A Tire Has No Silver Lining

I've been sitting here trying to think of a non-negative angle for which to write this blog. After much thought and a couple of sips of Merlot, I've made up my mind that it can't be done. I'll be straight up honest with you friends, this is going to be nothing but a bitch session and I am surrendering myself to the Debbie Downer Vibe. In fact, I'm downright rolling in it like a pig in mud.
It started with a flat tire. The 9th flat tire that Mr. C and I have had in 2 years. I do not know what we have done to offend the mighty Tire Gods, but we are cursed, I tell you, cursed! This latest flat has been a particular pain in the rear only because this last week we have been so crazy busy that there has been not one day that either of us has had a chance to track down a new tire. Have I mentioned that Mr. C's stupid-but-trendy-Land Rover had engine failure at the beginning of the month? And that a week after we got it back, it also got a flat tire? I bet we could go on our dream trip to Italy with the money we've been pouring into these &*$#*% cars. Or as least we'd be rich enough to where I wouldn't have to shop at Wal-Mart anymore.
By the way, there's a little bit on that joy coming up.

Anyway, after 6 days of me driving on a spare we finally managed to find a tire place that would order a tire for us. The tire arrrived today and Leo, my friendly neighborhood tire service guy said on the phone that "all I had to do was bring her down there and they'd fix it up fast- 20 minutes tops."
All I had to do.

I don't really expect Leo the tire guy to know this, but there is nothing really so simple in a mother's task load that can be described by saying "all you have to do." Because all I had to do before driving down to the tire place was wake the baby from her nap, change her diaper, and make her a bottle. Really, she should've had lunch but since we were only going to be there 20 minutes, I could do that later. After that, all I had to do was have the 3 year old go potty before we went, have the 5 year old pack up her homework to take with us, put shoes on the baby, and find a quiet game to take along for the 3 year old. With that accomplished, all I had to do was find the checkbook, locate my own shoes, grab my keys and load the 3 kiddos into the car. That was all I had to do.

So you might imagine my slight irritation at Leo when I got down there, handed him the keys, and he told me to expect a call to pick it up in an hour or so.
"But you told me 20 minutes top!" I blustered, blinking my eyes and mentally scrambling to think if I'd brought the necessary supplies to make an hour in the waiting room bearable.
"Well, yeah. But that was before I realized I had told your husband that I'd rotate the tires." And then Leo was gone, taking with him my keys and any hope I had of at least taking the stroller out of the back.
So I heaved my shoulders, sighed, and looked around at my surroundings. We could stay in the tiny rubbery smelling service office or we could trek the 1/4 mile across the giant parking lot to the Super Wal-Mart. Why, why, why I ever thought Wal-Mart was the lesser evil I do not know because Wal-Mart at this time of year, is filled with Snowbirds. (For any non-desert residents who may have stumbled across this blog, Snowbirds are basically senior citizens who flee the cold winters in their home states by living in our desert for Oct-May. The male Snowbirds like to golf and the female Snowbirds can be identified by their Bedazzled shoes, white shirts, and sun visors. Seriously, has any one else noticed their fondness for tacked on faux gems, or is just me?)

Anyway, this blog is getting too long. Basically, I made the wrong choice and took my kids to Wal-Mart where I proceeded to make more bad choices because I decided to do some shopping. I needed to buy juice boxes for J's schools' Halloween party, some Halloween candy, and bacon for tonight's dinner. While shopping for the bacon, a Snowbird (in a Bedazzled visor, no less) felt compelled to shout "TIME OUT! TIME OUT! COMING THROUGH!!!" at my children because they were-GASP- playing Ring Around the Rosy in front of the cart while I shopped not 2 feet away! God help her if she ever goes to Wal-Mart on a Sunday, when I've seen children riding trikes down the aisles, playing catch with the balls from the ball basket, and throwing temper tantrums on the floor.
I stopped for a minute and considered throwing the bacon at her stupid bedazzled head, but decided against it. Instead, I gave her husband an "I feel sorry for YOU" look and hustled the children out the door. We proceeded to slowly walk the quarter mile back across the parking lot with the baby on my hip, a giant diaper bag on my shoulder, 2 Wal-Mart bags filled with juice boxes in my free hand, and 2 children carrying plastic Wal-Mart bags laden with bacon and Halloween candy. We looked like a homeless family. We took this show into the Wendy's where we wasted more time eating Frosties before the van was finally ready, muttered goodbye to clueless Leo, and went on our way home.

