Tag: raising kids

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Smart Mouth Kids

I am amazed every day at what my kids will say. Especially now Big G who has done a few years of early learning before actually doing the whole kindergarten experience. Today, literally like 10 minutes ago DH challenged G to count to 20. Then he looked at me like…..WHAT DID I DO?!

Big G counted to 20, then 30, 40, all the way to one hundred and back. Needless to say the boy MAY get bored this year in kindergarten but we shall see.

Yesterday was like any other day. First day of school. The kid was wrecked as usual. His face was drained of any energy an life. I was left to pick up a five year old zombie in need of a fix of sorts. TV. The Wii. Brains. He got home explained to me his day and bolted to the Wii. Though I understood his fixation since he has been grounded since lat week. One of my many bargaining tools is the threatened loss and sale of that stupid contraption….although I use it for my Yoga.

After the Wii time he got a small snack before dinner. He ate and then proceeded to be a little pig. I try to give him credit, I mean he is five, a boy, and his father’s son. Cleanliness is not a priority and neither is tidiness. However, when I spent MANY grueling hours scrubing my floors on my hands and knees (yes…I did…the whole OCD thing right) the hairs on the back of my neck began to raise as I sat at the kitchen table and heard the small tinkling of crumbs to my recently prisitne conditioned floors.

I look over my shoulder as I see my boy walking away, making a trail of mess as he goes. I told him to be more careful with what he was doing since he was dropping crumbs and making a mess (miniscule in comparison to other messes…..like the Squids) and here is his LOVELY response.

Well just go get the vacuum then Mom and suck up all the crumbs. Jeez!

Gods and naturistic forces kept me from grabbing his neck like a wet rag needing a good wring. DH looked at me with wide eyes….and I snapped back at him that any time he felt like getting off his too good ass to help in the Maid department that I have so rightly assumed over the years, he was more than welcome to let me have a single day off. Mum was the word from him.

I will give Big G about another year before I force that vacuum upon him and we’ll see who was so smart, he will be so grateful to appreciate my cleaning and vacuuming skills then!

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Parents Eat Free Night

Can you believe a night like that at a restaurant exists? I know I had not a CLUE that parents can eat free until DH made the lovely suggestion to go out to eat dinner last night.

WRONG!!! SO. EFFING. WRONG.

Thanks for playing babe, next time, listen to the wife when she says “Beware.”

Let me explain. You see the shiny white round ball at night? We call that the moon. Once a month, usually about the same damn time Flo drops by, the white ball of fury is FULL. Which means that my sweet little squidy gnomes, turn into fire breathing, grimoire casting, horn bearing DEMONS.

Now Seth-en-stein, not so much. The Little Bitty…..O.M.G!!

Seriously the girl is on a rampage. No stopping her. A drawer in my kitchen was open every other second. Garlic press here, spoon there, spatula yonder…….you name it, she pulled it out. EVERY. EFFING. FIVE. SECONDS. Seriously, I contemplated putting a collar around her and a stake in the floor where the rope only had about two feet of play so she couldn’t get into anything. Tupperware, stainless steel bowls clanging.

And then. When I thought her possession had passed and I did not have to contemplate my conversion to Catholicism to invest in a priest to perform an exorcism she did it. She pushed me.

Not physically, I mean she weighs a whopping 22 pounds sopping wet. She climbed up onto the dining table. Unloaded everything on it. Began to head for THE laptop, MY laptop, to hurl it like a discus in a track an field competition. So I told her NO one last time. And she screamed like bloody hell and I lost it. I walked away. I hid in a place where I could call her all the foul names I have called people that make sailors blush. And then I was fine. Until the hubs began debating the dinner debacle.

I hate dinner. Unless I have prepared a menu that week I hate trying to throw together dinner especially when I have been busy working all day. (Cleaning, blogging, gossiping with my mother…ya know…working!) No really, I have been fighting with a customer, I lost $2400 because he was scared of the FBI form….long story on that, and then the demon spawn of hell awoke from her monthly slumber. So we decided on a “kids eat free” deal! WOOT.

