Packing for two adults and two infants is no less insane. I can't get over the amount of stuff that we need just to go away for the night: two pack-n-plays, two booster seats, a double stroller, baby food, toys, clothing, blankets, diapers, wipes, spoons, bowls and a bib for each boy for each meal.
Loading the car is akin to assembling a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Put one item in the wrong place and the rest will not fit. Packing, loading and driving all needs to be coordinated so that feeding can commence upon arrival and doesn't interrupt what little nap schedule they have.
Comparatively, right now I have it easy.
I do all of this while the kids sit in their highchairs eating Cheerios or Puffs. The do not whine about which toys to bring, they do not argue about having to go the bathroom and they don't fight with each other about who gets to sit on which side of the car.
This too shall pass. I have no doubt that the time will come where I will be just as cranky as my parents were after getting the car loaded for the family vacation and arguing about going to the potty one last time. I am absolutely certain that the day will come when I utter the words, "Shut up and get in the car!"
It was such a relief to have these trips go well because packing for them was insane. I honestly had no idea what it took to get a family of four packed up and on the road. One night away or three, didn't matter the amount of stuff that we needed was nothing short of crazy!
When I was child my grandparents owned a farm in Chesapeake City, MD on the Bohemia River. We would spend a week or two at "the farm" every summer. To us kids, the farm was nothing short of heaven. Acres of cornfields that led down to the woods through which one had to travel to get to the boat house and the Bohemia River. There was old barn that housed a big beautiful owl, multiple out-buildings for exploring and a tractor and trailer that was used, among other things, to tow us kids around the property.
Depending on the time of day, you could walk forever before actually getting to the water if the tide was out. There was no shortage of rocks to look under, shells to collect and snakes to catch. If you were willing to sit quietly for long enough the deer would just about walk over you and woodchucks were abundant. Legend has it that my grandfather's dog even chased one up a tree.
The house was three stories tall with a central bannister that was sturdy enough to slide down from the very top all the way to the bottom, which we did every day. I don't think I ever actually walked down the stairs. I mean really, why would I? There was a banister. The front porch had the best swing imaginable. Napping on that thing was pretty commonplace.
The farm was such a great place! As a kid I could never understand why my parents weren't as excited about going there as we were...until now. I had no appreciation for the work that went into packing up a family for vacation.
Not only did mom have to do the laundry and pack for all five of us but she had to go to the grocery store, with us three in tow, to stock up on food for the week or two that we were going to be there. Dad would arrive home from work and pack the car or begin first thing the following morning while we all had breakfast. The last thing to be loaded was the dogs, one of whom would inevitably barf in the way-back of the station wagon.
Just before we got in the car the bathroom, "but I don't have to go!" battle would begin. We were instructed just to try sitting on the potty to see if maybe there was something that would come out. Then there was the seatbelt fight. My dad worked in the insurance industry. I'm pretty sure we were the only family whose children wore seat-belts in the early 70s.
The stress of getting the family ready for vacation had to be almost overwhelming!
The drive wasn't much more enjoyable either. True to form, my little sister would pass out as we backed out of the driveway. My brother and I would proceed to play volleyball with her head for as much of the trip as we could until one of us would bounce her head a little too hard, she would cry and the fights would begin.
We had a country squire station wagon with vinyl seats and no AC. Air conditioning then was 4/60: four windows down at 60 mph. If we were lucky our parents would angle the little triangular window on the door toward the back so that the breeze would really blow.
There was almost always a chorus of she's/he's touching me followed by my dad shouting, "don't make me pull this car over!" If we kicked the back of his seat or pushed our knees into the back of his seat he would perform the most amazing contortionist act where his arm would come over the seat and his vice-like hand would get ahold of the top out our knee. If you saw it coming you could try to squirm out of the way; however, remember - we wore seat belts, avoiding his grip was really almost impossible.
I distinctly recall asking every parent's most dreaded question: "Are we there yet?"
