Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Buddha Baby Birthday Bash

Today, my middle child, my gorgeous blue eyed Boo baby, turns three years old.

Hard to believe that three years ago I was sobbing on the phone to the OB because I was in so much pain and couldn't sleep. (Boo was a nine pounder, 20 inches long, and very happy on my sciatic nerve.)

It's hard to believe that three years ago I was on an operating table getting my rib displaced and my son born.

That baby, who I held and nicknamed Buddha, is now a wild and crazy three year old with his own mind and agenda, that only occasionally corresponds with my own.

That baby, now a big boy, as he'll tell anyone who listens, made my body hurt for months and now makes my heart aches with how sweet he can be and my ribs crack with his humor.

My Boo is like no other child in the world. I gave the world a gift that may grown up to be a doctor, the president, or a garbage man. But there will be no other person like my son.

Every morning when I leave, Boo calls for me to wait and runs up to give me a flying body hug, clinging to my pant legs and holding me fast. In the evenings, when I get home, he's the first to greet me and try to help me take my shoes off.

In the evenings, he curls up in my lap, plops his thumb in his mouth, and vegs, normally digging his mutant monkey toes into my delicate flesh.

When I'm eating, he comes and mooches food.

When I turn my back, he steals my drinks.

And when I go to bed, I'll occasionally find a bed partner curled up alongside me, blue eyes wide, and he'll reach out a hand and touch my face.

My little man turns three today, and I thanks the gods that I have him, in all his wicked, evil, mischievous heathen glory.

Happy birthday, Buddha Baby!

My Boo shares a birthday with a friend's baby, Hayden, born March 31, 2006, who earned his wings May 1, 2006. Boo and I both wish Hayden a happy birthday. He's always with us, Stephanie. *Hugs*

Monday, March 30, 2009

Too Big for his Britches

My nephew is almost old enough to be utterly stupid.
No, teh boy is smart. Book smart.
He's just dumb enough to mouth off to his aunty, whose a good six inches smaller than him.
And to think its funny.
What he didn't think was so funny was my knee up his backside and my taking his plate of food until I got a suitable apology.
My mother and mine reminded him I play dirty and I will always win.
He may dwarf me. He may think he's big stuff.
I knwo that I can take his ass down hard and dirty, and I will do that in the name of aunty love.
And I'll enjoy every moment of it.
By the way, the heathens loved every minute of it.

Friday, March 27, 2009


Saturday is Boo's 3rd birthday bash.
The Man is smoking meat and happy as a clam.
I'm stressing about food and people and decorations and Lord only knows what else.
And every time, I swear I'll never do this agian.
Three birthdays a year, times a lifetime--I'll be in a padded cell before Punk goes to school.
Wish me luck and send me liquor--I'll need it!

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Sleep--the Final Frontier

These are the ramblings of a sleep deprived mother.
her mission, to tuck her heathens into bed and have them stay there.
Her life mission
To finally get to sleep
Without strange faces pearing at her in the middle of the night
Or babies crying for no apparent reason.

I am so sleep deprived, I am writing odes to it.

Oh sleep, how I miss thee!
The warm embrace of fluffy pillows,
The comfort of a crisp, cool sheet,
And the silence and darkness that accompany
The nighttime hours.
I remember you fondly,
A friend, a partner,
Who has abandoned me out of fear
Of my children.
Who refuse to sleep.
Who wake us for no reason
Except devilish glee
At our suffering.
Who teeth and nurse and
Whine and mona at all hours,
Then fall back into blissful slumber
Once we have been awaken,
Leaving us staring a sleep pursed lips
In jealousy. For we know,
we will have no more rest
Until they bury us.
And even then, I doubt it.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


