This sucks

I have returned to the work force. Well, sort of. Yesterday as I was walking into work I went right past my building and into the Starbucks next door. I needed a little liquid enthusiasm. I was greeted by my boss whose first words to me were in the form of a question. "Do you like my shoes?"  "Yes." Which was followed by a story about Funky town.. I don't know.  Once I opened my office door I was hit by a waft of stale energy that needed reviving.  I started my computer's engine and swear I saw that little yodeling guy from the Price is Right  Cliffhanger game climbing up my mountain of email and falling off the cliff around 500.  I began to sort through the messages and somehow ended up changing my screen savor. Naturally I couldn't have a spring photo, I needed a summer one. So I found a perfect one of the boys jumping off a pier, which lead me to go through all our vacation photos and before I knew it an hour had gone by.  Just in time for my first meeting which was regarding aspestos removal from the crawl space in our 100 + year old building, a building that I have been working in for four years and had been pregnant carrying our youngest child in.  After that I went back to my office and googled aspestos danger to pregnant women along with symptoms of mesothelioma. Before I knew it, it was time for lunch.  I went home to find that 2 of the boys didn't even know I had left, one was in their pajamas and one was too busy reenacting the Backyardigans to notice I just walked in front of him.  Don was indifferent, except in regards to a phone message he had taken which said that I had been entered into a drawing which my name was called and I needed to claim my prize. I was going to let it go, but he was persistent.  I called and I was told that I won my choice of either, a 3 day 2 night trip to a resort, a digital frame, or kitchen knives.  This should have been the first warning sign.  Of course I chose the trip and they said they would personally bring me the prize but I also had to watch a short pure air demonstration.  Wait what? I reluctantly agreed and we set a time for 7 pm.  By this time Don realized why I thought it was crap in the first place. "but why did you agree?" he asked. Rather than entertain this argument I returned to work to discover I have forgotten everything about my position.  I had what I like to call vacation induced dimentia.  I resorted to cleaning my desk until I was interrupted by my boss who recently invited Don and I over for dinner on Thursday and knowing that I don't eat meat, has decided to serve steak, he even offered to make mine tar tar. (insert fake laugh here) After minutes of fretting (not) he reassured me that he had made me a pasta dish. Before I knew it, it was time to go home. Our salesman arrived at 6:59 in an old cadillac, at which point he lugged two enormous bags out of his trunk.  He was overweight and was a combination of Chris Farley and Zach Galifiankis. At which point Don and I made a pact to make his visit the most unaccommodating possible. Don turned on the tv for the boys, let the other two play video games and let the dog out.  Immediatly he asked what the boys names were.  That creeps me out. Why is that necessary information for a air purification sales person? Well, he wasn't born yesterday, he dropped their names like they were hot. " Oscar needs clean air to be healthy and grow" "What do you think of that Jack?" Even throwing in the dogs name for extra credit.  We were not humoring his questions  like,
"What do you think of when you think of pollution? " or " Do you like the fact that your wasting hours of your time grinding more dirt into your carpet and ruining your home? " At that point Don said yes.  Strategically, neither one of us were sitting at the same time.  Kids were skipping through the house, milk was spilled, Graham was barking, Oscar was crying, snacks were being dispersed, a fight club had developed down stairs, and we just let it carry on. If our house didn't break him, nothing would.  We discovered that our air was in the "DANGER ZONE" based on his electronic meter and that only he had the solution to our pollution. At this point, we could not contain our laughter, that is just too cheesy.  The next laughable moment is when he asked Don if he knew how long his hose was.  But as much as the boys climbed around him, Graham sniffed him, his persistence was growing on me.  Except when he asked for a drink of water. How rude of me, he is our guest after all!  Yes, he was sweating like a pig, but I thought that only added to the discomfort. I gave him one of the boys miniature plastic cups.  Then he decided to demonstrate how we wasted good money on our new vacuum by sweeping our carpet 100 times. Trust me, he counted.  Then immediately following he used his super duper vacuum and guess what? He picked up a big hair ball of dirt, dust and probably e coli.  And if that didn't make us feel good enough he dumped it on the floor to show us.  By this time an hour had passed and my evening glass of merlot was calling my name. In other words, I had checked out.  Finally as we begin to anticipate a closer approaching us, he shows us yet another statistic based on clinical "research". We could barely hear him over Oscar's cries but we got the jist. We are filthy parents and our kids are going to die of lung contamination, but considering I already have asbestos related lung cancer I can except that fate.  By this time this man was infringing on Don's date with ESPN and he was done.  Before he could even ask if we could put a price on our young children's health, Don stopped him. He explained that although his presentation was flawless, albeit long, we were not going to buy anything...now or ever and we would like our vacation prize.  He seemed to understand but not enough to stop talking. At this point I started cleaning the kitchen and he asked to use our phone. He called his "manager" to explain that we were not going to buy anything and , "yes, he explained that, and even though we were at a dangerous level we still said no".  He assured us that gets paid just for coming over (because we were so worried) .  Don was standing at the door as if to say  kindly, get the f*ck out, and he gave us a wrinkly brochure with our choice of "premier destinations" such as Iowa, Florida and even Mishawaka!. 
I wonder if a similar experience happened to Arthur Miller when he wrote Death of Salesman. Willy Loman  was a vacuum salesman right?  Just as we think his foot is out the door he hands us a piece of paper and with puppy dog eyes asks us for 3 referrals. WHO does this?? I kindly agreed and gave him the names and the near numbers of my friends. I may or may not have changed a number or made an 8 look like a 9 or 0.  All I know is that if my friends knew I referred them to this tool, they wouldn't be my friend for much longer.  

So that was my day back, after two months.  But as much as it killed me to leave my family of bugs all snug in their beds,  I was able to go into work and be entertained by a co-worker who showed me a video clip of a white party where Stephanie, a fantastic drag queen (who recently came out of retirement for one show only, and made me feel just a little insecure that a man can me more feminine and graceful than me), and call it work. The Universe was reminding me to be thankful that  I'm not a air/vacuum salesman. 

A trip to simplicity.

We were recently invited to visit my dearest friend at a lake home that she shares with her aunt and mom in Northern Wisconsin.   We have been invited before, but this summer seemed perfect, especially since

