Mommy Time Out

I wasn't born to be a mother. I never had life long dreams of being a mommy. No fantasies of a huge white wedding and a knight in shining amour to take me away....I never planned on being barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen. That's not to say that I did not want children. I did. Im just not a natural mother. I am not Zen. I am severely lacking in the patience department. I dont do "baby talk". I am not the mother you see on 7th Heaven....I am not Maggie Seaver, June Cleaver, Lorraine McFly, Claire Huxtable or Kitty Foreman. I am more of the....Sofia Petrillo, Joy Turner, Edina Monsoon, Lois from Malcom in the Middle, with a wee bit of Bree VanDeCamp mixed in. Crazy, sarcastic, loud, OCD-ish, tired, exhausted, overbearing....fiercely loving mother.

I need time for ME. I am not a mother first, I am Sarah first.

This week has been Hell. Between Cora's diarrhea, Gavin's attitude and physical abuse and Rachel's inability to do anything on her own, I had had it. Today my son slapped me across the face, Gavin and Rachel fought like cats and dogs. I had one or the other saying "mom, Gavin/Rachel hit me" at least every 37 seconds. It got to the point that I said, "I don't care anymore, hit him/her back" (Nominating myself for mom of the year). Cora did nothing but scream and cry and throw herself on the floor today.

Bill gets home at 6pm. At about 5 pm, after hours of asking them to please pick up their toys (something they are perfectly capable of doing) to no avail, I took their toys away. That sent them into a fit of epic proportions. After 30 minutes of screaming and crying I told them I was leaving when their daddy got home. And that I was not coming back. The minute I said it, I regretted it. Who says that to their children? (so, do I get that award yet?) Of course that did not make them happy. They kept saying "I need you mom" and " don't go mom"...but I left. I watched their crying faces in the window as I backed out. I did not wave, I did not honk like normal. I just left. No goodbye, no hugs and kisses (something I am usually a stickler about). I left my children brokenhearted.

I needed a Mommy Time Out (Term coined by JoAnn)....I went to Arby's, ate my dinner in the parking lot, cried a little, went shopping and drove the long way home.

When I got home, they forgave me. The thing about young children is that their love really is unconditional. They love you when you yell, they love you when you wont let them play outside in the rain, they love you when you wont make meatballs for lunch or when you take their toys away. Even if they say they hate you (we are not there yet!) they still love you.

I had a talk with them about responsibilities (yes, I am aware that they are only 3.5, but they do know how to pick up toys and make their beds.) and about being nice. They seemed receptive, but I know better. Tomorrow, I am going to teach them to tell me when I need a time out. Sometimes they sense I am getting too frustrated before I do. Because I have a feeling......

Mommy is going to need a lot more time outs.

Learn from your children

Have you ever sat back and thought about how children process information, go through major life changes, explore their world? I spent a good portion of the day today doing that.

When do we lose the ability to just "be"? Puberty? The day we are handed our driver's license? When we give birth to our first child? We spend the majority of our time cleaning, cooking, working and go go going that we forget to just sit down, breathe and just BE. Lay on the floor and drive a toy car around. It doesn't matter if you are playing WITH your child or if they have been sleeping for 3 hours....try it, it is unbelievably calming.

Kids are the most accepting, loving people. Life just IS to them. They don't care what color you are, if a family has two mommies or two daddies, they just don't care. Things like that are not important to them. Should they be all that important to us?

When does building a fort from 3 bedsheets become boring and stupid? I am 30 years old and I had a blast doing just that today. I realize that life changes and responsibilities get bigger and more stressful but do we have so little time in our day to build a fort? To climb a tree? To jump in a big pile of yellow leaves? You know what? I don't care if you do not have children. Go outside, rake a pile of leaves and plop yourself into it. Now.

Slow down, enjoy every moment. Be thankful.

When your children are fighting for the 83rd time in 3 hours, remind yourself that they are learning how to negotiate and go after what they want. And that they really like ice packs for their battle wounds.