Bug was feeling a bit bossy. Boo was feeling a bit put out. A simple order to go get a book resulted in a right hook that connected with the eye and sent my four year old reeling.
I don't understand how, one minute, my boys are best friends, and the next, they are fighting tooth and nail.
Although the books tell me its normal, I, being a girl, am appalled to realize my boys are bullies and brawlers.
All I can hear in my mind is some poor kids hiding, whispering, "Watch out for those two. They are trouble!"
You know the kids I'm talking about. The school bullies. And since my boys are only 18 months apart, they will be one grade apart in school. They are close in size and different in temper. bug is lightening fast in everything, including temper. Boo is slow and deliberate, and a dirty street fighter.
I'm afraid of the calls from school and my meetings with the principal in the future.
Somebody tell me its all boys and not just mine!
Please don't let me be raising juvenile delinquents when they are barely out of diapers.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Mini Van Moments

One of my Fave bloggers, http://motherhooduncensored.typepad.com/ declared that she would not surrender to the lure of mini vans.
I, however, am not that strong.
I have an SUV and a minivan. And three kids, in case you were in a coma and missed my miraculous births.
I can't imagine putting all three kids, long term, in the back of my SUV, so I am a minivan whore. I find myself salivating over roomy seats and DVD players and captains chairs and ROOM!
I weep in delight at sliding doors and the fact that, unless my kids are screaming, I can't hear them all the way in the back seat.
And I have space for a friend, if any of my friends were silly enough to get into a car with me and three kids.
I love my mini van. I've even tried to convince The Man to trade in the SUV and get a second minivan.
I'll get my way. I have my ways of bringing him around, which resulted in child one, two, and three.
Just slap a bumper sticker on my ass that says mini van whore and move on.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Peeing in a windstorm

Some days, raising my kids, I feel like I'm staring straight on into a windstorm and trying to pee without getting splattered.
No, it's not some weird hermaphrodite reference, but a metaphor for futility.
Most days, I'm bopping along with funny kids and an all right life.
Then a kid drops a steaming pile on my foot.
Literally. Punk did it last week. Right out of her diaper and onto my foot, then the floor. Splat!
Bug did it, again metaphorically, yesterday at my mom's, where he threw a screaming, hitting hissy fit because I wouldn't let him take two blocks home.
I didn't back down. I did get mad, which made me gla there were witnesses. And after I was done, The Man got mad.
The Man took our wayward oldest to the van while we all scurried to put up the toys and gather our belongings. In the car, Bug wanted to talk, and I hissed a response that involved zipping his lip, bath, bed, and I'd deal with him the next day.
He got it. Mom's mad. Duck and cover.
And then woke up this morning upset because I left before apologizing to him!
My son has some impressive gonads.
On break, I called home, and Bug apologized for hurting me. I'm still mad, but realize he has the attention span of a gnat and so I have to be the bigger person--not fatter!--and move on.
But my heart hurts. And I just want to know where my sweet boy went and why I am peeing against a tornado these days.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Neti Pot Love

If you haven't tried a Neti pot, you really should.
Basic premise is you shove saline water up your nose, and it irrigates the sinuses and hydrates it so you don't end up stuffed up and miserable.
It looks odd and feels a bit strange, but it works!
I've had mine for two plus months and love it. I haven't had to use any decongestant or sinus meds since I began using it. Converted my mom and a couple of friends to teh neti pot way of life and they love it too!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

He did that where?

Playing outside.
Pulled down his pants
And tried to poop in a bucket.

I am one of THOSE parents. The white trash parents whose kids pee and poop in the yard.
But I will take pride in one thing.
It happened on The Man's watch!

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

You didn't back up?

Ever seen that Sex In the City episode where Carries computer crashes and all anyone can ask her, "You didn't back up?"
That's me.
Minus the cute figure and killer heels.
And the weird face wart--ew!
My beloved computer has decided to start pushing up daisies without letting me say goodbye.
I have begged. I have pleaded. I have promised illicit favors.
It just teases me with a blinking light and no action.
I didn't back up.
My babies pictures are on it.
My taxes are on it.
My life is on it.
I'm screwed, without lube.
And right now, finances being the dark pit of despair that they are, I can't afford to replace it.
I am being thrown to the pre-technology wolves in a very unkind manner, forced to get my fix at work or elsewhere, on the dirty, cruel streets, like a junkie.
Or at my mom's house, which has my brother and his family living in it while his new place is being built. Very crowded for computer perusing.
Welcome to my Stone Age. Pull up a tablet.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Horny little green men!

