The epidemic of Birthday Parties

I was a little overzealous with birthday parties for my first two sons. First birthday parties 2nd, 3rd were huge productions. We rented out a place, invited a million other kids and their parents and at least $300 later we are at home with a crabby boy and a million toys that came from the clearance section of Walmart. This year, instead of parties, I decided to focus on the experience of their birthday rather than the party.  For Fin's 6th birthday we took the fam to LegoLand in Chicago, not exactly cheaper, but it was fun. I modified it even more for Parker's 8th birthday celebration and said he could invite 3 friends, (one of which had to be his brother) and we would go to the place of his choice.  After coercing him that he really didn't want to go to Chuck E. Cheeses we ended up at a bowling ally.  Why I believed that 4 pm on a Saturday would be an ideal birthday spot will baffle me until I die.  Parker is at the age where parents just drop kids off, which is good, because I don't have the pressure to entertain adults as well as children.  We had a babysitter for the 2 younger ones because the thought of a baby crawling on an ally floor brings out the germ-a phobe in anyone.  2 adults, 4 kids, do-able.
We purchased wrist bands that would allow them to have access to glow in the dark putt putt, go-carts and bowling.  I put our name in for a lane and I was given the wait time of 2 hours.  A long time, yes,  but we were there to have fun and gosh darn it we were going to. At least that is the lecture I gave Don before we left.  There was quite an interesting crowd at the bowling ally. As Don stood in line with the boys to ride the co-carts I parked myself at a picnic table with our mountain of coats.  I could feel Don glaring at me from the line and mouthed to him to watch our coats while I got a snack for the kids and a diet coke for me.  After the very "enthusiastic" teenager gave me my popcorn I headed back to the table. Only to be bumped by a dad walking around holding a beer.  There is a bar attached to this place.  Isn't there an open container law or some law about drunk men in a kids establishment?  When I decided to stop staring at my popcorn and look around,  I discovered that there were a lot of people carrying beers around as if it were tailgating during football season, except 99% of all the attendees were under the age of 12. By the time I got back to the post Don looked like they had moved about a foot and I motioned to him to come and get some popcorn, knowing very well, he was stuck in the fenced in holding area.
I sat people watching.  I noticed that most everyone there had a cell phone or smart phone and were half paying attention to there kids, that may explain why some little kid ate my popcorn.  I was kind of relieved when he did because I had consumed almost all of it by myself with in 5 minutes and would have finished it off if he hadn't stuck his grimy paw in it.  Just what I needed, sodium overload to make me appear that I'm 4 months pregnant again.
Now that I was feeling fat,  I was the one being cranky, not Don. Especially when he emerged from the line asking where all the popcorn was.
After losing a coin toss Don got to take them black light putt putting. Thankfully, because the last time I was in that area my hair looked like I had just stepped out of the playboy mansion and my teeth are equally vibrant, it is not kind environment for bottle blonds.
I happily held down the coat fort. I couldn't help but notice a very large bald man with manicured eye brows staring at me and when I would look over in his direction, he didn't glance elsewhere, he continued his glare, enough so to freak me out. He also was wearing an outfit that looked like he was on a day pass from prison.  Another observation was in comparison with other moms, I would be eligible for AARP. These woman must have had their kids at age 14.
Finally, our name was called and I lugged the coats over to our second location at lane 6 which was an oasis of normalcy.  I asked what size each boys shoes were and not a single one of them knew, including my own. I got them all size 2 , nobody complained or had blood, so I'm assuming that was a good choice.  I asked Don to go and get the boys sustenance that had some nutritional value, and he returned with nachos. But not the kind with meat and lettuce, the kind with just cheese, from a machine. Bowling and eating with your hands, what could be more sanitary?  After my son's took 1st and 2nd place (WTG, sons) it was time to go home. (Finally) We arrived and our 3 year old was so excited that we were adding two additional boys to our testosterone filled house.   They sprinted upstairs, they sprinted downstairs, this time without their shirts.  They sprinted back upstairs to put their shirts on. I considered opening a bottle of wine, but decided that it would be better until after the parents picked up, just for appearance sake.
I put a frozen pizza in the oven and took the cake out of the fridge.  By the time I called them down for dinner there was sweat dripping from their brows and their faces were pink. I don't think they stopped laughing from the moment they walked in.
After the last boy left I asked Parker what his favorite part of the party was, he said coming home.
So $100 later, all he wanted was to have some friends over to play.
Some of my fondest memories from my birthdays weren't the roller skating parties as much as  the times when my birthday fell on Spring Break and we were on vacation somewhere. In fact, the best that I remember was my 12th birthday and I was alone with my parents in Hilton Head, on the drive down I kept seeing billboards with the picture of Shoney's brownie ice cream bomb and after the 15th one, that is all I wanted. We stopped, they put a candle in it, and sitting with my parents at a dive, on the side of the bipass in a Shoeney's is still one to remember.  Not for another 20 years would I enjoy being alone with my parents again. My adolescence was ending and the  beginning of my teenage years was approaching. My only regret in blowing out the candle on my Shoneys cake is that I would have wished for some mercy for the next 8 years of my awkward teenage phase filled with acne and frizz.
I don't know when the epidemic of elaborate birthday's started, but what it has caused is a generation of spoiled teens, just watch MTV's my Sweet 16 and you will agree.  Perhaps it was an attempt to show your kid how much you loved them by the magnitude of the celebration, a nice gesture that gets lost in the gifts, cake and games. Proof of this is sitting on my kitchen island, which still has two gifts, that have been opened but not played with.
It was the 30 minutes spent with friends that my son enjoyed most, and next year I will know what to give him and it won't risk our sanity, or cost a thing...

If a woman calls out in forest of boys, will anyone hear her?

No, because the definition of sound is "something that you hear." No one is listening when the mom calls , so the mom doesn't make a sound. This answer is valid as long as no details are observed technically. And this seems to be the story of my life. 
It really amazes me that my voice can go undetected in my own home. This is the same voice that has gotten me in trouble so many times when it was heard during church or class. Or in my case sign language 101. I took this class my freshman year of college as a language credit. It was taught by a deaf instructor so as long as she wasn't looking, I thought I could talk to my friend across the room. Wow, I was wrong.
So even a deaf woman can hear me. Why can't my own sons, husband, brother, co-workers hear me?  I sometimes wonder if I have accidentally hit my mute button, a mute button I have yet to discover. When I find out, I will let you know.
I hear them. Something someone never tells you when you are pregnant is that when your child is born your hearing will be supersonic.  I believe that you acquire the hearing function from your husband and deplete him of late night hearing function.. I can hear a baby two rooms away when I'm dead asleep if they happened to mis-breathe, and I know I may have made that word up, but if you are a mom, you know exactly what I mean.
When I was in the hospital the day I had a c-section, I had a panic attack during surgery. It continued past recovery and into my hospital room. They gave me 2 ambian to calm me. I was asleep for 20 min. and my "sleep" was disturbed by my newborn, who I had known for 2 hours, crying in the nursery down the hall.
THAT is supersonic.
Unfortunately, our house has been hit with this stomach bug thing.  Because Jack has had a high fever he has been having nightmares. His cries could probably wake up our neighbors, but not my husband.  Lately, he has been hallucinating also. He was asking for a check mark last night, and seemed really upset when I couldn't produce one immediately at 3 a.m.  By the time I came to him with a juice box straw that somewhat resembled a check mark (the resourceful person I am)  he had already fallen asleep and never to ask for it again.
I also find a way to blame myself that he has gotten so sick. If only I would have breast fed him longer. If our house was cleaner, if I made him wash his hands more, or maybe I should wash my hands longer, etc.  What I do realize (and admit to feeding on) is the attention that I get.  He doesn't want anyone else. If I convince Don to go to his bedside during one of these dreams, he immediately demands mommy and won't settle for anything else.  So as much as I want to sleep, I am flattered that I am the toddler whisperer. 
Even if it is a delirious 3 year old.
As I'm writing this I'm listening to my oldest son with his piano lesson, I can also here the baby whining in the swing because he is over tired and I suspect that the two middle ones, have taken the mattresses of their beds (again) and its only a matter of time before someone screams. 
I have discovered however, that there is one way I can get there attention and that is to not say anything.  I suppose that the sound of my voice has a white noise quality that is their status quo.  But when is stops, the silence is defining. 