When your 21 month old throws food on the floor, again, remember that she is expressing her dissatisfaction with the yummy goodness you provided her. And that she thinks you need to mop.

When all 3 of your children scream for an entire day, be thankful they have nice, strong lungs. And be thankful that yours are louder.

When you think that you cannot take it anymore, feel free to lock yourself in the bathroom and scream. It feels good. And kind of scares the kids a bit.

And at the end of the day, when you tuck your kids into bed, be thankful that you managed to survive another day.....and so did your children.

I am writing this mostly as a reminder to myself. To calm down, breathe, and just let it be. I am outnumbered every day and sometimes it feels like I may completely break down and run away. I don't. But I daydream about it often. Like hourly.

Identification

My children identify people by their possessions or other members of their family. I never considered it odd until I realized that no one else does this.

Examples -

Grandpa with the squeaky belt = Father-in-law. He has a squeaky belt on his truck.
Grandma and Grandpa with Eddie = My mom and step-dad. They have a dog named Eddie.
Grandma and Grandpa with motorcycle = My dad and step-mom. They have a Harley.
Bob with flat tired = My brother. His car has flat tires.
Baby Carmen = Bill's cousin. She was pregnant..therefore she WAS the baby.
Cindy with rice = My friend Cindy has a son named BRYCE.
Grape Grandpa with the cows = My grandpa lived by cows. He has since passed away.
Mike with the big brown truck = UPS guy

So I guess their odd behavior may be caused by their parents. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all.

Drought

There seems to be a drought in my ramblings. I need to rectify this situation. So here are some random thoughts about my family -

Rachel farts. A lot. When she does, she feels the need to tell everyone in the town. It no longer embarrasses me, I just roll with it. She also likes to hit her sister and then doctor her up. We are working on pretend injuries to fix. Lets not give Cora a laceration that need stitches, because Rachel is not getting the sewing kit. Cora would end up with her lip sewn to her earlobe.

Gavin is very bossy. Very demanding. I spend a lot of time either ignore his demands ("Mom, give me some milk!") or explaining to him that he will catch more flies with honey.

Me - Gavin, you will catch more flies with honey.
Gavin - I don't want flies, I want milk.
Me - Ask me nicely.
Gavin - give me milk now please.
Me - Honey.
Gavin - What do you mean catching flies?
Me - Ask me nicely and I will give you some milk.
Gavin - Can I have the fly swatter?
Me - No.
Gavin - Give me milk!

So this goes on for a good 20 minutes. Yes, it would have been easier to just give him the damn milk but it would not have done any good. He is learning though, it only takes 20 minutes to ask nicely now. It used to take 45 minutes and a 2 hour tantrum. He may be stubborn, but his mama has him beat. She also has Sam Adams and Excedrin Migraine at the ready.

Cora...sweet bean....not so sweet. She is the biggest drama queen I have ever seen. If you tell her "No", she runs across the room to scream and cry. Poor, sad Cora.

My kids still drive me ape shit crazy. But our good, cooperative days are growing. Now if they would give me 5 minutes to write a blog post more often, we'd be golden.

Speech Impediment

I was in the kitchen and I overhear this delightful exchange -


Rachel - Gavin, be a bitch.
Gavin - I am a bitch.
Rachel - no, go over there and be a bitch.
Gavin - I will be a bitch.
Rachel - Be a bitch!!!
Gavin - I am a bitch!!
Rachel - The bitch needa go potty.
Gavin - Go potty bitch.

My eyes got wide and I frantically try to figure out where they got this stuff. I generally do not swear when they are in earshot.

I looked around the corner - They were pretending to be BRIDGES. Bitch = Bridge.

Damn speech impediments.

The Donut/Doughnut Incident

Last night Bill went to the store to get some milk. I wanted a donut. ONE donut. He brings back a six. Great. They will go stale before they all get eaten as we are not really donut (doughnut) people.

So I ate my one doughnut (donut) and put the box on the stove. I got up to go to bed and said, "hide those donuts before you come in". Ok.

