Sane & Insane

     Someone on Facebook tagged me in that meme last week.  At first I didn't know how to feel, because I thought that so far I had been doing a halfway decent job of keeping the whole "insane" thing on the down low.  I panicked a little at the thought of my secret being out.  So when I saw that I was tagged along with a group of moms and that no one had actually seen that and thought of me and only me,  I felt much better.  I laughed because it's funny.  Also though, I laughed because it's just so freakin' true.  I can't tell you how many times I've done something as a parent because I thought it was the right thing, the sane thing to do, yet I ended up with an insane result.  For example:

     Sane behavior- Teaching my children to put their own shoes on at an early age to promote their own autonomy and streamline leaving the house.

     Insane Result: Standing in the doorway and pleading"Did you get your shoes?  Okay.  Put them on.  No, no, you don't need a jacket.  It's 110 degrees outside.  Put the jacket down and just put on your shoes.  Please.  PUT THE BACKPACK DOWN!  WE'RE NOT GOING TO SCHOOL.  IT'S SUMMER, REMEMBER?  Please!!!!  Your shoes, your shoes!  Put them on!"

     (I confess that I would be to blame in this scenario because I repeatedly make the mistake of expecting my children to do something in my time just because I asked them to.  Their programming strongly resists such requests.  I believe that's how bribing was invented.  Somewhere back in the Paleolithic Age there was a cave mama holding out a nice juicy Teradactyl Wing and gesturing to her cave baby that he could have it, if only he'd put on his Saber Tooth Fur before going out.

     By the way, I may be exposing my ignorance on the Paleolithic era by implying that Teradactyls or cave people existed together in time.  Really though, does it matter?  If my skimming over historical facts offends anyone, please feel free to correct me in the comments.  Otherwise, lets move on.)

     Sane behavior- Teaching my children to buckle their own seatbelts, thus promoting safety awareness and once again, streamlining trips out of the home and around town.

     Insane result: Children get in the van and then for whatever reason, sit or stand around like they don't know what's going to happen next.  Does this ever happen to you?  In my case, I turn around in my driver's seat and say ""Guys?  This is the part where mommy turns on the engine and we back out of the driveway.  Put on your seat belts."  Some days I can say this with a lot of patience.  Other days I say it in a tone that suggests I've been possessed by Satan.  Either way, I can always count on a loud protest coming from somewhere in the backseat if I let the van roll an inch before all seat belts are buckled.  Seems that when this happens, one of my children become quickly convinced that they are going to die and that I am trying to kill them because we're (what a surprise) moving(!) and their seat belts aren't buckled yet.(!!!!)

     And finally:

    Sane behavior:  Having the kids carry their folded laundry to their rooms where they sort it and put everything away in drawers.  Yes, this teaches responsibility, but more importantly, it gives me some help with the dreaded, hateful, daunting task of laundry for a family of six.

     Insane result: Laying awake on the couch at 4:30 in the morning and imagining conversations that my children might have with their future therapists about me.  The therapist would say "So, tell me about your mother." And they would reply, "Well, she was okay.  She had this weird hangup about the laundry.  She'd get so mad at us about it.  She was really kind of nuts."

     I guess you need the backstory for that one.

     It had been a long night in which 2 children had wet the bed.  Actually, to be precise, they wet my bed.  Mr. C has been gone for the last few days, and when that happens, I usually let them sleep with me.  (By the way, you really don't need an explanation for this, but I have an irrational urge to give it to you anyway.  Bedwetting is not usually the norm around here, but I had let them fall asleep while watching a movie, so they didn't use the bathroom before bed.  They were overtired anyway and sleeping extra deeply, so I guess once again I'm the crazy one for not seeing this coming.)

     Anyway, at 1 in the morning when I was helping J get fresh pj's and underwear on, I saw him turn around and throw the clean pair of underwear into the dirty clothes because he doesn't "like the way underwear feels at night".  Now, anytime anyone around here throws something clean into the laundry hamper, I take it as a personal act of aggression towards me.  So imagine my frustration when, 3 hours later, I was blindly going through Roo's drawers trying to find her clean pajamas and underwear and I found instead, little toys balled up inside wads of clothing that had been shoved into her drawers.  Not surprising given that she's 3, but still frustrating because I had originally put the clothes away with her, and I know they didn't go in like that.