Why they never left us on the side of the road is beyond me!
Packing for two adults and two infants is no less insane. I can't get over the amount of stuff that we need just to go away for the night: two pack-n-plays, two booster seats, a double stroller, baby food, toys, clothing, blankets, diapers, wipes, spoons, bowls and a bib for each boy for each meal.
Loading the car is akin to assembling a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Put one item in the wrong place and the rest will not fit. Packing, loading and driving all needs to be coordinated so that feeding can commence upon arrival and doesn't interrupt what little nap schedule they have.
Comparatively, right now I have it easy.
I do all of this while the kids sit in their highchairs eating Cheerios or Puffs. The do not whine about which toys to bring, they do not argue about having to go the bathroom and they don't fight with each other about who gets to sit on which side of the car.
This too shall pass. I have no doubt that the time will come where I will be just as cranky as my parents were after getting the car loaded for the family vacation and arguing about going to the potty one last time. I am absolutely certain that the day will come when I utter the words, "Shut up and get in the car!"
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Stellar Parenting Skills
"I'm so pissed off I could spit nails!" was what came out of my mouth when my friend answered her phone. I was on the way home from the cake supply store when I was passed, like I was standing still, by a woman in a green Toyota Camry and a toddler leaping around in the backseat of her car!
REALLY??? In this day and age? Who the hell doesn't buckle their kid in?
"You don't have to have an I.Q. to have children," was my friends response.
Unfortunately, she is right. Just walk into any Walmart and you will see a plethora of individuals who were standing behind the door the day brains were handed out!
Anyway, prior to calling my bestie, I had called 911 to report the Camry owner's threat to her children. There were in fact two children in the backseat. She'll probably have some lame-ass excuse for not having the kid buckled in like, "he just screams when he's in his seat." Well quite frankly, a screaming baby is much better than a dead one in my book but what the hell do I know?
If her excuse is that she can't afford one then maybe she could quit smoking. Yes, she was smoking, with the kids in the car. Just a glowing example of stellar parenting skills here. A car seat at Walmart, where I'm sure she already spends a significant amount of time, is $78. Cigarettes in the great state of Delaware where her car is licensed, are $6 per pack. That's only 13 days off the coffin nails to protect her kid. Besides she shouldn't be smoking around them anyway!
The 911 operator said she would contact the state police and that I should stop following her, which I did. I have my own wonderful kids to worry about. Besides I only followed her to get her license plate number.
Speaking of Walmart, I was kidless the other day and stopped in quickly to grab a couple of staples that we had run out of. When I only have two or three items I usually go through the self checkout aisles. There is always someone at one of those things with a cart chock-full of crap and has no idea what they are doing as was the case that day. To make it even worse, she had one of the most OBNOXIOUS children with her that I have had the displeasure to be around in quite some time. This in itself is a bit of an accomplishment as I tend to go to Walmart pretty regularly.
The mother was trying to run items through the scanner and the little girl wanted to be in charge of which items were put through. Doesn't sound too bad right? Yeah well you couldn't be more wrong! The child screamed at the top of her lungs each time the "wrong" item was put through. The mother did nothing!!! Not a "shhhh," "stop," or "No" was uttered from her lips. She just proceeded on as if nothing was wrong. Not so much for the rest of us. The employees, the other customers and I stood gape-mouthed staring at this spectacle.
"Not my children," was the thought that played through my mind with each obnoxious scream.
Granted the twins are only 10 months old but I would never, and I do mean never, tolerate that type of behavior. I don't even tolerate it now and yes 10 month old boys have tempers and throw temper tantrums. When they do they are removed from whatever they are doing and put in the playpen, crib or have their highchair turned around to face the wall. I have no intention of waiting until they are older to begin disciplining them.
They are learning the word No and are praised when they respond properly. One trip out in public tells me that my hubby and I are the minority when it comes to disciplining our kids.