This morning Gavin gets up at 6:30. Bill put him on the couch and came in and told me Gavin was sleeping on the couch and that he was leaving for work. Ok. (Y'all see right where I am going, right?)

I got up.

Gavin was sitting on the couch eating a glazed donut. On his face he had powdered sugar, red filling, a couple of peanuts.

Me - "Gavin, whatcha eating?"
G - Doughnuts
Me - How many have you had.
G - 91
Me - *chuckles*

I go into the kitchen and notice the box on the stove is empty. :shock: Then I look at the table - one donut on a plate at Rachel's spot. Gavin had eaten FOUR doughnuts. FOUR. Not 4 donut holes, FOUR big ass donuts. Some frosted and sprinkled, some glazed, some filled with raspberry sugar goo. *sigh*

Me - Gavin, are you going to eat this one too?
G - No, that is for Rachel
Me - What about Cora?
G - Cora is too little for doughnuts.
Me - *eye roll*

So anyway, after breakfast...about 45 minutes after, Gavin loses all control of his behavior. Throwing things, hitting, biting, pushing, screaming oh screaming, hitting me, throwing things at my head, jumping on the couch, jumping on his sisters.....I thought he had gone mad. He has been VERY good the last few days, sleeping better, etc.

I spent the morning fighting some sort of Poltergeist of a child. Add to that a teething 18mo and it was disastrous.

Finally it was nap time. All three children went into bed, laid down, and fell asleep within seconds. That NEVER happens. Ever. Never ever.

It wasn't until I went to take a nap myself that I had the mother of all light bulb moments. The (*(&^*&%#$ donuts!!! He had been on a sugar high the size of West Virginia. No wonder he was some sort of crazy ass mad man. Nap time was easy because he crashed.

So, moral of the story is - hide your damn donuts!!

Absent

I need to apologize for my blogger absence. Sorry. I'd like to say that it was because my children were perfectly behaved angels, but alas, not so.

Today, we had our first experience with road rage. We had just picked up lunch and were heading home and some ass cut me off. So, I did what came naturally to me. I called him a dick. My son, who is sitting 800 feet behind me in the back of the van asks, "What is a dick?" I did what any good parent would do.

I lied.

I told him that his name was Richard and Dick is a nickname for Richard. Thankfully, he seemed to accept this and carried on asking me how I knew his name, why he almost hit me, and how come he waved at me (with a middle finger - seriously??? HE cut ME off.)

Last weekend I shipped the kids off to grandma's house. The morning we picked them up, they woke up at 5:15am. I wanted to visit a friend after we picked them up, so we swung by. It always gives me the warm fuzzies when my kids' behavior makes someone else feel better about their life. Especially when their life involves an 8 year old Autistic son. Bryce is the sweetest kid. He is incapable of hate. Everything I have ever seen him do or say has been filled with happy. After all he has been through in his short life, he is still happy, grateful and thankful. We could all learn a lot from him. As sweet as he is, he is a handful. And that is the biggest understatement I could ever come up with. 1 Bryce is equal to 4 or 5 - 3 year olds. I may not know him that well, but I do know he will not eat grape jelly, will eat you out of house and home (it does not matter WHO'S home), and cannot handle a crying baby or screaming child. This brings me to why he spent our entire visit outside. In the rain.

I don't know why really, but my kids started screaming hysterically and acting like possesed lunatics at Cindy's house. Well, they were tired, but still....They had the biggest meltdowns I have ever seen. Ever. Even when we ran out of frozen waffles they were still semi controlled. Cindy was laughing and probably thinking that I should drug my children....or get the Hell out of her house. *sigh* But she did say that I made her feel better about her life for a minute. Im glad. Because if you look at your life, no matter how hard or trying or frustrating, no matter how much you want to run to the nearest liquor store and buy a big bottle of Grey Goose - life really isnt that bad. I have 3 beautiful children, a husband who provides for us, a roof over my head and clothes on our backs....what more could I need? (Aside from aformentioned vodka, of course.)