So there it is. The most boring blog ever about my pointless pathetic afternoon. And I didn't even mention that my house is a mess and I have 3 Halloween parties to cook for this week and that's not even counting Baby Roo's 1st birthday party that I haven't made any real plans for yet and it might not matter anyway because I very possibly could get sick and have to cancel it since my tutoring clients were sick and coughing their germs all over me, and WORST OF ALL my Angel's lost their chance at the World Series last night. Wah wah wah.
If you're even still reading this, thank you for indulging me. I promise my next post will be much more interesting, with lots of
cute pics of Baby Roo blowing out the candle on her first birthday cake and the kiddos dressed up in their costumes.
That is, providing I don't get sick. And I survive the 3 other parties. And my house gets cleaned.
I know, I know. I'll stop now.
Good night.

Story of a Boy and His Ghoul

Well, it's mid-October which means that Mr. C and I are due for our annual "discussion" (read- argument) about how scary is too scary for our Halloween decorations. It is Mr. C's dream every year to have the scariest house in the neighborhood. And it's my dream every year for our family and friends with small children not to hate us for the emotional trauma their children have to suffer on their path to our front door.
Now my birthday happens to be on Halloween, so you'd think if there was anyone in this household prone to going overboard with Halloween spirit (pardon the pun), it'd be me. But no. The truth is that I've always loved having my birthday on Halloween but I never really got into the dressing up thing until I met Mr. C.
The first year I had met him, he and my stepson 9 were Harry Potter and Professor Snape. He made an excellent Snape. I was very impressed, if not slightly embarrassed that my boyfriend made such a good Snape. I comforted myself by thinking that at least he wasn't Hagrid. The next year he was an alien Santa, the year after that he was Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite, and the list goes on. He comes up with some odd things and always at the last minute, but that's part of what I love about him. He has great creativity, but this man I married- this art major from Santa Cruz, CA- is one of those people who sees beauty in things that others would just call bizarre. In other words, he's a weirdo.
For example, one of his most cherished possessions that he kept in the "Halloween Decorations" box was a mannequin baby head. I'm not sure if it was him or my stepson 9 who had the oh-so-tactful idea to spray paint it silver. Then, just to make things as painful as possible for me, they dribbled a little red paint down the side of the skull and stuck the whole thing on a stick.

You read that right.
A baby head.
On a stick.

It took me two years, but Mr. C finally agreed to banish the baby head. It now resides somewhere in his classroom where God only knows what additional horrors his teenage students have bestowed upon it.

So, not unlike many other married couples, we have learned to compromise. We now both contribute equally to our Halloween decor:

Here's a piece that I've contributed:


And here's one that he conjured up:



Again, mine:



And his:



See, marriage is all about compromise. There is, at least, one set of decorations that we both agree on and it's these little tree ghosts that the kids made a couple of years ago. I think they're too cute.


You can't tell in the picture, but 9 and Princess G drew on the most original little faces. There's a cyclops, a girl with 2 little fangs, a pumpkin, a vampire... etc.
Hey, we may be weird, but we do love creativity around here.

You all have a frightfully fun day!

Robots, Receding Hairlines, and Carly Simon

Hi there!

So I'm thinking I need to get 3 year old J tested for his hearing, which is no laughing matter- except that it kind of is. I've been noticing more and more lately how he's mishearing a lot of our words. Sometimes it's frustrating (on both sides, ours and his) but a lot of the time it's downright comical. Here's a couple of examples of my favorites:

Me: J, I'll be right out to get your breakfast, bud. Just let me go get my robe on.
(I return with said robe donned) Okay, let's go get some cereal.
J: (looking me up and down expectantly) Mama, where's your robot?
Me: My what?
J: Your robot. You said you were going to go get your robot.

Hee hee.
Well, maybe that one loses something in the telling. It was funny in the moment. Here's another one:

Me and Mr. C putting J to bed after a birthday party: Ok, bud. See you in the morning. Hey! This balloon is losing air.
J, with a totally freaked out look on his face: WHAT? I'm losing hair?

Poor little guy. He really was worried.
Here's one more, but let me set the scene. J had dressed himself that morning in an Old Navy snow cap, mittens, a sweatshirt, shorts, and Converse high tops. None of the aforementioned items were even close to being in the same color scheme. However I was in the mood to be flexible, so we went with it that day:

Princess G and J: Mom! Can we have some of that candy?
Me: We'll see later if you guys are being good.
J: (who must've thought I said "If you LOOK good") Well, I AM lookin' good!

Yes, you are you sweet little thang.

