An Iowa Mom

And You Thought I Was Lying ...

when I told you that Emily was like Angelica from The Rugrats.

Remember that?  If you can't recall, then you must really be getting old ... because it wasn't THAT long ago. 

Anyway, the other night Emily came down from her room in her FOURTH outfit of the day, because she likes to irritate the snot out of me by changing clothes a million times so that I either rewash them (causing me work) or have to hang them all back up (causing me work).  I swear the day will come when I just leave all the dresses and crap laying on the floor and heaven forbid she has to wear something "dirty" and "wrinkled". 

Yeah, I'll do that.

And then I'll tape it so that we can all watch her meltdown. 

Doesn't that sound like fun?

So, back to my story, she comes downstairs and low and behold THIS is what I saw:

I am NOT EVEN KIDDING.  I couldn't believe it.  It cracked me up ... not only because she has the "look" of Angelica.   But, she has Angelica on her shirt.

If she knew what I was up to, she would have never cooperated for a photo, so I gasped and told her how beautiful she looked and could she PLEASE grace me with a picture to remember the moment forever.

As you can see ... she obliged.  Even then ... sporting the evil looking, Angelica, shit eatin' grin.

Aaaahhh ... my girl! 

Isn't she a peach?

See?

She did it again.  After I wrote my last post, sharing with you all how my Emily is becoming a little me ... and how proud of that I was.  But, she was difficult and tested me daily ... more like hourly.  Well, she turned me into a liar.  Flat out.

There would be no other reason that to spite me for what I wrote about her on my blog.  I'm pretty confident that she didn't read it.   I mean, a mother knows this stuff about her children.  She may be able to log on to the computer and pull the blog up ... but reading it?  Doubtful.

Anyway, to be fair ... because I'm always fair, right? ... I wanted to follow up that post with her behavior and attitude yesterday ...

It was fabulous.  Smiled all day.  Spoke to me with respect, please and thank you's.  Did as she was told.  And she even helped me out when she wasn't even asked, in addition to playing nicely with her siblings.

While I would like to think a dramatic change has actually taken place inside her naturally ... I know ... she was just trying to show me up and make me look a fibber.  There would be no other reason.

However, whatever the logic ... she was awesome all stinkin' day and even while she slept.  Take a look over there at my sweet girl.  I thoroughly enjoyed being her mother yesterday (and even so far today, as she's sitting here next to me on her laptop teaching me to spell FISH) ...

But I will not retract my fair warning for the world to watch out for her ... because I'm convinced she's gonna be a little spitfire.

A Glimpse Into The Future

Okay.  I really don't know what to say about this.  Last night Big Daddy went up to check on the girls before we retired for the evening. 

HA! 'retired for the evening'. 

Who the hell do I think I am? 

Because I'm not someone who would 'retire for the evening'.

But ... I have a feeling ...

that maybe ... just maybe ...

Emily will be.

Take a look at this.

Yeah ... this is what Big Daddy found ...

before our exhausted asses fell into bed.

We are so screwed for the next 13 years, aren't we?

Again? Already? Really?

I'm serious.  It CAN NOT be possible that my first born baby girl is having another birthday. 

It Can't.

Can it?

Can she really be FIVE?  Emily?  Already?  Excuse me while I go cry into my ...

Pepsi?

 

Yeah ... I guess it's really true ... you are another year older.  My heavens.

Happy 5th Birthday Big Girl!  I so look forward to the years ahead.

We all love you --- SO MUCH!

I Now Know Where I Rank

The other day I was lounging in the living room being lazy. I was extremely tired and just didn't feel that great overall. When I'm lazy like this, it's usually a "pizza night" for dinner because, well, if I don't make anything ... the kids don't eat. Or they eat cereal, because that's the only thing they can manage to do for themselves.

So, Emily entered the room and plopped down on top of me. Isn't it crazy how children think their mothers are jungle gyms and pillows? I mean, HELLO? I WAS LAYING HERE. WHAT MADE YOU THINK I WANTED YOU TO LAY ON ME?

Anyway, she was. And I let her. Because I was too tired to tell her to get off and then fight her when she refused, and then listen to her while she threw a tantrum on the floor when I push her off. It all just seemed a little overwhelming at the time so I just let her lay there. On me. So relaxing.

At one point, a giant surge of energy came over me and I was able to groan ... "Oh my God, I'm going to die!"

To which Emily answered, "Are you still going to be able to order the pizza?"

Yeah ... that's nice!

It's Like A Merry-Go-Round!

Just a quick update from us over here in good ol' Iowa ... because I know your day would not be complete without one.

Right?

RIGHT?

So, let's go back to yesterday.  A sick Emily.  Poor little girl ... but she was fever free, driving me insane  and ready to play by mid-afternoon.  I didn't want her out running around like she wanted to do, so we compromised (Oh ... yes we did!) on sidewalk chalk in the driveway.

