Making "Doodoo"

My 4 year old is a pretty smart kid, but he still has some language challenges.  For example, our trip was to "Firginia" and he would ask everytime we walked a block from the hotel if we were still in Firginia.  And, my favorite of all his terms, the Star Whores.  My husband finally couldn't take it anymore one day and kept trying to get him to correct it..."Star WARS...its Star WARS...can you say WARS?  Not Whores, WARS!"  To his dismay, I was in the same room saying "I do NOT know what Daddy is talking about baby, YOU are right, it's Star Whores!"  Then the 4 year old and I danced around the room for 20 minutes singing Star Whores while he yelled Wars in the background.  Mommy 1, Daddy 0.  Well, yesterday, the 4 year old explained to me that for his special day hanging out with Mom, he would like to make doo-doo.  Yeah, that will be a great fun day while you're brother and dad are at the baseball game.  We'll make doo doo??  Then he explained, you know, where you eat the food with the forks and you put it in the bowl?  Ohhhhhhh, FONDUE!!  Fondue has been a family New Year's Eve tradition for about 4 years now - ever since my Husband realized that we had never used the fondue pot wedding gift that I was adamant we register for.  In the last couple of years, the kids have really begun to love the best dinner of the year.

So for his fun day with Mom, he wanted to go get the ingredients for fondue.  I tried talking him into something a little more fun - like "do you want to go visit a camp that your brother is going to and that you could go to for a week?"  "Ummm, no.  Let's go get ingredients for doodoo.  I want doodoo for lunch and dinner."  So off we went to the grocery store.  Unlike the Star Whores that I encourage, I did not want him running around telling people he ate doo doo for dinner.  So I did coach him and it is now known as Fun-due with an occassional extra doo at the end. 

Since his brother was not there, that meant there was room for him and him alone in the grocery cart with the car in front.  You know that grocery cart moms!  Its the one that weighs 50 pounds more, has wheels that occassionally work and that you sometimes have to actually lean your full body weight on in order to get it rolling around a corner.  And when you do get it rolling around the corner, you will run it into the shelf and find it nearly impossible to remove from the shelf without physically lifting the cart away from the side.  He sat in the car for all 5 minutes before jumping out.  When he is on foot, my grocery cart fills up with random items when I am not looking.  It is sometimes a fun surprise to see what I am buying when I am at the checkout.  So, while it was not optimal, I was not completely opposed to his climbing atop the car and riding the rest of the trip there.  Besides, it gave him a better view of his friends, the lobsters.  I parked him there while I got the salmon and shrimp for our fundoodoo.  Its like the fish tanks at Wal-Mart.  The kids stare at the pretty fish while I stand there feeling bad for them and their miserable short lives.  I feel worst for the Beta fish in their 1/2 inch of water, and of course the lobsters that are about to be someone's dinner.  So now that you can see I'm a creature lover, let me tell you about all the creatures that we eat at a fondue!  Christy @ Insanity is not an Option, this is time for you to turn the channel.

I know, the carnage sounds so wrong.  But when my husband started the tradition it was much worse.  He bought pork, 3 cuts of beef, shrimp, chicken and salmon.  That's a lot of dead things.  He handmade about 6 different dipping sauces.  And that was just the main course.  He also made the cheese course and the chocolate course.  Last night the cheese part of the fondue did not meet with the approval of either child and I think that is a good thing because I am not convinced that we managed to get it hot enough to "boil off" the alcohol.  It had 1/2 of a bottle of pinot grigio in it along with some Kirschwasser and it is the BEST fondue dip we have ever had!  The 2nd course consisted of 1 steak, 1 chicken breast, 1 pound of shrimp and 2 salmon filets.  But I saved a chicken - we used vegetable broth to cook it in.  I ended up boiling the leftover meat and fish in the broth for a fast leftover meal and we finished dinner off with some delicious fruit smothered in healthy milk chocolate and heavy cream.  I drank the remaining bottle of pinot grigio during dinner and fell quickly into a snoring food coma on the couch while my husband cleaned the explosion that was my kitchen and the kids watched a Jimmy Neutron movie where aliens threatened to eat the town children's parents.  Those aliens should have come to my house last night.  I would have made a great meal for a hungry alien and probably could have been boiled for a week's worth of leftovers.