Sleep Required.

Today was the day from Hell. I required 4 hours of sleep to be able to function, 6 hours is ideal. * hours, well I don't know what happens after 8 hours of sleep - it never happens. Last night, I was lucky enough to get 1.5 hours of sleep. A mom on 1.5 hours of sleep + 3 kids on less than 5 hours of sleep = recipe for disaster. Let me take you back to last night.

I was sitting on the couch enjoying S'mores and a trashy book thinking to myself that it sure was nice that my kids went to bed so easily. Bill went to bed at about 11pm. I was still reading about heaving chests and throbbing members so I stayed up for a bit. Midnight. Midnight when when it all began.

Gavin and Rachel came running out of their room screaming about thunder and lightening. It was not storming. Unless they have the hearing of a dog and can hear storms that are 800 miles away, they were telling tales out of school again. I get them back in bed. 12:30 - again they come running out, this time waking Cora in the process. Great. I get them all back in bed and sit back down to read for a few more minutes. Just as I was about to go to bed, Gavin comes back out. He has to poop. He ALWAYS has to poop after he lays down. So I get him taken care off and sent back to bed. I use the facilities myself, and lock the door and head to the bedroom. Rachel comes running out again asking for Daddy. *sigh* I am starting to get very tired and very cranky. It is 1:30 at this point. I put Rachel back in bed with some stern words. Then Gavin gets up. Waking Cora up again. I sent G&R to lay down with Bill and I took the couch. As soon as I lay on the couch, Cora starts screaming. (*^(^*&%$#%^$ I go and get her. At about 3:30am I hand her off to Bill and tell him it is his turn. I am done. Of course I don't fall asleep for 2 more hours.

They were up by 7:30.

I sit Gavin and Rachel on the couch to watch Wall-E. I grabbed a pillow and a blanket and planned on catching a few minutes of sleep before Cora woke up. Gavin decides that Cora must watch the movie too and goes in and wakes her up. Another stern talking to.

Breakfast. I could hardly keep my eyes open so I knew whipping up a Florentine Omelet was out of the question (I kid. The most I cook for breakfast is frozen waffles) so I decided to share my secret Pop Tart stash that I usually save for weak PMS moments or dessert. They did nothing but crumble them all over the kitchen. Out to the living room they go. Breakfast is SO done.

I decided to take them to the grocery store. They like the store. They behave at the store. I got their clothes out and tell G&R to get dressed. Normally, it wouldn't be much of an issue, they do this themselves. Today, not so much. Im trying to scrape Pop Tart off of my kitchen floor before it hardens into a permanent fixture on the already hard-to-clean linoleum. Stern talking to #392.

We get in the car. Neither of them want to sit down to be buckled in. That should have been a big clue to me as to how the rest of the day was going to go but I was too sleep deprived to even notice.

We leave to go to the store and I realize I still have MY pajamas on. Son of a..... Go back home and change. Head back to the store.

Our grocery store has shopping carts built for 3 passengers. It has a little bench attached to the back of the cart. G&R sit on the bench, Cora gets the seat. We are in the shampoo aisle and my 3 year olds suddenly figure out physics. They realized that if they rocked their bodies back and forth in unison, they could move the cart. They could move the cart enough to knock 15 bottles of shampoo on the floor and then laugh. But this mommy is a mean mommy. She made THEM clean it up.

I was going to grab some chicken nuggets for lunch so we headed to the frozen section. G&R spotted the Kid Cuisine frozen meals. You know, the ones with the nuggets, corn, mac and cheese and a little well with pudding in it. So I spend 42 minutes microwaving them and letting them cool. I call them to the table. DO you think they ate the damn things???? Hell no. They threw the food on the floor that I had previously depoptarted.

(I have decided that I am going to eat only as much as my 3 year olds eat. The Toddler Diet. Then after a month, I could call myself Giselle and I would be having Tom Brady's baby. mmmmmm Tom Brady.......where was I? Heaving chests...wait...no.....lunch! )

I send them to the living room again. I do not tolerate food throwing.