It's Saint Patrick's Day.
May you have the luck of the Irish.
And may you get lucky like the Irish!

Just so you know, I refuse to where green. I figure is someone wants to pinch me, they're taking their chances.

Chance one: I knock your block off.
Chance two: I like it and make you my love bunny.

And Chance Three: I might knock your block off while making you my love bunny. (A girl has to be flexible!)

Enjoy. Drink green beer. Eat corned beef and cabbage. And then stay far away from me when its after effects begin!

Monday, March 16, 2009

The meaning of manners

I work in a business where I have contact with customers multiple times a day.
And, several times a day, I suffer verbal abuse by upset customers, just because I happen to be on the front line.
I knew it when I took the job. I have a thick skin, so it doesn't bother me much.
But I do wonder about who taught these people their manners.
When they are dropping F bombs right and left, calling me a female dog, and insulting my intelligence, so they really think that makes me a strong advocate on their behalf?
Do they really think that my business lives to inconvenence them when the simple solution to many of their problems would be to pay their bill each month instead of letting three months go by and then getting upset when actions are taken?
Do they really believe they are the only person in the world with children, mortgages, auto repairs, electric and gas bills--I manage to pay my bills. And that's with a husband on workman's comp.
It's not easy. It's not fun.
But neither is being yelled at by a customer for their own inability to manage their finances adequately.
I admit. I'm far from perfect. I curse when the mood strikes, although I do try to curb it when my kids are around and not unleash it on hapless cutomer service reps when I have to call.
I know my mama tried.
I wonder if their mother's spoke that way. I wonder who taught them to speak to others in that fashion.
And I wonder if I should ship them a bar of soap and instructions for washing their mouths out.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Boys will be Boys

Boo bloodied Bug's nose this week.
Then threw a book and beaned him in the face.
Bug sat on Boo's head and passed gas.
Then took Boo's bear and threw him into the kitchen.
And when I turn around, I find my boys making their sister laugh so hard she has tears rolling down her cheeks.
Boys will be boys. At time confusing, irritiating, and aggravating--but I wouldn't change a thing.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Poop Parade!

Okay, I got a frantic phone call from The Man this morning.

TM: Bug has a poop stuck--what do I do?
Me: Put him in the bathtub to relax him. I'm almost done with break and can't talk!

Fast forward to lunch (mom e-mailed me and let me know Bug was fine)

TM: Bug just starts screaming that he has a poop stuck and can't get it out. He yelled for me to get it out, and I told him I couldn't. I lift him up and see it, but he's telling me it hurts. So I put him in the tub, and Bug tells me, "Daddy, I don't need a bath--I need to poop. This isn't working. Put me on the toilet--oh it hurts!" So I tell him he's just gonna have to man up. It's gonna hurt, but he's got to get it out. then I watch him go red faced, grabbed the toilet rim in a death grip, and even curling his toes like the witch in Wizard of Oz. And then he screams bloody murder, then relaxes, announcing, "My ass hurts."

He gets on the phone with me and tells me he had to poop, that he cried and cried, and he finally pooped his ass off.

I was laughing so hard tears were rolling down my cheeks when The Man told me this.

Battle of the Boys

We have no officially entered sibling rivalry.
And its over the strangest thing.
Yep. My boys are fighting over whose going to school.
They are, undoubtedly, freaks of nature.
We enrolled Bug and now Boo wants to go.
We're trying to enroll Boo and Bug says Boo can't go.
In fact, today, Boo told his big brother to, "Quit bossing him!" and announced he was going to school. (Crossing all crossables it works out because I don't want to be around if it doesn't!)
Whereas Bug responded with, "School is just for me, because I'm a big boy!"
And that little barb resulted in screams and hits and much fun for Daddy.
I was at work, thankfully.
So my wee little heathens are locked in battle over school days.
Although neither of them really knows what that means!