BEST.  DOODOO.  EVER.

A Little Bite of Life: Five Bloggers to Follow...Now!

A Little Bite of Life: Five Bloggers to Follow...Now!: Well Ms. Jules, I cannot thank you enough for continuing to encourage me and say nice things even when I have been a bit slow to post.  I reward you with one that I was actually working on in my head for the last week.  It is now on e-paper.  Ah the places I will go - this time I went to the beach...with the hub and the kids...as you know, that means I had DAYS worth of material!  http://lizardunfiltered.blogspot.com/2012/04/lessons-from-family-vacation.html

Lessons from a Family Vacation

This year my husband dropped the concept of taking a long weekend/mini-vacation around my 8 year old's "spring break."  It was only 3 days off of school, but it was long enough that the 4 of us could get away and do something fun.  I immediately launched into weeks of research and selected Virginia Beach.  Because I don't want to drive all the way to NC for a long weekend and because I want ocean front and because we need an indoor pool in that climate in April and a town that has fun things to do and blah blah blah.  I took another 2 weeks choosing the hotel and 1 more week committing to it.  I was pumped!  I could not wait to go away with just me, the hub and the kids.  I packed 3 weeks before the trip and as I watched the weather unveil itself, I unpacked and repacked at least twice more.  In the end, we were ready for winter and summer - and surprisingly, we would need most of what I packed.  And, I think I gave the overbooked pet sitter about 5 days notice.  But we were ready to go.

And then we got there.  And I realized that we had never taken a vacation where it was just the four of us in 1 tiny little hotel room that looked bigger on line.  And I learned a lot about myself, my husband, and my surprisingly whiny loud ungrateful little barrels of sunshine whom I love more than anything on this earth. The top 10 highlights of what I learned...

# 10 - There is one road in Virginia that is death row for chickens. Within a few miles we passed both the Tyson plant and the Purdue plant.  We saw a truckload of unmoving white feathers enter Tyson on the way home, and the vegetarian life appeared quite appealing.

# 9 - When a man with a fishhook in his nose greets you at the front door of the haunted house that you just walked 10 blocks looking for, and explains that this haunted house is not recommended for children because it was intended to scare adults, your child will become indignant...for the next 1/2 hour minimum. The boy who told you to turn off Scooby Doo because it is too scary to watch before bed will regale you AT LENGTH about his overwhelmingly adult like bravery and inability to be scared EVER. This same child will beg you not to try to scare him when you are 5 blocks away at the kid friendly pirate ghost ride where you paid $27 for 4 people to ride 4 minutes through a building that has nothing even remotely scary or resemblant if a pirate ghost.  However, the "lady" who walked into the building before you in a skirt that covered approximately 1/2 her ass cheeks? She was frightening.

# 8 - Your parents still love you when you are in your 40s, but they are no longer all that interested in your plans and whereabouts. So, when you call them to tell them that you are safe after an internationally reported plane crash took place exactly 1.5 miles from you, one will say "Oh, your trip was this week?" and the other who knew you were going away will ask "When did you decide to go to Virginia Beach?"  That's okay, they have their own stuff going on and neither of them tells the other one what you told them.  Of course now that you told them you are safe, they will be worried about you.

# 7 - When a 4 year old is done walking, he will simply lay down on the sidewalk/street/boardwalk/sand/etc. If you determine that you cannot carry his 3 breakfast a day butt the next 15 blocks to the hotel, your best bet is to leave him there and pretend you don't care if he follows you.  By the time you are 1.5 blocks away, if he hasn't been kidnapped, he will get up and run after you making birdlike screeching sounds.  And when he catches up, looks you in the eye and squawks, he will walk another block and then sit down.