1. I wasn't pregnant or nursing and

2. The boys were at an age where I could be sure they would have fun.

The trip is 7 and a half hours which took us over 9.  Blame it on google maps, Don, or the numerous potty stops..*hint,  if you picked Don as your answer you are correct! Regardless, we arrived unscathed.   I find that road trips are a lot like gambling.  You think you can make it to the next exit which you fantasize will have a clean McDonald's but your realize that you are gambling with your bladder, and the city engineer who decided to have a cluster of McDonald's together, than nothing but truck stop buffets for the next 40 miles.  And before you know it you are holding a cup while a 4-year-old pees in it, all while going 80 miles per hour down the free way praying you don't hit a bump.  I do all the driving on road trips.  I do this for few reasons.  The first one is that I get terribly carsick and cannot think about reading directions in the car.  Secondly, Don can jump in the back without getting nauseous to put out fires, change the dvd or open a juice box and lastly, Don can sleep. I cannot sleep while he is driving ever since the rainy incident in the mountains of Kentucky on our way to Florida last year. Just as I was dozing I was awaked by my heart flying out of my chest because a semi slammed on its breaks 3 feet away from us.  So we agree as long as I can drive, I do.  We arrived to a beautiful house and learned that we would have the entire lower level to ourselves. Three bedrooms, a bathroom, living room, kitchen, workout room and a walkout to the lake.  Pretty rockstar accommodations if you ask me. My only complaint was that the gates we brought along (mandatory when you have a 16 month old) were not wide enough to block the stairs. We figured it out with creative barricades or piano benches or upside down chairs.  What also was unexpected was the lake toys that were left in each of the boys room so they could catch bugs or read a nice book before settling in.  Did I also mention that one of our friends is a gourmet chef? She made us fresh dinner, lunch daily and one brunch.  Best of all, other than travel expenses it was free.  I had to go grocery shopping twice in the 4 days we were there, but that is because the boys were more than active while there which led to extreme appetites.  Because my friend does not have kids, they eat dinner (like normal people) when they are hungry, not because its 5 o'clock on the dot. So that meant the boys had two dinners, the first one of macaroni and cheese and the second of something delicious that they have never had and never will have again because it requires cooking skills, which I do not possess.   They went tubing and skiing for the first time. Explored the lake with snorkels and even had smore's. Don morphed into a 12 year old within 24 hours and was water skiing around the lake. I must say, its pretty amazing when you discover that someone you have been with, even had 4 children with in the past 11 years, can do something that you had no idea they could do.  Obviously, he hadn't skied in at least 12 years and he got up after 4 tries.   It made me feel a little inadequate because I don't have any of those things up my sleeve. What you see is what you get, I spent all my A game in the first year... now I'm on to my B or even C game trying to do new things to impress and falling extremely short, like the time I tried knitting. Trust me, nothing is more sexy or impressive than to find out that your wife is a knitter. Well, at least a knitter wannabe.   Don did learn some facts about me that he didn't know, albeit maybe not as impressive. Like, the story of when I went to my first kegger and blew my underage cover when I ordered milk (much to my friends horror.)  Or the fact that spiders and mosquitos LOVE me.   I was able to spend an entire 15 minutes by the campfire or as I call it, the mosquito thanksgiving, while they feasting on the other white meat, which was me.  And I have also handed that trait down to Jack who was bit by a spider which resulted in him having three bumps, two of which looked like Lucifer horns, this resulted in a reaction that made it look like he had 50  massive bug bites. After a while we decided there was no way he could have been bit that many times, especially since I had sprayed him. ( Did I mention there was a fully stocked bar?)  So the only option was Benedryl. I have been extra cautious about this drug ever since a co-worker gave me a Benedryl before a work reception( with wine) and it resulted in me telling my boss he looked like the bartender, who was an 80 year old toothless woman. So I cut the benedryl in half, and then in half again and gave it to him. The warnings were extreme excitability or noted drowsiness.  Once again, a gamble.  We noticed him stumbling so I decided it was time to take him to bed. As we were walking down the hallway I got a glimpse of his future fraternity persona. He kept repeating. "My name is JAAACCCKKK, J. A. C. K. Jack".  Yep, he is his mother's son. He slept like a rock.

Not only was this a vacation for us, but it was also a vacation from my makeup. I didn't wear an ounce, and I wore a sundress and my hair in a knot at the top of my head the entire time, and they still recognized me.  You know you have life long friends, when you can do that.  I can't even do that around family. It would only be a matter of time before my mom would ask if I was going to clean myself up, or before my mother-in-law would offer to watch the kids so I could take a shower.  I did shower by the way.

Before we knew it, it was time to go. Re- packing always seems to take twice as long.  We were sad to go, but knew that 4 boys and 2 adults are a lot for a previously peaceful house. No matter how much they say they love your company, you always kind of wonder if they are wishing they could sleep past 7 a.m. and go a day without hearing screaming.    We said our goodbyes and took off honking and waving goodbye, blowing kisses. Only to return 3 min. later because we forgot the bottle.  I swore they would be doing the jig in their lawn when we returned but they weren't. They actually had tears in their eyes.  And to solidify that they had just as much fun as we did, I received a text that they hadn't cleaned the little hand prints off the glass just yet. A little reminder to them of how laughing kids can make an already loving house even more of a home and a reminder to me that surrounding yourselves with good friends, laughing so hard you cry and taking a break from all that is stressful is what vacation is all about.

Love and Waffles

We need to get a lock on our bathroom door.  Our house is old and apparently back then people either left their doors open, or the kids were just born knowing what privacy meant.  My boys are deficient in the privacy awareness gene. For example, Jack was punished yesterday for streaking...outside.  They just think that being naked is funny. It makes me laugh too, but for obvious reasons he had to be reprimanded.  I was in the bathroom, dealing with my monthly female issue.  On a side note, after ever child I have been rewarded with a heavier period. As if my body was trying to put an exclamation point of relief each time there wasn't a baby in it.  Now after the fourth baby my middle name might as well be Flo.  So I was trying to deal with this and my second son walked in to discover some evidence in the toilet.  You would have thought that he walked into a CSI crime massacre. His alarm is justified, considering we determine the severity of an injury by the amount of blood it produces. To my knowledge he hadn't seen that amount in one place....ever.  He screamed what is that!?  As I slammed the door shut, he spoke to me through the door. Do you need a band aid??  This isn't the first time he had seen some feminine hygiene products before but I have gotten away with explaining that it was makeup or nail polish. That is my answer for everything I don't want them to touch. (Make up is for girls and nail polish stinks.)  I told him to go away and that I needed privacy.  When I came out he was sitting on my bed. Along with this monthly gift I get an added bonus in the form of killer cramps. And I mean these cramps have fangs. So I have been using a heating pad when I find a brief moment to sit down.  He looked like he had figured it all out, the blood, the heating pad, my irritable mood, yep. I was going to die.  I knew that this issue was not going to be consoled with the make up excuse and I was not about to tell him about a woman's cycle. I just explained that it was normal and not to worry about it because it was not fatal.  Although I would guess Don would beg to differ. He prides himself in predicting the exact date my period will start based on my increased ability to "bitch" at him.  But if there wasn't anything to "bitch" about to begin with... his "argument" has holes in it. Its the classic chicken and egg story.  That night, before I put the boys down, Finegan came to me and asked what my favorite breakfast was, I told him oatmeal. He told me he wanted to make me breakfast in bed the next day and to remind him.  I said ok and figured it was a fleeting thought.   While doing my usual nighttime rounds to be sure all the doors are locked and the boys have not strangled themselves with their bed sheets, I notice a Sticky note next to his bed. " make mommy breakfast". Next to the stairs another note read " breakfast for mommy" I felt the lump in my throat as I fought back a Niagara of tears as to not appear too emotional but I felt  my heart had melt a bit .  It wasn't mothers day or my birthday and to my knowledge he hadn't done anything wrong.  I figured that he was just showing his love for me.  I went to bed with a towel under my body...when I say heavy.. I mean heavy.  At 4 :45 a.m. I hear Finegan attempting to wake Don up.  After the 3rd and failed attempt I asked Fin what he needed. He came over to my side of the bed and said he wanted to make me breakfast. I said that I really appreciated it, but given that it was before the sunrise, I wasn't hungry.  He seemed to accept that and went back to bed.  At 7 :00 I was re- awakened with two frozen eggo waffles topped with frozen blueberries.  Before I start to wonder if has lost his mind and any recollection of anyone eating frozen waffles, ( and enjoying it) I remember rule number three in our house.  Don't touch the toaster or put anything into the toaster, for any reason.  Fin isn't strong enough to pour a full gallon of milk without spilling it. So he made due with the best he could.  He watched me take every single bite as if he had made them from scratch. By this time he had gotten his brothers involved and I had a little audience.  Frozen waffles never tasted so good, especially without syrup.   But my expression was magnified 100x in their eyes.  When I was finished they even took the plate.   I noticed that he was my shadow most of the morning and being extra helpful. Finally when he told me he wanted me to have his beloved dolphin that was given to him, I asked him what was up.   With complete sincerity he told me he didn't want me to die.    His first glimpse into the realm of estrogen had deeply freaked him out. It all became clear to me.  I hugged him and said that I was ok. I also explained that I had seen on the news that people are living to be 100 more and more and that the person or people that are going to live to be 150 have already been born.  He loves numbers so I continued. I also explained that I was 27 when I had him and if I lived to be 125 he would be.....I had to think for a second and he exclaimed "98!"  Yes.. I knew that.  So I told him by the time he was 98 and I was 125 we would be so old that we wouldn't even know who was the mommy and who was the son anymore and he would probably be changing my diapers..  He laughed and seemed pacified. I was touched that his way of showing his love for me was a unique glimpse into how he knows he is loved.  Although laying out their clothes every day and making them breakfast gets mundane and even overwhelming at times, there is a much more significant purpose to these chores that, up until now, I had overlooked.  Every single day that they get dressed and eat their breakfast, they are reassured that I love them.   A simple necessary gesture speaks to them in ways that make sense to them. I spend endless hours telling them I love them and all this time it was just a waffle that made them feel it.