This has been going on for a couple of months now. When I ask around about it, most people assure me that it's just a developmental thing and nothing to worry about. I'm not really worried. In fact, it could even be genetic. I mishear things often- especially song lyrics. My sisters and I were in our early 20's before we learned that Carly Simon's Your So Vain was not titled Your So Lame, as we had been singing it our whole lives. I don't feel too silly about this one because it totally makes sense: "Your so lame, you probably think this song is about you.... don't you? Don't you?"
And no lie, Mr. C and I actually had an argument over a line in Janis Joplin's Bobby McGee. I've only just now come around and acknowledged that perhaps he's right. "Windshield wipers keeping time" makes a lot more sense than "Windshield wipers, turpentine."
I still say it sounds like turpentine.
Maybe I should make that hearing test a double appointment.

Meanie Mom vs. The Big Bad Wolf

Hey there.
The following is a post that I actually wrote a couple of years ago when Princess G was 2 or 3. I wish that I could say that it's one of my favorites because it's a reminder of how things used to be, but unfortunately my children still think that the Big Bad Wolf lurks in the shadows of our house (maybe it'd help if I got rid of the giant dust bunnies that live there?). Anyway, the truth is that it's one of my favorite things I've written because it still stands as true today. Also, you might want to reconsider following the advice at the end about how to help your child overcome their fear, for obvious reasons stated above. We're all about baby steps in this household.
Anyway, here it is. Have a good day, everyone!

One can never tell what lurks in the imagination of a three year old. My daughter is currently fascinated with all things scary. This has been going on for several months now, but as Halloween draws closer, it is escalating. As we pass the Halloween aisle at our local Target, she will pull on my hands and insist on stopping to look at the plastic skeletons and rubbery monster masks. If I deem a certain movie off limits to her because it’s too scary, she begs and whines and insists that she’s big girl enough to see it. She’ll seek out the Halloween books that we have on our bookshelves and spend long moments staring at the pictures of ghosts, goblins, and spooky haunted houses. She never seems bothered by anything she’d seen. In fact, her little fearless attitude gave me the mistaken impression that my daughter was not going to have issues with imaginary monsters under her bed.

Silly me.

I’m not sure what sparked it, but for the past couple of days now, my daughter has an irrational fear of The Big Bad Wolf. Once it gets dark outside, she becomes this clingy child, following me around the house like a shadow and refusing to leave my side. She believes that the Big Bad Wolf is lurking around the corner, in the closets, and yes, even under her bed, just waiting for the right moment to jump out and nab her.

This fear developed suddenly and took me by complete surprise. I felt unprepared as to how to handle it. And I must say, I’ve bungled it up quite a bit. I started out very patient, speaking rationally to her about how the Big Bad Wolf was just a pretend character. Now, anyone who knows 3 year olds would know that they are, at times, the very definition of irrationality, so needless to say, this tactic did not work. So, the next thing I did was to decide to play along. We got a flashlight and together we searched every dark corner of the house looking for our friend Big Bad. The plan was that when we found him, we were going to introduce ourselves and invite him to tea. Well, my daughter had a lot of fun with this, but come night time, she was still clinging to my leg and terrified of running into who I thought was our newly found friend.

By this time, I was completely annoyed and frustrated. I found myself ridiculing her and even sometimes yelling at her for her fear. My mommy instincts were telling me that I was way, way off course, but I didn’t care. I was desperate for a second of solitude, even if it was just while I used the restroom.

So one night, in a voice that I’m sure mimicked Jack Nicholson in The Shining (you know- when his eyebrows are all arched and crazy like, and he’s hissing through his scary grin “Wendy, I ain’t gonna hurt ya) I asked her to just be a big girl and practice being in her room by herself while I went down the hall to the restroom alone. She had nodded solemnly, eyes wide, agreeing to the seriousness of the task. I got all the way down the hall and was halfway through my business, when I heard the frantic rush of her feet. She burst through the door, fell at my feet, shook her head and said in a small voice “That was as brave as I can be, mommy.”

I felt like a complete schmuck. I looked down at her earnest little face and my heart broke into a million pieces. I knew that this wasn’t a game to her and she wasn’t doing this to annoy me, yet that’s how I was treating the whole situation. In her little world, this fear was as real to her as my fear of snakes was real to me. And I realized, if I came upon a snake (shudder and god forbid) I wouldn’t need someone there to rationalize my fear or ridicule it. I would need someone to be brave for me and support me and perhaps to bring me a change of underwear. I got so caught up in being the parent and dealing with getting rid of the fear that I forgot to look at it from the little person point of view.