# 6 - This one is important, so listen up.  Always have a plan.  When it is 7:00pm and you are just starting to look for a restaurant for dinner, you will start making foolish choices.  For example, you will say "no" to a 20 minute wait at the Hilton's impeccable seaside restaurant.  And then you will think your husband is serious when he starts walking into a questionable looking restaurant sounding excited because it is a seafood smorgasbord (FYI I don't know how to spell that word and do not feel like looking it up).  Since he looks serious and you are starving, you willingly walk in and do not question the "limited" patronage.  You think to yourself that it looks dated but you keep going.  You are informed that the seafood buffet is $28.95  and that your 4 year old can eat free as long as an adult pays full price for a buffet and your 8 year old can have the buffet for 1/2 price.  You review the buffet with said 8 year old and he says YES, he wants it, because he wants tomatoes and cookies.  But nothing else.  No, not the fish or the meat.  "We're not paying $14.50 for you to eat tomatoes and cookies."  "OK, I'll get the 'steak.'"  I say 'steak' because after we FOOLISHLY all decided on the rubber buffet, I had some of the steak?  liver?  pancreas?  entrails?  Really no idea what it was.  I only know that it didn't taste like steak and now I am convinced that I've poisoned both my children with mystery meat.  Possibly worse, I poured "butter" over the 8 year old's corn on the cob.  After getting some cold clams and crabs legs which I dipped in the "butter", I realize that it doesn't taste like butter and it has a water-like consistency.  So either the waiters peed in a tray and called it butter, or they dump popcorn "butter" spray into a vat and put little cups next to it to trick you.  The cold shellfish and pee butter are still probably not the worst thing I've ingested.  I saw some sushi.  And I ate it.  We paid $100 for the worst meal I can remember in the history of my life.  I felt no guilt whatsoever stealing extra cookies (which sucked).  I also took a side of midnight stomach cramps and diarrhea to go.

# 5 - It is often worse to punish a 4 year old who is jumping from bed to bed screaming after being told to stop, then to just let him keep jumping.  Because if you thought your neighbors hated you before, imagine what they are thinking as they hear him screaming and sobbing in the time out by the bed.  They probably think worse of you when they overhear you telling that child that if they can't be quiet in time out, they will be spending the rest of the time out in the closet with the door shut.  For the record, he was quiet in the closet and I let him keep the door open.

# 4 - Sometimes it's tough to be the Easter Bunny.  We were away at Easter, so I had diligently packed an extra suitcase with gourmet chocolate bunnies and baskets and toys and gifts and age appropriate LEGO sets and a venus fly trap growing kit (because the 8 year old came home one day HAVING to have one) etc.  I had made sure that it would be a one for one equal exchange and that nobody would really be advantaged or disadvantaged.  I put the extra suitcase in the closet and I waited for sleep to claim them.  I was exhausted.  I kept falling asleep waiting for them to fall asleep.  At around 11pm the 8 year old gets out of bed, goes over to the chair and says "I can't sleep.  I miss Rocky.  And Annabelle."  Rocky, so you know, was a beta fish.  Rocky, rest his little blue soul, departed this earth when the 8 year old was maybe 4.  He barely noticed he was alive for 2 years, but still mourns his death to this day.  Annabelle was my Parents' dog.  He saw her probably 10 times in his life.  And it was sad when she passed away last year, but this was the 1st time that he has even mentioned her other than the days following her death.  The Easter Bunny stayed awake a while longer.  And finally, she put together and hid everything in the dark sleeping room.  The next morning everything was good.  Except the 8 year old wanted to open the 4 year old's toys and not his own.  Well, YOU KNOW, I know I WANTED the venus fly trap, but it isn't really a TOYYYYY.  And he really preferred his brother's LEGO set to his own.  And his BROTHER'S kite was the yellow one even though that was HIS favorite color.  So yes, he had clearly been cheated.