Amish Universe

The weather this summer hasn't been what I would call, ideal for the pool.   We have been spending too much time inside (myself included.)  Who ever thinks teachers get the summer off is wrong. Don has had to do a workshop here, a room cleaning there etc. So that leaves me alone at home with the boys and not what I expected when I elected to take the summer off. Regardless, I'm determined to make it fun. The boys had been wanting to go to this place called Splash Universe for months. It is an indoor water park and I decided (without telling them) that we were going on Monday. I was kind of excited too.  Because of my debilitating motion sickness curse, I have been known to spoil any plans of going to amusement parks, Fairs, or kiddy lands at Disney World, but water parks are my secret ace card of not being as lame as people think.  When I was a kid my dad would take 6 or 8 weeks off ( I'm not sure because I was a kid and had no concept of time) and we would do all of our family traveling in the summer. They had an RV and had been known to travel from Canada to California to Florida. No need for a hotel because we bring our own! And we may even park it in front of your house.  One particular excursion landed us in Las Vegas in 1987. Nothing says Vegas like a family of Hoosiers with tube socks and matching Coca-a-Cola t-shirts.  Besides hitting the casino's where 3 of us are underage and the 2 that are of age (my parents) don't drink or gamble, (not for religious reasons but for the feeling of light headedness it gives them) we were able to have fun.  The final day of our trip my dad told us we were going to Wet N' Wild!  The biggest waterslide park in the country.  My siblings and I were so excited we even recorded a rap song about it on our jambox, our only electronic entertainment in our traveling home.  We arrived bright and early. My dad snorting to himself at the price per person, making some comment about how he could have bought 3  tanks of gas for an RV at this rate.  My heart was set on the giant slide in the center of the park. I traveled up 6 flights of stairs and reached the top, only to be told I needed to go back down because lightning had been spotted. I assured the lifeguard that I hand't seen any but that didn't seem to convince him to let me go down. I fought back tears long enough to find my dad who was standing in our meeting location at the center of the park.  He calmed us
(ok me) down and promised to let us come back the next day. We walked back to the front gate only to discover that there were no rain checks or refunds. My dad is a pretty laid back calm guy with two exceptions: traffic and money.  I seriously thought he was going to squeeze through that hole in the glass and ring the blasé attendants neck.  We left Vegas with a sour taste in our mouths...all of us except my brother, who thought it was pretty to cool to be propositioned by a prostitute.
This water park is inside so no need to worry about rain checks.  The placement of this establishment  is quite interesting. They put it right in the middle of Amish country.   I wonder what the logic is behind that. I can't even get a Whole Foods or Trader Joes to come to my town, but a city of people whose women can't even expose their ankles can get a water park.    We passed several horses and buggies. Women churning butter, men with beards plowing fields with horses and plow things.  Homemade dresses hanging to dry next to the chicken coop.  Finally we arrived. I felt reminiscent as I paid $27 per person to gain access, but we had come so far (45 min.)   It wasn't too busy. What I discovered as I sat in the toddler pool with Jack, water brings out the weird in people.  I tried to not get frustrated as I thought that we could have put up a baby pool in our back yard and Jack would have been doing the same thing but we would have saved $27.  Women in bikinis who shouldn't be. I don't say this to be mean, but if you are over a certain size or girth, it may be smart to opt for the one piece or a nice big cover up.  Most of the people there were moms trying not to get wet.  Within 10 minutes Parker came to me looking green. He said the slide made him feel sick. Sick? I couldn't understand what he was talking about. I instructed him to stay with Jack and Finegan and I went up the 4 flights of stairs to get to the top of the " vortex".  A properly named water slide for the midwest.  Finally after 24 years I was going to finally be able to go down the water slide that was robbed from me in Las Vegas.  I got on my tube and traveled down to the bottom. It may have been the longest 4.5 seconds of my life. I was being tossed from side to side in a dark airless tunnel to be shot out with a wedgie at the bottom. I felt as sick as I did in a boat in the middle of the ocean in Australia. I knew exactly why Parker felt like ass.  I decided to spend the rest of my time in the toddler pool or the lazy "river".  As the queasiness dissipated something made me feel equally as nauseous.  It was a couple in their mid 20's floating around intertwined like they were dry humping, but in the water.  I had to wonder, 1. why they were there when it is clearly a kids establishment where alcohol is not served and 2. Why pools make it acceptable for people to float around doing who knows what under the water.   After eating  a $30 lunch where I must have opened 15 little packets of ketchup with my teeth for their hotdogs, I decided it was time for us to go.  As we were walking to the parking lot I explained to Parker that unfortunately he has inherited my inability to have fun on rides that have any motion..which boils down to of all of them.   He said he knew exactly why he was the only one to have motion sickness out of his 3 other brothers. I knew what was coming before he announced it. He claimed it was because he came out of my vagina and the others didn't.  This seems to be the only thing that he sees remarkably unique from his brothers and he uses it as an excuse for many things. Maybe he wears glasses because he came out of my vagina. Maybe he doesn't like soccer because he came out of my vagina. Maybe he doesn't like math or school because he came out of my vagina. Who knows, maybe he is right, but I often regret sharing that fact so early in his life.
After 4 hours I was just happy to get in the car. I even planned on stopping at one of the amish businesses that offered homemade ice cream.  By the time I arrived at this place (after a brief wrong turn) the entire car had fallen asleep.  It was probably a good thing. As a kid my grandfather made a big deal about making ice cream and after what seemed like forever waiting for it as he churned a crank on a wooden barrel, it tasted like icy/salty/sour milk.  It was a hard sell for a girl raised on DQ.  I'll never forget my mom's face when I spit it out the 1/2 cup of ice crap we each got. Rather than wake the boys I decided to carry on our long journey home.   A good day which (hopefully) will leave a great memory of water parks for them and a new one for me.