Naptime -

What naptime?

The afternoon wasnt much better. And by the sounds I currently hear (screaming son, crying daughter, yelling husband) it looks like tonight isnt going well.

I am so tired of this behavior. I do not know what to do. I am tired of yelling. Tired of telling them that I am so angry with them I cannot speak, tired of the tantrums, the toy stealing, the hitting, the biting, the screaming, the not eating, the constant "mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom". Im just plain tired.

These children had better put me in a damn fine nursing home or I will take them out of the will!

(I kid.)

Why?

Why? If I hear "why?" one more time I am going to scream. I know screaming wont stop the flood of questions that fly out of my son's mouth but it will make me feel better. Add to the "why" the "whats". Recipe for a quick trip to the looney bin. Straight jacket required.

G - Why do we need sidewalks?
Me - to walk on.
G - why do we need to walk on them?
Me- So we stay safe and don't get hit by a car.
G- Why will the cars hit us?
Me- I don't know.
G- Why does the sidewalk stop?
Me- Because they stopped making one right here.
G- Why did they stop making it?
Me- They ran out of cement.
G- Why?
Me- Because I said so.
.............................................................
G- I want to talk to the thunder.
Me- Thunder does not have a brain and is not capable of conversation.
G - What is thunder?
Me- The clouds are rubbing together and making a sound.
G- I want to tell the thunder to eat the green part of the watermelon.
Me - Thunder does not have teeth.
G - It has big teeth.
Me- Thunder is a sound, not a being.
G - Why?
-----------------------------------------
G - Why do we eat?
Me- It helps us be healthy and grow big and strong.
G- Why do I need to grow?
Me- So you can get the flour off of the top shelf of the cupboard for me.
G- Why do you need the flour?
Me- I don't right now.
G- Why did you tell me to get it?
Me- I don't know.
G- Why do I poop?
Me- Because your body used all of the good stuff in your food and poop is the stuff you don't need.
G- Poop comes out of my butt.
Me - Yes.
G - I want it to come out of my mouth.
Me - Umm, no, that is where food goes IN.
G - Why?

*sigh*

I am now drafting plea letters to The Encyclopedia Britannica, Bill Nye the Science Guy, Mr. Wizard, a Meteorologist, Nostradamus, and Webster.

I am thankful he is curious, but give me a break a minute. Sheesh. My brain hasn't thought this hard since Calculus. I cannot wait until he is old enough for me to say, "Look it up, dear."

Rachel doesn't seem to be in the "why" stage yet. Maybe she is sitting back and soaking in all of the info I am giving Gavin and will skip over it. Or she is waiting until he is through the thick of it before she starts. I've got $200 on the latter.

Apparently....

some people think that I do not love my children because I vent about life as a mother. The purpose of this blog was to show other mothers that they are totally normal for wanting to run away. I just have balls enough to say it out loud. Parenting is not easy. At all. Not one second of it. Even life with the most well behaved, abnormal child is not easy.

I love my children more than anything else in this world. I do not regret having them. I would not change it for anything. That does not mean that I am not entitled to bad days, that I am not allowed to vent, cry, or go a little crazy.

Think about this - you love your husband. I can promise you that he drives you crazy sometimes too. It is the same thing.

Please don't pass judgment on me because of the things I write. You either don't have children or have perfect little robot spawn who don't do a single thing wrong and don't make you a little nutty. My honesty about life with small children is not meant to be hurtful to them (and I don't think for one minute it is). I plan on sharing all of this with them when they have kids so they can see that it is totally normal.

My kids have made me cry, scream, yell, and love like I never thought possible. And I am willing to bet yours did too.

If I did not vent about my crazy little world, I would probably pull a Thelma and Louise. But just Thelma, I don't have a Louise.

If you don't like what I write, don't read it. See that little "X" in the upper right corner of your screen? Click that. It will make me go away. Simple.

For those who enjoy my rants, thank you for reading.