Not-So-Great Expectations

I have decided to use my lunch hour and get out of the office. I did this for 2 reasons.  The first being that if I don't get out, I will sit in my office all day long and that is not good for the my butt or sanity.  The second being that if I go home for lunch, I eat whatever is left over from breakfast and lunch and dessert and a bag of goldfish for the road.  So I pack my lunch and ipod and head on over to the campus gym where I walk around a track.
If my college-self would have seen myself in work attire and tennis shoes I would have called myself a tool, but I'm now old enough to not care what anyone else thinks of my "smart"  outfit, and chances are, nobody is.
It gives me a chance to take my mind off of things, listen to music and think. I find my mind trying to figure out "what should I do about ______". This could be in reference to many things, its easy to fill in the blank. Just to name a few of my blanks:

What should I do about a coworker that is evil?
What should I do about Don leaving sock piles next to the bed?
What should I do about money?
What should I do about dinner?
What should I do about so and so's problem they dumped on me?
What should I do about missing the deadline for Jack's pre-school?
What should I do about my life?
What should I do about the boys?

It seems like for a brief moment I have brilliant solutions. But what I realized today is that all of these What should I do's were cultivated in a pot of deep expectations, some of them mine, most of them others.
Why should I expect that every person I work with will be pleasant. Shame on me for assuming that Don would change his sock habit after we got married etc. etc.

I tried to figure out who planted the expectation seed in my head and went back to my childhood.  I tried to find a situation when my parents said " you need to be wealthy, have a perfect husband and child, and life and children." but I couldn't quite recall that conversation.

The truth is, they didn't. Being the youngest, my parents had spent all their expectaion energy on my older siblings and by the time they got to me, I was just expected to NOT do things...like get in trouble, which I must have let them down considerably. So where did they (expectations) come from? Society I suspect.
When it was time to go to college, I set my own expectations and to be honest, I don't think they were very high. Mainly, it was just to have fun and graduate...which I did.

Recently I was having a What should I do about moment with Parker, my 7 year old.  He really enjoys tap dancing.  He is a rule follower and is detail oriented, at least when it comes to dance. A few weeks ago as I was allowed to observe his progress I found a sharp contrast between him and my other son, who is also taking the class.  They were at opposite sides of the line and I could see their faces in the mirror.  Finegan is lets say, for lack of a better description, screwing off, getting some steps, but ad libbing the rest. Parker is right on cue, even with the jazz hands. It was his the expression on his face that had me perplexed. He looked like Popeye. One eye squinting shut, a corner of his mouth open. The other kids had the beauty pagent smile beaming, but not Parker.  I didn't realize why he had this expression until I looked at his instructor's face.  Clearly she had had a stroke or had Bell's palsy and one side of her face was expressionless due to paralysis. Parker was immitating her and I hoped she didn't notice.
Do I fault him for being detail oriented?
Fin is not interested in sports at all, well unless its attached to a wii. Recently, he drew a picture of himself at the age of 100 and he had a long beard and was playing basketball.  My excitment overtook me and I asked if he thought he would be a professional ball player, he said "YES on the Wii!" I would be lying if I said I wasnt' a little worried. But worried because he will not play sports, or worried that my expectations of him playing sports may never come to fruition. Sports were a huge part of MY childhood, not his. 
The reason my parents are so proud of me now, isn't because of what I have, who I married or what I do for a living, its just because I'm happy. I was a happy funny kid and I'm a happy funny adult. I'm true to myself and that was their only expectation for me, which I have proudly met.
 So as of right now, I'm setting my preconceived notions on what boys should or shouldn't be on hold and allowing them to cultivate their own expectations for themselves.  Because who better to hold you accountable to your expectations, that yourself.

When the sprinkles hit the fan.

Friday was dress down day at school, which is a big deal for my uniform wearing boys.  The night before, I laid their clothes out next to their beds (as usual) in the order it will be donned.  I had noticed that Fin had also laid out an outfit. Blue socks, blue running pants, blue shirt, and blue underwear, all a slightly different shade. I disregarded this, but left the shirt for him to wear. The next morning he came downstairs wearing his smurf inspired outfit. I quickly told him to go back up to his room and change. His reaction was slightly more calm than the "leave Brittney Alone" guy on youtube. He was crushed.  This went on for about 30 minutes and as I could still hear his cries as I stood in the shower. I got to thinking, why does his inept fashion sense bother me so much?  Did I feel the control slipping away? Was I that worried the statement of his monochromatic outfit was going to  be a reflection on my style?  When I got out of the shower I told him he could wear the outfit, but I packed a sweatshirt (grey) in his backpack in case he got chilled.
Although this was one small crisis of the morning, something about it had me thinking of it on my walk to work.  I didn't see him planning and executing his perfect outfit the night before. I didn't see him lay it out or his face when he discovered the outfit that I had laid over his outfit, and disregarded.  I thought about what he must have felt when he proudly walked down the stairs and I immediately voiced my disdain for his effort.  No wonder he was crushed.  Just one more thing to add to the guilt rainy day fund.  The one I can dip into whenever I haven't felt guilty for a day or so.
That afternoon I attended a "lunchtime talk" at Jack's school about sibling conflict.  What I found interesting, besides the odd fact that the woman next to me had an only child, is every parent feels that they are doing something wrong. And there is always some kind of book to back that fact up.  What I took away from that talk was that we interfere entirely too much in their sibling crisis' and that we should let the negotiation talks begin before we get all Presidential on them and deliver a verdict or solution. The only problem with this, is that usually it escalates until someone gets bit, punched or kicked in the "tenders".   The psychologist leading the talk was bright, and had sons herself, but her demeanor and mine couldn't be more different. She is calm and collected, I'm... well, caffeinated and crazy, so I'm sure her boys listen to her. I think my voice must hit a certain pitch that gets undetected by all males when it hits a certain pitch of anger.
To make up for my mistake on Friday I decided to do something fun with them this weekend. Saturday, we had company and I was too busy to think of anything, so this morning I decided to take them out for donuts after church.
There is nothing sugar can't suppress in my opinion.
All was good in the world until someone said their donut was bigger than someone elses long john and as Don tried to calm the argument with a definition of circumference vs. length,  anarchy had already set in and although Jack was not part of the discussion he took this opportunity to riot by throwing a sugar packet off the balcony to the people dining below and somehow a donut ended up on my dress. I was clearly practising the technique I had learned and was letting them "talk" it out.
A family with 3 children, who btw, were all wearing stripes, even the parents, were a few tables a way. I glanced at the mother as she glanced at the father, and I could feel the judgement.  I collected my now, sprinkled covered self and wrangled in the boys.  Don  had taken someone down to do our mandatory public restroom poop, and I was alone with 3.  I grabbed everyone, almost forgot the baby, ( I was blinded by the glare of this woman) and went downstairs confidently knowing that my parenting choice to let them fight, was going to be less detrimental than the long time therapy her kids are going to need from the matching stripes.
Those who judge  and are without sins should be the first to cast the first stone..or in this case the first donut.