Molly can never be too far behind her big sister, usually just to irritate the hell out of her, but sometimes just to spend some fun time together.  Today was one of those days.

So she went out to scribble draw on the driveway with Emily.

Do you see that? 

Here ... take a closer look ...

Why do you think she is laying down?  Any guesses?

Let me just tell you ...

SHE IS FREAKIN' SICK.

Yup, she is.  Good times ... I told you so.  We are nothing but fun around here.  You should come visit sometime.

Okay ...

Let's fast forward to this morning.  Everyone rises, everyone slept through the night, everyone is happy.  Everyone is healthy.  Everyone eats.  Everyone gets dressed.  Everyone brushes their teeth ...

TWO, of them left for school.  Yes TWO!

The other TWO of them stayed home.  With me.   Of course.

Would you like me to explain?  Sure you do.

After getting ready for school and glancing at the clock realizing that we only had about 10 minutes until the bus would arrive and Emily's ride ... I asked Emily to come and get her hair done.

She did.  (Should have been my first clue ... she actually listened and did what I asked)

After I started brushing.  She started crying.  Thinking I was a little rough with the brush in my haste to get the piggy tails in and boot her butt out the door, I gave her a hug to apologize.

With that hug I discovered she was burning up again.  The heat radiating off of her was CRAZY.  Crazy I tell you.  Thermometer was fetched ... 102.7.   Fever out of no where.  45 minutes earlier she was cool as a cucumber.  Really.  I checked.  Honestly.  I did.

So, that's it.  End of story.

I hope. 

Usually when Emily gets a fever like that it just rises and rises ... like this time and that time.  And we end up staying in the hospital a few days.

So ... anyways (that's just for you Karly) ... let's hope these girls get better soon, because if they don't ... I'll be the one in a hospital. 

A mental hospital. 

Crossing The Line?

Being the nice mom that I am, a trip to Casey's was in order this morning to retrieve a 7Up for Miss Puker.  The first few sips came back up, and I felt so sorry for her.  There is nothing worse than vomit ... for everyone involved.

A few minutes ago, Emily took another swig of her drink ... and gargled it.

I smiled and sweetly said, "Please don't do that sweetheart."  Ya know, because we're always nice when they're sick, right?

Then, she did it again.

"Emily!  Do not do that." I told her in a tone with that was slightly more authoritative.

"Yeah," she smiled, "I bet that is REALLY annoying."

"It REALLY is!"  I assured her.

AND THEN ... SHE DID IT AGAIN.

Would it be wrong to beat a sick child?

And The School Year Officially Begins ...

It wouldn't be right unless one of my children were sick and home from school, would it?  We all know that life around here is full of endless sick days and ... nights.

Which would be last night.  Several times.

With Emily.

I'll leave the details out ... but will tell you it involved a bucket.

So ... let the fun begin.  We've officially started a school year successfully, the way only my family can.

SICK.

I'm going to be optimistic and say that today is going to be full of accomplishments.  Since everyone else is in school, and Emily should be laying around sleeping all day ... AND I don't have to drive back and forth to the school 54 trillion times ... there is no excuse for me not getting anything done.

I mean ... I'm all caught up on "My So-Called Life" episodes and there are no other disks here for me to watch (unless the mailman comes through for me).  There are no excuses.  None at all.

Except laziness and we'll just beat that old thing down with my broom and get to my to do list.

Either that or some snuggle buggles with my little girl.

I'm So Loved

You all know that last week Emily experienced her first day at an ALL DAY, EVERY DAY preschool, right?  God, I still tear up typing those words. 

Hang on.

Okay ... there we go.

So, after a long day of doing whatever it is that one does in ALL DAY, EVERY DAY preschool, I returned to retrieve her.  Now, I have to admit, I kinda expected her to catch a glimpse of me, her eyes would brighten, a smile would cover her face and she would knock over a child or two as she shoved her way through the sunlight room ... just to get to me.  Her mother.  She would fling herself into my arms and tell me how much she missed me.

Yeah.

That didn't happen.

It went more like this. 

"Emily? Emily.  Emily ... over here." I waved frantically from the doorway.

She looked my way and rolled her eyes as she turned back to the small snack she was finishing at her table.  When she had finally shoved the whole thing in and swallowed it, she did come over to me. 

"Emily!" I exclaimed, "Did you have a great first day of school?"

"Yeah."  she mumbled, "All except for one thing."

My heart began to race, she missed me ... or another kid was mean to her ... or she hated her teacher.  "What?  What didn't you like?"

She looked up at me with her big brown eyes, magnified to 3 times their normal size because of her glasses, which were smeared ...

"The part when you came to pick me up."

I love you too, Emily. 

When The Big Daddy's Away ...

the girls will play.

I know I was bitching about Emily earlier ... but really ... she's my first born daughter, I can't be mad for long.  I am a woman.  I'm allowed to be all fickle like that.  At least that's what I tell myself, so don't ruin it for me.