     I stalked out to the living room to lay awake on the couch in the predawn hours, in exile of my pee-soaked bed, with the washer and dryer humming out their rythym in the next room and me fuming about the unfairness of it all.  Was I crazy to even try to teach them to do this stuff on their own?  Should I just start doing it all myself and save myself the frustration?  Save myself the sanity? Save my children the future therapy bills?

     I don't know the answer to any of this.  I just know that on the day the asylum people come to take me away, it'll be bittersweet.  Yeah, I'll be getting committed, which is a bummer.  But on the upside, I'll be getting out of laundry duty.

     Sweet relief.  Where do I sign?  

* Disclaimer- I notice I've become really fond of these disclaimers.  It's because while I'm writing, I think about all the ways people can interpret this post.  This give me a nice little space to address some of that. That said, I just want you all to know that while I often write about the stuff that I don't like about parenting, it doesn't mean that I don't like my kids.  Sometimes people get that mixed up.  So to be clear: I enjoy my kids. I love them. I like hanging out with them.  I like learning from them.  But I also like to give forum to the not so shiny side of parenting.  I think it's important to talk about that part of it too.  Okay?  It keeps me sane.  
Ish. 
It keeps me sane-ish.    

Dads Through A Lens

One of my favorite parts of being a mom is watching Mr. C be a dad.  Actually, I kinda love looking at all fathers in the act of adoring their children.  I don't know why.  I guess it's because a lot of times they wear these expressions that you just know they didn't own before they had kids- like wonder and amazement and head-shaking awe.  I love that look.  I'll never get enough of it.

So, while around here Mr. C is usually the man behind the camera taking pictures of all the wonderful craziness or crazy wonderfulness, tonight I'm posting a few of the pics that I've taken over the years that    reflect something of what I'm talking about....

with 9

with PG

with J

and with Roo.

I think it's pretty evident that the kids are in just as much wonder and awe of him as he is of they.

One more thing, Happy Father's Day to my dad.

Who's the dumb little kid who didn't realize that pictures were being taken until the fourth flash?  Hope she turned out okay.  Geez.




















Have a good night everyone!

Beware The Crappy School Parking Lot

Hi guys!  I'm going to try to make this fast, as Mr. C and I are trying to get through the Hatfield & McCoys mini-series that we DVR'd last weekend.  I'm enjoying it, but I have to confess that I was hoping to gain some insight as to what the two families were really fighting about, since my whole life I've only seen them depicted as a bunch of hillbillies who get to killin' each other over durn near nuthin'.  Turns out that really just about sums it up, which is a little disappointing. However, working in my mom's therapy office for a few months did teach me that anger makes people certifiable, so I guess I'm not surprised.  Therapy probably would've done wonders for the two clans.

 But since it's a little too late for that, I suppose I should move on to what I sat down to write about.

Tomorrow is the last day of school.  All you parents and teachers reading can give yourself a pat on the back and do a happy dance.  You've done it!  Hooray!  My own happy dance will be especially joyful, not because I am looking forward to not having to fight with the girls about their hair every morning (although I am). Nor is it because I won't have to pack lunches at 6 a.m. for a while (although I won't).  It's because I will have 9 glorious weeks in which I won't have to step foot (or tire) inside the insanity that is the school parking lot.

Before I go further, I need to change topics for a sec and ask you all if you've heard of Amber Dusick and her blog, Crappy Pictures?  If you haven't ever read her before, make sure you click over and check her out.  Every single post is spot on hilarious.  And one of the absolute best things about her blog is that often, after reading, my brain switches gears and I begin to go about my day picturing my life in terms of crappy pictures.  That's where this post comes in.  Every time I have to endure the parking lot at my children's school, I imagine it in crappy pictures.   So, with tomorrow being the last day of school and all,  I thought I'd go the "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery" route and pay homage to both the Crappy Pictures Blog and my nemesis, the school parking lot.

