Summer Fun

Summer vacation is in full swing around Momma’s house.  Living in the midwest, our children get out of school at some crazy early date.  Sometimes, it’s still too cool to head to the pool.  But the zoo, park and library are always open and fantastic destinations when brotherly love turns to blood shed.  The lazy days of summer do not last long around here.

To keep things lively, we decided to purchase a backyard pool this summer.  You know the kind…assemble some poles, fill her up and there you have a water wonderland attracting every neighborhood child within a 5 mile radius.

But I have to admit, it has been a God-send on these 99 degree days, and we have thoroughly enjoyed our family time in the water.

Last night was Tiki Torch Swim Night (as the boys deemed it).  We put the radio outside and swam in that pool until 10pm.  By about 9:45, the 5 year old was in a lounge chair with a towel wrapped around him.  He had tuckered out, but the rest of us were still going strong.

It’s amazing how my inner child comes out when I hit the water.  I may not be the kind of Momma that plays army with the boys or wants to race Matchbox cars for hours on end, but give me some goggles and H2O, and I’ll be the last one ready to call it a night.  We played diving for rockets, shark attack, Marco Polo and made a whirlpool so strong that when the little one was trying to hold on to the ladder, his legs were going sideways.   It was wonderful time spent with my young men and The Hubs.

My favorite part of the night came when Bay – the now 9 year old – and I had been diving through the murky, dark water trying to sneak up on each other.  After a near collision, we came up gasping for air and laughing our heads off.   With the hugest grin on his face, he looked over at me and said, “You’re great, Mom.”

I had to stop and bask in the moment.  He wasn’t asking anything of me.   He was enjoying the fact that we were spending time together.  I can’t even tell you how much that meant to me.

I just hope he can remember that moment tomorrow when I’m yelling about wet towels on the dining room chairs.

Lost and Child Birth 101

We were watching Lost with the kiddies in the room the other night.  Oh wait.  I know what you are thinking.  Not exactly Wow, Wow, Wubzie, but it’s either I interrupt my ME time (and we all know that’s not happening on Wednesday nights), put them to bed and miss some vital plot-developing moment, or I let my children be permanently scarred by bad dreams of the smoke monster – that night I chose the scarring.  It builds character.

Anyhoo…we were watching Lost, and CJ suddenly glanced up from his storm trooper set up and became intrigued when they flashed to a scene of Claire having her baby (must have been all of the screaming).  There’s Kate, assuming the role of midwife, in between Claire’s ankles, baby pops out and the moment is over.  Or so we had thought.

“Where does the baby come out?”  the 4 year old asked.

Huh?

Oh crap darn.

No one answers.

“WHERE. DOES. THE. BABY. COME. OUT???”

Momma speak begins (all the while not making eye contact and trying to pay attention to what is going on on the TV.)  “Out of her tummy.”

CJ: “How?”

Now, mind you,  CJ   a.) hasn’t had any type of sex education yet and probably won’t until he’s 30,  b.) is adopted, which we also haven’t had to really discuss yet, but the question of babies in mommy’s tummies could lead down a whole other road, and c.) has a taste for the gore, and thus would love a good jungle birthing story.

So, I kept my mouth shut and let Daddy take the lead.

The Hubby:  “I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

CJ:  “When?”

The Hubby:  “Maybe tomorrow.”

Long pause.  Waiting for fight.  Wanting to crawl into a hole because I know I never have one of those incredibly profound parenting answers that I read about on other people’s blogs.

CJ:  “Okay.”  Resumes chewing nails and waits for another glimpse of that smoke monster.

You’re kidding me.  That’s it?  Life is GOOD!

But, just in case, I’m going to start reading up on “How to Be a Clever Parent with ALL of the Right Answers…”  They do have a book like that, right?

DON”T THEY????

Someone put me out of my misery…please

I think my head is going to explode.

No, really.

I caught my son’s plague cold, and now I can hardly think because my head is throbbing with each tap of a letter on the keyboard.

My brother has suggested that I try a sinus rinse for just such occasions.  But when I try to picture myself sticking that thing in my nose, images of Jack Bauer interrogating yet another bad guy flash to mind.  Isn’t someone in Congress trying to outlaw nettie pots water boarding?

Not to mention, I don’t know if I could stomach the things I might see.  I have a hard enough time watching my kids blow their noses.

But if this headache doesn’t go away soon, someone is going to suffer.  More than likely it will be the four year old who insists on crashing Matchbox cars right next to my ear.  And he’s the one who passed on the disease.  That’s two marks against him.

For now, I guess I’ll go find me some cold meds so that as soon as the little bugger heads off to preschool (does it matter that he’s still coughing up a lung?), I can disappear into the blackhole of drugged sleep.

Sweet bliss, I call thee NyQuil.

Big things in store…

Well, here we are.   You, me and the rest of the world.  Starting another year over again.

This one is a little tough for me.  You see, this is the last year of my 30’s.  After this, it’s all down hill.  I have finally hit ages that I can remember my parents being at.  I mean, really remember.  Not vague childhood recollections.  These are actual memories.