I watched a young teenager tell her mother to "shut up!" in a store the other day. I can't even imagine what life would have been like upon returning home had I chosen to speak to my mother like that, and in public no less!
Yup we were spanked. There is this idiotic philosophy that tells us that spanking kids breeds violence. Um...I'm pretty sure "the experts" have gotten that one wrong. If that were the case we would be a gentler society, I don't know about you, but that is definitely not my impression of things these days.
Don't get me wrong here, I DO NOT condone child abuse, but I do believer that a smack on the ass is an effective way to get their attention and let them know that they have crossed the line. I love my boys and would do anything for them and that includes helping them to become productive, respected members of society.
I will not raise leeches!
My boys will know how to cook, clean, do laundry and fend for themselves. They will do chores. They will have a good work ethic and be respectful to others.
We are their parents and if we do right by them, they will love and respect us for the lessons they have learned and for the men that they will become.
We are raising someone's future husbands.
REALLY??? In this day and age? Who the hell doesn't buckle their kid in?
"You don't have to have an I.Q. to have children," was my friends response.
Unfortunately, she is right. Just walk into any Walmart and you will see a plethora of individuals who were standing behind the door the day brains were handed out!
Anyway, prior to calling my bestie, I had called 911 to report the Camry owner's threat to her children. There were in fact two children in the backseat. She'll probably have some lame-ass excuse for not having the kid buckled in like, "he just screams when he's in his seat." Well quite frankly, a screaming baby is much better than a dead one in my book but what the hell do I know?
If her excuse is that she can't afford one then maybe she could quit smoking. Yes, she was smoking, with the kids in the car. Just a glowing example of stellar parenting skills here. A car seat at Walmart, where I'm sure she already spends a significant amount of time, is $78. Cigarettes in the great state of Delaware where her car is licensed, are $6 per pack. That's only 13 days off the coffin nails to protect her kid. Besides she shouldn't be smoking around them anyway!
The 911 operator said she would contact the state police and that I should stop following her, which I did. I have my own wonderful kids to worry about. Besides I only followed her to get her license plate number.
Speaking of Walmart, I was kidless the other day and stopped in quickly to grab a couple of staples that we had run out of. When I only have two or three items I usually go through the self checkout aisles. There is always someone at one of those things with a cart chock-full of crap and has no idea what they are doing as was the case that day. To make it even worse, she had one of the most OBNOXIOUS children with her that I have had the displeasure to be around in quite some time. This in itself is a bit of an accomplishment as I tend to go to Walmart pretty regularly.
The mother was trying to run items through the scanner and the little girl wanted to be in charge of which items were put through. Doesn't sound too bad right? Yeah well you couldn't be more wrong! The child screamed at the top of her lungs each time the "wrong" item was put through. The mother did nothing!!! Not a "shhhh," "stop," or "No" was uttered from her lips. She just proceeded on as if nothing was wrong. Not so much for the rest of us. The employees, the other customers and I stood gape-mouthed staring at this spectacle.
"Not my children," was the thought that played through my mind with each obnoxious scream.
Granted the twins are only 10 months old but I would never, and I do mean never, tolerate that type of behavior. I don't even tolerate it now and yes 10 month old boys have tempers and throw temper tantrums. When they do they are removed from whatever they are doing and put in the playpen, crib or have their highchair turned around to face the wall. I have no intention of waiting until they are older to begin disciplining them.
They are learning the word No and are praised when they respond properly. One trip out in public tells me that my hubby and I are the minority when it comes to disciplining our kids.
I watched a young teenager tell her mother to "shut up!" in a store the other day. I can't even imagine what life would have been like upon returning home had I chosen to speak to my mother like that, and in public no less!
Yup we were spanked. There is this idiotic philosophy that tells us that spanking kids breeds violence. Um...I'm pretty sure "the experts" have gotten that one wrong. If that were the case we would be a gentler society, I don't know about you, but that is definitely not my impression of things these days.