My love hate relationship with age 3

Jack is going to be four in July and its a bittersweet moment to see his third year come to a close.  I thought this as I woke him up this morning. I got down on our hardwood bedroom floor where he is sleeping with a small blanket, no pillow, his bunny and our dog next to a vent blowing cold air in his face.   We have tried to make our bedroom floor as uncomfortable as possible, but it still beacons little boys late at night.  I leaned down and kissed his face and his first words were " the pirates on the bus go arg arg arg"  Random, yes but not really, considering that his latest obsession is pirates.  He laughs and jumps up like he has just slept on a cloud.  A three year old's zest for life is contagious, and exhausting.  In a matter of minutes he has poured himself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch ( without milk) * explanation to come, and is running downstairs to greet his older brothers who are watching cartoons in the basement. Jack yells " Good morning brothers! " only to have them retort with, "Jack you have a stinky butt", but that doesn't phase him, he begins to talk to them about Pirates and what role each family member plays in his pirate family, and for whatever reason, they listen.  I'm the only girl pirate and Don is the ship.  At the coaxing of his brothers he also decided to declare himself a butt pirate. They don't even know what that means, they can put the word butt in front of anything and think 1. that they came up with it and 2. that they are the next comic standing.  But...  it made me laugh so I made him repeat it. Hopefully he will keep that to himself at his pirate themed vacation bible school tonight.  Three year old's can go from asleep to a coke head in 60 seconds, they can also go from a coke head to a door nail in the same amount of time.  One minute they are bouncing on the couch and  the next minute they are asleep, face down in their refried beans at dinner.
They don't care what are who is popular. They play with whom ever they feel like and when they get tired of that kid they move on.. no hard feelings at all, maybe a toad distracted them.  They speak from a place of truth that gets filtered when they reach the ripe age of 5 or 6. This could be viewed as love and hate.  Yes, I know that the checkout woman at Walmart has a mustache, you don't need to say it out loud and when I ignore you, tell the person behind me or the women herself.  There are also times when I don't want to be asked if there is a baby in my tummy, especially when there isn't, and won't be, and right before I go out and was feeling pretty confident with my outfit.
A three year old loves with their entire being and they are not afraid to tell you. Just today Jack yelled across the pool at me. " I loovveee you mooommyyy!"  This was right before he asked for ice cream, but I would like to believe he was just struck with that overwhelming admiration.
Actually, every emotion is felt with extreme intensity.  Jack can get so angry at his brothers that he actually turns red and shakes like a rocket , yet he is quick to forgive.  When things don't go his way, the world is ending. In his short life I believe the world ended at least 24 times.
He is still young enough to be held, but walk when you need him to.  He craves independence yet still needs you to witness his accomplishments.
They have distinct tastes when it comes to food. A food that they love can be completely repulsive when mixed with something else * see above. Milk alone is only acceptable if Ovaltine is in it, if it is white, or with cereal you could have better luck getting a rabbi to eat a pig.
Their world is so small and they are still in the center of it. They truly believe that everyone at the ballpark cares that they need to poop or go potty. There are no limits to what they can do, they can climb a mountain to visit giants, they just need you to drive them there and provide snacks. Nothing is taboo and modesty has not presented itself. Having a conversation with their grandmother, a babysitter, a local politician, completely nude or in a full snow suit makes absolutely no difference to a 3 year old...or maybe that is just mine, I'm not sure.
My earliest memory was when I was three.  It is of my grandma making me a tweety bird cake. I don't think I had a fondness for tweety bird, but when she asked me what kind of cake I wanted it was the first thing that came to mind.  I remember watching her make every little yellow frosting feather.  I don't remember anything else about that age.  And to think, three of my most favorite years of Jack's life may only be remembered by him by photos or videos.  To go from sucking being his only talent to singing/composing and writing his own lyrics to songs, walking and wiping himself in only 3 short years is monumental.  I can't say I accomplished anything remotely as complex as that in the last 3 years.. I did learn to knit though.
So even if he doesn't remember me waking him up from our bedroom floor, maybe he will remember that he felt loved, and I guess I would be fine with that too.  Every year has its own   uniqueness, but I have to say three is the hardest most wonderful year yet.

my iMovie

Don went over to a friends house tonight and I am alone this Saturday evening. I say this with no animosity whatsoever. I enjoy these quiet nights alone when I have my birds all in my nest and a glass of wine by my side. Tonight I was particularly restless. I had tried to rent a movie from Red box, but have found that they never have the one I want, and it also seems to be a place where people want to converse about movies, ever since Blockbuster closed. I don't and I don't want to help you select one either, cat woman, (she had cat hair all over her black sweatshirt, with two faded white cats on the front). Finally after selecting and reading the synopsis for each one,  she chose something and moved on. Its a dollar lady, if you pick a bad one its not going to break the bank.  I had Finegan with me and he was "patiently" waiting in the van. I finally was at the screen when I felt someone stab my back. It scared me for a brief second until I turned around. No I wasn't being held up, it was Fin showing me that he really could be a ninja.  On the ride from his baseball game he had decided that he was going to be a ninja when he grew up, he scared the crap out of me, maybe he really could be one. Do they even have ninjas anymore?  I think he is a little too stocky and a bit too chatty for that profession, but I will let a boy dream.  I decided that I couldn't waste an hour and a half on one more romantic comedy with Jennifer Anniston and went home.   It was a long, but good day and the boys were exhausted. They all went to bed without a fight, or at least a fight worth mentioning, and Don left. I was alone on the couch in a quiet house with a glass of merlot.  I swear my house looks different when there isn't a boy running through it, its actually kind of nice. It also sounds different. I hear things that are otherwise muffled by the boys dsi's or Jack's latest pirate song. Its almost as if the house finally takes a deep breath.  After changing the channel 400 times and deciding that I didn't want to watch Renovation Realities or a scripted reality show (again), I ventured into cyber space where I have a network of friends I may or may not recognize in the grocery store, heck the lady in line at Red Box could be the lady who likes all my statuses for all I know. I have been working really hard to not watch or listen to the news. I made this decision, well ok, I didn't make it, it was suggested to me by a therapist that I stop watching the news because it only stirs the pot of my worry and although Don has suggested this, this man is a professional and I will try it out.  The news never does follow up. In the past week, our local news has reported on child abduction attempts, children getting hit by cars , children being killed by accident or getting injured by lawn mowers or drowning. It must be their summer strategy. But 9 times out of 10 they don't tell you the story in its entirety.  The child abduction attempt was by her father or the kid who drowned in the back yard had a seizure. Its not that it makes it less tragic, but it gives me some hope that my child isn't going to drown in a puddle.  Obviously you can see I haven't done too well with not watching the news.  So rather than watch a poor lit shiny local newscaster I turned to our own home movies.   I decided to just skim through the last year.  What amazed me is that it was suspenseful.  I couldn't wait to see what happened next even though I was there.  I reluctantly watched the birth of Oscar, 14 months ago and watched him being cut out of that poor girl's stomach, (how can they stretch her skin so much?) Oh that's right it was me.  I was a bit moved when Don did a close up of my face as I held my breath until I heard his first cry.  When I saw my face it brought back the emotion clear as day.  But it was as if I was a third party looking in. I felt sorry for her because although nobody in the room could know, she was scared, and having a panic attack.  But even now watching it from an outsider's prospective there is no way to recognize that.  I was touched to see my mom's reaction when she first held him while I was in recovery. Again, I'm in the video, I had a front row seat, but it was as if I was watching it for the first time.  I watched the older boys first lay eyes on their baby brother and how they were overflowing with excitement.  In the back ground I could see a drugged, tired and worried woman, but it is hard to believe it is me.  It allowed me to go back in time and be a fly on the wall. I wonder how much of my life I'm missing by being caught up in my head and not fully present in the moment.  Its not even like I have a different perspective, because in order to have that you must have some sort of recollection of the event, which I seem to have misplaced in my subconscious.  Its no wonder that adults blame their problems on their childhood. They have snapshots in their brain of the painful things, but completely bury the simple happy times.   I feel like I'm in the movie Its a wonderful life and I'm looking through the window. And what I see is far from what I notice. I see the way the boys look at me when I'm not looking. I hear something that they say that I ignored and I see how beautiful being a mother can really look.
I get so caught up in worrying that I fail to feel what is going on, it isn't until I watch it on an iMovie that I notice the little, most important things.  And to think I spend all this time avoiding Don while he holds the camera because I feel bloated that day, or he is on my bad side. The truth is, I looked at myself, holding a baby  just one year ago and thought, wow, I really looked radiant, and young!  I see a life that I always wanted, that I have  and that I have  overlooked.   The year went by in a blink of an eye.  If I worry too much about the moments I missed since I met Don I will, once again be losing this very pleasant quiet minute that may hold something just as significant as a momentous event, but not recorded because it may not seem relevant.. at least not now.  So I'm going to take a hint from my house and take a deep breath.  Just as a type this I hear a groggy Jack coming down the stairs.  He is more than half asleep which reminds me to wake up and take a mental imovie of this, because when he is out of the house, I'm sure its what I will long for most.