Not so much. Basically the dinner Gods said, “Hey Herrings, thanks for playing!”

So we venture to Coco’s, which by the way has some fantastic desserts. And the whole thing is a joke from the get go. The 20 something doesn’t know her asshole from a whole in the wall hostess puts us in a CORNER booth with twins. Um….yo…..where do we put not one, yes count them, TWO high chairs. Alrighty, a new adventure….BOOSTER SEATS!! Negative. Seth-en-stein was great, he was easy peasy pumpkin pie as Big G would say. Not the Little Bitty, oh no. Let’s throw our Crocs across the table, eat crayons, and then SCREAM bloody hell again like someone was yanking her nails from the nail beds with a pair of pliers.

DH patiently pulls her from her stance, takes her outside. I order for the kids seeing as she is probably hungry, hence the extra dose of demonic presence, and I wanted there food there first so they weren’t so cranky and then DH and I could order. They come back…..we go for round two. Negative. Even more ornery, tears, blood boiling screams, kicking. LOTS. OF. KICKING. He takes her back outside just as the food arrives. The boys eat. DH is waiting for me in the car….thinking I am gonna just bail. Um no, feed kids, then bail. He comes back, we try round three and she shows sign of interest in the tempting and toasty chicken nuggets only to begin her dive onto said table where we say EFF IT! DONE!!

As she blood boiling screams, I try to gather all the gear since traveling with a singleton and multiples is seriously a day trip safari the shit we pack. I fumble. He’s impatient, barking begins, and my growls come back. I wanted to tell the Mo Fo…um had you listened at home when I told you going out to dinner was NOT a wise plan, we wouldn’t be snapping at one another. So I take the boys to the car….yeah….car is not unlocked. So I stomp towards the front door and tell DH of his brilliant plan to send me to said car when I DON’T HAVE KEYS! I get the boys and the demon in the car….he pays…..the waiter trys to comp….not sure why. My kid is the asshole. Not like you had turrets for that moment and was freaking like she was. So we leave a hefty tip…..as a bribe that we promise never to return.

On the ride home….incessant screams, cries, no comfort in sight. Not even the blankie. I sit in total silence wanting to be a childish brat and rant this to DH:

“Nah Nah asshat! See I told you!! Not a good idea to go to dinner. Getting out of the house was not good. I told you she was a demon today, she is out of hand, you think I am menstrual….nice…nice excuse. See I WAS RIGHT!!!”

But I sat there. Completely, totally, utterly, emotionally toasted from keeping my cool, holding in my bittersweet victory. I got home…..and BALLED.

I was starving, since I didn’t get to order and not hungry all at the same time from all the chaos and BS of dealing with my baby girl who just needed to go to bed I guess. We tossed her in jammies and she drifted peacefully to sleep. The boys went to bed just as easily.

And then I made myself the best gall dang breakfast burrito!!

Eggs, sausage, hickory smoked maple bacon, fresh diced potatoes and FRESH, oh yes, FRESH homemade tortillas sprinkled with cheese. I ate till I felt like the fattest cat around. Like I was the most depressed woman crying into her Haagen Daas….in my case…..my papas y frijoles. Watched some bad TV and then went to bed before 11pm. And that my friends is how parents eat free on a Kids Eat free dinner night.

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Going Through the Big D

No I am not going through the big D…”and I don’t mean Dallas” cue music. But I have been reading, listening, and quite frankly sick and tired of all the speculation, theories, unnecessary anger, and minutiae from other people about divorce.

Let’s get real folks….how many have you experienced divorce? Now put your hand down if you are talking about your BFF “and like her parents got divorced” or “and like my best girl friend, yo she got all screwed over by her man….mmnnnmmm.”

Yeah….I so do not think so. Here is the skinny on divorce and what people fail to acknowledge.

Divorce is like marriage, takes two of you to get there, no one person is at fault, no one person can fix it, no one person is without fault, no one person did not see the Big D coming, and no one person can be blamed for the entire marriage crumbling to pieces.