Revolution

I am certain that my children are close to starting a revolution. They are out to get me. Their main goal in life lately seems to be to break me.

G&R have been so unbelievably naughty lately that I can only stare at them with my jaw on the floor thinking to myself that somehow, they have become possessed by Satan and need an exorcism. I even thought maybe I should go get a big bucket, just in case projectile pea soup vomit flew out of their little spinning heads.

We all took C to the doctor this morning for her Well Child visit. I am so very thankful that the doctor has very young children. He totally gets why I look like I have been run over by a train. G&R would not stop touching things. The would not stop moving for 5 minutes. I felt like I was in a racquetball court and they were the racquet balls, bouncing off of the walls, threatening to put out my eye.

G decided at 7:30am that he needed to go pee. Does he go in the bathroom? Nope. He opens the door, goes outside and uses a tree. I am cursing the day he was ever taught how to pee outside.

I went to McDonald's to buy them lunch at 10:30 this morning. We went to the car wash. We drove around and wasted gas. Why? They were firmly strapped into car seats and semi controlled. I turn the radio loud enough so I didn't hear the fighting, the "mom, mom, mom, mama, mother, mom, mom, mom" and I don't feel one ounce of guilt. In the 4 hours they have been awake I have done nothing but chase them, discipline them, scold them, entertain them, clean ketchup off of the walls, pee off of the bathroom floor, told G no less than 87 times to leave the air conditioner ON.....I am tired. I will not let them win. What they don't know is that they cannot and will not break me.

Someone please tell me that I do not go through this for nothing. Please tell me that they will take care of me when I can no longer wipe my own butt, that they will call me every Sunday to check in, that they will give me lots of grandbabies so that when they call me up crying because their kids are being heathens, I can calmly say - Payback is a bitch.

An Old one....

I wrote this shortly after C was born. A lot of you have seen this one, but many have not.





I used to be a very superficial person. I used to think that my character was based upon the things I had, rather than the things I am. After having children, I understood that my life is not worth less than the person with the brand new car, huge house, or several flat screen TV’s. I may not have all of that but I do have a loving family, fabulous children, a wonderful husband and a roof over my head.

On February 22nd, 2005 I gave birth to an angel. She was born a when I was 20 weeks pregnant, a loss due to an incompetent cervix. My body literally failed me. I had a tremendous amount of guilt over something I had no control over. I did nothing to make my cervix incompetent, nothing to make me dilate to 3 cm and my water to break. It took a long time before I truly believed that. 6 months later, we found out we were pregnant again. With twins. While I was immensely happy, I was scared out of my mind. My cervix cannot support the weight of one growing baby, how was it supposed to support TWO? Thanks to a little miracle procedure called a cervical cerclage, I carried my twins to 36 weeks. They were both very breech and born via c-section weighing 7lbs 3oz and 7lbs 6oz. My body made me very proud.

Then, I discovered the joy of having “twin skin”. This is the hanging belly of extra skin. The consistency of bread dough. I could actually kneed it. But my body made me proud.

When my twins were 15 months old, I found out I was pregnant again. We had planned this pregnancy, but didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Again, I had a cervical cerclage placed. Who would have thought I would go to 39 weeks and deliver a 9lb 10oz baby girl? Again, my body made me proud.

Our final baby was born on the 3 year anniversary of our first baby’s death. February, 22nd 2008. Our family has come full circle. What was once a very sad day, has become a joyful one.

Society in general is very superficial. Things matter, looks matter, clothing size determines your worth as a person. I hate this. The stereotype that a fat person is unclean, lazy, stupid, etc really makes me angry. I am overweight. I have been my whole life. I am not unclean, I am not lazy (I have 3 kids under 3, I cant be lazy), and I am far from stupid. I hope to raise my children to be loving, caring, and compassionate members of society. I don’t want them to grow up thinking that one needs to have a $900 handbag in order to be successful. Simply untrue.