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Walking in the snow

Its amazing how when we just stop, we find peace.
Okay, I'm waxing poetic now.
I walked in the snow during my lunch today.
No one else was out.
I wasn't in a hurry to be anywhere.
And I just was.
It was surreal and peaceful and perfect.
There were no children needing me, no husband wanting me, no demands, no needs, just me and my footsteps and snow softly falling on my face.
If you haven't tried it, I suggest you do.
It makes you feel the connection. You know, the one to the big out there that occasionally becomes a small, still voice in our hearts?
Yep. Good for the butt (exercise) and for the soul.

Trying to let go

the Man found out this weekend that there is a free 3 year old school program at Bug's new school.
Immediately, he began researching for Boo.
Today, he goes to enroll my blue eyed baby boy.
There's a waiting list, so it's no guarantee.
But rather than having to prepare one child for school, I may have to prepare two.
Rather than having my heart wrenched open by one child entering the halls of academia and leaving the safety of our home this fall, I may have two.
Instead of weeping for my big boy whose four, I may have to cry for my three year old who thinks he's a big boy, but is still very much a baby.
This adventure may be fruitless. Boo may not be in school this fall.
But i find myself teary eyed at the thought of letting go of not one, but two little hands. Of turning them over to well meaning strangers to teach and care for.
I'm not ready.
Letting go of Bug will be hard enough. But he's ready and has been for a year. He'll be almost five when he starts pre-k because of his birth date.
Boo is still my baby. He still snuggles and sucks his thumb and carries around his ratty Pooh bear. He feels too little for school to be an issue yet.
But he wants to go.
He's excited to go.
And I can't hold him back for my own selfish needs.
But I'm not sure our umbilical cord will stretch quite that far.
So you'll probably find me flitting between two classroom windows like a deranged moth, plastering myself to the glass in the hopes of seeing my babies happy and learning and excited.
At least until someone calls security.
Or swats me with a flyswatter.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Full Moon

There were two full moons at my house today.
The Man was runnign back into the house, got his foot caught in his sweats, and mooned a passing car.
Then Bug's underwear fell down and he flashed the neighbors.
There's a full moon out in the middle of the day at my house.
And only one mooner is embarrased!

Planning and preparation

For me, my children's birthdays are military excursions.
I plan for over a month to get the right gift, the right cake, the right theme, to send out invites and get thank you cards.
I occasionally let The Man help.
He's the one man decoration crew.
He blows a mean balloon.
My kids birthdays are exhausting for me, and, hopefully, memorable for them.
Boo will be three in just a few short weeks.
I am in full planning mode.
I have schematics, battle plans, and tactical diversions that was make any four star general proud.
On D-Day, I will be barking orders and watching my minions scurry.
And I will be watching The Man for signs that his old man's heart can't handle that balloon he's wheezing into.
All so Boo can eat cake, open gifts, and gloat.
Just call it Operation Buddha Bash.
In the end, I will be collapsed on the couch, debating the wisest course of action: Grab the heathens, torch the house and run? Or watch The Man clean it up?
And I will vow never to do it again.
This year though, I have a new terror.
During my six month lull between birthdays, i have to gear myself up to a new variety of military endeavour.
Classroom birthday parties.
Yep. Bug will be having his birthday shortly after the school year starts, so i will have to deal with that.
By throwing The Man, loaded down with store bough cupcakes, into a room of sugar mad four-year-olds and watching him try to survive.
We'll be starting a new birthday tradition.
And a new way for us to shed blood as a family.
Ah, the memories.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Preschool Preparation