Don't get me wrong here, I DO NOT condone child abuse, but I do believer that a smack on the ass is an effective way to get their attention and let them know that they have crossed the line. I love my boys and would do anything for them and that includes helping them to become productive, respected members of society.
I will not raise leeches!
My boys will know how to cook, clean, do laundry and fend for themselves. They will do chores. They will have a good work ethic and be respectful to others.
We are their parents and if we do right by them, they will love and respect us for the lessons they have learned and for the men that they will become.
We are raising someone's future husbands.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Calm, Cool and Collected...Sometimes
I have never considered
myself to be the overprotective type. Oh, I can be a momma bear when it comes
to someone hurting someone I love, but I know that our kids will get boo-boos.
And not all situations require 911.
I truly believe in the
concept of "boys will be boys” and fully expect to end up in the
emergency room some day.
I have seen children freak
out and cry when they plop down on their butts (not a cry-worthy experience as
far as I am concerned) simply because their parent's overreaction.
Not only do I not do the,
"Oh my gawd, are you ok?!" over-the-top reaction; I tend to go the
other way.
I laugh.
I fear that I am warping my children.
I'm not a monster. If one
if them seriously bangs their head or really falls, I give them the proper
boo-boo attention that includes kissing and rocking but if we are talking about a small bonk
or slight crash, when they look to me to see how they should react, I simply
laugh.
This might be having an
adverse effect.
In the evenings my hubby and I each take a kid and play on the sofa. They crawl around and bounce on the pillows. Well, one night we were doing our regular bouncing routine and one of the boys face-planted into the pillows. The other one laughed...hard.
In the evenings my hubby and I each take a kid and play on the sofa. They crawl around and bounce on the pillows. Well, one night we were doing our regular bouncing routine and one of the boys face-planted into the pillows. The other one laughed...hard.
Who knows where this will
lead down the road?
Knowing that the boys will
get boo-boos and having them do so are two entirely different creatures.
Recently, while washing
bottles one afternoon, I heard a weird noise in the playroom (formerly the formal
living room AKA the Tea Room). I dried my hands and rounded the corner to
discover that one of my boys was painting on the wall with something. Upon
further inspection I discovered that it was blood!
Holy Hell!!!
I scooped him up and ran to
the sink to wash his hand off and see where it was coming from. It seems that
he had managed to stick his tiny little fingers into the air return vent for
the A/C and slice the tops of his fingers.
Once washed off, I called
my neighbor, a retired EMT, to come check him out. I tried desperately to be
calm and explain what had happened and ended with, “CAN YOU COME CHECK HIM
OUT!”
I was far from calm and now
I was crying.
My son on the other hand
was not crying and was simply concerned with trying to eat the paper towel that
I had wrapped around his fingers.
My neighbor arrived within
seconds and declared that my son was fine. The bleeding had stopped completely.
The cuts were the equivalent of paper cuts. He even advised me not to put
Band-Aids on his little fingers, as he would just try to chew them off and then
choke on them.
Hmmm good thinking.
So much for the calm, cool,
collected mom that is not overprotective and knows that her kids will get
boo-boos huh?
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Did you really just say that?!
Ok, so, let me ask the other moms out there... Does your mother give you idiotic advice or ask you ridiculous questions?
After walking through the Farmers' Market, on our way to lunch, I realized that I had forgotten to pack the boys' Cheerios. Cheerios have become a staple in our house. Sam's club sells two large boxes for $5.28. We are completely stocked up! Anyway...I paused and said that I didn't have the container of Cheerios for the boys but I would ask for oyster crackers or saltines to hold them over until we got back to the house. Her reply was, "You'll have to break them up!" REALLY?!?! I hadn't thought of that. I was just going to let nine-month-old boys stuff as many crackers into their mouths as possible and see what happened. Maybe I'd finally get to use my Red Cross training!