By the way, this is a one time deal.  First because it's overtly ripping off someone else's blog, but with giving them credit for the idea and all.  Second because this is work, man.  Props to Mrs. Dusick.  She is talented.

Okay.  I know you don't get much from looking at this first picture here.   It's very busy.  Basically, you need to know two things: first, that red line there is the long, long journey that I travel every day in my quest to get my child to Kindergarten.  If you don't think it looks that bad, keep reading.
Second, that scrabbling up at the top is supposed to be my legend (it's hard to write with a mouse).  It's just there for a little perspective.  Every millimenter or so is equal to 50 child sized steps, but please realize that you'll need to double that if you're also towing a toddler/baby.

I'm not famous for my precise estimation skills, but I'm pretty sure the map legend is not that much of an exaggeration.

Also, please note that there's a little roundabout in front of the Kindergarten building.  Against all logic, we parents are not allowed to use that for dropping off our kids.  Supposedly, it's for buses only. Nevermind that this is a neighborhood school and no one gets bussed in or out.  While it seems to me that the logical thing would be to drop the Kindergarten students off at the curb just mere feet from the door, we are forced to utilize what I've come to refer to as "the Devil's Lot".

The Devil's Lot takes up half a city block and is shared with the middle school next door.  That means that not only are 800 elementary school parents using that lot, often times there are an additional 500 middle school parents using it as well.

Notice also that there is one way in and one way out. (Insert a sound bite of Vincent Price's mad laughter)

When you first enter the Devil's Lot, common sense would ask you to drive directly into the lot and find a space.  Alas, the powers that be have made that impossible by the placement of cones (as crappily illustrated above).   You are forced to drive the entire quarter of a mile around the loop, which wouldn't be so terrible if the loop didn't have these impossible speed bumps.  These aren't the nice, smooth, rounded out speed bumps that you usually see.  No, these are the mean kind- with angles and big nasty bolts.  You almost need all-terrain wheels to get up and over them.

I have named them for entertainment purposes.  Here's me looking through the windshield at the upcoming "Coffee Tosser":

And here's the second one, after I go over it.  You can see it in my rear view mirror.  I call it "The Boob Slammer."

The name speaks for itself. 

After your encounter with the ridiculous speed bumps, you come to my least favorite part of the whole parking lot.  It's the "Intersection of Indecisiveness".   Here, you either have to make the decision to move forward and try to find a spot along the curb to drop your child, or to veer left and go into the parking lot.  Finding a spot at the curb is a crapshoot, and if you fail, you have to exit the parking lot and drive around the whole city block and reenter to start the whole process again. The pressure is intense.  I've seen people crack.  It's ugly. 

Luckily, if I'm just dropping off J I usually just veer into the parking lot, since we're mandated to walk our children into the K yard.

Now though you'd think we'd be done, really the journey is just beginning.  After the stress of the parking lot, finding a space, and unloading all the kids..... you hike.

You hike them across the parking lot.  You hike them over the crosswalk.  (Here, it'd make sense to go into the side gate to enter the Kinder Yard, but again- no.  The side gate is for the morning Kinder students to exit by.  Afternoon Kinders like us must enter through the front.) 

I'm just glad that I don't have a baby to carry through the parking lot, as some mom's do.  Afternoon drop off and pick up are during peak nap hours.  Nightmare.

Anyway, we walk some more. 

All the way around the Kinder yard, up the middle, and through the front gate.

By the time we get there, a choir of angels is singing Hallelujah in my head.

We have arrived.  The mom's with babies are now crawling on all fours, their babes on their backs.  They are crying.  The journey has taken much out of them.  Though I would love to help them, to find a way to ease their burden, I must save my own strength for the journey back.  Sympathetic eye contact is all I can offer.  A silent exchange that communicates the fact that we are warriors, these mothers and I.  We have made this journey together, and now that our children are promoting to First Grade, our burden will be eased.  Yes, we may have to battle the evil speed bumps and heavy traffic at dismissal time, but no longer will we have to walk our wards miles and miles to the Garden of Kinder Learning.  You are brave, young mothers, and I am nothing if not honored-

I am such a dork.