Scribbles in my notebook

I was recently at the doctors office for what feels like the 15th time this month, so much so that I have read all the magazines, twice.  Today however one cover caught my eye. It was the People magazine with Sandra Bullock on the cover and it read "Woman of the Year".
Really?  Sure, she went through some serious crap, with her tattooed spouse cheating on her, but I don't think that she should be crowned "Woman of the Year" because of it.
Hell, I should be the woman of the year for my husband NOT cheating on me.
I would like to know what the criteria is for this "title".  I'm assuming the thousands of Islamic women who are suffering because they have their genitalia mutilated or millions of other women around the world who are starving, abused, prostituted or worse, just ignored, were not eligible.  According to this, Sandra, a successful wealthy actress who adopted a baby and had a husband, who was a loser anyway, that left her should be admired by all.
Not that I am any different than any other working mom around this great country, but I believe that I could represent that title, respectively. 
First of all, I'm thankful that I am allowed to work.  There are several places around the globe where I couldn't.
Yesterday, I was sitting in an meeting, having a battle with my eyelids to stay open. We had an agenda, and everyone was sitting in a circle.  The meeting was important, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I think these meetings that last 90 min. could be condensed into 20 min. if everyone would just stay on the subject, even me who had collectively 3 hours of sleep prior, due to a dog, a baby and watching " I shouldn't be alive" before I went to bed.  As I started to take notes, I happened to open a page in my notebook that my 3 year old must have also visited some point. It had purple marker scribbles all over it, just this single page, no others.  I sat there looking at the page and my mind began to wonder.  His small art said so much more than even the smartest person in the room.
I tried to continue in the meeting but my mind drifted and my heart hurt.
Its the moments like this that come out of no where. If I were at home and saw this, it wouldn't have grabbed my attention for longer than a couple seconds. But at this moment it was all I could think of.
I wondered what he was doing, if he wondered why I wasn't with him.  If  he was napping, or eating or crying.
In spite of my inner battle between what I believe should be my life and what is, I maintained a professional composure.  Not really different than any other day.
I have heard that being a stay at home mom is one of the most difficult jobs in the world. And I must humbly disagree.
As I work, I am continually torn between the well being of my boys and the well being of my job.  When someone is sick and I can't be at work, I wonder if co-workers think that its pleasurable for me to take a day off to "relax" at home.
In my head, there are battles on either end that I just won't win.
When I returned to work, I went back into the office to have my boss follow me like I never left, I hadn't even shed my coat to return to my working character.
As I put my coat on the hook a little sparkly pink heart fell out and attached to it was a little bite size chocolate. The heart said  To: Mommy from: Parker
He had snuck this into my pocket. It was just what I needed, to know that even though I may question my ability as a mom on a regular basis, that my 7 year old knows enough to make such a thoughtful gesture and restore my confidence one chocolate at a time.

My baby has a mustache

When my first son was born he was perfect. I know most new mothers would think this, but they are delusional,  Parker really was. He had a full head of hair that I had to part for his hospital picture.  I quickly noticed that he didn't really look like a baby, but a small old man in his 60's he even has a dimple in the middle of his chin. He looked less like the Gerber baby and more like the Gerber baby's uncle.  Next came Fin, and although he too was cute, he had a uni-brow.  Parker had big Colin Farrel eyebrows too, but not like Fin's.  By the time I had my third son I was worried that his eyebrow would have taken over his entire forehead and he would look more like a Neanderthal...thankfully he didn't. When our final son was born he could have been a cyclopes for all I cared.
I started doing eyebrow maintenance on Finegan recently.  I know this could get viewed as "controversial" but its not like I'm whitening his teeth or making him spray tan or anything. I just want to keep his eyebrow threat at a blue level and not let it get quite to an orange level..then we would need to hire professionals.   Once a month I ask him to go with me into the bedroom and I close the door, there I have the wax strip and a lolly pop. I put a very small waxing strip on the center and say something funny and rip it off. I also do a little trimming. He doesn't LOVE it, but its done in 2 seconds.  I have the hope that someday the hair will be fine and he won't need to worry about it. See, I'm doing him a favor!  I do not "sculpt" his eyebrows.  I don't think there is anything wrong with a heavy brow. I should know, I have them, my brother has them, and Don if you look at him at a certain angle looks as though 2 caterpillars have set up camp above his eyes.
I mistakenly made the assumption that certain races are hairier than others. I think most would agree that some middle eastern men have thick hair both on their head and body. But would you ever think that a Scottish/ Irish ancestry would produce such little Sasquatches? I know I didn't.
One thing that comes with hairy babies is beautiful eyelashes. They all have thick black spider lashes that stick together when they are wet. 
It wasn't until this winter, when the sun disappears and our skin returns to the pale/olive natural state that I noticed that my first son ( now 7) was sporting a full on stache. Sure its peach fuzzy, but if he continues at this rate he could be Magnum PI by the time he is 12.  His brother not be far behind him as his Gene Shalit sidekick. Its too soon to tell if the younger ones will follow suit but for all I know they could be the next Wyatt Earp  and ZZ Top and last time I checked....those guys were pretty bad ass.
But, as their mommy, I worry that because of their wooly state, they may be get picked on because some kids in kindergarten still have baby teeth and baby hair for God's sake.
Until the other evening something hadn't occurred to me. We were in line at the grocery store. I had taken Parker with me and apparently he had been drinking chocolate milk prior to this and it had to stuck to his upper lip and made the peach fuzz look more like coconut fuzz.  I looked at the teenage bagger, and my son who is only half way to puberty had more facial hair.  He proudly looked at me and said, can you see my mustache even more with the milk I left on it? I love it!
That is when it hit me, he has turned what I thought of as a negative into a mack daddy second grade positive that he is proud of. Enough said.
I can thank Don for this trait, he can think about growing a goatee and by the next day it has appeared on his face.  In our wedding video you can see that his beard progressively started making its appearance from the start of our vows to the time we were cutting our cake, that would be normal except we had an evening wedding. Hey, I take credit too, if I didn't pay a visit to the salon once in a while I too would get mistaken for Frida Kahlo in 6 weeks.
On the bright side, it is something the boys can change if they want to. Its not a goiter, or another type of defect that is permanent, its purely cosmetic, an annoying one but still completely changeable.
It even taught me to hold my tongue. What I see as a flaw is Parker's claim to fame, which will, more than likeley, increase when he is the only 12 year old who can get into bars.

The Elliott boys just may be what this world needs, to revive the (sometimes lost) art of manliness.

What I know about Love.

Every February my brain is attacked with images of Valentines ads and songs and the pressure to wear red and eat copious amounts of chocolate.
As always, I can only base my opinions on the subject of love from my own personal experience so here it goes and in no particular order..
Noah. Adam. Scott. Greg. Conor. Jason. Matt. Mike. Tom. Jon. Chad. David. Gordon. Bruce. Billy. Oliver. Jeremy. Mark. Zach.... just to name a few.
At some point all the above had my complete admiration. My undying love. I had one problem growing up and that was that I completely fell head over heels in "love" with people. Even if it was only for a few days. The down side of that is my heart would completely break shortly after
 a) they rejected me
 b) they said something, something I didn't like
 c) we never actual met because they were on tv.
Marketing companies want to make it appear that if you are in love its all rosy, but my experience is just the contrary. What it doesn't show you is a teenage girl crying in the bathroom stall because her boyfriend let his new girlfriend wear the rugby that I had given him the night prior to school and that was his way of breaking up with her (me).
Or the girl who had to break up with her boyfriend because she suddenly realized one tiny characteristic about him that she could not live with....his mom.
Or the endless fighting over stupid stuff. Or sitting by the phone waiting for him to call, only to fall asleep and wake up with carpet face because he never did.
They show a couple in a remote cabin somewhere watching the rain and when lightning strikes, the guy gives her a heart shaped necklace. I can count on one hand how many times that has happened to me, ok it never has and never will because I would not be able to take the cheesiness of it all.
Cheese, the quintessential  deal breaker. As soon as someone crosses over the cheddar threshold, it can never be taken back. I once had a guy buy me pajamas from Victoria's Secret and they were a sailor theme, with pleated shorts and all.  Now that I think of it, those were kind of cute, but now I am a mom, clearly who they were made for.  Contrary to love songs, I don't think love should be full of agonizing pain. If someone makes you feel bad, then it isn't love.
Cheating happens. My brother once told me something that I have never forgotten. If you love someone it doesn't...period.
That resinated with me. You don't intentionally hurt someone you love. Cheating=hurt, no matter what the excuse.
And that is why you don't see my husbands name in the above list. I didn't know what love was.
I clearly do now.
My gage, albeit pretty simplistic was that I never grew tired of Don, and that is how I knew he was the one. Even at 23 years old. Does he piss me off?  Undoubtably and Repeatidly, but it's not for long. Thankfully our wedding vows mentioned patience, because without that I would have been gone a long time ago. But in all seriousness, when I make a promise I keep it, that is my contribution.
That is romantic love.  Words can't even describe the all consuming love I feel for my boys.  I tell them that they each have complete residency in one chamber of my heart.  Because I only have 4 chambers, I am at full occupancy. I need each one of them.
I wish there were enough guys out there to know that some women just want their undivided presence. That's it. And I wish there were enough women out there to recognize that.   I have been asked a few times if I wish I would have been selected for Oprah's favorite things episode rather than Australia. I can tell you that the Australian experience will be with me for a lifetime. The gifts would have been forgotten in a five years.
 I do not need a single thing on February 14 to celebrate love, certainly not a necklace. What I wouldn't mind however is the house to be clean, laundry put away, so I could curl up on the couch, with a bottle of wine and my men and watch Modern Family.
THAT to me is love.