Anyway, Big Daddy went out of town and us girls waited for Jake and Drew to go to bed and then we snuck down for a slumber party in the living room. 

They slept, while I watched the premier of THE HILLS, and all was right with the world ... I mean, seriously ... what could go wrong?  They were sleeping.  I was enjoying my show by hating Audrina and Spencer more than even I thought possible.   

I call this QUALITY TIME.

Pure and simple.

The Death Of Me Yet

Last night, Emily and I attended her Open House for school.  No ... she's not entering kindergarten ... the cut off date didn't work in her favor (though I feel I should be sending her to high school with this attitude she's perfected), so I enrolled her in an ALL DAY, EVERY DAY preschool program through the school district.

Keywords (if you didn't already get the point):  ALL DAY & EVERY DAY.

Aahhh, I'm tearing up just typing it.  And not because I'm going to miss her.

Emily met her teacher and a few of her classmates.  She also did a mad dash around the classroom for long enough to know that she didn't want to leave ... and can't wait to get back.

Anyway ... as we were getting ready for bed last night, she said something.  I don't remember exactly what it was, because so much is said that should shock me, that no longer shocks me anymore ... and I lose track.  But she said something, that wasn't very nice toward me ... and my response was, "Oh my ... you would never talk like that to your teacher would you?"

Her reply was ... AND I'M NOT KIDDING and every word is EXACT (I know this for a fact because after she said it, I got up from beside her bed and ran downstairs so that I could write it down).  Half so I could remember it to share with you ... and half so that I could make her cry thinking I wasn't going to read her good night books.

Oh ... I got off track ... so ... her reply was ... from my FOUR YEAR OLD ... "Never.  My teacher doesn't appear to be nearly as mean as you are."

Then she lifted her eyebrows as if to challenge me. 

And that simple rise of her eyebrows is what made me want to make her cry by pretending that I was not reading her books.  Just so I could justify that to you all so you could spare yourself a few minutes and not send me emails telling me how awful I am.

I mean ... if this is what she thinks of me ... I might as well live up to her expectations ... right?

I never, ever claimed to be a mature mom.  Just remember that.

Your Guess Is As Good As Mine

Lord only knows what I did here to piss Emily off ...

But obviously, I gave in ... like usual ...

I really need to take a parenting class. 

Or have Super Nanny visit. 

Or have some freakin' common sense and not let this little shit walk all over me.

Any idea on where I can get me some of that common sense stuff?

I've Taught Them Well

This conversation just took place in our living room:

Emily:  MOOOLLLLYYYY ... that's my folder.  Give it back.

Molly:  No.

Emily (starting to whine): Give it back.

Molly:  No.

Emily (holding up a fist):  Do you want this knuckle sandwich?

Molly:  Yes.

Emily (stomping her foot):  You HAVE to say PLEASE.

Molly:  Okay.

Emily (holding up her fist again):  Do you want this knuckle sandwich?

Molly:  Yes, please.

Emily (smiling):  Good girl.

Perfected

I don't have a clue as to where she'd learn something like this, but I think she's got the whole "relax in the pool" thing down pat.  Don't you?

It's obvious that me even disturbing her for a moment to snap a picture irritated her to no end. 

Man, I have a feeling life is going to really suck around here in about ten years.

BREAKING NEWS: She Finally Gets It

Moments ago ... in our very own living room ... Emily had a break through.

A major one at that.

Some may even call it HUGE.

Ready?

Me:  Emily, please come in here and pick up these Jenga blocks.

Emily:  Okay Mom!

She hops down from her chair where she is coloring at the kitchen table and begins gathering blocks.  I, on the other had, think I had a mild stroke because she's never responded quite that quick.

Me:  Wow Emily, I'm so proud of you.  That is what I expect from you when I ask you to do something.  That is great.

Emily:  Yeah, well, I wanted to be really nice today because I'm sick of hearing you yell.

And people out there say screaming at your kids doesn't work. 

Guess I showed them, huh?

Can I Get A Little Help Here?

This afternoon, the children were all doing their daily household duties.  I hope you had a napkin handy to wipe the pop that just came spewing out of your nose.  And if it didn't, it should have.  Because my children doing their "daily household duties" is a joke these days. 

A real funny joke.

Actually more like a hysterical joke.

Anyway, that's beside the point.  As Emily was instructed to go up and tidy her room a bit (there were only groovy girls out, it's not like it was any huge job), she groaned as though I had just asked her to complete the inconceivable task of hugging her sister and holding her hand as they gingerly trot off to the swing set to play together. 

God, even I'm not THAT mean.  Close.  But not quite.

So, her instruction was to go upstairs and pick up the 6 groovy girls that were on her floor, put them in the cute little pink cube which is also sitting right there within arms reach of every single stinkin' doll, and I get ... "Why can't Drew do it?"

"Emily, they are not Drew's dolls.  Not his mess.  Not his responsibility.  Now go do it."