I questioned her need to constantly state the obvious or give me advice that implies that I am a complete and utter moron. She said that all mother's do that. Um...No. Sorry mom, but you are the only mom I have ever heard say things like this.
She has never outgrown the need to make sure I am safe and now her over-protective nature is over-flowing onto my kids. I appreciate the concern but seriously, take a breath and think before engaging mouth.
And everyone wonders where I get it!
In the middle of the summer when the heat was nearing 100 degrees after telling her that I let the car run to cool it off before putting the kids in it, I was lectured about not leaving the kids in the car alone...You mean like you used to? The trailer-hitch incident is legendary in our family!
Mom and I talk every day. This affords her ample opportunities to ask me ridiculous crap. Driving down the road on the way to the store in the middle of the day on the phone with mom, "Are the kids with you?" she asks. "No," I replied. "They were sleeping so I left them at home. Of course they're with me! Where do you think they would be?!"
She is one of the smartest women I know. She is an award winning writer, was an editor, has a vocabulary that puts Webster to shame and all with only a high school degree and a few college credits. Yet, she sometimes lacks ALL common sense. Years ago while waiting for my sister to come through the customs' doors after an international flight, my mom tapped me on the leg and said, "Here, take this and shoot them when they come thru the doors." As people began to dive to the floor I ripped the camera from her hand held it above my head and shouted, "Camera! It's just a camera people!" Thank God this was before the Patriot Act!
While in a parking lot waiting for the torrential downpour to end so she could run into the store, she told me she had to have her windshield wipers on fast forward - As opposed to reverse?
Today, after a really wonderful barbecue at her house she was trying to get me to take the leftover apple pie home. I told her that both hubby and I were trying to lose weight. She said that I looked fine and didn't need to lose any weight. I replied that my clothes were still too tight. She said that was because my clothes were too small. Um...yeah...that would be the weight loss part.
There seems to be something about being a mother that makes her brain take a vacation and I seem to be headed in the same direction.
Some people call it Mommy Brain. I've heard it referred to as Mom-nesia. Either way it can be defined as the sensation of losing the ability to think rationally combined with memory loss.
For example, I've been a sailor my whole life. Thanks to my dad, I know all the parts of a sailboat intimately. I started sailing lessons when I was about eight years old and for as long as I can remember, spent every summer racing with dad. Some boats were small; some were large but those summers are the bulk of the best memories of my life.
Recently I offered to make a birthday cake for my friend's son who will be turning 4. He wants a Jake and the Neverland Pirates cake. I did a little research and found a picture of the pirate ship and thought it would be really cool to make it out of cake. I pulled up the picture to show it to my hubby and explained that I thought the toughest part would be the...the...the point. My hubby, a die-hard sailor, looked at me totally aghast and said, "Do you mean the bow?" Yeah! That's it, the bow!!! Oh! My! GAWD!!! My father must be spinning in his grave! Never once before in my life have I referred to the bow of a boat as the "pointy end."
Until now.
It's official I have mom-nesia. I forget what I am saying in the middle of sentences. It takes me at least three tries to do just about anything and I am already calling the kids by the wrong names!
I am doomed!
I pick on my mom but the truth is that when the chips are down or if I need some advice she is the first person I call. I call her for Hollywood trivia. She knows actors and actresses like the back of her hand and could even tell me the name of the woman who played Hot Lips Houlihan in the movie M*A*S*H*.
I once called her from my office, first thing in the morning, to ask her what ennui meant. Not only did she know the word but she gave us the definition and used it in a sentence! This was impressive not just because she knew the word but because I couldn't even pronounce it and had to spell it for her. More importantly she had been sound asleep until my call had woken her up at 8:30 in the morning! Mom doesn't get up before the crack of 10!
She is a unbelievable writer. I dabble, she is a pro! I'm completely serious. If I were to compare the two of us I would be so intimidated that I would never publish a word. She has a blog too but doesn't write enough to satisfy any of us! Feel free to visit her site and let her know she needs to write more: Widowhood For Dummies
She is a Wonder Woman. She possesses and amazing knowledge of the English language, can plan an event, run any social function imaginable and is an authority on just about everything. She knows more about obscure medical stuff than most of the medical community and watches surgical shows for entertainment.