food for thought

I recently watched an Oprah episode about Vegan's. I watched with caution because when it comes to vegetarianism, I am only one turkey leg away from going all the way. It made sense to me. I have never been a meat lover. I don't eat anything with four legs. That kind of narrows it down to turkey, chicken and fish.  I don't do this because of the animal's rights necessarily, but more because of health reasons.  The woman was very convincing,  but here is my question that nobody asked. How the hell do you expect me to pay for that?  The next time I went to grocery shop I kept this in mind.  Ok. Soy crumbles instead of turkey, I will check it out. It wasn't easy to find. In the mid-west people don't like to see funny food like that and they have it hidden, almost to not offend anyone.  Once I did find it, tucked away in a little dark corner, I was alarmed that it would cost more that double for the same amount of meat. So without hesitation I moved on.
I have a very difficult time keeping my boys full as it is.   I often reflect that I should have known this sooner. The writing has been on the wall. My husband is 6 ft. and 175-180 lbs. This is with no effort on his part. He can consume massive amounts of food and not gain an ounce. My mother often accuses me of starving him.  He credits his effortless figure on my healthy menu in our house, but when I met him he had a bucket of chicken in his fridge just for snacking and he was still pretty svelte. He sneak eats junk, and have found the remnants in the car. Recently he had a ziplock baggie in our fridge with pheasant jerky..which I about threw up looking at it, not because it was unhealthy, but because that is just gross.. I too have an athletic build but if I ate like he did I would be pushing 200 in a month and most of it would be in my face, the one place you can't hide it.
So it should come as no surprise that our off-spring would be little garbage disposal eaters.  We don't have a problem with them cleaning their plate because we can't keep food on it long enough to say that.  30 min. after dinner they are hungry.  I try and fill them with filler foods, pasta, rice, potatoes, cheese, eggs, but nothing seems to curb their monster appitites.  Parker is 7 and as of today he weighs 65 lbs. and us 4 ft, 3 in.  He is not a husky or lanky kid, he is just solid.
I can tell you if I do have meatless mondays, before they even see the plate, they want to know is where is the meat? I have witnessed Parker snacking on ham.  They are carnivores.  Albeit, low fat carnivores.
According to this woman,  a family can be 100% satisfied by being Vegans and I challenge her to come to my house.  Where there is always someone pooping or eating.
Someday I see myself getting a second job or third job (if you include being a mom even though it is not taxed), at Sam's club just to feed my family. I picture a freezer with a cow in it.  A walk in pantry full of potatoes and a chicken laying eggs in the garage.  And a poor tiny little mother sacrificing her free time to feed her babies bellies full.

VEGAS BABY!

Wouldn't you know that our 4th son would be the one that would give us a run for our money.  The one to make sure that he is the opposite bookend of our brood. He is doing everything in his mighty body to make sure that we don't have another baby. I tried to explain to him that it is physically impossible for me to have another baby and he can quit his baby charade....but he insists on being heard. hurd? I can't even decipher which way to spell herd I'm so deliriously weary.
The first quarter of Oscar's  first year was going quite well. He started sleeping through the night around 4 months and we once again coyly patted our selves on the back for a job well done.  Then around the beginning of the second quarter, came  a tooth invasion. This clearly shocked him so he decided to protest this in the middle of the night. And it just hasn't stopped since.  Perhaps he overheard us gloating and wanted to give us a reality check.  He is now almost 10 months old and has slept through the night once since the past 6 months, or half a year ( but who is counting?)  In his defense (because I am his mommy after all)  he has had numerous ear infections and copious amounts of snot flowing out of his head, and explosive diarrhea  but my body and brain don't care what his excuse is.
When I have been to meetings, and we have been asked to go around the room and introduce ourselves and something we like, I 100% of the time say, My name is Noelle and I love to sleep. I respect sleep. Its in my blood. Even in high school I would be sure to get a solid 7-8 hours. I take naps on the weekend. I also have the ability, if given the proper surface, to sleep anywhere. But Oscar doesn't care about my need for sleep. Just to give an example of my evenings, I thought I would give you a timeline of what should be my sleep.

7:30 p.m. We tell the boys its time to go to bed.
7:45 p.m. We tell the boys its time to go to bed.
8:00 p.m. We tell the boys its time to go to bed and turn out the light in the basement so they are forced to come upstairs.
8:15 p.m. They all simultaneously realize that they didn't have a snack and are starving and parched.
8:25 p.m. They have all gone potty, are tucked in with their stuffed animal of choice and by all appearances look like they are going to go to sleep.
8:30-8:50 p.m. in 5 min. increments somebody gets hurt, needs an ice pack, poops, get poked in the eye, falls out of their bed, sees a monster.
9:00 p.m. all is quiet.
9:01 p.m. a cork is being pulled out of a bottle of wine a large glass is being filled.
9:05 p.m. we are trying to wear Oscar out by chasing and tickling him.
9:15 p.m. I feed Oscar rice cereal and say a little prayer that maybe tonight will be the night.
9:25 p.m. I rock him to "sleep"
9:30 p.m. If Don hasn't already started watching a dumb movie, I watch my shows I have dvr'ed.
9:35 p.m. Don is sucked into some dumb show and I decide to go to bed.
10:00p.m. Oscar wakes up. Don rocks him back to sleep.
11:00 p.m. I wake up because Don isn't in bed. I go to check if everything is ok and he is now watching the sequel to the first dumb movie.
11:05 p.m. Oscar wakes up.  Since Don is technically already up,  and he realizes that the movie he has been watching is in fact, lame, he decides to give him a bottle.
12:00 a.m. Oscar is up yet again and I discover that Don is asleep on the couch and the bottle was never really given to him.
12:30 a.m. Diaper change and back to sleep.
2:00 a.m. I get up to go to the bathroom, I check on Oscar to be sure he is breathing and trip over a                stupid toy that starts singing five little monkeys jumping on the bed. Oscar stirs. I stand like a statue and hope that he will go back to sleep. He doesn't.
2:40 a.m. After rocking myself to sea sickness I'm back in bed and discover that Don has taken it over.
I find a square foot to sleep in and fall back to sleep.
4:00 a.m. Oscar is awake and pissed off.  I hit Don shoulder and he pretends he doesn't feel it. I then take all the covers off of him and explain that I was not the one to fall asleep watching a stupid movie and that by now he should know how much sleep I haven't had and it is his turn to get Oscar. He mumbles something about the mortgage and goes into the nursery.
5:00 a.m My alarm goes off  for my morning work out and I hit snooze.
5:01- 5:10 a.m. I berate myself about not working out and realize that I will gain 5 lbs. because of this.
5:10- 5:30 a.m. I have some weird ass dream about a Mexican midget.
5:35 a.m. I hear Oscar squeal. I get up quickly and discover that in an attempt to help him sleep and be less congested, Don has elevated the head of his crib and as a result of this he has rolled to the bottom and is stuck. I re-position him.
5:40 a.m. I'm really irritated with Don and go back to bed and tell him it is 6:00. Its not, but I don't care. With him out of the bed I may get an entire 30 min. uninterrupted.  He believes me and gets in the shower.
6:30 a.m. Jack is telling me that he wants a cereal that we ran out of yesterday.
6:30 -7:30 a.m. I get ready, get everyone else ready, listen to the boys argument that school should be cancelled. Don and I are arguing about who used the last spelenda and Oscar is still asleep and will continue to sleep until its time for us to leave.

At some point this dam of a mother is going to crack from the pressure of fatigue. Until then I will accept that my baby is destined a career in a casino in the city that never sleeps.

2 legit to knit

When I was on the plane back from Australia my friend and I were discussing what our New Years resolutions were. Rather than do my typical, lose weight, stop eating after 7 p.m. stop yelling, treat my husband like an adult, stop drinking (so much),  I decided to keep a resolution I could stick too.