# 3 - Children can go all Janet Jackson on your ass.  What have you done for me lately??  The final day (1/2 day) of the trip I decided that we would squeeze every last fun thing possible into it before we had to leave for home.  Before noon my kids had gone breakfast barring, swimming, hot tubbing, kite flying, beach playing, mini golfing, and ice cream eating.  We left at 12:02pm.  Upon arrival at home 4-1/2 hours later, I was told that the 8 year olded needed another vacation day because "I didn't get to do ANYTHING fun today because I was in the car!!!!"

# 2 - After approximately the 6th time that your 4 year old tells you that he is going to leave your family, you will open the door for him and wish him good luck.  You will approach strangers in gift shops and ask them if they are interested in adoption.  You will consider your options of leaving him and his brother buried up to their necks in sand while you and your husband go have some alone time.  If you do, you will want to make sure to either take extra birth control pills or triple up on the condoms.  We, however, did not do that, but instead  took pictures of the kids and then unburied them from the sand which caused rashes on both of them which SHOCKINGLY neither of them complained about.

# 1 - People who don't know me, might actually think that I am abandoning my loving children when I throw my hands up in the air at the local Blimpie's and scream "FINE!  G'BYE!!!!" at them before leaving them in the restaurant.  The woman who stared at me with her mouth agape as I walked away from them had not closed her mouth yet as I peered (while still walking) into the restaurant to see if anyone was following me.  The poor woman who was considering her 911 options did not realize immediately that my husband was, in fact, still in there, and likely to gather them up and bring them with us.  She may not have taken that much comfort in it as she watched the three of them leave the restaurant with two bawling children, but she did not call Child Protective Services...as far as I know.  What she was unaware of is that this was day 3 of unending whining.  That we had gotten a late start out for lunch and that after walking most of the morning, they were not happy to be walking around aimlessly in search of a restaurant.  That not having a plan was making their (unbeknownst to me) PMS-ing Mother a little crazy.  That when we finally decided on a FRIGGIN' BLIMPIE's for lunch, I realized there was one thing on the menu that those children would eat, and when I asked if they wanted that, they said no.  That when I begged the 8 year old to look at the menu himself and tell me what he wanted, he pretended to be blind.  She would have taken comfort in the knowledge that they were not beaten upon arrival back at our hotel.  However, they were forced to nap without lunch.  I'm sure this is a tragedy to some, but considering the 4 year old ate 3 breakfasts at the buffet every morning, we knew he would live.  And they did.  And they had the BEST BEHAVED dinner of the whole week that night.  Both of them polite and grateful.

 So, you are thinking that I have just whined for as long as my children did.  And you are correct.  But I would do it again in a heartbeat.  As long as we get a suite.  And have a plan.  Maybe a babysitter.  Much more wine.  Ear plugs...

The Salon: the Highlights

Hello again old friends. Its me, the salty and lizardy one. I have exactly as much time to make you laugh right now as it takes for my brown and gray hair to become blonde. I don't now what the heck I am thinking here because I have years of photo evidence that suggests I make a better brunette. I am not even tan (which goes better with blonde) and while my dermatologist would think that's wonderful, I think its depressing. I do not make winter white look good - and besides, dark colors make you look thinner!

Anyway, my hair stylist is probably at a bar waiting for my color to develop, because I put her through the ringer trying to help me make up my mind on what the H I was going to have her do with my hair. "do you think it will look good blonde? Can you use two shades of blonde? Why are you showing me that picture? That is brown. Ohhh, look at that model on this page. Can you do THAT?". Um yeah, if I had long curly hair, a bod that made a rock star salivate and cheekbones then maybe she could. I also told her not to take offense later when I start crying in realization that it was all a huge mistake. She smiled that "no, you aren't crazy" smile at me and went back to her 5th round of discussing the processing options which I didn't really care about. Then we picked the target picture and she went to mix dyes. At this point I saw a really cool picture of Charlize Theron, but she said, "yeah, let's just stick with this."