I have a preschooler.
Well. Almost.
I have a four year old whose enrolled in preschool for this fall.
But I have to finish his enrollment in August.
And then go back a few days before school to meet his teacher.
And then actually take him to school
Yep. You got it. We're almost, not quite, sort of,, nearly there.
Enrolling in college, getting married, and giving birth to brand new human being required less paperwork! COMBINED!
Bug passed his tests--tests for preschool? I'm still puzzled by this one!--easily. And my carpal tunnel is being treated in a few weeks thanks to the sheaves of papers they distracted me with.
Bug was so proud of himself. His little chest was puffed out an, after prying him out of the building, all we heard all night was, "I miss my school. Can we go back? Maybe tomorrow?"
August can't get here soon enough for him.
For m? it can wait a little while longer, so I can try to huff the last remaining baby smells off of him, so I can snuggle him close and not have to worry about homework and school days and snow days.
It can wait, so my baby bug can be a baby just a little bit longer.
Nothing like a mom holding a child back from growing up.
What can i say? I'm codependent!

Monday, March 9, 2009

Boy Band Love

My childhood love was in town today.
Jonathan Knight.
New Kids on the Block.
And I didn't go see them.
Although I did have serious thoughts about tossing over my husband for a moment of youthful indiscretion as a groupie.
Then I remembered a few things.
I have three children who would hunt me down like a dog.
Maybe Jonathan doesn't return my obsessive love.
And I'm not built like I used to be, making throwing my bra a dangerous endeavor.
Sadly, my youthful unrequited love will continue to be a secret dream.
I will drive by the stadium (it's on my way home--sort of) and sigh and hope to catch a glimpse of him.
And then I will tuck away my inner teenager and go home to my real life and a husband who'll occasionally burst into Hangin' Tough to torment me.
Maybe I'll pull out my KNOTB pillow to snuggle tonight.
It's the only way I'll ever get to drool on Jon.

Out of the mouths of heathens

Me: Guess what, bug? On tuesday we go for your school testing. I'm gonna run home and we'll run down to the school? Won't that be fun?

Bug: No, mommy. We don't run to the school--let's just take your car. My legs will get tired!

Friday, March 6, 2009

Spring has sprung

Well, not officially.
But close enough for the desperate parents of stir crazy children.
The weather has been nice enough The Man has taken the heathens out all afternoon for the past two days.
He has slathered them with sunscreen, put on hats, and broken out the Gator juice.
And they have played and rolled and laughed until, each night, they collapse into little stinky pools that I have to wash and feed.
So spring has sprung around our house, with all the sounds and smells associated with it.
Punk smelled like a funky little boy yesterday, which always disturbs me.
Girls shouldn't smell like sweat and gym socks.
And Punk discovered the fun of rolling down hills. Accidentally to start. Bug chased her. She fell. Yada yada. But after that, there was no stopping the girl. Just so you know, a rolling baby gathers no moss--but they do occasionally pick up other funky stuff!
Grandma was silly enough to stop by for a hug.
She was slimed and muddied and rubbed on by three sweaty little bodies.
When i arrived home, I immediately began calling, "Don't touch me!" as I battled my way through what appeared to be three little boys.
And I stopped.
When did I get a third son.
Then I realized what The Man had dressed my baby in.
Boys tennis shoes (two sizes too big), nylon sweat pants (also the boys), a big whit t-shirt, and a doo rag.
My neighbor said we had a cute baby boy.
And she would be a cute boy. Except she's a girl.
With dirt wedged up her nose.
And reeking of fun and play and that pile of dog poop she rolled through--thankfully it was dry and crusty.
So breathe with me. Deep, cleansing breaths. And then hold your breath so you can wash the smell of spring off your wee little heathens when they decide rolling is an oh-so brilliant idea!

Picture this

Picture this: Me, Boo, and Bug laying in my king sized bed with The Man hovering around, dropping stink bombs.

Picture me face first in my pillow, snorting and laughing as quietly as I can after Bug told The Man:

"I'm gonna kick your ass!"

I still snicker today remembering it.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

The child knows his father

Bug was imitating different people.

Bug declared that magic turned him into Daddy.

He stuck out his little butt, began blowing raspberry farts out his mouth, and propelled himself round of the room.