This is a knitted iphone given to kids as
in an effort to offer disenfranchised youth hope for the future.
I don't know, I just liked the picture.

"I'm going to learn to knit!" I exclaimed.  If I didn't already feel like a 33 year old tool, I certainly did now.  I think her resolutions, were something like, find a job and find a man.  I didn't have time for that mumbo jumbo. I needed to express my inner Laura Ingall. She kind of grinned and said, "that's great, and turned to watch the rest of the feature presentation, Dinner for Schmucks.  The rest of the ride home I had some really grandiose ideas. I was going to first knit a scarf, then matching hats with ears on top for the boys, then a french press cozy. ( I made that one up), but as any coffee lover knows, if you don't drink french pressed coffee immediately it gets cold, and perhaps a nice sweater would keep the heat in for at least 3 more minutes and in my house every second counts.

We landed and said our goodbyes. Wouldn't you know it, a week later I had a box at my front door with yarn, knitting needles and a how-to-knit book.   I tried to send her a man, but he wouldn't get in the box!..ba dum dum, thank you! I'll be here all week...

She really had the best intentions and she knew that I would put it off long enough to convince myself that I'm a slow learner and knitting was for geniuses.  So I opened the book and read the first page, I immediately closed the book and called our local craft store to inquire about classes. It just so happened that a 2 week class was starting the next week. SIGN ME up! It was $20 and each class is 4 hours. 

Four hours of knitting? Maybe its just an excuse for old woman to get out of the house and chat. 

I arrived and I was the youngest by 30 years.  Each woman "claimed" to be a beginner. The instructor walked in. She gave her knitting credentials, she grew up in El Salvador. She began knitting with two rusty nails and some twine... by the time she was four she had knit her first pair of socks. This woman was a knitting nazi. We began with 2 huge needles and yarn.  After a few minutes everyone had cast on... ok everyone but me and the oldest woman in the class who was wearing a red baret .  She said the instructor was moving too fast and that she couldn't catch on. I couldn't have agreed more. Granted everyone else in the class was already halfway to a scarf,  she and I needed help.  I have a sneaking suspicion that she just had dimensia and had knit that baret on her head yesterday and was accidentally misplaced at this craft store by her caregiver.

So what was my excuse? My brain just didn't work this way. I kept thinking when I would want to undo a stitch, command Z ( for you Mac users) or discard changes for you PC users. But obviously it didn't work that way. I started to sweat. The nazi would come around and help me, but as soon as she left, I was back to square one. 

I left the class feeling defeated, but proud of my one row. I tried to show my husband and he just looked at it the way you look at a 2 year olds paintings. The "happy that they tried, but wow, that is horrible" look. I was not going to let 8 conniving con-spiriting old women show me up.  I was going to go to a source that is in my territory..youtube!   But to my dismay, that didn't make sense to me either.  I went to bed that night thinking this may not be working.  I walked into work the next day hoping that my co-workers had forgotten that I was blabbing the previous day about a knitting class I was going to take, but of course, that is the one day they listened to me.  The phone rang. .. It was the knitting nazi! How did she get my work number?  She wanted to meet with me one on one on Thursday to go over some things. Wow, my incompetence must have shocked her.  We set a date for 6. It felt like a KGB internal security  briefing. 

I arrived. She didn't.  

What a cruel joke. If you don't think hazing happens in the senior world..think again.

But luckily there was another woman who worked there who was willing to take me on as a charity case. What she said made sense and my knitting knob had been turned on. I got it. And I didn't stop.  I loved it. It actually kept my hands occupied long enough to help me with my non-New years resolutions of eating and drinking.  I became the Rudy of the knitting world!

I had to go back to the store twice in one day because I lost a stitch but other than that I was on a roll.

Tonight I have my final knitting class. And although my husband stated that my scarf looks like the Shroud of Turin that Jesus was wrapped in, it makes me proud. Sure. I got a little ambitious and disregarded my stitch count, but what is one person's scarf is another's son's stuffed animals soon-to-be blanket. 

And last time I checked. The Jesus' shroud was going for a lot of money these days.

Fascinating Game nights

I recently created a chore list for my boys so that they can earn money to purchase Guitar Hero for their wii. Chores include, making their bed, feeding the dog, feeding the sea monkeys, just typical things. They earn $5 a week. Jack has chores but because he can't read he claims he does not know what they are.  Oscar has chores too, which include being cute on Mondays and Wednesdays and crawling on Tuesday and Thursdays.  He doesn't earn money,  with the baby labor laws being so strict, despite his brothers protest that he too would enjoy watching them play Guitar Hero.

 So far they have "earned" $70 and have about $100 to go.  

Fridays chore is to have a game night.  Of course, this is not a chore, but to gather everyone around a table to play a "bored" game is kind of chore in itself.  We chose Apples to Apples Jr.  For those that are not familiar with this game, There is a word that is placed in the center of the table ex. Scary.  Every person has 5 cards with words that best describe the center card. If you don't have a card that matches it, you still need to place a card regardless.  It could be Donut, but you still need to put something down. The Judge ( which rotates) judges the best fit and that person wins.  The cards are shuffled so he doesn't know who put what card down.. unless the person Announces it or coughs or raises their hand.

You really learn a lot about your kids with this game.  Parker thinks that Eraser was a good fit for the word Caring.  This didn't make a bit of sense until he told us that he thought the Eraser was Ears... which in a round about way is very touching.  Listening = caring. That a boy. 

Jack was throwing random cards to the center and asking everyone to pull his finger. A new trick he has learned and become wildly successful at. One of the words was Fascinating. This is when Finegan (6) yelled out " A woman's boobs!". 

Does it really start this early? It was hard not to laugh, so we did. And then reminded him that there are certain things( this being one of them) that are said in the home and that can stay there.  I ended up winning because I don't believe in letting your kid win to build their self-esteem.  I also needed to show them that although my boobs may be "fascinating" I also have a brain to back them up. 

Totally tubeular

This snowy Midwest morning I had the pleasure to take my 9 month in to have surgery to get tubes placed in his ears.  You could tell by the morale  in the house this morning that everyone was very concerned...I say this with the highest level of sarcasm and if a sarcasm font existed, it would be in bold.  Don was yelling about something, the middle boys were on the floor in front of the TV like murder crime scene bodies and my oldest had JUST remembered that he had homework this weekend.  I needed it get everyone to their destination by 7:30 and it was 7:24. Remarkably I did and pretty much everyone was fed. 
I arrived at the surgery center to find that if you were between the ages of 0-6 or 95 -100 you were having surgery that day. I filled out the paperwork that I had forgotten at home and waited.  I still amaze myself that I can hold a baby in an Eskimo coat, a diaper bag and a purse and still sign my name. 
 I couldn't help but notice a family of 5 who had taken over a portion of the waiting room and looked to be having a breakfast picnic from 7-11. Huge big gulp size sodas, crackers, donuts and board games.  The entire family was there, Mom, Dad and 3 boys. They called their name first but when the nurse witnessed the boy who was going in for surgery downing the last drop of his slurpee, she scolded the mother and said that because you are not allowed to have had ANYTHING to eat or drink at least 2 hours prior to any surgery, that they were going to have to wait at least 3 hours.  I whispered to Oscar..( dumb ass) seriously, though. Isn't that one of the things everyone knows, and if not, wasn't it in their paperwork?
While in the waiting room an old woman was giggling watching my baby, who she thought was a little girl. The admiration was mutual and Oscar was giggling watching her toothless grin as well.   It was actually pretty cute, and as much as they were enjoying each other, the nurse came back and called Oscar's name.  She was looking directly at an old man and when he didn't respond she walked over to him and said "Oscar".  I was trying to gather our things out of the chair when she finally noticed that the Oscar she was speaking to was just an old man who was hard of hearing.  Oscar 3.0 was right here and raring to go. 
Pre-op went well. I had been in the same surgery center to have my sinus surgery a month prior and apparently my Oprah vacation celebratory status was still alive. Everyone, including the doctor wanted to hear about it. 
There is a time and place, and I was really not in the mood to gush on about a trip that happened over a month ago and right before my baby was to get tubes in his ears. But I humored them. I guess its a big deal for someone from the Midwest to be chosen to go on a trip to Australia..even though Oprah is based out of the Chicago.
Oscar was hanging in there although, he hadn't eaten or drank since 2:30 a.m.  (I follow instructions). It wasn't until he heard the word suppository that he lost his composure. 
It was hard to hand over a screaming baby (and his little monkey) to a nurse in full scrubs. They escorted me to a waiting room and before I could text everyone that he had gone into surgery, he was out.
The doctor told me that he would be a little "cranky", coming out of anesthesia, but I had no idea he would be hulk baby.  In my poetic mind I thought he would be in a hospital bed sleeping peacefully and the sound of my voice would gently wake him up.. not so much.
A large black woman was holding him against her large breast trying to calm him and rock him but his face was a dark shade of fuchsia and he was livid.  Kicking, screaming and completely disoriented.   She eagerly handed me Oscar and said " did you talk to Oprah?" REALLY?
What made that a good time to ask me that question? I shook my head no, to avoid any additional questions and tried to rock him (unsuccessfully) back to sleep.  After about 30 minutes he calmed down enough for me to get him dressed, sign more papers and get in the car and drive to Starbucks.  You know how some people call themselves angry drunks when they drink Jack Daniels, or rum? I wonder if Oscar is going to be one of those people. 
He really must have some serious hang ups that have accumulated in his 9 months on this Earth... when Similac recalled their products, I know it hit him pretty hard. 
Once in the car and he heard the familiar sounds of the Bob and Tom Show, he calmed down considerably, enough so that we could go to the pharmacy to get his ear drops AND get mama a latte.
He is sleeping soundly now, allowing me to blog.  Hopefully dreaming that tonight we will all be able to sleep through the night, as nature intended. 