It wasn't always this hard. I used to make a good blonde. From my 8th grade Sun In beginnings through college and until I was about 26 when the great Jose Eber (think Liz Taylor and Farrah Fawcett's hair...during their heyday, not now) asked me if my half pink half white hair (an experiment in red which went badly wrong and which I tried to fix by dying it blonde immediately - twice) was my natural color. Jose made his people make me brunette and I didn't look back.

During my Sun In years I got it so light that my friend Greg would pull it out in math class, put it on a piece of paper and say "look, it's white!" My Mother bemoaned my dying my hair at such a young age until I stumped her by reminding her that SHE was the one dying HER hair whereas I was only stripping it of all its natural colors. My half logic somehow won that battle and I have not seen my natural haircolor since. I dyed my own hair through the years with few tragedies. One was the aforementioned pink and white stripes. And one was my highlighting error which resulted in my bangs crumbling off my head and into a sink while I was in Daytona on a business trip. I finally realized that I could no longer maintain it well myself after giving myself some rocking highlights and then realizing that I could not figure out how to cover those roots on the streaks as they grew in.

So now I pay a ridiculous amount to have it done for me. But that poor woman (if you can call this gorgeous, fun, size 0 - 2 woman 'poor') has to work for it. She has to listen to every crazy story I tell and laugh as though they are all funny, and she has to translate my hair need gibberish into something actionable. Today she didn't need to touch my head and she had already earned her money. "hi, I'm running a little late, do you want to have the masseuse give you a quick massage?" My eyes and enormous mouth screamed "OH MY GOD YES!". It was like she gave me a bag of gold.

Oh, sorry, back to the hair. I was waiting for my new beautiful shiny blonde model locks. I was getting all psyched up for the something new and different. What will they say at work? She took off the towel and I turned the iPhone camera on myself to get a look. Yup, I saw a lot of very blonde pieces and some that were less golden - we were blending. But gradually, as she cut and dried and styled my hair, I realized that it was a delightful shade of...brown. WTF? Apparently this was no shock for her, she had tried to keep my hair from getting over processed, and felt a gradual lightening was best. But I had made it pretty friggin' clear that I did not want brown. The cut was decent. I looked decent with the exception of the fact that my makeup was applied 13 hours ago and I was pretty sure that the new color made my eyes melt into my pasty face. "It's brown" I said while smiling. "I mean, it looks nice, don't get me wrong, but it...it is brown. I mean I like it. But it is...not blonde, because it's brown...". She offered me the opportunity to come back in two weeks for her to put in more highlights. WTF. 2 weeks? Am I going to need to take out a second mortgage to be blonde? I suggested that maybe I could put in a little Sun In...do they still make that? You could sense her fear. "you can come back in a couple days. You can't just jump from brown to blonde. You need to do it in stages...". It was like a hostage situation. I was threatening to hold a bottle of store bought dye to my own head. She was negotiating to save my follicles. She refused to let me be a suicide blonde. I would not dye by my own hand.

In the end, I told her it was nice. I paid my $$$ money, and I left. It is unlikely that I will find time to go back in two weeks. But I will see her again in 8 when it's time to hide the gray. In reality, the salon isn't all about the hair. It's about having 2 hours of someone pampering you and laughing at your stupid stories and looking at your cell pjone pictures and telling you that your hair is not falling out. It's about having someone surprise you with a 15 minute massage without bitching the whole time, even if you have to pay for it.

I am back in my home, and my reality. And as I rushed my not fully awake from a nightmare hysterical 4 year old into the bathroom after noticing that he had pulled his Jammie's down and was about to pee on my bed thinking it was the toilet, I caught a flash in the mirror. Look at that, a hint of blonde.

Feedback, the good the bad and the ugly

Feedback. How do you define that word? I have become mentally conditioned to expect all feedback to be bad. Some people call it constructive criticism. I define constructive criticism as character assassination. It is a phrase that someone can use as a "get out of jail free card" to insult you and tell you what they think sucks about you. And because they said "constructive", you are expected to smile and say "THANK YOU (sir, may I have another?)" So, you may get the feeling that I do not take feedback well. You are CORRECT! Good for you. I always knew you were smart!