Emily placed a hand on each hip, as she moved all of her weight to her right foot, "Well .... Ruby helps Max clean his room!"

And this is where, Drew, the child who I swear NEVER listens to anything anyone says, especially when it has anything to do with cleaning up, interrupts with ... "Max & Ruby is a TV show.  They have to <use fingers as quotes> ACT </use fingers as quotes> as if they actually like each other and want to help each other out.  It's FICTION."

Poor Emily ... she lost that argument, didn't she?

Oh well, at least she tried.  I'm sure by the time she gets married, I'll have taught her the perfection of getting things done without actually having to do them.

Please Don't Hold This Against Me ...

but I sooooo have to brag.

Come on ...

I don't do it very often.  Usually there are tales of how awful my children are and that they are horrible and not even worthy of living in this fine world of ours ...

While all that may be true ... most of the time ... I still have to share this.

Look at what my FOUR YEAR OLD drew for me:

A Prince and Princess.

She drew that. 

At four years old.

Do you see?  The Prince.  The Princess.  Look again. 

Gosh darn it ... just LOOK.  They have crowns.

 

And even if no one else is impressed ... I AM!  And it's my blog. (Nicheplayer, please note I finally used "it's" correctly).  So I can be.

"IT'S MY BLOG AND I'LL BRAG IF I WANT TO!"  (You were supposed to read that to the tune of "It's My Party And I'll Cry If I Want To ... Cry If I Want To.)

So let's try it again ...

"IT'S MY BLOG AND I'LL BRAG IF I WANT TO!  BRAG IF I WANT TO ... BRAG IF I WANT TO.  YOU WOULD BRAG TO IF IT WAS DRAWN FOR YOU!" 

Seriously, I write this blog for my children to enjoy later anyway ... and I want Emily to be able to look at her husband 20 years from now, show him this picture and say ... "LOOK AT HOW AWESOME I AM!  I WILL BE RULER OF THE HOUSEHOLD!  HEAR ME NOW ... I AM THE RULER!  GOT IT?"

And he will cower to her. (I don't honestly want that, but it sounds good, doesn't it?)

But really, let's not forget the other gal in our home ... she hates to be shown up. 

Really hates that.

REALLY REALLY!

So, she went right to work.

Molly's version of Prince and Princess:

Yeah ... that's more like it. 

More like what I'm used to.

Whew, I'm so glad someone slapped me back into reality.

I Found The Culprit

After emerging from the shower, with snarled hair that I prepare myself to fight against, Emily was in for a lot more than she bargained for.

As I'm spraying the detangler generously through out her already way too long hair, I notice a "clump" of something.  Investigating further, I determine this clump is also "sticky".  Realizing an overabundance of detangler (which is the greatest invention ever) would not even allow my brush to get past this nastiness, a light bulb went off in my head.  That doesn't happen very often, so it was a very proud moment for me.

This "clump" I was picking at was pink.  Amazingly enough, it matched the color of my shorts perfectly.

"Emily?" I asked slowly, continuing to drag my brush against the snarls.  "Did you get your little hands on some laffy taffy?"

"I couldn't open both of them.  So I didn't share with Molly." she replied.

Now, let's make it perfectly clear that I could give a rat's butt whether or not she "shares" the laffy taffy that she shouldn't have had, but I continue to keep my cool, "What did you do with the one that you couldn't open?"

"Put it in my pocket, so it would be nice and safe."  she answered, quite proudly.

I was ready to place bets in Vegas that these pockets were part of the very shorts I washed the evening before.

Guys?  You all would be so proud of me.  I didn't yell.  Nor did I holler.  I didn't even throw myself down on the floor and kick and scream that my favorite shorts were ruined.  I just continued to brush her hair ... with as much force as I needed to get through the laffy taffy which managed to make itself at home in her long blond hair. 

As you can imagine ... that alone made me feel so much better.

Smarter Than I Thought

The girls and I were talking about something yesterday ... and I can't remember what.  Probably because I'm getting old and my memory just doesn't serve me the way it used to.  Either that, or it's the beer that I drink and is killing all those brain cells.  Does that cause you to lose your memory?  I know that one could black out and lose their memory temporarily when they consume too much beer, but I don't know that first hand ... people have just told me.  So, I don't know ... maybe we'll just say I'm getting old ... so I don't recall what exactly the girls and I were talking about yesterday.

Whew, I always take the long road around things, don't I?  I am surprised you all still read.

ANYWAY, whatever it was that we were discussing, I made mention that it was a "pain".  And the following conversation took place:

Emily:  What's a pain?

Molly:  It's that thing in Mommy's butt that she always has because of us.

HONEST TO GOD, she said that.  She's a lot smarter than I thought she was at age 3.

Setting Me Straight

Yesterday afternoon, Emily and Molly were spending some fun time running through their Dora The Explorer sprinkler.  Providing tons of squeals and giggles of delight for some ... and headaches and suicidal thoughts for others.