She knows the melody and lyrics to every children's nursery rhyme ever written and makes a point of singing the most annoying ear worms to the kids in my presence because she knows they drive me crazy! Skinamarinky dinky dink anyone?
Just don't ask her anything that involves geography. Her lack of knowledge is painful. She once asked me where Indianapolis was.
She possesses an air of authority that commands respect. Unless of course you are her daughter and are constantly bombarded with ridiculous advice like, "Don't leave the babies in the car" on a 100 degree day. I'm not saying I'm perfect, I'm just not that stupid.
If she were an American Indian her name would be, "She Who Must Not Be Denied." If she tells you to do something you'd better move! Doesn't matter if you are her child or not.
An order is an order.
You don't ever want to piss her off or threaten her children or grandchildren. She is the ultimate momma bear and when backed into a corner can come out so ferociously that you will be both begging for your life and apologizing in alternating breaths.
She has just about the worst diet of anyone that I know. She can live on leftover birthday cake for a week interspersed with Lean Cuisine frozen dinners and Pot Stickers with room temperature Sprite Zero to wash it all down.
And salad gives her heartburn.
After walking through the Farmers' Market, on our way to lunch, I realized that I had forgotten to pack the boys' Cheerios. Cheerios have become a staple in our house. Sam's club sells two large boxes for $5.28. We are completely stocked up! Anyway...I paused and said that I didn't have the container of Cheerios for the boys but I would ask for oyster crackers or saltines to hold them over until we got back to the house. Her reply was, "You'll have to break them up!" REALLY?!?! I hadn't thought of that. I was just going to let nine-month-old boys stuff as many crackers into their mouths as possible and see what happened. Maybe I'd finally get to use my Red Cross training!
I questioned her need to constantly state the obvious or give me advice that implies that I am a complete and utter moron. She said that all mother's do that. Um...No. Sorry mom, but you are the only mom I have ever heard say things like this.
She has never outgrown the need to make sure I am safe and now her over-protective nature is over-flowing onto my kids. I appreciate the concern but seriously, take a breath and think before engaging mouth.
And everyone wonders where I get it!
In the middle of the summer when the heat was nearing 100 degrees after telling her that I let the car run to cool it off before putting the kids in it, I was lectured about not leaving the kids in the car alone...You mean like you used to? The trailer-hitch incident is legendary in our family!
Mom and I talk every day. This affords her ample opportunities to ask me ridiculous crap. Driving down the road on the way to the store in the middle of the day on the phone with mom, "Are the kids with you?" she asks. "No," I replied. "They were sleeping so I left them at home. Of course they're with me! Where do you think they would be?!"
She is one of the smartest women I know. She is an award winning writer, was an editor, has a vocabulary that puts Webster to shame and all with only a high school degree and a few college credits. Yet, she sometimes lacks ALL common sense. Years ago while waiting for my sister to come through the customs' doors after an international flight, my mom tapped me on the leg and said, "Here, take this and shoot them when they come thru the doors." As people began to dive to the floor I ripped the camera from her hand held it above my head and shouted, "Camera! It's just a camera people!" Thank God this was before the Patriot Act!
While in a parking lot waiting for the torrential downpour to end so she could run into the store, she told me she had to have her windshield wipers on fast forward - As opposed to reverse?
Today, after a really wonderful barbecue at her house she was trying to get me to take the leftover apple pie home. I told her that both hubby and I were trying to lose weight. She said that I looked fine and didn't need to lose any weight. I replied that my clothes were still too tight. She said that was because my clothes were too small. Um...yeah...that would be the weight loss part.
There seems to be something about being a mother that makes her brain take a vacation and I seem to be headed in the same direction.