In this age of self awareness, I am completely aware that I take feedback poorly. You might be telling me something that could legitimately help, but what I hear is some combination of "you're fat ugly dumb lazy worthless unlikeable and wrong.". Now what the heck kind of f'd up childhood did I have to make this happen? I had a great childhood with great Parents who loved me very much. I was a fat kid though. And one who I would not describe as very pretty. That fed a lot into my need for positive reinforcement, for fitting in, for being liked. I absolutely needed reassurance throughout my life that I was pretty enough, fun enough, accepted. And in many ways, I still need that. When I receive negative feedback, I take it personally and I shut down.

But you know what? If you say something nice? I thrive and I try even harder to be deserving of that compliment. Don't get me wrong, the praise needs to be genuine. I can smell bullshit a mile away (unless it is my own kids spinning the tale). For me, much of the pat on the back makes the work worthwhile and it will determine the effort level for the next challenge.

I am not someone who can look myself in the eye in the mirror and say "I'm good enough, I'm strong enough and doggone it, People like me." I rely on others to do that for me. Although on occassion, I will admit to announcing to my husband "oh by the way I look very nice tonight." He thinks its okay if he notices this at some point before he is snoring. I think if he doesn't say it in the first 10 minutes, then he isn't feeling it.

And I don't make it all that easy on you. I want to fit in, but stand out. I am quirky and I like being unique. I am an attention whore. I have no problem making a fool out of myself in the middle of a crowded room if I think it will get a laugh. It is harder for me to get up in front of a room and lead a discussion, but I can pull that off without looking as nervous as I am. And at the end? I'm looking at every face to see if eyes are rolling or if people are smiling.

I've rambled long enough without seeming to have a point. Why am I writing this now? Because today I got a compliment that I endured 3 years of torturous feedback waiting for. I had heard so much about what was wrong with me that I shut down. It was as if this feedback-giver gained energy from bringing me down. And while the source of the kudos is not the same as the source of the feedback, it was one of the most satisfying professional moments in years. And it makes me want to do even better. So I end tonight on a good note, feeling reassured that I am smart enough, good enough, and that doggone it, people like me.

Spontaneous Plan Combustion

I used to pride myself on my spontanaeity. I was proud to be one who was willing to pick up and go at a moment's notice. Hell, I was the one who fielded a random phone call from Alpha Chi Rho one weeknight and said "yeah you should bring a keg and c'mon over!". Sadly that led to me having to stand on a bench to look a future NFL'er in the eye and tell him that I had learned just moments ago that my sorority house had some ridiculous rules about NOT being able to host a party and blah blah blah.

As my life evolved, pets, jobs and babies led to a depressing decrease in my spontanaeity. Sometime around the day after my engagement I became a planner. Hard core in that if I planned something and it didn't go my way, I would become a little crazy. I don't think I was a Bridezilla, though I guess my bridesmaids are the one to ask about that. I do recall a very silent New Year's Eve dinner with my fiancé. After I listed the 35 things that I had set up for the wedding, he asked one question. What crosswalk were he and his groomsmen going to reenact the Beatles' Abbey Road album cover for pictures? I had not worked it out yet but had told him that I thought there was a crosswalk at one of the places that we were getting photographs. He said something along the line of "well then I guess you haven't done that much after all.". I would expect that some of you ladies reading this can appreciate the blinding rage that I felt that moment. Anyway, I liked planning, because I generally liked the reward for good planning. "Best wedding next to my own." That made me feel like it was all worthwhile. And it made me want to plan more. I have a 19 page wedding spreadsheet which takes you from comparative pricing all the way through spa appointments and photo ordering. I offered my services up to friends who don't love planning events, but unfortunately most of my finds like to plan their own wedding...selfish :-)