A new kind of heart break

Today I experienced an emotion that I had never felt before, it was kind of mix of helplessness, rage and compassion.  It was the first time I was able to see Parker play baseball. I have seen him play T-ball, but now he is in the farm league and the difference is that they can strike out and they have a pitching machine..  The game was already an hour and a half, can you imagine what it would be like if an 8 year old pitched? I would have grandchildren by that time.
Parker certainly looks the part. He is a handsome little guy, sandy blond hair a medium build, a little taller than average but still right in the middle.  As he went up to bat I felt extremely nervous, almost like I was having to tell my boss I was pregnant (again.)  Once he was at bat, he stood there in a Shaggy stance. This is what I call someone who pushes their hips forward slouches and looks like Scooby- doo's companion.  The guy loading the machine actually calls what it is going to be. Here is a ball, here is a strike, to me that takes away an important learning opportunity to judge whether a ball is good enough to hit, but that may just be me. I regress.
There is Parker, looking more like a spectator than a player and we are on strike number 2. As the ball is propelling to Parker I say a little prayer. "Please God, let him hit the ball..please, please, please"  Of course, God has time for these prayers, what with earthquakes, genocide and war going on. STRIKE 3. Ugh. This is where a pain shoots through my gut.  Although Parker's shaggy stance would give the impression he was not ready, inside he really wanted to hit the ball. Watching him walk back to the dug out shameful and disappointed is truly heartbreaking. Especially for a mom. I go around to the dug out and tell him he made a good effort and was so close, but he isn't buying it, he looks at me through his eyes filling with tears and speaking through teeth and says.. " this is why I don't like baseball".  He is trying just as hard as I am to not cry. It may sound dramatic, but watching your child hurt and not being able to fix it, is torture.
I was a freakishly good athlete as a kid. Anything I tried I did well.  It came very easy to me, Tennis, softball, soccer, swimming, golf, basketball, you name it.  What I lacked in book smarts, I made up with field smarts.   That is why it does not make any sense to me why it hasn't presented itself in my boys....yet.   I guess I could blame Don, that seems like the easy thing to do, but even  he was a gifted athlete (not as good as me, but that is an argument Don and I will never resolve)
Once I had the chance, I called Don. In a low serious voice I asked him WTF is going on. He has been to all Parker's games and failed to mention his inability to hit the ball.  I wish I would have had some warning.  I told him he is neglecting his son and needs to take him to the batting cage stat. * and to think, Don thinks I over react?   He said he was planning on it, but that Parker had improved the last game.  Improvement from what? Was he facing the wrong way and now he is facing forward and there for, its an improvement?  He could sense my inner turmoil and his excuse was that my very presence was causing Parker to Babydown. That is his term ( made up by Don) which means that the boys revert to mama's boys when I am around.  Much to the same way I dumb it down for my boss. It works for me, and clearly it was working for Parker. When he didn't get a hit I run to his aid with encouragement and he gives me his big brown puppy dog eyes and I want to take him to my breast and nurse him. Just kidding, but I do want to hug him and let him know that I love him. But maybe Don is on to something. I decide no more Mama bear. Rather than standing right behind him sounding like Jack Handy while he bat, I will sit with all the other parents.  But before I do, I call him out of the dug out and show him the proper stance while he is at bat. Well, if he wasn't embarrassed before, he certainly was now.
I returned to my place on the bleachers and watched. He is great on the field, I actually enjoyed myself and wondered if anyone noticed I was only cheering for him. But I had to, his coached are deadbeat coaches.  Well, maybe not dead beat, but you would think between the 4 of them they could give better instruction other than, " come on now son, hit the ball!"  His head coach has a cigarette behind his ear, no joke.  Maybe that is what they need rather than a hovermom. That was until I heard one of them criticizing his own son in the outfield, and loud enough so everyone could hear. That is when it hit me.   I'm really just as bad as they are, but more on an emotional level.  What it comes down to is that you just want your kid to do well.  My self esteem was elevated as a child because I was the best at something.  But who is to say that it needs to be sports. Is it because he is a boy and I want him to fit in and be liked, and I liked athletic boys in school, so that must mean that only athletic boys are well liked?  Sounds dumb.  Most of the jocks I found attractive in high school can be found on the corner bar reliving the good old days, and that isn't attractive at all.
After the game Parker came running to me to give me a hug. I told him that I was proud of him and by the time we reached the snack stand, any disappointment in not getting a hit was comforted by a big box of popcorn.  Emotional eating, that is one thing I know he inherited from me, and let me tell you, he is damn good at it.

Country Clubs are great!

Last summer we joined a country club for the summer. It’s a great deal (or so you think). For a great flat rate you can use the pool and cafe all summer. Oh and by the way you have to spend at least $50 in food per month... Oh and another thing, we will tac on gratuity to a $2 bag of chips. Last summer we over did it a bit, but this year we plan on being diligent on our food expenditures.  At least I thought we had that conversation.  Because it was a holiday they had an all you can eat buffet, which charged per person $$$. Thankfully Don has a huge capacity for food consumption, because I could not justify paying $8 per kid who each ate a rib and half a corn of cob. Not to mention the $5 beers Don kept ordering.   I drew the line when Jack came to our chairs with 3 bags of chips and an economy size box of peanut m&m's . I asked him how he got that and he said, it was easy, he went up and took it, and they asked him his name. I said did you tell them your last name? "no, just Jack". Hopefully they didn't figure out he was our son, but who am I kidding we all look alike. But seriously, if a 3 year old goes up to a bar and asks for a drink do you give it to him? No! geezus.  Its going to be hard to break the habit of overabundance this summer, but someone has got to do it.  I get a bit of bathing suit anxiety a few weeks before I know I have to be in one.  I must say I have been really good about working out and last summer I had just had a baby, so at least I know I look better than that. Despite being very pale, I felt ok about being half naked in public. 