Temptation

As I was sitting on the couch last night after a particularly long day at work I was happy to settle in with my favorite glass Shiraz and watch my new favorite show, Modern Family.  Just the previous evening, I had my friend over to watch our Oprah episode and she was shocked by the amount of noise she heard upstairs.  Noise, that apparently was foreign to her, but she was in Elliott country.  The noise that she was referring to was the typical night time screams.  Finegan yelling at Jack because "he tooted, and didn't say excuse me and that is JUST rude!!" Loud crashes, a baby crying, doors slamming, stuffed animals being thrown down the stairs. All the while I had nestled into the couch to have my quiet time. She glanced at Don and he was happily reading the manual to install a new baby gate ( see post below).   We have become immune to the noise and she was, dare I say, impressed, at our ability to tune out, its a skill that I have recently acquired and I'm quite proud of actually.
A complete contrast to the book I'm reading... the Power of Now.  Which encourages one to be completely present in the moment...but he doesn't specify which moment. There are several " moments" going on in our house, and at this time I have chosen to be completely present in my personal moment...which is a menage e tios of wine, tv and my blackberry.
Because I take my self- help books very seriously, I couldn't help but noticed a McDonald's commercial that said, Give in to your Temptation....and the temptation? Chicken strips.
Chicken strips, from a Fast food chain, are a temptation? So I paused the show and looked at Don for one of our deep philosophical conversations.  I asked him why the marketing people would say that Chicken strips were tempting, with this ad are they admitting that they are bad for you? His response was that not all temptation is bad and that my upbringing, going to a catholic high school had convinced me that it was. I was a little taken back by his answer and immediately remembered Christmas. Don had gone to a high end women's clothing store and gotten me a beautiful black silk camisole in size medium.  He had also gotten a fuzzy cashmere cardigan to go with it...in extra small. Does this make sense? Had the woman at the boutique that had helped him had enough sense to ask if this was for the SAME woman? Or maybe they assumed that the camisole was for his wife and the sweater was for his mistress, and maybe that was true and that is why he was justifying why temptation isn't bad!?
Truthfully I'm confident that the sales girl was stupid, I can back this up because Don said she asked her to look at her and see if I was the same size as she was, and she was a size 2. He never told me his answer, but he said I was smaller than her,  which is not possible because I haven't been a size 2 since 3rd grade after I had mono.
He told me he had just wanted to get out of the store and left without noticing the sizes.
But he did have a point.  Is temptation the bad thing? Or is it the things that tempt me, personally all happen to be bad? But can a chocolate or a muffin or fantasizing about slipping some Bailey's into my coffee each morning really be evil?
Maybe ask me again when I try and squeeze into the extra small sweater.  With that I hit play and Don mysteriously disappeared to help the baby...

Band (aid) of Brothers

If you ever want to test your heart, have kids.  Last night, once again, I was tested and if the test was based on my actions I would have failed miserably. If it was based on the outcome I would have passed with flying colors.  After I came home from the emergency room last night, Don and I sat on the couch for a "keeping it real conversation".  And excuse my french, but all I could think of was What the fuck? Seriously. How could we have let this happen? How many get out of jail free cards are we going to get? 
I'm referring to incident #23 in the list of near death/ or serious injury accidents our boys have  experienced in our care.  Incident #23 occurred in 2 seconds. I came home after an after hours work function. I walked in the door. Decided to help Jack with his jammies upstairs. The last I saw, the two older boys were playing with Oscar in the kitchen. All was right in the house.  Next thing I know, I hear Don yelling.  "damn it, damn it No No NO." I knew this was bad.  When I had gone upstairs the older boys had decided to go into the basement and didn't shut the door or the safety gate (which we have there for this very reason) behind them.  Oscar had tumbled  head first down an entire flight of stairs and landed on a carpeted (concrete) floor.  Don had heard what he explained as 4 thuds and not a cry at the bottom.  When he got to the stairs he saw his 9 month old stunned, laying still at the bottom of the stairs. By the time I came down Don had him in the living room and was frantically, but gently, checking him out. Oscar's face began to lose color and he said, call 911. Faster than the speed of light, I had packed a diaper bag, gotten his coat and was loading him into the van. Screw 911.
I got to the ER in 3 min. and drove with the dome light and windows down to keep the little guy from dozing, which he was.  All I could think was, he must have broken his neck.  Thankfully there was a parking space right in the front, although I would have probably parked anywhere at that point. I rushed in crying holding him and the nurse was clearly alarmed...mostly at me, which later I found out she thought I was going to pass out from a panic attack.   Which brings me to my next thought. Why can't I be the strong calm, collected mother I admire? I'm a super freak. SUPER FREAK. After checking him out and asking me how this happened (several times) they didn't feel that he was in need of immediate care ( unlike me)  but wanted to have a doctor check him regardless, so off to the waiting room I went.  There I sat with 2 other babies. A man with crossed eyes who I believe was just there to hang out and stare at me..(and the wall at the same time),  4 teenagers playing cards, a guy in Air Jordans  from 1991 who looked like he had broken his arm, and a woman in her pj's eating an ice cream sandwich which looked more the size of an ice cream log.  This is also the time I realized I didn't have my phone so it was going to be a long night. By this time Oscar is starting to come around. He wasn't moving much, until this point, but he looked at me with an expression that said, Who are these people, and why are we here?  By the time we were sent back to the second room he was laughing. Laughing! I walked down the hall passing the rooms, it felt like the movie with Scrooge, and I could see myself at different stages in my life with different kids, in each of those rooms and my younger self..you guessed it, freaking out.   
The doctor came in and asked me what happened ( again) and my story didn't change. I guess that is a good thing. So he examined my giggling baby thoroughly and said that there was not a bump, scratch, bruise or anything of concern on the kid.   As relieved as I felt, I also felt, once again humbled.   I really believe a higher power softened his fall and at the same time smacked me in the face. For my negligence in being a cautious parent and being completely present in what I'm doing, and for the mud slinging blame game Don and I exchanged as I was running out the door. 


The incidents I was referring to previously include, choking on foreign objects, dog bites,  finger smashing, losing our son, ice cycles crashes, grabbing Parker by the hood of his sweatshirt just before he ran in front of a car at a truck stop and now stair falling.  All of which have had extremely positive outcomes.
When I got home I went to tuck the older boys in who were already asleep.  When I kissed Parker, he mumbled, "I forgot to close the gate."
Now my heart was in even more pieces.  A 7 year old was taking the blame for his brothers fall.