Marriage, you can not get married alone, no one person can go get the marriage certificate signed, no one person can fall in love, no one person can accept to the proposal (um one says yes, but the other said YES to asking Nimrods), no one person can build a marriage.

See where I am going….divorce, just like marriage is a TWO WAY street.

I say this and I can say that divorce is the best and worst thing to happen to two people.

How can this be some of you may ask? Again, Lucy be doin‘ some ‘splainin‘ here:

I am a product of divorce. *GASP* Yes, my parents divorced in the late 80s when divorce was the hottest thing next to the financial fallout then. I have to say I thank the higher powers for my parents divorce. I hated that my parents went through the ugliest divorce, my mother checked out, my father was an ass (being very PG about that), leaving three kids to figure out if their square peg would fit into a round hole. Now as an adult, I see how damaging my parents were together. My mother was, and still can be, the Ultimate Enabler. I say that with the most love. My mother is a good good woman with the best of intentions, but her intent was to “for better for worse, in sickness and in health.” However, she reevaluated the health issue and the sickness. My father, the classic alcoholic, abuser, addict, drug aficionado. He knew no boundaries, no limits, and at the time the most aspiring business man and could care less who got in his way to the top. He reminded me of Michael Douglas in the movie Wall Street.

So my mother weighed the sickness against the duty as a mother and wife. Her duty to stay married to a man for the sake of her children. But their health was not to be compromised. My father refused help, in pure denial as any addict is and always will be. To this day, I am not sure he ever admits any fault…ah hell, he blames the world for everything who am I kidding!

My parents divorced in January of 1988, I was 10. Yup…just dated myself.

The thing with divorce is that I am so thankful my parents, especially my mother did not stay married to my dad in spite of what she learned. She went with her gut, she did what was ultimately right for her too. I think that is what people FAIL to realize in divorce. You cannot stay married for the kids, the kids were not always there, they will not always be there in the end. Kids grow, move out, have kids of their own. The beautiful cycle of life. When you marry there are no kids involved (well not traditionally, some are unconventional….like my sister…love you!!), but in the beginning only two people exist. Individually. Together. So if no kids were involved is divorce that much more okay than if kids are involved? I think not.

I have read so many bashing‘s about divorce, about celeb divorces, like Jon and Kate Gosselin. I mean for Pete’s sake. Yes, awful they are getting divorced, no one can point fingers, each is at fault somewhere. Each lost their way in the relationship, grew apart and never back together, or they are to the point where the road can never be mended, but at least they are doing the most healthy thing for their kids. They are each going to find a happiness they obviously do not feel with each other anymore.

Divorce is also tricky because family is involved on many levels. When my folks divorced my paternal grandparents took sides at first. My father was and is a fantastic “salesman” (aka manipulator). So my G-rents bought the stories hook line and sinker. Eventually though they saw that my mother was not only at fault and many apologies were made. My maternal grandparents did not take sides, they truly tried to stay neutral, but eventually just grew away from my father because of his “illness” and his damaging ways. Friends took sides. I watched my god parents divorce and each of them grabbed one of my parents, I felt like I was watching the partings of the Red Sea. The way I see divorce is that both are not happy, but the one person who makes the decision to say “Hey this is not working, we need to get a divorce” has either tried everything, or nothing and merely is throwing in the towel. Either way, they made a decision! They made a decision they do not want to be unhappy and with that person anymore. I am not saying that any one person can make you happy, but misery loves company. The other person is in denial, they do not want to admit that they ignored the writings on the wall and that they have grasped at every ounce of bullshit to stay together. Other divorces are totally amicable, my friend recently got divorced, he said they divorced because she was going to go to med school, and that was not conducive to their relationship. They both are friends, they both still care for one another, but the marriage was going to go down hill so they caught the shit before it rolled. Awesome!