That was until I got there. For whatever reason, there appeared to be a spokescouple for P90X enjoying the pool too.  I always can justify their ripped appearance by thinking that she hasn't had babies yet. Just wait. Well, she did and not one but two!  Ok, well I don't want to live in a gym.  I think women and men are very different when it comes to the pool scenario. Don can look at a guy his age who is un-naturally fit and think , huh that guy is ripped.  I don't even look at the hairless guy, I'm mesmerized by this women's abs. ABS? or A bunch of Bull Shit if you ask me. How is it possible?

Thankfully the pool area fills up with normal looking people so the Mr. and Mrs. Muscle and Fitness are not so obvious.  

I love watching the boys swim.  Parker is continually trying to jump off the diving board into a inner tube.  Unfortunately for him,  we don't have prescription goggles, and because he is blind as a bat his aim is a little..off.  Finegan is exploring with his snorkel, the helicopters and other things that have flown in the pool. All I can see is his butt and snorkel swimming around. Jack is wearing a life jacket and I can tell where he is by the life guards yelling " Jack, Walk!"  I have Oscar outfitted in a baby life jacket suit which is interfering with his balance.  He is toddling all over the place and not yet aware that if he falls into the pool he will sink, or almost sink. I spent most of the day following him.  Don is just a bigger version of Parker and I don't see him for hours at a time..

I had finally gotten over my body issues when the Kardashian sisters walked in (the older ones, not the younger one).  Just in case I haven't explained, I have what has been described as an "athletic" body type. I look more like a soccer player, than a softball player, but curves are not something that I would use to describe my silhouette.  The sisters looked to be about 20 and dangerously curvy.  They decided to set up camp at the only two chairs available, next to ours.   Don emerges from out of nowhere to ask if I needed anything. What?  As they put lotion on each other I feel myself adjusting my control top tankini.  I have a strong urge to hate them and go up shaking my finger to say " you better enjoy that body because before you know it, it will be gone GONE!"  After another hour or so Oscar is popping like corn, That is what I call whining in repeated little outcries pop pop, he was hot and hadn't slept or pooped.  I decided it was time to go.  The Kardashians had decided they were hot and needed to put their sexy feet in the water.  Like bees to honey all my boys were at their side. Finegan was pinching their toes. Parker and Jack were squirting them with squirt guns and Don was "making sure everything was ok".  When I  told them (again)  it was time to go and Jack was devastated, crying and screaming "no!" Thankfully Kardashian sister #1 piped up and said " Jack, would it make you feel better if you squirted me one more time" NO JOKE.  First of all, when were names exchanged? And why is she consoling my son with her boobs? That is my job.  So Jack puppy dog eyed her and said yes... And squirted her a final time.
Before we left, he asked if she would be back on Saturday, " yes" she said and with that, Jack made his first date.

On the ride home Oscar passed out, and the car was quiet, a very rare occurance. Don mentioned what a great day it was.  I said, " I bet it was, with all the eye candy"  He didn't respond. So I repeated it " I bet it was with all the eye candy". He said, he heard me the first time. But why wasn't he saying something like "  your candy is enough for me, or what candy?"  I guess he was exercising his right to remain silent.  I have no idea why I was mad at HIM for girls being there. I guess it goes with the territory.  He was smart to not say anything because it could have been used against him in the court of me... and it would have. But the insecurity storm blew over.

And with that the start of summer has begun.  I will continue to work my butt off to look average and there will always be someone who doesn't work out and makes looking good easy, but what they don't have is an all boy entourage following them around all day, every day.

Quick Fix

If anxiety was a fruit I would squeeze it dry. I have had anxiety for as long as I can recall. I can't exactly remember when it began but it wasn't something that would plague me all day every day. Usually there was an instigation. For example, my brother building a ramp and telling me to ride my bike as fast as I could over it. Or, that same brother telling me to swing from a vine which ultimately ended in me breaking my arm.  Of course those were anxiety producing events.  In college I would freak out over exams, or laundry or whatever.  As an adult most of my anxiety is caused by worrying about things that haven't happened, but could. My anxiety was getting so vivid that I wasn't sleeping well.  I took it upon myself to contact a psychiatrist.  I chose him by his 5 star rating on line. Also, he had his M.D. not Ph.D. Which = drugs.  I sat in the office. The same brother that caused my childhood anxiety had sent me a text telling me to read a David Sedaris book. I had brought that along to read while waiting. I didn't know anything about David Sedaris other than my friend Greg liked him too.  I had no idea he was so freaking funny.  I'm sitting with other patients, laughing hysterically and trying not to, then getting church giggles all while waiting to see a psychiatrist.  I'm sure the others thought I had a screw loose, so I was in good company. I was still laughing as he escorted me back to his office.  Bla bla bla, worry, bla bla bla. He said I  tend to make everything into catastrophes. bla bla bla. Here is an rx.  He came to this conclusion after 10 min. What if I was full of crap? What if I was an addict?  I asked him if this was temporary and he told me it was something I would have to deal with for the rest of my life. So I left. Prescription in hand with a life sentence as a recovering anxiety ridden catastrophizing freak. Poor me.  I took the meds for about a week and decided the side effects were causing me more anxiety than anything.  Against the advice from family, friends, the average joe and the dog,  I stopped taking it.   It seems to me that if anyone in todays society is feeling a twinge of discomfort, there is a pill for that.  Maybe the nucleus of the Earth is feeling sad too and is pulling all the serotonin out of us to make us feel blue.  Or maybe we are just used to getting a quick fix. Headache?  Tylonal. Can't sleep? Ambian.  Can't get it up? Viagra. Sad? Prozac.  Can't concentrate? Adderal. Too Hot? Air conditioning.   Don't like your body? You can get a quick fix for that too.
* I will never understand the justification that a women uses to get implants. " I did it for me" Really?  Having foreign objects in your body in a particular area makes you smarter, sexier, able to have the confidence to get that job promotion? Doubtful. Well, I guess it depends on the job. Trust me. I know. I had perfectly awesome boobs from the early age of 14 - 25. After each child they shrunk, and I'm completely ok with that. Plus, most of the best things in my life occured after 25. 
I too have fallen into that mindset. I got to thinking, if I had taken one of my sons into a doctor and they suggested putting them on a drug with in 10 minutes of meeting them,  I would want to know every little detail about it and if it was possible how to prevent it.  But when it comes to myself, I opt for a quick fix.  I find it interesting that we are continually taking meds to cope. Cope with life. Is our life really that bad? Think of when the settlers came to this country. It took them months if not years to travel from one side of the country to the other.  People died. They had to find and make their own food. It was hot. It was cold. They were in a covered wagon. I'm sure it smelled.  I have a sneaking suspicion that some of them may have even felt.....depressed!  And with good reason. They didn't know where they were going, what they would find or if they would even get there. We don't have nearly the amount of stress as they did, yet we need drugs just to get through a day. Can you imagine if one of those women told her husband, "I don't think my boobs are big enough and if they were, I would be much happier, I'm going to sell the wagon and get an augmentation."  She would have been left behind at the next wagonstop.  Trust me. I know about chemical imbalance and I truly believe that if you need these drugs, by all means,  take them. But for the people that diagnose themselves on line, I challenge them to try to figure out what is at the root of their problem before they turn to medications. Chances are that same root will still be there just masked by a dose of the pharmaceutical de jour.  Maybe you just need them for a little while. Agreed.  I have been there and I credit medication in getting me through a really rough time. But just like I took off training wheels when my son turned 5, I learned to deal, slowly but just like my son I feel a sense of control when I am left to balance myself.
When I was in LA I took an acting class with a fantastic method actor named Eric Morris. He did an exercise called Vesuvius. You stood on stage, in front of 20 or 25 people and just started spewing your thoughts to get an authentic feeling. Sometimes it needed a little prompting to get an authentic reaction. Like when he said, "how does it make you feel that the guy you are dating (who was sitting in the audience) is married? WHAT?  That really happened. I had no idea, but it certainly got an authentic reaction. His point was, to allow those feelings to come and remember what they felt like in order to recreate them through a script.  Allowing those feelings to surface and explode ( hence the name) was not only freeing, it was therapeutic.
I have found ways to deal with my anxiety. I work out, I try not to drink (a lot) and I talk, mostly to Don.  Most of the time, once I have said my worry out loud like, " what if Oscar silently gets out of his crib while we are sleeping and makes his way out of the house and we wake up and he isn't there"
it isn't as much of a worry.  I also laugh. I surround myself with people who make me laugh and I watch funny stuff. I hide people on facebook who complain all the time. I emotionally eat.
Maybe I'm in denial. Is there a drug for that?  Maybe in a week or so I will write from a psychiatric ward that my husband, coworkers and doctor have committed me to.  Who knows, but for the time being I'm going to be a renegade and try to get over myself.  Perhaps it is a personality trait that makes up what is known as me. If I take something every time I feel sad, then how can I possibly appreciate when I feel happy?  What will become of us if we because a society that doesn't experience raw uninhibited feelings?

