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.