Nothing like that happens.  When we finally get to the gate, J gets his hug and kiss goodbye and then Roo and I are on our way back.  No big deal.

Except for last week.  I have to vent about this one thing to you.  There's an office lady who I've had run ins with before.  Last summer when I had to register J she made me feel like a slacker because I was registering him late, and when I tried to explain that it was because their office had closed for 6 weeks, she chastised me by saying "Yes, well.  This is a school.  School's usually do close for the summer."

So that was the first time I wanted to sock her.

The second time was last week when I walked up to the gate with J and found her locking it.  The kids were still playing on the playground, the teacher hadn't called them to line up yet, there were numerous parents inside the gate watching their children play, and even more parents still hiking their kids out of the parking lot in 110 degree heat.  I said "You're locking it?  Why?"
And she said "Yes.  It's 11:45.  I go by my watch."

To which I should have replied "Oh, well.  Maybe you should try going by common sense instead."

But of course I didn't say that.  I'd like to say it's because I'm too nice, but really it's because I didn't think of it until about 15 minutes later when I was back in my car fuming.

On the bright side, I now have a better understanding of the kind of stupidity that the Hatfield& McCoys were dealing with.

Happy last day of school!  Have a good one!


***Disclaimer- I should make it clear that despite my hatred of the parking lot, I love my children's school.  I love the teachers there, I love the principal, and I love the hard working aides who don the fluorescent vests everyday and put their lives at risk to keep the parking lot as safe as possible.  I appreciate them.  My despise is solely for the lot itself and all the cars inside it. And the fact that we can't use the roundabout.  But whatever.   

Stepmom, Part II

So 9 turns 16 tomorrow.  We've been all party, party, party around here for a few days.  Actually, we've really been all clean, clean, clean.  He had a glow in the dark party yesterday, and I learned the hard way that there are two layers of cleaning that one does when throwing any kind of party that involves a black light.  There's the normal cleaning one does when you're preparing your home for company, and then the second layer that's required when you see all the invisible germs that a traitorious black light exposes.   Very eye opening.  And horrific.  And embarrassing.  And shameful.  And I could go on with the adjectives here, but I think you get the idea.

However, it was all worth it in the end because he and his friends had a good time, or so I was told.  I took the littles and headed out of town for the night because mixing a 3, 5, and 8 year old in with a bunch of teenagers would be akin to dumping a bunch of yappy chihuahuas in with a roomful of monkeys, and why would we want to subject anyone to that scene?

(Who am I kidding?  It was myself who I didn't want to subject to that scene.  Me.  Anyone else would've been free to take it or leave it.)

Anyway, on to the reason for why I sat to write this post.

Ahem.

A few years ago I wrote Stepmom.  I have mixed feelings about that post.  I think I wrote my feelings in an honest, true way- and I'm proud of that.  But then some of my friends responded to it by saying that 9 was "lucky to have me", and while that was nice of them, I began to feel like a fraud.  No where in that post was I trying to give anybody the idea that I know what I'm doing as a step parent.

Listen.  This step parenting gig is hard.  It's harder than parenting your own kids, and not just because you have to work for that bond. It's also because that bond is negotiated between you and your stepkid.  I mean, they have a say in it (whereas your own kids just learn that their your DNA and deal with it). The whole process can be messy, and I will be the first to say that I have not been a shining star during al this.

My mom gave me some advice as a therapist when I first married Mr. C.  She told me to remember that Mr. C, Michelle, and 9 were a family at one time, and that for 9, this would always be the case.  I didn't have a problem accepting that.  I understood that Mr. C had a responsibility to them, even after he and I started our own family.  What I struggled with was how decisions for our family would overlap and affect the other family, and I handled it even worse when the situation was vice versa.  Actually, none of us handled that well.  (Would you?) There were so many occasions when we would muck stuff up, blame each other, fight with each other, complain to anyone who would listen, and get others involved when they had no business being involved.   Often times, 9 would unwittingly end up in the middle of it.  I can not tell you how many times I wanted to give up.  Just leave.  Pack it up, take the kids, and kindly ask to be taken out of the equation.  Sometimes it was because of something Michelle did.  Sometimes it was because of something Mr. C did.  Sometimes it was because of something the both of them did.  But mostly it was because of things that I did.  (I find it so ironic that I, being someone who will go to her grave caring too much about what other people think about her, married into this situation where there were so many occasions for her to mess up in front of so many other witnesses- not just 9 and Mr. C, but their families as well.)