This thing spins around and sprays water out the top ... for the three seconds it's working ... but at all other times Dora is laying on her side, water shooting straight at, let's say ... ME, as she waits to be picked up and adjusted properly, allowing her to entertain the girls for another three seconds.

Anyway, as I set Dora straight for the gazillionth time, and attempt to keep a smile on my frustrated face so the girls will think know I am enjoying this quality time we are spending together ... I mutter, "Come on Dora, you can do it!"

And this is where Emily responds with an eye roll accompanied by a tone that assures me she thinks I know NOTHING (and quite frankly I didn't think that would come for a few more years), "Mom!  She can't understand you ... she doesn't even speak English."

Aaaaahhhh, yeeeaaah.

Just What I Needed

The day is beautiful and if one didn't know what was happening a few miles north and a few miles south of here, you'd think you were in heaven.  Being outside is just what all of us needed and we spent the whole morning and early afternoon playing.

Once we came inside, Molly made her way downstairs in record time.  If she got there first, she would get to watch her shows.  Now that the boys are home, that is very important.  For some reason Molly doesn't like iCarly and Drake and Josh.  Hmmm!

Emily also emerged from the backyard and said, "Mom, will you turn my shows on for me upstairs in your bedroom?"

I smiled and responded, "Molly is downstairs watching Noggin, just go down there!"

"No thanks, I need a little piece of quiet."

HA!  For some reason, that cracked me up.  And I soooo needed that right now.

Stupid Is Music To My Ears

The other night after the ball games, I ran through the drive-thru at McDonald's.

Well, I didn't actually RUN through, because I'm not a runner.  Though I wish I was.  I've thought about it several times.  I've even gone as far as jogging in place in my living room to see if I'd like it.  For some reason I have this vision that I'll look like Phoebe at the park running with Rachel in that one episode of Friends.  Do you remember that one?

You don't?

Are you serious?

Oh my God, it was the most hilarious thing EVER.  Take 2 minutes and check it out, then you'll know what I would probably look like running.

Sorry, I kinda got off subject there, didn't I?  As I was saying, we were going through the drive-thru at Mickey D's and the kids are chattering that they want Happy Meals.  What the heck?  Do you realize I could get a hamburger and small fries for like half the price I pay for the Happy Meal so they can get a silly toy?

Do you?

Well, I can.

And finally, thank the heavens above, Emily has figured out that the treat included in that little box, is a piece of crap too. 

Let me explain.  She scarfed down her meal (because they aren't allowed to touch the toy until all food is consumed) and fought with the plastic wrapping that locked her surprise inside.  After about 20 seconds, she flung her upper body on the kitchen table and moaned, "I can't do this!  I can't open it!"

I'm sure many of you are familiar with this.

Because I was in a good mood (whoo hoo happy pills), I casually walked over to her and retrieved the plastic goodie from its packaging.

As she held it in her hands, she studied it with curious eyes.  "What does it do?" she asked.

"I think it just makes noise when you move it." I replied.

"Well that's stupid."

And for once, she was not scolded for using the word 'stupid', because I do believe it just saved me from purchasing Happy Meals for Emily forever.

FOREVER, I tell you.  Like for the rest of her life.

Is there anything in the world more glorious?

 

You Can Witness A Rare Occurance

Do you see this?  This just DOES NOT happen very often.  If it were the boys, I'd be all, "Who cares?" because crap like this takes place frequently enough.

Not so much with the girls. 

Not really ever with the girls come to think of it.

And I tripped over my own damn feet as I bolted to the camera.  I wanted to capture the moment before Emily reached down and gave Molly a wedgie that she'd never forget because she had her in a vulnerable position.  It would be just like Emily to take advantage of something like that.

So really, I'd advise you to take a closer look at the sweetness of these sisters.  Seriously, because there is no tellin' when you'll see something like this again.

The Day Has Arrived For Emily

Well, Saturday was the big day for Emily.  The day that all little kids look forward to that classifies them as "big kids".  The day they cross over to the other side ... of something.  I just don't know what. 

The training wheels were taken off Emily's bike.  Here she is on her "day one" attempt:

Then yesterday, we threw her on the bike yet again and told her to "get it right this time".  And though I think she snuck into the mini-fridge and downed a couple of my Miller High Life Lights before taking off, she did quite well for "day two".

Now, if she could just master the art of starting all by herself, so I could sit my fat ass in the lawn chair and read a magazine, I'll consider it a success.

Down Right Repulsive

Can someone please tell me what is so dang revolting about mashed potatoes and gravy? 

Please.

Fill me in. 

Because I need to know. 

Not knowing the answer to this question, makes my life a living hell when I prepare it for dinner and place it in front of Emily.

A living hell, I tell you.

Last night.