So for now, here’s how I’m handling the Big Bad Wolf. I don’t make a big deal about him. When she follows me around, I remain silent and let her. When she’s afraid to get a toy out of her room by herself, I go with her to get it without asking why. When she mentions Big Bad, I listen to her and sometimes quietly remind her that he’s just pretend, but I always am careful not to undermine her fear.

So, I don’t know if this is going to work in the long run, but it feels better than what I was doing before. And those mommy instincts are telling me that she’s getting better. My advice to parents who are going through this stuff? Treat the fear with respect, even if it does drive you nuts. You’ll get farther faster and your kids will still love you in the end. And oh yeah, you might want to consider burning the fairy tales.

Ch- Ch- Ch-Changes

Hey there!

So this was a big weekend for our little family. First of all, I need to announce that I got a stylin' new do by my talented and oh-so-stylish mommy friend, Alisha. I had been slacking on cutting my straggly 12 inch locks, perhaps because I was under the illusion that I could somehow, someway, get them back to the shiny, lustrous state they were in while I was pregnant with Baby Roo. As a friend of mine put it, "There ain't no hair like prego hair".

Alas, whatever hormones were responsible for my prego hair had stopped their visits to the hair shafts on my scalp long, long, ago. It'd been months and I was walking around with the "messy bun" look pretty much everyday. Plus, Baby Roo was taking just a little too much pleasure in wrapping her little hands in my hair and pulling as hard as she could. It was time for a change.

A friend of mine that I know through my MOMS club is a stylist at a new, very relaxing salon out here in Rancho Mirage called "The Bunglaow". It was shady, tranquil, and best of all, they offered me a glass of wine to sip while I was being made-over. Wine! This is an automatic upgrade to a 5 star salon in my book.

Anyway, here's a pic of the magic that Alisha worked on my hair:

Here's another picture because I think I look slightly smug in the one above.

I know. I look too happy in this one, but happy is better than smug. Besides, I am happy. I love my new 'do. Thank you, Alisha!

Some other changes that are going on in our household.... I am writing this from a new locale- uh, 10 feet away from the old one. We didn't move houses, but we moved half our house around.

When Mr. C and I moved in this place 4 1/2 years ago, it was just us and my stepson 9. This is a 4 bedroom home with a bonus room. We never, in a million gazillion years, thought that we would ever outgrow it. We officially did just that, however, with the arrival of Baby Roo. She's been shacked up in our room and sleeping in a Pak n' Play for the past 11 months because we've been putting off the big room shuffle that's needed to occur. Sooooooooooooo, here's what we did this weekend:

(Big deep inhale of breath) We moved 9 out of his room and moved him into J's room. We moved the office/playroom into 9's old room, and moved Princess G out of her room and into the old office/playroom with J. They now share. Finally, we moved Baby Roo into Princess G's room which now makes it possible for me and Mr. C to have our whole, entire room back to ourselves. (Exhale)

This involved a lot of painting, sorting, dismantling, remantling, and reorganzing. But it's all been worth it because as I write this now (from the old desk in the new office) J and Princess G are both sleeping in their new room 8 feet away, 9 is enjoying his new bed and his new bedroom, and Baby Roo is resting peacefully for the first time ever in a real life baby crib. Mr. C and I will be able to toss, turn, snore, shower, and flush toilets whenever we want without worrying about waking the baby.

Change is good. So is my life.

Have a nice day, everyone.

Top 10 Reasons Why I Love October

1. I can turn off the A/C and open my windows. This means that my house can smell like fresh desert air as opposed to last night’s dinner.

2. Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte’s

3. Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake –aka The .Perfect Compliment to #2.

4. Harvest Scented Candles

5. Trip to the pumpkin patch/apple orchard/farm where I can pretend for one day that I live somewhere where the trees actually change colors.

6. Comfort Food- beef stew, jumbalaya, chili, pot roast, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins…. I’m noticing that a lot of what I love about October is food related.

7. It gets darker earlier (which I love for about 1 month, then I’m over it.)

8. The way the light turns all goldenish- especially in the afternoons.

9. The Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that I pilfer from my children’s Trick or Treat sack

10. It’s my birthday month.

And this year I have a BONUS reason to love October- my Baby Roo is turning 1 on Nov. 5 and we’re having her great big first birthday party on the 31^st! Let the fun begin! Happy Fall everyone!

The Road to Heaven is Filled With Nuts

Hey there. I've honestly had full intentions of posting a blog everyday, but yesterday just laid me out. It wasn't that the whole day was bad- there was just this one horrible, scary, stressful and stupid hour when I was dealing with a medical emergency involving one of my children and it took the rest of the day for my wrecked body/mind/spirit to recover.