I guess I am confused as to why people judge each person in a divorce. I mean why? I know that if DH and I were to come back to a point where we said “Hey, we tried, we tried everything, now lets try not being together” I would sincerely hope that sides were not taken. That the decision we made is that we are more damaging together than apart. We need to be healthy for our kids to be healthy and if that means divorce, so be it. We are lucky, we have weathered some nasty storms in our 12 years together. I dug in my spurs and bore down, I was in for the long haul with my big fish. We found each other again, we found our love, and we found we are stronger than we have EVER been. But we were lucky. We were lucky to have found a great therapist who helped each of us, we were lucky to have time to find who we were again, to find us and then we found two more kids!

We also agreed that we would never be dirty. That in all the hurt of a divorce, the nasty back biting, judging, side taking, name calling BS that divorce brings out, which is the worst in all of us, the people that are hurt the most are the kids. By sitting down with your kids and explaining that you still love them, this is not their doing, they did not cause this, and explaining that mom and dad just are not good together, this will ease their pain. I only know this now after years of therapy, of watching my father marry and divorce wives like a private harem, by watching how nasty divorce can be on the outside with watching DH go through his divorce when I met him, by watching my BIL go through his divorce, my god parents, my dear friends. As an outsider you gain insight, you learn to not take sides, not listen to the bitching and crap but still lend an ear for constructive bitching, by still loving each person. I can say I have never taken sides, well with the exception of DH and his ex, but even still, I think the relationship takes two. So next time you hear someone is divorcing because someone cheated on the other, or she is a bitch or he is an A*hole, just remember that could be you! So try not to judge, try not to take sides, support and love them, they are in for the worst, which in time will turn out for the best.

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Tools For Moms

CHOP, TheFivefish.com, Karie HerringThe web is an endless plethora of information and resources. I mean you can Google yourself, a condition, a place, a picture, ANYTHING and you are redirected to lists and lists of information. As a mom this can be so frustrating as you weed through what is a reliable source and what is not. Often times we can even be deceived by these “reliable” sources.

Recently Big G decided he would take a moment to cut an apple for himself to eat. Most of the time this is not an issue as the boy could not reach the counter and or the knife being used was as dull as a spoon. However, this time we were not so lucky.This was the culprit of a VERY large and deep cut into his index finger as he held an apple in his hand and drove the knife from north to south along the fruit. knife, thefivefish.com, Karie Herring, injuryAs he did this he caught his finger. The doctor said had he been an adult he would have received stitches.

Accidents like these, or the fall from a bike or tree resulting in a broken arm and such happen all the time. While we may feel these accidents are a rite of passage for our children or they happen and we do all we can to prevent them, the trauma of the accident may be more painful than just the physical pain. One of my blog friends (and a twin mama) also is dealing with trauma for her very young son who is having issues with eating and breathing, symptoms that can happen in premature infants. While not an injury, traumatic nonetheless with the surgery involved.

So when these things happen where do you turn? Where is the help for you and your child with the emotional healing, where we as parents do not feel guilty for life happening, and our children are able to work through their emotions as well? Well a site created in conjunction with the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia (which is a leading pediatric hospital) focuses specifically on the mental, emotional and physical healing of any injury or trauma. I just thought with all of the sites available why not visit one that is legit and goes beyond the standard text book help.

 

After The Injury
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The Funk of All Funks

Most, okay, not sure on that, but so I have read, that most bloggers get into a funk where they cannot post. Nothing witty comes to mind, nothing exciting has happened to yield the space taken by a blog post, or they completely feel uninspired. Me….not so much.

My funk all began on the eve of the Waxing Gibbous. At least that is what I think the dang thing is called before the moon is completely full.

Yes! I said it. THE FULL MOON!!

I have had one previous post like this where my children seriously act out in ways that I have never experienced. They are not bad kids, they are just…..wacky!