Maybe you can see why running away and leaving was an attractive thought at times.

But I didn't run away.  I stuck it out.  And I'll always stick it out.  I haven't learned much as a step parent, but one thing I do know is that commitment is a good quality to have if one chooses this role.

So today, when I think about 9's birthday, I think about that fact that I've been here for 10 years, sticking it out with him.  And of course, I think about his mom.  She should be here.  Sixteen years ago, she, Mr. C, and 9 became a family.  They lived in a little apartment across the street from the beach, just the 3 of them.  Today 9 lives in the desert, in our very loud crazy house, with 3 siblings and a stepmother.  Everything that has happened between then and now has brought him to this very different place, and he's had more adjustment and changes to get used to than an average kid.  I think he's rolled with it well.  He's a cool kid, with a great sense of humor and great friends, and for every ounce of commitment that I put into our relationship, he's worth ten.

(Actually, he's worth more than that. Not many kids will wear a birthday hat made for them by their little sister in front of all his friends.  But he did.)

Happy Birthday, 9!

Animal Vegetable or Thermometer?

I know I've been writing about J way too much this year.  I assure you, all 4 of the kids are loved, appreciated, fed, and interacted with as equally as any mom can manage, but J this year, well he's..... he's a five year old boy.  They're hilarious.  I, being the oldest of 2 sisters and 7 female cousins, have never had the opportunity to experience this before, and it's been great material for this blog.

Anyway.  I just want to tell you this one thing.  I'm sorry for sounding like one of those moms who thinks everything her kid does is hilarious.  (Really, it's only like, 75% of everything he does that is hilarious.)  

It started this evening with J deciding that he was going to sleep in the hallway closet.  Why, you ask, would he want to sleep in a closet?

Because that's what Harry Potter did silly.  (He also informed us that he would need a pet owl.  When that was vetoed, he said that he would settle for a rat or a cat.  When we reminded him that he was allergic to cats,  he only had to think for a moment before running off to get his favorite stuffed animal and shoving into a shoebox.  Then he was happy.  He now had his magical creature, safe and secure in it's own "cage".)

 I don't know where or why this sudden infatuation came from, but I'm pretty sure his little heart wanted more than anything to have a flock of owls swoop down our chimney in the wee hours of the night with invitations from Hogwarts for him between their beaks.  J gets ideas like this in his head, and then he becomes relentless in his efforts to make his fantasies real.  He will work on you until you have run out of patience and logical arguments. In this scenario, it took him two days to wear us down. He even went through the trouble of drawing us a diagram of how he would fit his sleeping bag and pillow in the 2x3 space.  How could we say no to such thoroughness? So we said yes, knowing full well that he wouldn't really last in there for more than a hour.

We were right.

At 8:45, he came into my bedroom where I was reading.  He said that he missed PG because sometimes they would talk each other to sleep.  He asked if he could go talk to her.  I told him that she was already asleep, but that he could go sleep in his own bed any time he wanted to. He told me that he would.  I said okay, and reminded him to use the restroom before going to bed.

And that's when this conversation happened:

J: MOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!  Is this candy?

He comes out of my bathroom holding a wrapped tampon and waves it at me accusingly.

Me: No!  Put it back.
J:  It's candy!
Me:  No, I swear it's not candy.  Go put it back.
J:  Well then, what is it?
Me:  Nothing!  It's just my stuff!  Now go put it back!

He walks slowly back into the bathroom.  I hear the crinkling of paper being torn and, sighing, I roll off my bed with the intent of grabbing the tampon from him and shooing him off to bed.  But then I hear him say this in a voice dripping with disappointment:

"Oh.  It's just a thermometer."

And that's when I grabbed my computer and typed this all out for you guys to see.

Have a good night.