Little league vs. piano league

We had a weekend of firsts. First weekend of little league and our first piano recital. It was also Don's birthday and I will get to that.  I couldn't help but notice the sharp contrast of the company I was in. Friday night Don and I went to a new Mexican restaurant. I always feel at home or at casa in these places. I suspect that in a former life I was a fat catholic mexican woman with at least 15 kids who stayed at home cooking tortillas all day.  I seem to have the culture (and margaritas) in my blood. Even though my Mexican self would probably be deeply offended by that comment.  Once I saw a photo of a women who looked like me in a day of the dead celebration..just saying.  After, we went to a dive bar which is the most authentic place in town. Nobody is there putting on airs. Nobody is grinding in the corner. Its just a bar, with a juke box, darts and  shuffle board.  Don dominates the music to ensure we don't have to listen to country. His selections range from Tom Petty to Queen and I even threw in a little James, Laid for good measure. There were a total of 9 people including the bartender.  A couple who seemed to have rolled out of  Wal-Mart, muffin tops and all. A rough thin old guy sitting at the end smoking a cigarette, another rough chubby old man sitting at the other end, who happened to trip walking in , which caused me to obnoxiously laugh and pretend that Don had just said something funny. And lastly, two couples playing darts.  I couldn't help but notice one of the guys glancing over at me every 3 minutes.  He didn't see me as the mom of 4, he saw me as a hot young-ish thing enjoying a night with my boyfriend, (not my husband of almost 10 years.) And who did NOT arrive in a honda Odyssey.
The two hours flew by like ten minutes.
The next day I went to Finegan's first T-ball game.  People that don't know me would probably think I was a bit stand offish. The truth is, I'm shy and until I really get to know you, I'm pretty quiet. That is the case most of the time. In this case, I just didn't want to talk to them. I'm there to watch a suspenseful fast paced t-ball game, not socialize. And people watch, or as I call it observe.   To my left is a mom and her sister, aunt, friend, and whoever else lives in their house, with a two year old little girl. This girl whined the entire game and they kept her quiet by giving her packaged crackers and processed cheese and hi-C, (excellent selection ma'am). To my right was a mom crying whenever her son hit the ball off the T. I can't knock her too much, but at least don't announce to anyone who is listening that you are crying.  At one point I had to get out of my seat and walk to the right field fence to tell Fin to stop doing everything in slow motion.  He does this 40 min. into any game because of 3 reasons
1. He is too hot.
2. His _______ hurts.
3. He is tired.
He literally moves like he is in the Matrix.
When I returned I glanced to my right were a family had camped out with chairs and a cooler. The games are 60 min. maximum. It wasn't lunch time. They had a smorgasbord of hot dogs, popcorn and nachos.  As a former mexican I take offense to calling round tortilla chips covered in cheese whiz nachos.  They also had huge cokes.
Is it any wonder why we are the most obese nation?   By the time it ended it was starting to rain and Parker had a game at that exact time. Don dropped the 2 younger ones off with me.  There I was standing in now a down pour with a baby, a flight risk 3 year old and a 6 year old who was in slow motion while Don stood under a tent with Parker.  In retrospect Don said  "it wasn't the smartest decision" and my Dad reminded him that if I'm anything like my mother, I will bring it up 25 years later when he least expects it...he is right...and I will.
Its not easy dodging cars backing up in a parking lot that was designed by a blind person.
With that behind me I looked forward to Sunday.  We missed the recital rehearsal because of little league, but arrived early to get a little rehearsal in before the " performance". It took place in an Episcopal church and the piano is to the right in a choir "hutch". The entire audience had to look to the right while facing forward. The boys played 2 songs each. They were back to back. Altogether, with getting to the piano, bowing and taking their seat the total time was 2  1/2 minutes.  The entire concert was one hour and 40 min. Or the equivalent to 3 days when you are sitting with a 3 and 1 year old. Don't let strange rain-man like piano instructors fool you, they are making the big bucks. There were at least 25 performers at $25/ 30 min. each, once a week...one savvy business lady.  My parents dutifully attend all music events for their grandchildren, for my mom its time to revel in their virtuosity and for my dad its a great time to nap. My mom pointed out that when my boys are older they are going to be the hit of any party, what, with their piano playing and tap dancing.  Sure if they take a time machine back to 1951, maybe Dick Van dyke will be there doing some crazy chalk drawings too.  If there was the polar opposite of the baseball crowd it was this crowd. The ability to sit for an hour and 40 min. without food, water, and in silence is amazing, except mine who were snacking on dumb dumbs ( excellent selection dumbass) . We were the rebels in this crowd.  Fin insisted he had to pee even though he went before and had consumed about a thimble ounce of juice prior.  He was gone for an extended time and when he returned he went in the wrong door which placed him wondering right in front of the performer looking shocked and lost.  This caused me to get the church giggles which sent us further into rebel status.  After listening to a family of five with the same bowl haircuts and pleaded pants, the recital was over.
My parents suggested we go to celebrate Don's birthday and the recitals.
You would think that I would know that taking kids to a restaurant to sit and wait after they have been sitting 24 hours ( in kid time) and then 2 hours (in kid car time) would be a recipe  for disaster, but I didn't. I was hungry. Something about church makes me hungry, maybe its my soul emotional guilt eating.
It was just as I had suspected, but rather than reflect the entire disaster dinner, I will give you the highlights.
Don takes Jack away from the table. Jack screams. Don threatens. Jack laughs. Dad says What? I glare at Jack. Oscar head bangs the table. Parker orders ribs. Finegan announces he likes the taste of beer. Jack falls back in his chair and the entire restaurant comes to a silent stand still. After seeing that Don and I didn't rush to his rescue a man next to our table jumps out of his seat. Only to discover that the "unconscious" Jack is only playing opossum because he knows that if he gets up he is in really big trouble.
Check please.