Not to mention that everything under the sun (and moon at this point) could go wrong. Here is my shopping list of funky stuff:

  • Full Moon (that’s funky enough right?!)
  • PMS (ah yes, Aunt Flo….bitch!)
  • Ran out of propane while grilling (brisket mind you…this takes a few hours)
  • No Health Insurance (yeah not sure the deal on that….called HR…still waiting on a response….GRRRRRRRR)
  • Can’t schedule the Hubs vasectomy (another funky problem…ick…and we are so done having kids…like three kids ago! LOL See the sister problem above)
  • Cell phone was hosed….Seth-en-Stein decided it needed to go for a swim…and the rice trick…didn’t save my poor phone.
  • Laptop was pulled off table…still functioning (by the Grace of a higher power)
  • Kids called Afghanistan….had two phones on speaker next to each other..lots of feedback and screaming…not sure who was screaming on the phone though.
I have more…but been such a long week, I am so not going to bore you with my petty details. But needless to say I wasn’t about to do a blog post…because with my luck of all lucks with the full moon something would have gone funky there too!

Have any of you experienced the full moon phenomenon where your kids seems to act like demons descended from hell to drive you nuts? Or they act like they are possessed? Can you see her horns? Yeah I think she is looking at them too. I think she is trying to figure out why they are showing. And then the Big G….yeah he is planning plots of mass manipulation.

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Hide and Seek of Guilty Evidence

Kids, and even adults are so funny when they are busted. I mean they act like “What?” “Who me?” “What are you talking about?”

Big G is the biggest offender of this. He is allowed one sugary type drink or snack a day, if that. And the option is one or the other…NOT BOTH. We limit his sugar because his little body simply cannot metabolize sugar into a normal energy way. I mean most kids get on a sugar high that is completely normal, but my child…WATCH OUT! The boy acts like he received a hearty dose of epinephrine straight to his system. He is like watching a car with nitrous oxide injection, fast, fast, burn, and then the choke out. By choke out, the kid is a disaster, he is completely incorrigible. To some, thats fine they may have the patience to deal with that type of disaster and crisis management. Me? NO THANKS. My boy is even keel, but when sugar kicks in, he is out of hand!

So he has been on his smoothie kick lately. No problem with the smoothies, you get one a day. Just like the Danactive. Even though they are a dairy type drink, the sugar content is enough to push the kid into the Asshole Zone of incorrigible.

While I was in the garage, cleaning and arranging our numerous piles of stuff that needs to be sold, donated, weeded through, trashed, you name it I found empty packages. Empty packages of what you ask? Well the Danactive probiotic yogurt drinks that I told him he can only have one a day.

I pick up the evidence and take said evidence in the house. Knowing full and well, he was the one. DH tosses stuff on the floor of the garage, but not like that, mostly sawdust, and whatever other project he is working on and he does so in a dubious manner. These empty little packages were strategically placed in a very inconspicuous spot. So as not to detect they were there. Little did he know that I am not a complete genius, but I am far from oblivious and stupid.

I confront the boy.

 

Me: G, what is this?
G: Um……um…….um…….I dunno.
Me: (Clearly pissed at his blatant act of stupidity and failing to fess up) If you lie to me now you will be in more trouble. I ask you again…..What are these?
G: Yogurt drinks.
Me: And why are they empty in the garage….and in hiding places in the garage?
G: Um….um…..um……
Me: Don’t start that again, what are they doing in there and hiding? Why did you hide them? Why are you sneaking them?
G: I dunno….(clearly starting to cry and feel sorry for himself for being caught)
Me: You lose the Wii and you no longer get drinks like this again for a week too. You will only drink your organic milk or water. THAT’S IT!!!

What children and some adults have not learned is that you cannot hide something. No matter if that something is bad or good, a trail is always left behind somewhere of something that was done wrong. I know I have found that out…..hence the private blog open ONLY to invitation only (email me if you want an invite add for author or reader). But I love that I put Sitemeter on there so I can still track those who hit that blog, just DYING to read what is written behind the veil of privacy. But the moral that I have taught my kids, and one taught to me is, PUNT….always tell the truth. Kick the ball down field even if you are at the 4th down, with no time outs, and 50 yards to go, everything to lose! Or better yet, if there are two outs, and only a runner on first, just hit the truth as hard as you can. It hurts, man does it hurt, but later you won’t have anything eating at your conscience that you didn’t try, you didn’t give it your all and be true to what you feel. I mean who wouldn’t feel the best knowing they hit the ball as hard as they could with the bat, hitting the biggest outfield hit they could, even if caught, they still cranked it out.

