Just

There is no "just" when you have kids.

Before children, which has only been 14 months, if we wanted to go out for dinner all we had to do was grab our coats and head out the door. Every aspect of our lives has changed since we had kids. Not only can we not "just go out for dinner" but we can no longer "just run to the store," "just take a nap," or even "just run upstairs for a quickie!"

I have learned to tolerate soggy cereal and I have even stopped eating oatmeal for breakfast as I can't stand it when it's cold!

I was relatively prepared for the change in lifestyle, and since having children was such a long endeavor, I welcomed the changes...I thought.

I would no longer be jetting around the country for work or spend my evenings line dancing.

I was going to be a mother and had every misconception about that experience running through my head that you can imagine. My days would be full of fun times with happy-go-lucky children, who were brilliant and charming...I thought.

That still may come; for now however, my days are filled with dirty diapers, barf, drool and whining.

A. Noise. I. Despise!

I can't stand whining when it comes from any kid, and maybe because it's coming from mine, I really hate it. I mean really, it's sooooo annoying. I called my bestie the other day to ask if I should feel guilty for wanting to lock my kids in the house and go for a long drive because the stuntman was driving me crazy.

No one in their right mind romanticizes the idea of snuggling with a whiner! So I was largely unprepared to deal with a child who does. Hence the desire to take a long slow drive around the block...alone!

If you say that you've never been irritated by your child I'm just going to call BS now!

Don't get me wrong here. I love my boys. They are beautiful, adorable and extremely cute. Most of the time they are really happy and I love spending time with them and learning to see the world all over again through their eyes. However, they can also drive me nuts.

The whining is enough to put me over the edge.

Teething has truly sucked beyond words but they won't be teething forever. However, I'm a little nervous however, that they will whine forever.

The stuntman's primary form of communication seems to come in the form of whining. He does it when he has something that he wants me to open, he does it when his brother refuses to let him steal the toy he was playing with and he does it when something is wrong.

The volume seems to be the only way to tell the severity of his need.

He's sort of a sky is falling type of kid. He whines all the time so it's pretty hard to know when there is something serious.

The good news is that he has learned the word "ball." Well, we think it's ball. Bottle, bear and ball all come out as "bah." You have to look at what he's pointing at to decipher his intention.

Last night for about two straight hours he walked around the first floor of the house saying, "bah." As irritating as it might have been, he wasn't whining!!!

Thank God for small favors!

Lately, the boys have been into sharing their food with us. They fight over toys but are more than willing to give daddy or me a bite of their grilled cheese, PB&J sandwiches, crackers, etc.

This morning, while I was cutting up their oranges, the engineer had finished is banana and Cheerios. By happenstance their highchairs were close enough that they could reach each others hands. I looked up from the cutting board just in time to see the stuntman reach out with a handful of banana and Cheerios to the engineer who took it and put it in his mouth.

They were sharing with each other!!!

Not only was this ADORABLE but for children who often whine and hit each other over the head with toys when they don't want to share, this was nothing less than amazing.

Think I'll just go say a prayer of thanks.

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!"

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.

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!

The Blow-Out System

The list of things that gross me out is getting pretty long. I didn't used to be the type of person that one would consider squeamish (well unless you consider my arachnophobia but that's a fear not a gross-out factor) that was before I stepped in cold baby puke on my way to bed. Hubby asked why I didn't step in it while it was warm? Funny guy.

When the boys are in their highchairs snacking on Cheerios they tend to drop a considerable amount of them into the chair alongside their thighs and near their adorable little behinds. We usually reach down, scoop them up and put them back on their trays. This is an every day, sometimes multiple times a day, occurrence. So much so in fact that I no longer do the full-body flinch when coming in contact with wet, mushy Cheerios. Its just part of the experience.

Imagine my surprise the other night when I reached into the highchair to do the usual Cheerio harvest and came up with a handful of poop! Yup, baby poop! Not the brownish-yellow poop that one usually envisions when the words baby and poop are uttered in the same sentence; this was spinach week. The poo was exceptionally dark and well, leafy.

I screamed.

Hubby ran in from the other room to see what was going on only to discover me standing in the middle of the kitchen with my left hand covered in poop (oh and I was overdue to cut my nails - I'll let you draw that picture) telling him to get the paper towels to put down on the changing table.

We have come up with a "system" for dealing with blowouts, which for one of my boys seems to be a way of life. One of us grabs the paper towels and lays them out on the changing table. The other, carrying the baby, as my grandmother would say, "Like they were carrying a dead cat," brings the child in and puts him down on the towels and commences to change the diaper and clothing. While that is being done the first parent - usually the hubby - returns to the scene of the crime to deal with the clean up.

Minor blowouts are dealt with Clorox Clean-Ups. Major blowouts require the use of the garden hose which, I believe, we have resorted to at least five times now. If the hose is necessary, once the chunks are removed the highchair cover - which by the way is made of the most incredible material known to man - is taken to the washing machine where it is then washed on the "sanitize" cycle.

Once the diaper has been removed and all traces of poop have been scraped off the tushy, the diaper, wipes and paper towels go directly into the trashcan. This keeps us - and when I say us I mean me see Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat - from having to wash the changing pad cover every time there is a blow-out.

My hubby thinks I take pity on him when I choose to change the diapers but really I am taking pity on the babies. Hubby is wonderful and jumps in to help out on nearly everything but I am a better diaper changer in these scenarios so it is less stressful for the kids and, as much as I am humored by the sound, it keeps him from gagging!

He has come close the throwing up about three times, which in the span of nine months is not that much but I have never gagged. I guess that's because when I know there is a poopie diaper I expect it to be um...poopie.

There is nothing about poop that is attractive to look at.

I can't even begin to tell you the number of times that I have heard, "Oh! My! God!" when he is changing a diaper. Initially the OMG! was followed by the very distinct sound of gagging. He’s gotten better with the gagging but is still surprised on a regular basis.

I just can't fathom the shock.

Seriously...You couldn't smell that?