It makes me feel old.

Perhaps it’s the PMS.  Perhaps it’s the sugar leftover in my system from gourging myself with holiday sweets and treats.  Perhaps it’s the fact that, for the first time, I was too tired to take down all of my Christmas decorations at once, and that I am still content to use the pile of empty Wii and Lego boxes as foot rests while sipping the tea The Hubby got for me for Christmas.  Wow, that was a bit of a run-on, but I was too exhausted (and old) to take an extra breath.

I’ve made some resolutions for this year, but I’m not stating them here.  Because, gosh darnit, who wants accountability?

Okay, quit pressuring.

Here’s one.  This year, I resolve to play Guitar Hero each day until I’m able to beat the boss at the end on expert level.

Good, huh?

Or how about this one?  This year, I resolve to try a Grande Non-fat White Mocha Latte at Starbucks instead of the Grande throw-in-all-the-fat- you-can White Mocha Latte.  And I might even tell them to hold the whip.

This one will be earth shattering for The Hubby.  This year, I resolve to get rid of all of the granny pants in the undies drawer and buy some sexy thongs boy shorts.  No wait.  They ride.  How about we just shake things up and add some fun colors to the granny pants instead of the traditional neutrals.  That’s it!

Holy cow, I’m on a roll.

I see HUGE changes in my future.

‘Tis the Season for Tacky Advertising

Oh sweet little ringing Hershey kisses, where are you?  And does anyone but me remember the Kleenex commercials where the lonely old lady found an unexpected present on her porch?  I cried every time it aired and then wiped my nose with Puffs.

In fact, I have hardly seen any good Christmas commercials this season.  Perhaps I’m watching the wrong channels, but I don’t think I’ve even gotten a glimpse of the Budweiser horses jingling down the snow covered lane.  Those beer bells mean as much to me as Santa’s bell does to that kid in Polar Express.

No, instead I have been bombarded with NugNuts and the Virgin Whopper eaters.

How does that bring on the Christmas spirit?  Please tell me.

Have the ad agencies for McDonald’s and Burger King decided to have a contest to see who can be the most offensive without stepping over that line?  And why this time of year?!?  They are ruining my good will towards man.

I hesitantly admit that numbnuts (having grown up in the 80’s) is one of those words/phrases that has always made me chuckle.  But I certainly don’t want the 4 year old (who likes to repeat every offensive phrase that he hears) running around asking strangers if they are ‘nugnuts.’   Hmmm, perhaps we could record that on one of those Hallmark ornaments and send it to great grandma.  I think not.

And I’m going to sound a bit Charlie Brown here, but the holiday ads that do air are so…so….so commercial.   Put a red bow on a cheap trinket, play Carol of the Bells in the background, and it’s supposed to tug on your heartstrings.  Heck, even over at Ollie’s Pawn Shop, you can purchase a semi-automatic, and they’ll wrap it up real nice for you.  Santa said so on the television.

I’m putting out the challenge.  I need some clever advertising exec. to come up with a good old fashioned, make-you-wanna’-weep-cause-it’s-so-over-the-top sentimental commercial (no stupid polar bears drinking soda) that brings back the warm fuzzies.   I want a commercial that, when you hear the music, makes you feel all Christmas-y.  You know, that makes me want to teach the world to sing while holding a candle in one hand and a Coke in the other.  (Am I showing my age?)

Does anyone have a favorite Christmas commercial that lets them know the season is here?  Or is there a current gem that I’m missing out on?  Let me know.  Cause I need a little Christmas.  Right this very minute.  Even if it is for only 30 seconds.

To match or not to match – this is my dilemma

My minor case of OCD is kicking in today.  Last week (yes, one week before Thanksgiving when I am supposed to host 24 people) my oven died.  Or at least we think it did.  A strange smell – picture melting Rubbermaid containers combined with the pungent scent of an electrical fire – began wafting through our home.

And we cook with gas.

Visions of an exploding house were running through our paranoid brains.  The children slept on the floor of our room that night. (Okay, I make that sound like them being in our room is some kind of once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, when they are actually there waaaayyy more than I would like them to be.)

The Hubby told me to go oven shopping.

Yee haw!!!

Of course, I had picked out a sleek stainless model that would have looked geeeeeoooorrrrrgeous in my kitchen.  However, I was getting the ol’ stank eye from Hubby when he saw the price.  Mind you, the oven was not in the budget.  (I’m really waiting on the dishwasher or dryer to die…oven meltdown was not in the forecast.)  Not to mention, I had several family members and friends tell me to NOT go stainless sans children.  Bad combo for cleaning.  And considering I wipe down the front of my appliances around the holidays once a month only, I decided it may not be the surface choice for me.  So, I scaled back and went black.

Now, I realize that a lot of people out there replace appliances piece meal.  And many times, if you are changing out the look of your kitchen, those appliances may not match up for a while.

But my trite, Martha Stewart decorating personality is having a REALLY hard time with the black stove and white microwave above it.  The new oven was just delivered this morning, and I can’t stop looking at the stupid microwave.