Crossing Fingers, Closing Eyes

Preface:  Okay, I wasn’t going to do it.  I wasn’t going to write about the Time Magazine cover because DEAL LORD, haven’t we had enough of that this week? However, while wading through all the articles, all the blogs, and all the hype, I saw one too many comments from moms on both sides of the stupid media-incited “mommy wars” snipping at each other about how their children were going to grow up wonderful and how damaged those “other” children would be.  I find it so irksome and tiring.  Here’s my response to that nonsense:

One of the things you do after you have a baby is to find a group of mom friends.  It's got to be done because one of the things that new parents like to do is talk about their kids.  A lot.  And if you try to talk to your childfree friends incessantly about poop color and exhaustion they will become bored and leave.  Then you'll be all alone in the world with a cute little bundle of noise that leaks shocking amounts of body fluids, and no one to describe it to.  So you see, mommy friends are necessary.  They are all about comparing poop colors.

I, myself, have found a group of intelligent, smart, funny, and creative mothers who have their own style of parenting.  We came up with it ourselves over dinner and drinks a few weeks ago.  While discussing the impossible behavior of teens and preteens, someone (maybe, possibly me) said that parenting these guys was like floating around in space with no idea if what we were doing was effective or not.  Someone remarked that we may as well close our eyes and cross our fingers, and that’s how the "cross your fingers and close your eyes" theory of parenting was born.   It's genius.  There are basically only three principles to this philosophy and they go like this:

1)     Do your best

2)     Find humor where you can

3)     Tell the truth, always.

Our group is open to everyone, except for the people who feel that their way is the absolute only correct way in the whole universe. Obviously, you cannot close your eyes against something if you already are certain that it is the best.

Our group accepts that sometimes life gets between the best intentions that parents have for their children.  For instance, sometimes children will lose a parent at the brink of adolescence.  Sometimes children will begin wondering about their biological parentage and hurt others in their curiosity.  Sometimes close relatives will favor a child of one gender over another, thus causing unintentional pain to others.  There will be countless situations beyond your control, and at this time it won't matter one bit if you breastfed your child to 3 months, or to 3 years.  It won't matter if you let them choose their own education or if you sent them to an extremely structured and authoritative private school.  Whether they co-slept in your bed or if you sleep trained them won't matter at all, because life happens.  Things that we could never prepare our kids for occur, and our kids will have to deal with it their own way.

I know what many of you are thinking.  You're thinking something like "But by parenting my child with the (insert parenting method here), I am building self-esteem in my child and empowering them and this will be helpful to them when dealing with life."  Well. Maybe.  Or, maybe not.  I think reality is that often people latch on to a parenting method because it’s the closest thing we’re going to get to an instruction manual for parenting.  There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you realize that it’s not a guarantee for how your child is going to end up.  

My own mom was parented by two alcoholics.  They were so far gone into their disease that they weren't able to take care of she and her sister properly.  The police once found my 2 year old aunt at the bottom of a freeway onramp, which is where she had walked to while my grandmother and her husband had gone on a binge.  My mom's 70-year-old grandmother had legal custody of both of them, but my mom mainly raised herself.  Both her parents had drank themselves to death by the time she was 19.  When that happened, she took over custody of her 10-year-old sister and raised her. She did this, and then she raised my 2 sisters and myself while going back to work and school.  Today she runs her own business and is a wonderful grandmother to 9 grandchildren.  According to some of the better known parenting theories out there, and some “research” as well, she should be violent, angry, insecure, and alcoholic. She is none of these things.  She is well balanced and as happy as anyone else is.

What I'm saying here people, is that it's a crapshoot.

So when you find out your kids have been lying to you for months about schoolwork and what they do online?  Cross your fingers, close your eyes, and pray that you're handling it okay.

When your kids are supposed to write a paper about a loved one and they decide to write about themselves instead? Cross your fingers, close your eyes, and pray that this is not a permanent affliction.

When your kids are getting too cozy with their boyfriend/girlfriend of several months?

When your kids are hurt by the mean group at school?

When your kids want to try out for the all-star team when you know they haven't a chance?

Cross your fingers, close your eyes.

Cross your fingers, close your eyes.