It's hotter than ... well, let's just say hotter than hot.  I knew that a storm was going to pass through soon, cooling things down, so I refrained from switching the air conditioning on.  Hey, every penny saved ... is a penny I can spend. 

So anyway, we hadn't eaten "real" dinners in a month, at least.  With baseball, football and soccer ... we were always grilling hot dogs or throwing chicken nuggets in the oven ... and I was beyond sick of it.  We were all home last night, so I was going to make a normal dinner for us to sit down and enjoy together.  I know, I should know better.

It was BBQ chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and rolls.  Simple enough.  Nothing that leaves the ingredients a mystery for the little people running around this house calling me Mom.  Right?

Let's go back to where I was telling you how hot it was.  It was hot as I slaved over a boiling pot of potatoes in front of an oven browning my rolls, as I stirred the gravy that I managed to create with no lumps.  It was all done and my children were called in to take their place at the table while I served them.

Yes, I was serving them.  You'd think they'd be happy.

NO!

Every single stinkin' one of them complained when they saw what I had compiled for supper.  However ...

Jake ate all of his after the initial complaint. 

Molly cleared hers after she realized it was all good. 

Drew waited until the last 30 seconds that he had when I threatened him that the plate would be taken away and there would be no going back outside, and then he shoved it all in his mouth at once to the point he couldn't chew ... and I had to sit and watch him gag 10 times as I came to terms that this was actually a child I helped create and gave birth to.

And then there was Emily.  Oh yes, sweet sweet Emily.  She sat in her seat as cute as can be.  The fork and spoon beside her continued to rest neatly on the napkin tucked under her plate.  She looked at me with a glare that let me know she was ready for the fight that was about to begin.

I tried to reason with myself, to just let it go.  Don't argue with a four year old.  But, there was nothing I wanted more than to pick up these creamy mashed potatoes with my bare hands, borrow the jaws of life from the local volunteer fire department to pry her little mouth open and shove them down her throat myself. 

NOTHING.I.WANTED.MORE.

I envisioned this in detail as I stared at her, staring at me.

That was good enough for me.

And I began to smile.

Then she began to cry as I picked up her plate and carried it to the sink, not engaging in the argument she obviously wanted.

A trip up to her room for an early bed time worked out as a win win for me, but I still don't know what is so awful about mashed potatoes and gravy.

Maybe I would have learned that if I would have gone to college too.  Huh?  Damn.

Ya Think?

The following conversation took place in our house just two hours ago.  I was baby-sitting a little boy that I watch every Monday.  This little guy is the same age as Molly (age 3) and Emily is surprisingly still age 4:

Me:  Emily, I am going to go upstairs and fold this load of laundry, when I get done we'll go outside and play.

Emily:  Okay Mom!  Do you want me to keep an eye on the kids while you're doing that?

Me (laughing inside):  Sure.  (I go upstairs with my laundry basket and listen intently)

Emily:  Guys?  I'm in charge now.

Emily:  Guys?  You have to listen to me.

Emily:  Stop running in the house.

Emily:  Stop yelling.

Emily:  Don't jump on the furniture.  You'll get hurt.

Emily:  Oh no!  Don't go outside.  Not yet.

Emily:  Guys?  You have to listen.

Emily:  No cookies.  You just ate lunch.

Emily:  I said, NO COOKIES.

Emily:  I am in charge.  You HAVE to listen to me.

Emily:  MOM!  MOM!  I just can't do this anymore.  Are you done yet?

Me (coming down the stairs):  I'm here.

Emily:  Watching these kids is sure hard work.  I need to sit down and take a break.

Wordless Wednesday: BRAT!

I haven't participated in Wordless Wednesday since I don't know when.  And while I have many words I could use to accompany this photo ... I think it's best I just keep my mouth shut this time.

Don't Come Between A Girl And Her Strawberries

Yesterday morning, Big Daddy stepped out onto the deck and discovered this:

Yeah, that cute little bunny rabbit.  WHO'S EATING ALL MY STRAWBERRIES IN THE GARDEN.  Big Daddy has threatened to put this little cutie to rest, permanently, but he's a big pile of mush and will probably never be able to follow through with his threat.  We left Big Daddy alone with his thoughts and I took the kids upstairs to get cleaned up for the day.

Emily:  Where's Daddy?

Drew:  Outside killing the rabbit.

Emily:  The rabbit?  Oh no. (tears begin to flow)

Me:  The rabbit is eating all of our strawberries.

Emily:  OUR strawberries?  The ones we eat in the summertime?

Me:  Yes.

Emily:  Kill him.  Kill the rabbit right now.

Yeah, she's all heart.

All Fixed

A BIG, YELLOW SCHOOL BUS.

A TRIP TO THE LOCAL NATURE CENTER.

AN IMPROMPTU VISIT TO MCDONALD'S.

A POP WITH CAFFEINE.

AND ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD AGAIN.

I HAVE REDEEMED MYSELF.

<SIGH>

Does This Qualify As Neglect?