What is WRONG with me???  There is a brand new oven in my kitchen, and I’m obsessing over a microwave.  And shopping on line.  Eeek.  Don’t tell The Hubby.

Let’s not even talk about the white fridge.

But being the good Momma that I am, I’m not going to pressure The Hubby about the microwave (yet).

However, if I happen to see one of the boys about to nuke some ramen in a metal bowl, I might have to leave the room and pretend I didn’t notice.

Is that wrong?

Hooray for National Adoption Day!!!

For those of you who aren’t aware, November 15th is National Adoption Day.  Hundreds of families will celebrate with the finalization of their adoptions, making their families just that much more complete.

Four and a half years ago, my own family was blessed through adoption.  I became a Momma to a beautiful baby boy when CJ was placed in my arms.  He couldn’t have been any more perfectly suited to our family had I given birth to him myself.  His crazy energy, strange sense of humor and sly little grins were a natural fit, and it was obvious from the time we brought him home.

What a strange feeling that was to walk into a hospital with an empty car seat and come out with a new son!

So, today I’m rejoicing for all of those families who have decided to adopt.  Congratulations on becoming moms and dads, sons and daughters.  What an unbelievable way to share your love with a child and to receive love in return.

And to my own little boy…YOU ARE MY WORLD, KIDDO!!! AND YOU ROCK!

Why do I only work under pressure?

The holidays are approaching.  Just look at Target.  If that isn’t proof, I don’t know what is.

I absolutely am a raving lunatic love the holidays. I’ve started playing my Christmas music.  Already made hot chocolate for the boys.  I’m debating whether or not I should display my Christmas village this weekend.  (You know, for the little ones who will be visiting for Thanksgiving.  There is some bit of reason behind the madness.)

But I’ve also started my other holiday tradition.  Tearing my house apart and putting it back together again.  No, I’m not talking about moving the furniture so that I can clean around the baseboards or wiping down the insides of the kitchen cabinets.  Not this slightly holiday-induced OCD Momma.  I’ve got The Hubby ripping wall paper down so that we can paint (starting last night.  Anyone know a quick way of removing wallpaper glue???).  And I need to hang curtain rods and towel bars in a couple of rooms.  Then there’s some spackling that I have my eye on (to which The Hubby promptly shot me down with an…”Are you nuts?”)

Of course, the fam starts arriving here in the Midwest in less than two weeks.  Talk about pressure!  But I thrive on it.  It encourages makes me get things done around here that are otherwise left to their own demise.

Am I the only one out there to suffer with this disease?  Surely not.  I truly believe that (dare I compare myself?) Martha Stewart and I share this insanity.  Are there others of you out there?

Besides, my boys could care less what color the mudroom is.  I have to show off my handy-work to someone.  And my Momma always taught me to put your best foot forward for company.  (And I thought she was nuts for having us wipe down the walls every Christmas.)

So, if you drop in over the next couple of weeks, we’ll be in a fevered frenzy trying to make our home a comfortable place to visit.  Just don’t touch my walls.  You may just get a little of Momma’s house to take home with you.

Present – It’s a homophone

Yes, I know.  Bad blogger.  I’ve been away a long time.  I just don’t know how most of you seem to find the time to update your blogs every day.  Or even have something to say every day.

Our life has been filled with craziness.  Sleepovers, trick-or-treating, school sports.  Yikes.

But, Bay did break up the monotony for me the other day.  We were on our way to school when I realized we had forgotten something at home.  “Aw nuts,” I had shouted out, being the clean-mouthed Momma that I am.  Or so I thought.

“Nuts is a bad word,” CJ informed me.

Huh?

“It talks about your pee-pee.”

Oh thank you, dear third grade brother, for the early education.  Even if he did get it slightly wrong.  Head south a couple ticks, my boy, and you’ll have the correct anatomy.  (And did I mention that I strongly dislike that word, and it is on the forbidden list in our home?)

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “but I wasn’t referring to that.”

Then, Bay, oh wise one, put his third grade education to good use.

“Hey, Mom.  I just realized nuts is a homophone.  The nuts you eat and the nuts that are down here.  I should tell my teacher that one.”

Oh, please Lord, not that.

While trying to keep myself from busting up out loud, I pondered the situation.  To be impressed with the use of the word homophone at 8:00am or to pull over and threaten him with his life?  Such are the dilemmas of motherhood.

Steep incline ahead

Tonight, CJ was playing Matchbox cars.  On my back.  I didn’t mind too much, at first.  I was being lulled into a bit of a stupor by his mini-massage.  But I was rudely awakened when he shouted out -

“Hey Mom, the car is going up the biiiiigggg hill.”

And I felt a small corvette kick it into gear and roll over my ample derriere.

At first, I was insulted.  But then, being the lazy Momma that I was tonight, I thought  ‘Oh well.  I guess it’s easier than setting up a stupid Hot Wheels track.’

But the day he insists on having to use a 4×4 to trek up the hillside, his off-roading days are over.