This morning as I was making breakfast Finegan checked in on Oscar and said he was just making sure he was alive. When he realized that he was, he started saying something about how his heart was beating so fast last night that he thought it was going to jump out of his chest.  Jack gave him a huge hug this morning and did his habitual morning Oscar yell. " OOOOOSSSCCCAAARRR"while running full speed to give him a kiss. 


As much as they fight, they truly are a band of brothers. 

Tough questions.

This morning I reluctantly watched the Today show as they interviewed the father of Christina Green, who bravely spoke about the death of his daughter two days ago.  I stood there my heart aching and completely consumed by this man's grief.  So much so, that I didn't notice my own 7 year old standing behind me. I didn't know how long he had been standing there, but as I tried to change the channel I could tell that he had heard most of it.  I leaned down and hugged him and said, I love you.  Ignoring me, he said "Why did someone shoot that little girl?"  How do I answer that when I don't even know?
I told him that there were some really bad people out there who make really bad choices. He asked me if there were people like that around here.  Yes, I told him, but Daddy and I will protect you.
I think that eased his mind somewhat, but it unsettled mine,  I felt like I lied to him.  Christina's parents probably felt the same as we do, we protect our kids from strangers and cars, but they couldn't have known that their daughter would die from gun shot wounds at the grocery store.
Obviously, this loser felt strongly about something and felt the need to broadcast it in the most tragic way possible.   I have to wonder, did he really feel strongly about politics, or did he feel even more strongly about being infamous.
In an age of reality TV, where people will expel personal information on television ranging from a dozen women swearing they love a man they have been on one 30 min. date with, to a woman who humps laundry baskets. What is so alluring about being famous for nothing?
My husband and I were discussing it yesterday over our morning coffee.  His solution, albeit, he was angry, was to publicly hang any person who kills a child, or anyone pre-meditated murder. Give them a speedy trial and then hang them.  Although I don't agree with killing, his opinion did sound appealing.
In my trip to Australia, where the only people who have guns are hunters and some police officers,  I was asking a tour guide if there was a black market for guns.  He looked at me and said, "are you in the market to buy one?" All joking aside, he said that there wasn't a black market because there wasn't a need.   No need to buy a gun to protect yourself if your confident the perpetrator isn't going to have one either.  There has never been a shooting rampage in Australia because of this, and if they wanted to do a mass killing, it would have to be with a knife, and I doubt they would be very successful.
Maybe my husbands idea is barbaric, and inhumane, but I would trade a swift public message to anyone considering going into a public place and opening fire, to the loss of 6 law abiding citizens who appeared to have been living American dream only to have it end in a nightmare.

We are apart of a Turbin-ation.

Growing up I was self-conscious of my nose. Not only because of its size, but because I could never really breath properly.  This combination is very not fortunes.  Its like if you are self-conscious about your mid-section and you would wear a belly shirt.  I sound nasally. This prompted many teachers to ask if I needed a tissue, to ask if I had a cold etc.  And ultimately provide a big read target on the part of my face I was most self-conscious  about.  I broke my nose playing sports when I was younger and I'm confident that did not help my problem either. I went to an ENT and they said my septum was just fine, but that I had allergies. I went to an allergist, and they discovered I was allergic to dust. I remember my mom being disappointed at this. I think I could here her praying that I was allergic to cats so we could give ours away. And my brother could stop getting allergy shots because he was allergic to my cat.  My parents are OCD dusters, so they were insulted that dust was the culprit. But honesty, isn't everyone allergic to dust? So I continued on my way and finally at 33 my famiy doctor exclaimed after looking up my nose, "you have the largest Turbinates I have every seen, How do you breath?!" I only understood half of this exclamation because she is Polish and I thought she said turbines, but I explained that I have never been able to breath, and that I have just gotten used to it.
Just like that little dog named Faith on Oprah, she didn't have arms, so she learned to hop like a rabbit. I, just like Faith, had learned to work with my disability.  I sleep with my mouth open, I take breaks while eating. I don't like kissing. In yoga I pretend to take deep inhales threw my nose. When I watched shows about people being kidnapped and having their mouths taped shut, I figured that if that was me, I would be dead 2 minutes after the tape was placed...not a fun victim.
If you have not brushed up on your nose anatomy, Turbinates divide the nasal airway into three groove-like air passages –and are responsible for forcing inhaled air to flow in a steady, regular pattern around the largest possible surface of cilia and climate-controlling tissue. ( insert footnote for wikipedia here). 
They never remove them, they just reduce them.  In all honesty, I hadn't really thought of this proceedure until the day prior. I had scheduled it but thought it was not going to be bid deal. Arriving however, I got the gist that any surgery that they completely put you under is kind of a big deal.  They inserted an IVand escorted me to the surgery room, as soon as I entered I had flashbacks of my last c-section which did not go well, but that is another post all together. The layed me on a narrow table and strapped my arms down also. This is when I freaked a bit.  The nurse explained that for my safety they needed to restrain me, and I politly said for my sanity they needed to let my arms free. She did, but told me that once I was out (which  she knew would be in 2 min.) she was going to put them back.  
So I came out of surgery, fine (arms placed back on my chest),  it went well, it wasn't until the next day when I told my husband (non- dramatically) of course, that it felt that ice picks were being gouged into my head and that I was going to puke.  What is funny about that comment is that I don't recall ever even seeing an ice pick and I don't have the foggiest idea what it would feel like to be placed in my skull, but it was the proper visual that I was trying to portray to Don. It turns out that it was the result of the pain medication. Once I stopped that, I was fine. The good side is that I lost the 3 lbs of chocolate I had gained during the holidays! 
I thought about this genetic turbinate disability card I had been dealt and pondered the reason why.  It wasn't until an evening in my home, I felt that perhaps my decision to correct the problem was wrong.  Why? You may be thinking. I'm the mother of 4 boys, 1 lab and 1 manly husband who all enjoy Mexican cuisine, even if the cuisine does not love them back.  Up until this point, they have lived with for all intents and purposes, and nose blind person. I didn't have a sense of smell like I do now.  If a smell can accost you, I felt detained by my newly discovered 5th sense.. So a lesson of the wise, before you fix something that you feel is "wrong" with yourself, maybe God made you that way for a reason, in my case 5 reasons. 