Today is Emily's second school field trip ever.  These outings are very exciting for her, as they require riding the big, yellow school bus.  A bus virtually identical to the one she watches her brothers ride away on every morning. 

I carpool to preschool with a friend of mine, and she is responsible for taking the girls, and I am responsible for retrieving them.  This morning as Emily was waiting in the driveway for her ride and I was snapping a few pictures to document this important day.  Ya know, HER SECOND FIELD TRIP EVER!

As my friend pulled up, I leaned down and kissed Emily and told her to have a great time at the Nature Center and her response was ...

"But Mom!  I haven't eaten breakfast yet!"

That was just when my heart sank and my mind raced, trying to replay the morning.  I had assumed Big Daddy fed the girls, and he assumed I did.

You know what they say ... "When you assume ... you make an ass out of you and me."

And we proved this to be true this morning.

So, being the wonderful, nurturing, on top of things Mother that I am.  I told her ...

"Don't worry about it.  You don't need breakfast.  Just have fun!"

Yeah, that's all I could come up with.  Aren't I creative?  Don't I just have a way about me that made Emily ride away feeling loved and cared for as her belly rumbled?

So, God forbid the girl grow up with an eating disorder ... and we can look back on this post and realize it's all my fault.  Her mother.  Telling her she doesn't need food, she just needs to have fun.

Yeah, that's nice.

Oh dear heavens ... I'm such a moron.

 

A run to Casey's to fill up my 44oz. coke was somehow fit into our morning schedule ... but breakfast for my 4 year old didn't.  I feel AWFUL!

I suck. 

I mean ... really suck! 

And I know it.  So you can spare me the nasty emails.

Rather than telling me how awful I am ... make me feel better by revealing one of your "Mommy Ooops Moments".

Come on ... fess up.  You can't tell me you've never goofed up ROYALLY before. 

You can post anonymously, ya know?  So get to it so I feel better and can put down the phone from calling DFS on myself.

Sisterly Love

If you are a frustrated parent, you must watch this to know that life COULD be worse.  You could be Mom to my two darlings.

Emily was wanting to sing for me.
Molly was taking a nap.
Molly woke up.
Enjoy a minute and 23 seconds of my life.

Oh yeah, and a little word of advice:  Plug your ears about 50 seconds into the video.

Your welcome!

Good Times

I don't know if it was the aroma of the brownies baking in the oven ... or if someone slipped something into my soda when I wasn't looking ...

but either way, we had the best time together yesterday afternoon!

(And yes, I found a need to document it.)

Absolutely Amazing

I find it absolutely amazing that a four year old can cry hysterically for over two hours solely for being asked to eat BBQ Beef.

 

The couple next door find it pretty impressive too.  Soon enough it will be hot and the windows will all be closed ... sparing my neighbors the agony of listening to my personal hell.

In My Daugther's Eyes

this is who I am ...

In all reality, THIS is who I am:

1.  My name is really Wendy, but when I asked why she told her teachers my name was "Honey", Emily answered, "Because that is what Daddy calls you!"

2.  I'm 36, not 24 ... have I mentioned Emily is my favorite child?

3.  My favorite thing to do is not work, obviously ... it's playing with my kids and going to baseball games.  Okay, that's a lie ... but it sounded good, didn't it?  I do actually like going to Jake's baseball games ... but that's another whole post.

4.  My favorite color is orange or yellow ... not purple.  However, this changes almost daily.

5.  My favorite TV show is ... uuummm ... I don't really have one favorite ... I'm liking Weeds, The Hills, Brothers & Sisters ... anything I can get in full seasons on DVD.

6.  I don't always work at home when Emily is at school ... sometimes I just jump up and down and do a happy dance that I'm only with and having to scream at one child ... not four.

WHO ARE YOU?

I really wanna know.

We Need To Invest In Napkins

What do these three children all have in common?

If you guessed that they are all siblings and are loved dearly by the same parents ...

YOU'RE WRONG!

I wipe cheeks and mouths at least 20 times a day ... and still ... most pictures that I take of my children ... they have food all over their faces. 

Either they're sneaking food.  Or I'm a bad parent. 

Or both.

It's Not What It Looks Like!

Let me make something clear right off the bat.  I'm not a photographer.  Probably the furthest thing from.  I know NOTHING about the subject and probably never will. 

I wanted you all to know that so you didn't have to secretly talk behind my back when you see the following pictures ... thinking that I thought I knew what I was doing ... when it's MORE THAN OBVIOUS that I don't. 

If you want to see some nice photos of flowers and such ... you'll need to go here.  Because you're not going to get it from me.  Just wanted you to know ... that I know ... that I suck!

K?

With that said, let's move on -

I wanted to share with you what I get when I say ... PLEASE DON'T PICK THE FLOWERS!

Did you hear that?

PLEASE DON'T PICK THE FLOWERS!