The boy knows his Daddy all too well.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Baby Beauties

I've found a new obsession.
And not the good kind.
One that pisses me off.
Toddlers and Tiaras on TLC.
Basic premise? Ugly ass parents parading their little JonBenet girls around a stage to earn approval and money.
The same parents push their children to practice and work and sashay like adult women.
They put them in skimpy outfits and hair pieces and fake eyelashes, while slathering their sweet baby faces in more make up than Tammy Fae ever wore.
It make my blood pressure rise and I yell at the TV.
The last episode had a father upset because his two year old daughter, who was laughing and clapping on stage, didn't win anything. Except a trophy for being runner up. And, oh yeah, she was having a good time.
Yeah, the child sounds like a real loser.
All I see is a bunch of pathetic parents who are so insecure in their own looks that they live vicariously through their children.
They push and prod and poke at them until I can't help but feel sorry for the children.
The Man watched it with me and asked if I would ever put Punk in a child beauty pageant.
My answer? A resounding no, complete with a dissertation about the sexualization of children to satisfy the needs of the parent.
Don't get me wrong. I think Punk is a lovely little shit, complete with a pretty face and a perky attitude.
She's certainly more attractive than many of the girls there.
But I won't lube her up, send her to tanning salons, or vaseline her teeth.
If my daughter wants vaseline in her mouth, she'll just have to eat it like any other kid.
I want my daughter to know she is more than a pretty face. She has substance and flair and brains and more. And she doesn't need to be pretty for me.
She just needs to be herself.
And, when she's older, she can just beat up the girl with the tiara if she wants one.
I'll hold her coat.
Or maybe I'll whip the mom's ass.
Consider it mother daughter bonding time.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

My Son and His Tapeworm

Boo is making up for lost time.
Three days of no food thanks to the roto bug have resulted in a child who eats both siblings and me under the table.
The Man is still the king of the table, but not by much. Even he has to guard his plate and eat quickly before boo hoovers it up.
When we first took him in, Boo weighed 29 1/2 pounds Two days later, he weighed 28 1/2. He's now packing it on and in.
Bug will finish what he wants of dinner, and Boo will surreptitiously pull his brother's plate over and start grazing.
Punk doesn't watch her tray, Boo reaches over and helps himself.
And he's very grateful for meals, telling me, "Thanks you for a good dinner, mommy," several times each meal.
I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or at least the stomach.
The Man and I think he's got a tapeworm he's feeding, because we don't know where he's putting it all. His name is Wormy, per Boo.
He's only three feet tall, for Pete's sake!
We're beginning to wonder about the grocery bill in a few years, because we already spend a small fortune keeping these kids fed.
Bologna isn't cheap , you know. It doesn't grow on trees, although some parts of it might have lived in trees at some time.
Two boys as teenagers. I won't get a bite of food, which would be great for my diet and bad for everything else.
The Man worries about reaching for the last bite of anything, afraid he might lose more fingers. (Yep, we only said it happened at work. Now you know the real story!)
Guess I should just reconcile myself to licking the crumbs off their chairs and slurping the plates clean.
If my kids don't beat me to it.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Rat Dog Extraordonaire!

With the passage of my beloved Tequila dog, I have turned to our family's other Chihuahua, Saketini Sock It To Me, for my dose of canine companionship.
Saki, as he is called, along with other nicknames, such as Wiener, Wienie, Rat Dog, etc, is a sweet boy with a messed up eye and Billy Bob teeth. He also has seizures, which result in loss of control, but he is such a good boy that i have put my fingers in his mouth (I know--smart owner!) and never been bitten.
The Man, who loves a lost cause, decided we had to have the mentally challenged dog instead of its normal litter mate.
So it's all his fault.
Saki is a good dog, having survived Bug's WWF body slam stage, Harvey's attempts to play, which involved picking up a pissed off rat dog and carrying him, squealing, around the yard.
Saki adores my heathens, mostly because they have food, and spends a good portion of his life running from them or trying to steal french fries from their grubby little paws.
Although Saki will never replace Tequila in my heart, he has certainly lessened the heartache and made the loss of my canine companion a bit easier.
And looking at him makes me laugh.