This week I planned my oldest son's 8th birthday party. I took off the day of his birthday and the day after so I could get the house ready for the weekend. I planned out nearly every second of the next 3 days. The day of his birthday worked out mostly as planned. Take him to school along with school allowed "healthy" muffins. If chocolate chips and chocolate glaze are healthy, then so be it. I then did the grocery shopping in a virtually empty grocery store - ahhh paradise. I finished his family birthday cake and then started in on finishing my boy's video montage of his life in pictures. New software to me, so that threw my cleaning plan out the door as it sucked every second of the day until it was time to pick him up. My PLAN on getting him was for him to go to a rare Thursday karate class. But alas, my boy announced he did not want to go...he wanted to go to the park. You know what? The plan was out the window. I picked up his brother and we went to the park. The fact that Mommy, who is opposed to temperatures below 75, was taking them to their favorite park instead of Daddy had them in awe! It should have! It was 56 degrees in February, and that must have altered my brainwaves, because I was up for it. And I found when I got up and played around with them, I was warmer. We ended up discovering trails that I didn't even know existed. We had a BALL! A spontaneously unplanned ball!

Next change of plan was a restaurant change for dinner, but I recovered quickly and enjoyed it. At home he was elated by his presents and thought his cake was cool even if he didn't taste it because he was too full from dinner.

The next day was supposed to be 100% cleaning and set up for the party. But I went off plan pretty early. First, in response to my 4 year old's reaction to the 8 year old's video montage the night before(near tears, why aren't there pictures of meeeeeee?), I had a new montage to make. It only took 2 hours now that I "got" the software. And then? TJMaxx. Why? Because I had two gift cards and I wanted to!! And after that straight home, right? NO!!! Sushi for 1 please. Yummm. After that I was left with two hours of panic cleaning and set up before retrieving the boys, going to Wal-Mart for more folding chairs, and then to karate. After we got back, I spent the next FIVE hours sorting through every toy in the house and trying to both organize and purge all at the same time (without being caught doing the toy purging part). By bedtime I was exhausted, but it looked as good as it was going to.

The next morning I was Momzilla. "DO NOT PLAY WITH ANY MORE TOYS UNTIL YOUR PARTY IS OVER!!!!! NOW PUT THOSE ALL AWAY. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I CLEANED THIS ROOM!!!!!!". "NO, YOUR JEANS, NOT SWEATPANTS. YOU ARE NOT WEARING SWEATS TO YOUR PARTY!!" Yeah, I was not pleasant. By the time I picked up the cake a realized that they did it wrong, I was crying in my car and trying to figure out how to make it up to him while wondering if our Scheduled Mad Scientist was still going to be able to set off a rocket in our backyard with 50mph gusts of wind. Should I buy a piñata to make up for that if they can't?? Was the Scientist even coming? WHY HADN'T THEY CALLED TO CHECK IN?? I DID NOT KNOW HOW TO ENTERTAIN TWELVE 4 - 11 YEAR OLDS!! I HAD NOT PLANNED FOR THAT!!! The party started at noon and my plan was to feed them immediately. I planned for people being there a little late, so no worries there. I had NOT planned for my son to take 4 of his friends outside to play and start a good old February baseball game when he had guests still arriving and when I planned to feed them! But maybe the best part of the day came when I went outside to call them in for lunch. I watched my Husband pitching to the five boys and I heard them laughing and smiling and running. Who cares what I planned. THIS was what it was about. They came in, they ate and sang and watched the science show while driving the scientist a bit crazy. They laughed and yelled and my son launched a rocket in almost sideways wind. Their Parents got to watch too since he party ran about 40 minutes over plan. I couldn't have planned a better day.

In the end, I hope I look back at these 3 days and remember my lesson. Having a roadmap is important, but life just isn't as fun without the unplanned side trips. I have to go now, because my plan is to lay around and do nothing. The children are not on board with this plan yet, but I think I might override them. Final lesson learned? There is absolutely no reason to wear heels all day for an 8 year old's party, especially when it is in your own house. Ouch.

Bitch Slapped by Inspiration

OK, so I am very aware that I have neglected you recently. I apologize, but I will force my excuses upon you now... Strep, stomach flu, throat virus, other random virus, pneumonia...and 2 beautiful petri dishes I call my sons. During my abundant and constant, hypochondriac-like worry about them, I have not been inspired to write. Well today my kids reminded me STRONGLY that they are my constant inspiration.