Bloody Mother's Day

I still feel weird being called a mom, let alone a mother.  Mother's day is for my mom, not me. Almost anyone can become of mom, but being a mother is a title that is earned. And although I am a mommy 4 times over ( 5 if you include our lab),it is only a part of me as a whole, not until you have raised your children do I believe you can consider yourself a true Mother.   But I do enjoy the nod of appreciation I get from my boys, even though I know they (Don) put together a gift at 9 pm the previous night or it was made by their teachers.
Being the mom of 4 boys has been quite eventful.
God must be a divine comedian when he gave me this "blessing".  I don't think he took into consideration that I have issues with blood, or maybe he did. Ha! Good one Yahweh!   I don't like lacerations or anything associated with plasma.  When I had my first son, it is protocol to place the baby on their mother's chest immediately after birth. I politely asked them to clean him off first. I was ok with the cheese, just not the blood.  The choice was, have me pass out, or clean him and have me coherent.
As I was making dinner last night I sent Jack out in the backyard to blow some bubbles. Within 2 min. I hear a scream outside. A few years ago I would have rushed out of the house, but in this case I just kept on cooking.  I then remembered that he was outside alone... well, if its bad enough he will come in. As I heard his cries getting louder I knew he was on his way in.  I figured he had spilled his bubbles.   When he came in the door he showed me his finger with blood running down his hand.  I Scream! * Someday I will realize this only escalates thier emotions, but it freaks me out too.  Don isn't home. Ok. stay calm I tell myself as I rush him to the bathroom to wash off his bloody stump.  As its running under the water he tells me that he was bit. Bit? By what? Is there a dog on the lose?  Is there a brave squirrel? No, he was bit by the brick wall.  I didn't ask him to elaborate, because I didn't want anything he said to be evidence that all the bumps to his head really have caused a slight retardation.
 Thankfully the blood washed away long enough for me to put a band-aid on his 1/4 inch cut and send him back outside.  I really wish my grandfather would have invented band-aids. We would be rich.
The other boys arrived home and with in moments of entering the door I notice that they are a mess, I'm starting to wonder if they acutally go to school or just roll around in a sand pit all day.  Earlier that day Jack had shown me that he had eaten a mouthful of sand that a boy had thrown at him. He had dirt in his teeth.
I instruct them to wash thier hands for dinner, but does it really matter when they look like the came out of a Chilean coal mine? Don walks in with his 5 o'clock shadow-beard and a coffee stain on his shirt as well as an unidentified ketchup stain, which is funny because there wasn't ketchup in the lunch I packed him......( Evidence A. he is cheating on my lunch with McDonalds value meals)
Dinner at our house consists on massive food consumption They have inherited their fathers hollow leg, designed specifically for food storge.  The boys go in fazes that I have broken down to a science.
Ages 1-2 they eat pretty much anything.
Ages 2-3  Complex Carb superabundance , anything not a carb is offensive.
Ages 3-4 Protien Party, anything meat, is fair game, cheese, nuts, anything not a protien is offensive.
Ages 5+ Anything is fair game... unless it is a mushroom or a "chinese" noodle...word on the street is that its cool to NOT like something, even if you unknowling eat it in pizza and whenever I make speghetti.
Sugar is the only consistant thing in their diet.
After dinner the boys are instructed to take showers.  They each have their own loofa and are instructed to start from top to bottom and scrub until in kind of hurts.
Finegan was the last to shower and he called out for me.  I could tell he was worried by the inflection of his "mooommmeeey?"  He came down completely naked and asked me to look at his weiny. ( his words, not mine) He said it hurt, I said, I'm sure its fine, he then pulled a portion of skin back and I screamed when I saw blood.  This caused him to start crying and he asked " what's wrong with it?" " I don't know!?, I don't have a penis! Go ask your daddy!" He frantically ran to Don for the inspection.  Besides blood, penis's are a mystery to me. It was just a week ago that one of the boys showed me that he could push it back in, which horrified and scarred me.  Turns out he wasn't cleaning it properly and there was some skin adherance going on. How would I know that? Especially since I had nothing to do with the care of their circumsitions. It just creeped me out.
I don't think grown men remember what they put their mom's through..or maybe mine are just very open with their bodies?
Regardless, if you are a man,  chances are your mom has seen you inside and out, brought you down a notch and built you back up.
When my mom is gone ( hopefully not for another 35 years) I will be given the true Mother's day title. And when I am,  I want my 40 something son's give me one thing for mother's day..  to come home clean, un-bloody gentleman and tell me that they are happy. Authentically happy.  Thats it, and all the blood dirt and tears will have been worth it.

Quarter life crisis

People are living longer these days. If I live to be 100 then I have already finished the first quarter of my life.  I would say it was a pretty productive quarter:
Birth (thanks mom)... (and dad)
Youth (dedicated to soccer and dogs)
Teens: (crazy I might add)
College graduation: (nobody saw THAT coming)
20: (very wild year, last year as a single lady)
21- 29: (I have dedicated these to my husband because I met him at 21) Babies 1 and 2
30-33: (babies 3 and 4)
33-34: snooze
35+ Now what?
I had this realization last week. I was at my niece’s confirmation.  I was looking at her thinking that she has so much to look forward too. High school, college, friends, boyfriends, life. She is beautiful, athletic, and smart and the world is her oyster. Youth is wasted on the young! Wow, I really am getting old.
Plus the royal wedding was last week and whenever I watch any wedding I regret my wedding dress choice.  I never wear strapless anything, but for whatever reason I thought it would be a good idea to wear a strapless wedding dress. I spent the entire night pulling it up and as the videographer as my witness, my nipple made a cameo as I was dancing with my father.
Then you have your first baby and that is always exciting.  Maybe what I am getting at is there won't be another reason to dress up and have a party to celebrate anything really big. Oh sure I could re-new our vows, but last time I checked I didn't think they expired, there for, no reason for renewal.  I suppose we could celebrate my birthday, but that would be counterproductive for my quarter life crisis.
I realize that I will celebrate my son's achievements, heck just the other day Jack learned to put his pants on, albeit they were backwards, oh and we bought a new mattress, not your typical one but a memory foam! Time for an ice cream cake.
But what about me?
Immediately I started making plans for our 5th baby and remembered that this is why I had my tubes tied.
My bucket list is mostly completed and I just started my 34th year!
Marriage, check, kids, check, house, check, job, check. Meeting Oprah, check.
I did work hard to get where I am today but its like I have climbed this mountain, gotten to the top only to find flat land for the next 76 years until I get to the end and fall off.
Did I not set my standards high enough? After all, I am living the American dream, but now I seemed to have hit the snooze button.
I think my Dad went through this at this age and that is how I came along 7 years after my brother and how they ended up having a 1977 corvette.
My point is, I work at a place I will work for the rest of my life. I live in the home I will live in for the rest of my life and I'm married to the person I will be married to for the rest of my life. Maybe that is why swinging was invented. Totally kidding (DON).
Is this it? Clearly I don't have the answer.  But right now I feel like I'm on a road trip of my life and if I was crossing the country from West to East my midlife is looking like Kansas, Missouri and Illinois and if you have ever been on that road trip the most exciting part of that is the next McDonalds to get a twist cone... and for the record they don't even have swirl anymore, only vanilla.