Manicures with Nancy

I like to think my title is a lot like Tuesdays with Maurie, but with a different spin. Now, I haven't read that book in years, and if the old man dies at the end, than disregard the association. I just like the title. Nancy is my mother.  She has been getting manicures since I can remember.  In fact, her manicurist was a guest at my wedding, so you get the idea.  It was something that my mom did to be sure she always looked polished (no pun intended). When her regular manicurist started getting too busy, even for my mom, and got involved in nail art ( insert questionable expression here),  my mom started going to another manicurist... well ok several.  She asked me to join her today for a mani/pedi ( she is hip with the lingo). So I left the house, which is quiet since Santa has already arrived and I have eaten  most of the chocolate, and met my mom at Meijer. Yes, the 24 hour super store that also houses her nail place. I arrived first and walked in.  They asked in broken English what I needed, and I said I was waiting for my mom. It was then that he saw her coming up from around the self check out lanes. You would have thought it was Oprah. "Oh...Nancy, you her daughter, ok, ok, we set you up. Wheres Walt?" Ok, already this guy has dropped her name and now my Dad's too? There was no language barrier between this man and my mom..and what does this guy already know about me?
As we sat down in our chairs, they picked up like they were old classmates..Which I'm pretty sure is impossible. 
My mom had just been to lunch with a friend and was filling me in on the latest news, I should know who she is talking about, but I have forgotten the names of the neighbors that lived on Chestnut St. Mainly because I didn't live on Chestnut, because I wasn't BORN yet... but those details are inconsequential really.  As another man filled my pedi chair with water, I couldn't help but think of the sharp contrast, from being in Australia, and now in Indiana. The scenery just isn't the same. I sat watching old men sit on a bench, waiting for their wives to finish shopping all while they were falling asleep, and thinking of how I was on the beach on a remote island. No judgment, how can I when that experience was a given to me, not something I'm even going to pretend I could afford to do, both with time, or money.  But I sat and listened to my mom for awhile.
A little history on Nancy.  She has a million friends.  As a child, she seemed to be on the phone forever, and it always seemed like she was talking about me or my siblings... She also always took time for herself but never but herself first, at least it appeared that way to me, but I am the youngest of my siblings by 7 years. She adored her parents. She took aerobics class, she got her hair done, and she took time to care for her friendships. She was a high school cheerleader, and the class secretary. She graduated in 1959, how do I know this? She is the President and (CEO, if they had one), of the 59'ers... the classmates still get together once a month and my mom arranges. She studied dance at Butler University.  My mom makes friends with just about everyone, she has a smile that can light up a salon:)  In fact, I specifically remember her being close with the manager at Taco Bell, my favorite "restaurant" as a kid.. She has sung in the church choir forever.. and she met my dad while modeling in Chicago. They have been married for 43 years. She doesn't drink, although I heard she used to like apricot brandy, she never swears, and she creates words and uses them like Webster had printed them years ago.   I was brought out of my own head when I heard my mom giggling, she is ticklish, although, she was finished with that portion of her pedi, I was in the midst of the scrubbing and she was experiencing sympathetic tickling.. She then told the pedicurist that I had just been with Oprah on a trip, he asked me where she gets her toes done. Seriously?  Then she proceeds to tell him about me and my achievements, "You know, she hit a bit of rebellious stage in high school, but graduated from college with honors, now she has 4 beautiful boys ( who can do no wrong)  and such a nice husband ( who if he crosses my daughter, could do wrong, but for right now he is A ok) . I felt like I was 5...but this shouldn't surprise me, she had told the guy at Verizon the same exact thing yesterday when she came with me to get my phone upgraded.
I just nodded.  Off she went to the manicure station and while over there, she had already told the man (who is expecting twins) that she will be dropping off the carseat we don't need anymore and other baby items he may need.  My mom exudes love and people can feel it.  By the time I arrived to the manicure side, she was telling him that I had been a "surprise", albeit a wonderful one, and when she first found out she cried, not because she was happy, ( which she apologized to me  for) but because she was 36 and back then that was really really old to have a baby.
After a few moments, she looked at me and said, are you tired? Something she always asks, then tells the man that I have a baby with an ear infection... the truth is though, this guy loves it.  He is enjoying every second of this conversation as she is and then she asks about his boys. She knows his life story too?
Before I had kids, I took for granted just how much my mom loved and trusted me.  Not that I questioned her love, but she would drop anything and has continued to drop everything for me.  She is selfless, and if she wasn't so pretty, with kids and a husband, I'm sure she would be mistaken for a nun..When my second son was hospitalized for RSV when he was 4 months, she flew home, instantly ( eriously, I called her from the doctor and by the time we were admitted to the hospital she had flown from AZ to IN) . For my son, but mostly for me.  Her love encompasses every cell in your body and gives every single one a little hug.
After she paid for both our services, she sat down under the dryer next to me. A part of me thought..how did I get so lucky?  I decided that I had been gone for 2 hours and it was time to go. I gave her a kiss and left. But its these little moments that mean the most. Sitting in a 24 hour super store getting our nails done...maybe that is what makes the store even more "super " :)

Christmas evolved

Today at my lunch break I sped to the mall, of all places, to madly search for a lego figure named Jango Fett.  I had to park about 2 miles away, I was temped to park in the handicap spot but I resisted temptation. I stormed into the mall passing the guys wanting to put lotion on my hands, ignoring the cell phone guy asking who my carrier was and arriving at what I hoped to be my last hope in finding the ONLY toy my seven year old wants. I did not find it.  I went in to Journeys.. I figured that they have Mario Bro. stuff, they might have Star Wars stuff. No luck, I did get a great attitude from the husky sales-teen in skinny jeans ( he should really re-think that). I then thought I would try my luck at Spencer's. When I was a pre-teen my friends and I would go into Spencer's and giggle at the farting reindeer, not so much anymore. They have a full on Adult section! No joke. I probably stood there about a minute too long with my mouth ajar.  So I left feeling defeated. How could I let this go? When I overheard Parker telling our Elf on the Shelf that he wanted this figurine I tried to say that maybe Santa had a high demand for this lego and that he might not be able to deliver it. He then reminded me that Santa was magic and could just make one.  Oh s*it, I have been telling him that Santa can see him torturing his brothers because he is "magic". I only have myself to blame.  So it got me to thinking.  Have we created a society with instant gratifying kids who want what they want and want it now? Is it really any different than when I wanted a cabbage patch kid and my mom was not willing to punch another mom in the head so unwrapped the knock off brand on Christmas? Maybe not.  Where it gets a little shady is the fact that when I googled Jango Fett, several options appeared, except they were not at stores, they were on Ebay and at least $199. So some tool-shed, albeit a smart one, figured that this may be the hot boy gift item this year, bought a hundred of them ( all from my local toy stores presumably) and now he is holding my poor little son's hopes and  Christmas dreams random.  So what do I do? I considered writing an IOU (typing it of course) to Parker saying that it will be on its way in 5-10 business days. But I really wanted that red rider bb gun moment for him Christmas morning.  I just don't know. Christmas feels different this year. Who knew it was so much work? Having specific wrapping paper from the gifts from Santa. Hiding the presents, planning to give them nyquil on Christmas Eve so we can at least wake up after 4 a.m. Just kidding.  But I have noticed a decline in Christmas cards this year.  The point of Christmas cards was to update everyone on what you look like, but with facebook being so popular, we already know what you look like AND what you  have been doing for the past year.

So leaving the mall I felt defeated. It was my last hope and as I passed the now filled handicap spot I was thankful that I didn't park there.  Its going to take a Christmas miracle to find Jango Fett, but after what I have discovered this past year, just when you least expect it, surprises happen

Flirting with Australia

I have to admit. I'm suffering from a bit of an Oprah hangover.  I just spent 3 months preparing for a trip and 10 days on a trip that all started when I was given the trip of a lifetime.  Now that I'm back to the cold and snowy midwest, I miss Australia. I especially miss being treated like a celebrity.  I experienced a fraction of what a celebrity experiences, and I have a new understanding of how they become a custom to it...fast. For example.  I didn't really need to think. Everything was thought out for me. From when to eat breakfast, to a person pointing in the direction I was to go. I didn't even need to put my napkin on my own lap.  Quite a bit different to my home napkin situation, ok  to be honest, we don't even have napkins. Just paper towels.  We had a rude awakening when my friend and I stood 10 minutes waiting for the elevator before we realized that neither of us had pressed the button.  But really celebrities must occupy their minds with something else, because the mundane tasks that we do everyday are not even done by the Brad Pitt's of the world....more time to memorize lines I guess.  So here we were, 302 Oprah fans out and about.  There was a common thread that held us together and that was our love for the same woman. But like any love affair, the honeymoon is over quickly. And I must say that although the majority of the people were lovely (and teachers I might add) some had a couple screws loose.  This became evident very early and my buddy and I stayed clear. On the final day I was able to meet the big O herself.  People asked if she is the same in person and my answer is No.... She is even better.  There is a reason that she got to where she is.  She has a magnetic energy about her and when she speaks to you, she is fully present and looks you right in the eye. That is more than I can say about half the people I work with.
They took the 302 of us and broke us up into 5 or 6 groups. I was in the adventure group.  This allowed me to shamelessly flirt with all that Australia had to offer. The barrier reef, the koalas, the food, the city, the Sydney Harbor bridge and the people. Oh the people. Australians seem to have sunshine coming out of their pores.  They are genuinely happy and healthy and seem to be fully present in their lives.  In sharp contrast to the Los Angeles airport when I mistakenly smiled at the Starbuck's person and told them to have a nice day...(gasp) how dare I?
Clearly there was beauty beyond words that a photo or my words could not do justice, but something of equal value to me was the friendships that were made.  On most reality shows relationships fizzle quickly when the cameras disappear, but I met two girls in particular that I believe will be in my life forever. The friendship was effortless and we seamlessly befriended each other.  Although we live in different states, what we shared will certainly live on.
I close on a thought, albeit, a bit morbid.  This trip has taken me, an ordinary ( from an outsiders view) working mom and wife and spiced up my identity. I don't doubt that in my eulogy, which I hope is 5 or 6 decades away, that my boys will reflect as one of the proud moments in my life. Perhaps that changed me. In what way, I will have to wait and see.