It started out okay- did my carpool, came home and played with the baby and three year old, cleaned a little, put the baby down, and then bribed the 3 year old with promises of making a cake together if he would just let me sit for a moment and catch up on my blogs. Said 3 year old (surprisingly) complied and after my time on the computer, we moved it to the kitchen where we donned aprons and began making a spice cake.

Before I write further, let me give you a little background on my son J- he spent his entire first year of life completely miserable with allergy related eczema. Without boring you with all the details, I'll just say that it took a homeopathic doctor, lots of trials, lots of errors, and lots of trips to the whole foods market for us to find out that he was allergic to eggs, soy, nuts, and shellfish. We've since gotten his skin under control (calling him Lizard Boy no longer applies, thankfully). He's even mostly outgrown the egg and soy allergy, which makes life suh-weet cuz it means I can bake cakes, pies, cookies, and breads for my entire family once again. It'll take more than allergies to rid this mama of her extreme carb addiction.

Anyway, here's how my Stupid Mommy Moment of the Week happened: I knew he couldn't have peanuts. But at a party recently someone had accidentally given him a cookie with walnuts in it and surprise, surprise- no reaction! So yesterday when I was bringing out the ingredients for the Spice Cake, I paused with the bag of walnuts in my hand and thought to myself "This may not be a good idea." However, there was another voice in my head that said "Aw, what's a Spice Cake without nuts? He was fine before. He'll be fine now." And unfortunately, it was that voice that I decided to go ahead and listen to.

We had fun mixing the batter and when we were done J asked to lick the beater, which I let him do (cuz that's practically a kids' right after helping to make a cake).

I had my back to him doing dishes. As soon as I turned off the faucet I knew something was wrong because I heard him making gagging sounds. I turned around and saw him sticking his fingers down his throat, as if trying to itch his mouth from the inside. His ENTIRE face was broken out in tiny little blisters- they were even on his eyelids. I grabbed the beater away and started wiping the batter that covered his face with a washcloth. And everytime I wiped something off, I uncovered skin that was swollen and puffy. Thankfully, he could breathe and talk okay. He kept telling me that he was itchy. I keep Benadryl in the pantry specifically for his allergic reactions- so I whirled and got some, measured out the recommended amount for his weight, pushed his head back, and threw it down his throat. Unfortunately, I was in such a rush that I hadn't prepared him at all for this, and the poor guy spit most of it out. So now I had a quandry- I didn't know how much he ingested, and I was sure he needed more, but how much more?

Sooooooo, long story short I took him to Urgent Care (as suggested by my neighbor who happens to be an ER nurse and who also happened to be in his driveway-THANK YOU GOD- when I was frantically trying to load a baby and my now-vomiting son into my car).

So when we got to Urgent Care, I rushed to the window and practically shouted "My son is having an allergic reaction!" The lady behind the window bent to take a look at J who I was surprised to see performing a lively rendition of "If Your Happy and You Know It" for his baby sister. I hadn't noticed that the little turkey was feeling better. Don't get me wrong, I was glad for it, but really, would it have been so awful for him to act the part a tiny bit longer so that my dramatic entrance wouldn't seem so... well, dramatic? It all felt a little anti-climatic. The receptionist handed me a clipboard with a gazillion papers on it to fill out and asked me to have a seat.

Half an hour later, we had yet to even pay our co-pay. J's hives were almost completely gone and he was loosing patience with having to sit quietly in a chair. So I went up to the window and sheepishly asked if it would be okay if we just left. She handed me back the paperwork and said if we needed to come back to bring the paperwork and we'd be admitted right away. So we left.

The rest of the day we continued our plans as normal with me just keeping a close eye on him, but I was in a total funk. I was so angry at myself for taking a risk like that. I should've listened to that voice in my head that told me not to let him eat the walnuts. Everyone knows you're supposed to listen to that voice! Oprah always says to listen to that voice! Why didn't I?

And yeah, everything turned out okay, but I couldn't stop berating myself for being so careless. It wasn't until I was putting Princess G down for bed that I had a little moment that lifted me up.

We were in her bead reading the daily bible devotions that her Sunday School sends home every week. In the back of the Bible is a map of the land of Canaan. Princess G took a look at it and asked me "What's that? A map for how to get to Heaven?"

I got a good giggle out of that. It wasn't until later that I thought if only it WERE a map for how to get to heaven. I'd get on that road tonight and ask God directly if he's completely sure that I have it in me to take proper care of 3 children and 1 stepson? Cuz it's days like yesterday that make me take a look at these funny, creative and loud little souls and wonder if it's a fluke that I got to be blessed with them.