From now on, Big G has learned that all you have to do is ask, or just fess up. A simple question. He may not always like the answer, but he will learn as he grows into an adult, we don’t always like what we hear or the answer we are given, but at least we got an answer.

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Oldest Child Syndrome

Being the oldest child of any family is a real pain in the neck. Really, it sucks a giant goats ear if you have to know. Speaking, clearly, from experience.

I, am the oldest of 5 children. Not all from the same mother. Hang in there….
I have 2 “blood” siblings from my mother, then 2 “half” siblings from their mother.
Our common denominator is…..our father (yeah he was a man whore).

Now being the oldest of THAT many siblings is trying at best. My youngest (half) sister completely looked up to me and thought I was and am the most beautiful person ever. Very sweet of her, granted she just turned 20 so I chalk her up to being naive and not as jaded as I am. My younger sister, the sister I called my baby sister, poor dear always felt the need to live up to me. She too thought I was some goddess of heaven, I think, when we were growing up. Only recently did she find that I am not, nor was I ever, perfect.
Perfectly flawed really, but far far far from perfect.

My mother. Ah, yes, my mother. I was the first. I was the guinea pig. I was the one child you learn from, make all your mistakes with, wish the world for, expect the most out of. Yes, I was the ultimate mold, the continuous masterpiece in progress.

I EFFING HATE BEING THE OLDEST!

I love my mother dearly, but when she gets around me and starts “mothering” me in front of other people like I am still that masterpiece to be molded, my pitchfork and horns begin to poke through my skin and I can feel the fiery wrath of hell behind me just waiting to be unleashed at my command. I understand and love that she is my mother, I would ask for NO OTHER, however, STOP with the crap. And let me explain the crap…..and of course I am the only child who gets it….because you see I am the unconventional, NEVER have listened to my mother, oldest child. Strong willed, my way or the high way, you are always wrong I am always right oldest child. The other children get her crap…..but not to the extent I get it, because I am the first and oldest child, forever and always, the oldest child.

Here is how the “crap” was laid today in my “perfect” kingdom.

My mother, God-mother (yes I really have one of those….my folks were old school), sister, nieces and nephew all came to visit and play in the pool today at my house. I love visitors, because they visit and then they leave. Not like guests…guests stay a while….I hate guests. Anyway, the women are sitting around the kitchen yakking like a bunch of hens would while the children played when we began discussing children. I hate this discussion…..always have….I was hounded by a MIL for years about bearing fruit for her and what does she do? Never visits. Gosh, off on another tangent…sheesh! See this is why I have a therapist.
OK…..where was I?
Oh yes, the discussion about children.

Mom is telling god-mom all about my sister, myself and our brother and how many children we each have, planned to have, going to have, are not going to have anymore. Yadda Yadda Yadda My mother, being the snipe she can be threw out into the conversation about my situation with more children, like I really need more children…with my history,

“Well in my mind you are not done having children yet since neither you or C are fixed yet!”

“That does not mean we are going to have more children mother, this just means that we have craptastic health insurance and the cost of “FIXING” the flowering fruit is out of our budget, so what is in our budget is condoms.”

“No! You are not done yet. Until that deed is done, in my mind you are not done.”

“Not going to argue with you about MY uterus and HIS penis.”

ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT TO KNOW?

Now my mom never means these comments as a joke, or a kid, or I’m just saying. No, she says this to drive me mad. Half the time I want to reach over and choke her. Does she NOT understand the brutality I went through with my pregnancies? With my journey to motherhood? Does she truly not get that I AM DONE?!

Sister on the other hand, she chimed in how she is fixed, which mom backed her 100% that she is done having kids. (No offense Britt….you know how Mom can be)

???????????????????? Are you serious????????????????????