I am a mother, a wife, a lover, a teacher, a cook, a daughter, a sister, an accountant, a maid, an entertainer, a comedienne, a taxi, a personal shopper, a story reader and a boo boo kisser. But most importantly, I am ME. My body makes me proud.

They Didn't Tell Me....

When I was pregnant, my loved ones and friends who already had children neglected to tell me a few minor details. They were very forthcoming with "ooohhhs" and "ahhhhs" and "Damn, you are huge!" comments, generous with gifts and advice - some of which, had I used, would have had CPS called on me. Seriously, rub a spoon on a teething baby's gums to break the skin???? Why don't I just stab them with it while I am at it.

No one mentioned that I would be changing Rotovirus diapers in the bathtub, no one told me that my son would sneeze snot rockets onto his toast and tell me that he "buttered" it. Sure, I knew that there would be dirt, mud, snot, grossness, but the specifics I had no idea about.

It was never mentioned that it would be possible for my son to have a seizure, turn blue, call 911 and scream "I need and ambulance" just like those dumb women I used to laugh at on TV did, ride to the hospital while holding a 15 month old sick little boy, watch his be poked, prodded, catheterized, and not shed one single tear. I was calm and collected. Until we got home.

No one told me that I would drag my 3 year olds to the back door, and stand in the pouring rain just to show them that it is not going to hurt them so that they would stop screaming and go to sleep.

I was not made aware of Post Partum Depression until I packed a bag and damn near left my newborn twins and husband because I was afraid I would throw them out of the window.

It was never mentioned the amount of love I had the capacity to have and give. Nobody told me that my eyes would be opened to things that I took for granted before kids. The wonder of frogs, worms, mud puddles. The happiness that a simple hug can bring.

I am fairly sure that if people had told me all of the bad things about having kids, I never would have had them. And I would never have known the joy they bring.

I May Drive a Van, but Im No Soccer Mom.

Long story short - we inherited a minivan. Buying a van was on the list of things to eventually buy. Like when Hell froze over. I did months of research on narrow child seats for my Buick. I found a model that I could fit 3 across the backseat with. Sure, we were smashed together like sardines in a neat little can, but dammit we all fit.

Part of me didn't want a van because it would mess up my super cool, rocker image. Ha! I drove a Buick - rockers don't drive Buicks! I was only fooling myself.

Friday afternoon I went to the Secretary of State to get the van all legal and junk. The people working at the SOS (DMV) were apparently abducted by aliens and replaced with extremely friendly, uber efficient cyborgs. I was 11th in line and was in and out in 15 minutes. I had 3 things to be done - transfer the title, the plate, and change an address on a registration that they neglected to do 6 years ago when I got married. It was awesome. I feel badly for those who have to deal with the normal SOS/DMV employees on Monday. I was lucky and got there during the abduction day.

I get home and we get the kids ready to go for a ride in "mommy's new car". First let me profess my love of the LATCH system. It took 5 minutes to get each seat in the van, rock solid. Love. The kids love the new car. I love the new car. I am still not a soccer mom. Believe it or not, the radio in a minivan does actually play hard rock. I felt a twinge of guilt when I erased grandpa's easy listening and country stations but I am sure he wouldn't want my ears to bleed all over.

I wish it didn't take my grandfather passing away for me to finally succumb to the need for a bigger vehicle, but I am glad I get to drive it. Thanks to my uncles, aunt and dad for thinking of me and thank you to grandpa for taking AMAZING care of his vehicles. He understood my way of thinking - we don't like car payments, we drive cars until they are not worth repairing anymore, my husband works for an auto parts supplier and our mechanic takes payment in beer form. :)

In closing, if you see a minivan cruise by with the sounds of amazing guitar riffs or the driver singing Korn, Guns N Roses, or anything on WKLQ loudly...no need to stare, it is just a normal (albeit crazy) mom trying to hang on to one last bit of coolness while her kids still think she rocks!