Cross your fingers, close your eyes.

Nora Ephron says this great thing in her book I Feel Bad About My Neck.  I can't find the exact quote, but it's something along the lines of how parenting has changed from a noun to a participle. In other words, it went from “I'm a parent" to “I'm a parent".  I don't know if the difference is clear to you, but I get what she's saying.  We’re over thinking things.  Of course we are.  We have access to too much information, and we want to believe that that information somehow gives us control of how things are going to turn out. Don't think.  Just do.  Do your best.  Be a family.  Love.  Argue.  Get mad at each other.  Forgive.  Don't expect perfection.  Don't expect anything.  Just be.

And through it all, cross your fingers and close your eyes.

(By the way, I feel like I should tell you that sometimes we cross our eyes and close our fingers, but that's only if we've had one or two extra glasses of wine.  It doesn't really matter, because the end result is usually the same.)

Have a good weekend! 

A Different Kind of Mother's Day Post

Sometimes J and Roo get along like white on rice, and other days they are like oil and water.  Today is an oil and water day.  Kindergarten drop off can not come soon enough.  My morning has been filled with bickering children, bickering children, and oh yes....more bickering children.  So in the midst of this big bowl of awesomesauce that is my day, I've been escaping into blog land and reading a variety of Mother's Day posts.  There are some really sweet, sentimental, heart warming, tear jerking posts out there this week..... and I can relate to none of them at the moment because it's too hard to reflect on the joys of motherhood when your children are acting like territorial primates with volume control issues.

So I'm taking a minute to write a different kind of Mother's Day post.  Crappy Pictures wrote a post yesterday about how all she wants for Mother's Day is a day off.  I'd like to take that idea into a slightly different direction.  All I want for Mother's Day is a 12 hour break from using particular phrases around this house.  These are phrases that I repeat so often that there have been days when I have come this close to pulling a Van Gogh and cutting my ears off- just so I wouldn't have to hear my own voice saying these words yet again.  And while yes, I'm aware that the power lies in me to just stop repeating the following phrases, you should know that no, really it doesn't, because if I don't address the following behaviors with my children, no one will.  Then my children will grow up to be heathens and societal rejects, and to be frank, I just can't handle that guilt.    So without further delay, here they are:

1.  "Who didn't flush?"
2.  "Your shirt is not a napkin."
3.  "Stop fighting!"
4.  "What happened?/Why are you crying?"
5.  "Put this away, please."
6.  "Put this away, please."
7.  "Put this away, please."
8.  "Brushing your teeth is part of getting dressed."
9.  "Don't argue.  Just do it."


A day without saying any of the above would be a simply glorious day.  My brain would squeal and hug itself.  My heart would beat contentedly.  My body would feel refreshed, and I would be able to wake up on Monday morning and begin using all of the above phrases once again, only this time I'd effuse love and kindness and all kinds of June Cleaver-y perfection.   (I'm not sure how hollering "Who didn't flush?" out the bathroom door would ever come out sounding kind and June Cleaver-y, but I would like the chance to find out.)

By the way, I couldn't think of a number 10 so I asked the kids if they could think of something that mommy says a lot.  I was hoping they would say something like "You always tell us that you love us.", so that I would have a sweet ending for this post.  Instead J answered, "Um, you say 'Go to your room if you're going to be loud'."

Oh well.  There goes my happy ending.   I guess I'm not the only one who's cranky around here.

Hopefully by Sunday when I'm basking in glory of homemade cards and tissue-wrapped gifts from school, I'll have forgotten all about this rotten morning and so will have they. Isn't that what we do?  We forget about the bad (or at least look for a way to laugh about it) so that we can find love in all the little things?  Especially when those little things come in the form of a painted hand print with a sweet poem.  Or spray painted macaronis glued onto a paper plate.  Or a dozen "tulips" made from pipe cleaners and egg cartons.  In any case, Happy Mother's Day to all my friends out there who are moms.  I am always awed by the inspiration, laughter, and learning I receive just by being in the ranks with you.  Much love to you all!

*And a shout out to my own mom, who is pretty awe-inspiring and cool.  Love you.