Some people call it Mommy Brain. I've heard it referred to as Mom-nesia. Either way it can be defined as the sensation of losing the ability to think rationally combined with memory loss.
For example, I've been a sailor my whole life. Thanks to my dad, I know all the parts of a sailboat intimately. I started sailing lessons when I was about eight years old and for as long as I can remember, spent every summer racing with dad. Some boats were small; some were large but those summers are the bulk of the best memories of my life.
Recently I offered to make a birthday cake for my friend's son who will be turning 4. He wants a Jake and the Neverland Pirates cake. I did a little research and found a picture of the pirate ship and thought it would be really cool to make it out of cake. I pulled up the picture to show it to my hubby and explained that I thought the toughest part would be the...the...the point. My hubby, a die-hard sailor, looked at me totally aghast and said, "Do you mean the bow?" Yeah! That's it, the bow!!! Oh! My! GAWD!!! My father must be spinning in his grave! Never once before in my life have I referred to the bow of a boat as the "pointy end."
Until now.
It's official I have mom-nesia. I forget what I am saying in the middle of sentences. It takes me at least three tries to do just about anything and I am already calling the kids by the wrong names!
I am doomed!
I pick on my mom but the truth is that when the chips are down or if I need some advice she is the first person I call. I call her for Hollywood trivia. She knows actors and actresses like the back of her hand and could even tell me the name of the woman who played Hot Lips Houlihan in the movie M*A*S*H*.
I once called her from my office, first thing in the morning, to ask her what ennui meant. Not only did she know the word but she gave us the definition and used it in a sentence! This was impressive not just because she knew the word but because I couldn't even pronounce it and had to spell it for her. More importantly she had been sound asleep until my call had woken her up at 8:30 in the morning! Mom doesn't get up before the crack of 10!
She is a unbelievable writer. I dabble, she is a pro! I'm completely serious. If I were to compare the two of us I would be so intimidated that I would never publish a word. She has a blog too but doesn't write enough to satisfy any of us! Feel free to visit her site and let her know she needs to write more: Widowhood For Dummies
She is a Wonder Woman. She possesses and amazing knowledge of the English language, can plan an event, run any social function imaginable and is an authority on just about everything. She knows more about obscure medical stuff than most of the medical community and watches surgical shows for entertainment.
She knows the melody and lyrics to every children's nursery rhyme ever written and makes a point of singing the most annoying ear worms to the kids in my presence because she knows they drive me crazy! Skinamarinky dinky dink anyone?
Just don't ask her anything that involves geography. Her lack of knowledge is painful. She once asked me where Indianapolis was.
She possesses an air of authority that commands respect. Unless of course you are her daughter and are constantly bombarded with ridiculous advice like, "Don't leave the babies in the car" on a 100 degree day. I'm not saying I'm perfect, I'm just not that stupid.
If she were an American Indian her name would be, "She Who Must Not Be Denied." If she tells you to do something you'd better move! Doesn't matter if you are her child or not.
An order is an order.
You don't ever want to piss her off or threaten her children or grandchildren. She is the ultimate momma bear and when backed into a corner can come out so ferociously that you will be both begging for your life and apologizing in alternating breaths.
She has just about the worst diet of anyone that I know. She can live on leftover birthday cake for a week interspersed with Lean Cuisine frozen dinners and Pot Stickers with room temperature Sprite Zero to wash it all down.
And salad gives her heartburn.
She is the person we all go to when we need help and it doesn't matter what the problem is. A friend went to her because they were going to be cutting off her husband's government benefits. Mom took on the cause like it was hers and didn't give up until she got a Senator on the phone and got him to commit to helping her friends - which he did.
I remember being so mad at her when I was a teenager and wondered if I would ever be able to be friends with her. I may tease her but we are more than friends now, we are buddies. My day is not complete unless we talk...at least once.
Usually at dinnertime...the woman has a knack for calling whenever we are eating!
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