My Alarm Clock

My alarm clock seems to be broken. Instead of the usual "beep beep beep smack snooze beep beep" it sounds like a 3 year old boy throwing a tantrum of epic proportions. To be unpleasantly awakened from a dream about Butter Burgers from Culver's by a boy child who is throwing himself on the floor, kicking, screaming, and yelling something in Toddler-ease is NOT how I prefer to wake up on a Sunday morning. My preferred method of waking is having breakfast delivered to me in bed after sleeping a solid 8 hours without one of my anxiety filled mom dreams. Yeah, that doesn't happen either.

This morning, C woke up an hour earlier than usual. That woke G&R up. G does not like to get up before he is ready. So instead of calmly going potty and sitting down for breakfast, he decided to wake up the neighborhood by throwing a tantrum. What provoked the tantrum? I am not entirely sure. One never knows with him. Just before bed he threw a fit because R flushed the toilet. Okaaaay. This morning's fit was possibly caused by my husband. We were going to go to his Aunt and Uncle's house for breakfast. So we told the kids to wait. Well, heaven forbid a child wait for an hour or so to eat breakfast. You would think we told them that their dog died.

I don't know why G acts like this. What am I doing? What am I not doing? Is it too early for Bootcamp? Scared Straight? I have been told by our Parent Educator (from the school system) that toddler behavior closely mimicks teenage behavior. If this is the case, I'm going to need a lot more beer.

Bath time...

Bath time is not my chore. Not my job. It never has been. From the time B and I figured out how to properly bathe two tiny infants without them slipping through our hands like a bar of soap it has been daddy's job. The way we see it is that he has very little time with them during the week. And I am just not man enough for the task.

G cannot get into the tub without first scraping his boy bits on the edge. R cannot stand to have her hair rinsed. C will not sit down. G feels the need to dump water on everyone. Including daddy. Oh, lets not forget the floor.

The entire time they are in there, I am in the kitchen smirking as I sip my Diet Coke (wishing it were something stronger). At least they hate him too.

He has tried washing the girls first and then G but that only works 50% of the time. Sometimes G will hop in before his turn. B has tried doing C alone. That works. As long as you can keep the other two out of the tub.

Our bathroom is the size of a closet in an average sized house. A walk-in? No. A standard closet. Not one of those giant houses that a lot of people end up mortgaging to the hilt. Just a closet. Big enough for a bath tub a sink and a toilet. In fact, because of the way the door opens, one has to nearly turn sideways to get by the sink. Clearly not designed well. We could turn the door around so it opens into the hallway.....eh.

My husband is a big guy. So bathing them is not exactly like spending the night on a Tempur-pedic covered in down pillows and blankets while being fanned by the breezes of a tropical island at night. It is more like being stuck in one of those bad horror movies where the big-breasted chick is in a room and the walls keep getting closer threatening to squeeze the silicone right out of her.

But he does this every bath day. Without hesitation, no grumbling. He muddles through and produces squeeky clean children. He even lotions them up and combs their hair. And for that I am thankful.

And So it Begins...

I've been mulling over what my first post should be about. I have so much I could say but decided on an introduction. That way you all can know a little about my crazy little family.

I am S. I will be 30 in June. That is OK with me. They say 50 is the new 30 so I guess that makes 30 the new 10. Sounds about right. I get carded for cigarettes all of the time. Nasty habit that I hope to be done with shortly. I am married to B and have been for over 5 years. B and I have 3 perfect children. Ok, we have 3 perfectly average children. I like that.

B is my husband and baby daddy. He will be 34 in April. He brings home the bacon.

G is my oldest child. By less than a minute. He is a diva. G has tantrums like I have never seen.

R is G's twin sister. She doesnt talk much, but she likes to stare at me to try and get me to read her mind. No matter how many times I have told her that I can only read her daddy's mind (he only thinks about 2 things...sports and sex) I cannot read her mind.

C is the baby. She is almost 13 months old and has no teeth. But she can eat like a trucker. Thankfully, she is mostly happy.

We live in a tiny house in a tiny town. I love it. Small but affordable.

So there is your brief introduction. More to come.