See as the oldest child we are pushed to the very edge of being perfect, we have to meet these untold standards. What standards? Where is the damn book that says “You must be this tall to ride this ride.” I find myself riding on Big G in that manner and I have made a conscious decision to stop, because I do NOT want the boy to end up like me. Resenting the comments his mother makes. I also do not want him to constantly be in pursuit of something that is unattainable and does not exist……PERFECTION. He is perfect in my eyes just the way he is, no better no worse. He is my creation and that makes him perfect.

I just do not understand why moms push the oldest children as hard as they do. I mean my life is challenging enough WITHOUT the childhood minutiae my mother can bring to the table.

So Mom, I love you, but do me a favor and keep your crappy comments to yourself. Even if you think you are just making cute jabs that are jokes or what have you….I really don’t need anymore hell in my life. Bad enough hell is my neighbor, I’d like for it to remain so.

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Mini Me’s

When Big G was born I was so joyful that I had a perfectly healthy and beautiful baby boy. I love Big G like no words can explain. But in all honesty, my vanity started to get the best of me when all I heard was “Oh my gosh!! He looks IDENTICAL to his father.”

And so I thought I was doomed to have all of my children look exactly like their father.

I know, I am pretty vain. But seriously, when someone tells you how your children look like you, their mother, the comment just hits you and is heart warming. Especially because we are the ones who endured TEN, yes 10, MONTHS of agony, bliss, exhaustion, constipation, sleeplessness, irritability, bloating, weight gain, excitement, love, affection, bitching, moaning and the sheer fact we were uncomfortable right before we delivered our precious little person.

You can imagine how ELATED I was when the twins were born. I immediately bust out the baby pictures and did my “Nah nah, eat shit” dance to show how the twins look just like me! I know…..I am a terrible sport. But seriously….for FIVE years, all I heard is how people couldn’t believe Big G was mine because he looks JUST LIKE HIS DAD. FIVE YEARS!!
The only thing that stands out on Big G that he gets from me are the radiant color of his eyes (we have piercing blue eyes) and this really cool birth mark, oh and we can argue till the cows come home…both of us….with each other….and other people if they let us. Big G and I are born to argue! LOL

So here are some fantastic 70s sporting photos of me…..and my comparable Mini-Me.

Mini Me (Pickles Magoo)

Me (circa 1978, 1979 ish)

Me (circa 1979 ish)

Mini Me (Little Bitty)

Me (circa 1979 ish, I was about their age in this picture)

I am just so glad that my genetics finally came through on the looks of our kids. Do not get me wrong…..DH is one sexy beast, but if our daughter looked like him……she might as well pack everything in now and go butch, or lipstick for that matter. I’d love her just the same…..seriously….she is very pretty and totally cute.

I am most thankful that I was able to go 36 weeks, 4 days, 16 hours and 53 minutes before delivering Pickles Magoo and 54 minutes before delivering Little Bitty.
Both were PLENTY healthy and good sized twins, so I know my baking abilities are more than plentiful that is for sure!
As an added bonus they got my striking good looks, goofy loving nature, and they are the best of DH and I all the way around with smarts, love, good nature, bad tempers, and sensitivity.
I am so blessed with my three gnomes!

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The Good, The Bad, and the Unclear?!

Moms, grandmoms, Great-grandmoms, just about any mom you can think of asks this question when they see a young child and or baby:Is he/she good?

I mean seriously? What kind of question is that?
When anyone asks me that I truly think about messing with them a little and telling them how awful my child is because he has a small (I mean child size)penis aiming into a LARGE porcelain bowl and he can never hit it….always the outer edges making cleaning a real bitch….how my youngest boy Pickles Magoo is the biggest whiner and Mama’s boy ever….and Little Bitty…..yeah, she is no princess….she is the second biggest whiner in the house and to top things off she beats up her twin….I mean who does that to their twin?