Not difficult to understand, right?  I'd say that even a toddler or preschooler could follow those simple directions.  Wouldn't you?

Maybe not!

Can You Say Addicition?

We own a Leapster.

A Leapster.

As in singular.

One.

Uno.

Well, that's a lie.  Now we actually own two. 

Why?  There are a number of reasons:

• Because I'm weak. 
• Because I couldn't take the fighting anymore. 
• Because Emily's whine is down right the most annoying sound in the universe.

Okay ... here is the short version of the story.  We are participating in a city wide garage sale this weekend.  I've been going through EVERYTHING in this house.  A Leapster was discovered.  I replaced dead batteries.  It's Drew's.  He wanted to play it.  So did Emily.  Did I mention it's Drew's Leapster?  So Drew played it.  And Emily cried.  A LOT!

I reasoned with her.  I explained to her.  I begged her.  I pleaded with her.  I broke down.  I gave in.  I got in the car.  I went to Walmart (because I wanted to use my bags.  HA!).  I purchased a new Leapster.  The End.

My question is:  How long can one play a Leapster before their head explodes?

Just wondering ... so that I'm prepared.  I want to have all the cleaning supplies ready and everything. 

Big Daddy would be so proud.  Just don't tell him ... I don't want him to think I'm capable of cleaning anything.  It will blow the cover on this scam I've been running all these years.  However, if Emily's head does happen to explode ... I'll clean it up.  Or call somebody to do it.

Just so long as I'm prepared.

A Renter For Life?

On Saturday morning a trip to the bank was made. 

Why you ask?

It wasn't for a loan.  Or to pull money out of savings to buy me some new living room furniture.  Not a chance.  Big Daddy is sooooo mean like that.

We had to go to the bank to deposit birthday money that Molly received as gifts.  There is a rule at our house, if you are lucky enough to score a gift card for your big day, you can spend it.  If cold hard cash is tucked away inside your card ... into your savings account it must go.

Sad but true. 

So anyway, as we sat in the car in the bank parking lot, Emily was griping that she couldn't go inside the bank with Big Daddy and Molly.  Another rule.  Only Big Daddy and the owner of the moo-laa, go inside.  Aren't we great?  We try to make handing over their birthday stash as exciting as possible.  Who wouldn't want us as parents?

Emily:  NO FAIR!  Molly is going to get a sucker and I won't.

Me:  It's Molly's special day.  Your day will come.  Don't worry.

Emily:  Why does Molly have to give her money to the bank anyway?

Me:  She's not GIVING it to the bank.  The bank is holding it for her.  Someday, when you kids are older, you'll have lots of money saved up and you can use it for something GREAT!

Emily:  GREAT?  Like what?

Me:  Well, when you're 16, you might want to buy a car.

Emily:  No, I won't want to do that.  I don't want a car.  I just want my money to buy horses at Target.

Me:  Sorry. 

Emily:  <BIG GROAN accompanied by an eye roll> Why is it that a four year old has this down already?  That's just not right!

Me:  If you don't want a car, maybe you'll continue to save and when you turn 18 or 20 or 25, you'll want to buy a house.

Emily:  I can't buy a house, silly, it would be way too heavy to carry.

Okay then, I suppose we should go withdraw all your money and buy all the horses at Target.  Right after you eat that sucker you're sweet little sister brought out to the car for you.

The Rights Of Being Born Before Another

Yes, I've been MIA the past few days.  I am aware.  I have no excuse.  I am sorry.  I will not tell you that it won't happen ever again ... because it probably will.

Anyway.

Yesterday morning, I'm whizzing through Target at 8:15am, for no particular reason.  I've come to realize that if I get my daily Target fix first thing in the morning, I'm a much happier wife and mother for the rest of the day.

As the girls and I maneuver through the home decor aisle, Molly blurts out, "I'm done now.  Mom, I want to go home.  RIGHT NOW!"

Emily gasped as if someone just ripped the head of her prized Baby Chou Chou and responded to Molly in a very firm and matter of fact tone.  "Molly.  You MAY NOT speak to Mom that way.  Only I can talk to her like that."

Hmmm, I guess being born 18 months earlier than another gives you the right to many things that even I, as a mother, did not know about.

The other woman in the aisle burst out in laughter as she witnessed the conversation between the girls ... chucking way too loud and long in my opinion.  She voiced that my daughters were just adorable and she thought they were down right hilarious. 

I, on the other hand, did not.

Just Because ...

I wanted to share because I thought that this picture perfectly captured the love and security of a big brother and his little sister.

Our Little Secret

Me:  On Saturday there are going to be 18 boys here to celebrate Jake's 10th birthday.

Emily:  EIGHTEEN BOYS!?

Me:  Yeah, I'm sorry.  It will be a rough few hours.  We'll get through it, don't worry.

Emily:  BOYS?  I LOVE Boys.  Especially A LOT of boys.

Let's not tell Big Daddy about this, okay?