Day 7 of pneumonia boy's "staycation." I'm working from home and trying to focus. He is feeling much better than yesterday when he was writhing in pain from some mystery leg pain that I thought was a clear sign of Prednisone poisoning but which may actually be tied to the virus that caused the pneumonia...or growing pains...eh, who knows, take your pick. He feels better than the day before that, when I ripped out his stomach lining by giving him all 4 gut eating meds simultaneously on a no longer full stomach. And, in general, he feels better, because he did not have the complexion of a vampire until around 7pm.

Let's go to the mall Mom. I'll bring a book.
No.
Please.
No.
Please??
No.
But...
No.
But pleaseeee?
No!!
WHY would You want to go to the mall?!?!
To get new clothes. And shoes. I am in the mood for new shoes.
You want new shoes? Show me you can tie a shoelace!
After 4 years of trying to get him to tie a shoelace, the kid did it in 5 minutes. Seriously?
So can we go to the mall? Just you and me?
No, I'm working.

Then it was time to pick up little bro. He came in with a vengeance. Within minutes a full fledged battle was waging and then the little one hit the big one with a curtain rod. Within 20 seconds of being in time out he starts crying about his throat. I look in horror thinking "noooooooo, not another illness!!!". No.

Mommy, a stick is stuck in my throatttttt!
You ATE a stick? In timeout?
Yes.
The stuff from the basket the (fake) tree is sitting in?
Yes. It won't go down!!
Drink some water (it was neither stick sized nor inflexible).
It's still there
Eat some bread. Did that work?
Yeah. Can I have more bread? Can I come out of time out?

Less than an hour later...
Pneumonia boy finds the blow torch like lighter and lights a candle on the table. Neat boy that he is, he wipes the soot from the bbq lighter on my 4 day old tablecloth. After dinner, where the little one wept openly at the thought of putting any piece of the tiny hill of mashed potatoes in his mouth, I told him he could blow out the candle. Just seconds later...

What the...did you PUT HOT WAX ON YOUR FACE???
No?
(long pause as he picks at a spot near his mouth)
Mommy, will you help me get the wax off my face?
It was relatively easy up until I had to get the glob off his eyelash, but he took it like a man.

Apparently the man decided that he deserved a drink.
I looked over a few minutes later upon hearing him cry and seeing him start ripping off his shirt (international symbol for I spilled something on myself and hate being wet).
oh, did you get yourself some juice? (please tell me it wasn't the one from the pantry hat I saw him eyeing earlier...it is)
Mmm-hmm
How's it taste?
Good
Oh, 'cause it expired in March of last year.

Cut to bedtime. After vehemently warning the little one that he better not stick his hand in the toilet and swish it around before brushing his teeth like last night, they began their bedtime routine.

The little one climbs in and out of bed as the oldest pulls a new (and by far my favorite) stalling tactic. He climbs on the chair behind me and begins rubbing my neglected back.

Does that feel good Mom?
Very.
So you still want me to go to bed?
Um, sort of, not as much.
SORT OF???

4 year old jumps back in bed to count.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 freakin' a hundred!

Conversation with back rubbing but totally innocent nearly 8 year old begins to sound disturbing...

Mom, you should take off your shirt, it would be easier.
(he means the 30 ply sweater that I am wearing over another shirt)
Do you like this mommy? You can moan if you like it so I know it feels good.
(Ewwwwwwwwwww!!!! Dearest God, please don't let anyone hear him say that and please don't ever let him remember he said that to his Mother when he is older and knows better).
No, I am not going to moan. Thank you for the back rub. Go to bed.
Really??? You want me to stop???
No, not really, can you scratch now?

So these are the gifts that my babies gave me today to remind me that they are (the meaning in my life. They're) my inspiration! How could I ever think I didn't have something to say? I have at least 1 2 3 freakin' a thousand things to say.