But all of that does not make my children good or bad. My kids are awesome. Do they have moments of bad behavior? Sure. Moments where they forget to use manners, hit, or worse…..forget to brush their teeth. (LOL)

Kids and people are never bad. Bad is a terrible word, the use gives a connotation and an association that suggests that this is a quality or trait of an individual. That by telling your child when they have done something wrong “bad boy” or “bad girl” they lose self-esteem and or self worth. They then feel that they are less because of their actions and choice resulting in actions and consequences.
(I hope I didn’t lose you)

For example, Big G had a problem with hitting when he was a toddler in daycare. I attributed this to the fact he was the largest, the largest eater, and he learned this from other children. I learned to tell him, “No, we do not hit. Hitting is bad” as the proper way to tell my child what he had done wrong at a young age. If I told him “NO! Bad boy” he probably would have been lost as to what the hell I was talking about. Here is the thing, if you are questioning whether or not your child understands…..DO NOT underestimate them. Seriously, for little people they are super smart and they can comprehend a lot more than what we give credit.

No one, in my opinion, is bad. I think even the killers and criminals of the world are not bad people, they have just made bad decisions and they behave badly because no one showed them otherwise or they were not given the right environment or love needed. But I believe they are inherently good people. Maybe because I carry a Rogerian theory of people, but I think that we learn how to behave properly or in a way that is acceptable, ethical, and at best morally sound.

Maybe my years of therapy and self help books (thank you Melody Beattie) have helped me to become a better person and a better mother in the way I discipline and teach my children. Some people are truly unclear on the thought that actions do not make a person, they do not define the very essence of their being, so by telling them they are bad or good because of the good and or bad things they have done sends mixed signals. When I discipline Big G I am always sure to tell him these sentences and they seem to be a HUGE difference in his demeanor:

“Big G, what you did is unacceptable. We do not (*insert bad action) hit our little brother. If you are mad or you want to hit something, go get the stuffed Spongebob and wail on him. Now I need you to take a time out. I love you very much, you are a very good boy, but hitting our little brother is bad, you hurt him.”

And with that, he is upset because I made him take a time out and he understands WHY he is taking a time out and why I am mad. I am mad because he hit his sibling and he knows that I love him, that he is still a good boy, and that we take out our anger on things like a punching bag like Spongebob because that always makes us feel better when we need a release of bad energy.

Some may not agree, which is Okay by me, I am not looking for approval. I just know that no matter what, my kids are GOOD kids ALL the time, not just because they picked up their rooms or helped me set the table for dinner. I tell them all the time what great kids they are for no reason and in return I have happy kids who learn actual right from wrong and good from bad.

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Wrong Tube of Toothpaste

Oh this is going to be such a long summer. I so desperately need to get my Big G involved in something. Crafts, arts, exercising, something other than his Wii, the daily dip in the pool, and his short stint of cartoons for the day.
This morning while we were all rushing around trying to get ready to take my car into the dealership for some much needed warranty work I hurried Big G into getting ready as well. The boy is a well known putz. He can putz like no other if the whip is not cracked.

Being that I am whip cracking, ball busting Mom extraordinaire, I told him he had to put his shoes on and brush his teeth.

He was taking exceptionally longer than normal to brush the few teeth he has not lost yet and that have not yet come in.

I run into the bathroom to ask what was taking so long!

To find this:

Now I can see how this looks like your standard tube of toothpaste. But upon further investigation…..I found that the tube was really:

Now to my complete HORROR and shock I asked if he had swallowed any to which he said no. Luckily I caught him in time. I then washed his mouth out as fast and as much as I could. Made him spit out as much nothing as he could and then made him brush his teeth with the correct tube. The actual toothpaste.

Later I pondered what made him think that was toothpaste. I know the only way he could have thought it was toothpaste is because of the tube itself. But the hydrocortisone was actually with the Neosporin and all the other medicinal items. Which told me he had to really really look and climb to reach this, when the toothpaste rests right there on the sink. Big G also told us he happened to brush his teeth with this yesterday!! YIKES. We are so lucky he didn’t become deathly ill from brushing his teeth with the cortisone cream. We are also just as lucky he didn’t reach for the tube of hemmoroid cream!! DOUBLE YIKES!!