famiglia

The word family has so many feelings attached to it that the word itself almost encompasses a world of whirlwind emotions. Three syllables that carry a lifetime of sentiment. I am lucky in the fact that my family {for the most part} accepts my quirkiness and inability to cease talking. I have many cousins, but one is closest to my age {and heart}; luckily we share children who are relatively close in age also--well, the gap isn't so large that they don't mind being with each other. 

 I adore my cousin. She is funny, smart, beautiful and forgiving. She has seen and done things that I know that if I dare attempt my guts would stir up an internal organ revolution and leave my body. We have always clicked. We did not grow up close as in geography close, but I think that didn't hurt the women we have become and the friendship we have cultivated. I often wished that we did--grow up geographically close that is. We are able to make each other laugh and I never, I mean never have to explain my sense of humor because she gets it. I'm sure we are genetically coded to laugh at the same quirky things.

My cousin, her daughter and her former husband visited us and we all enjoyed an excellent trip to the Happiest Place on Earth. The best part of our friend/cousinship is that our kids "get" each other as well. I have the troublemint twins and she has a great little girl who was celebrating her seventh birthday. It was if they saw each other everyday and today they just happened to be meeting at Disneyland.

If I was smart I would have had my camera at the ready for the first moment that she spotted them and they her. It was priceless. I'm pretty sure that squealing was involved if my ears remember correctly. Then non-stop hand holding.

Sometimes being with family is stressful, but in this case it was memorable; in a good way. Our kids were happy to pal around throughout the day even when "the boy" tried to get a wee bit bossy. I fear for his teenage years--I should probably start a pray chain now.

My cousin will wait in lines and laugh the entire time it takes to make all the loops, twists and turns until we get to the front. She people watches and with the slightest movement of her eyes or brows she can catch my attention and alert me to the eccentricities that are the human race. I. love. this. about. her. We do not judge, {okay, maybe sometimes we judge} but we certainly do gawk. We gawk with love in our hearts, if not for us who would give these people the attention they are so clearly craving? We're doing the Lord's work really.

Okay despite the fact that we sometimes judge others {hey, we're not in glass houses or anything} and that we can make each other laugh our friendship doesn't feel forced because we are family. If we are quite, one does not feel the need to hurry up and fill the silence. We can let each other be quiet without worrying if the other is upset. I think out of all the qualities I like this one best.

Navigating within a family is much like taking a turn on the teacups at Disneyland. One teacup, many hands on the wheel spinning to crazy polka like music. Families never take a linear route and you can never guess how relationships will flourish or wilt.  I am grateful that my relationship with my cousin continues to flourish and I am also very humbled that she is forgiving that I am not more connected to her life.

I know she has helped make my life better just by the laughter she has help to create and insights she has shared. I am thankful that she continually makes the effort to see me when I am too lazy to drive my butt up north to visit her. So, thank you dear cousin for reminding me that our familial connection is strong and worthwhile because of the little moments that we share. 

Play D'oh!

I was married seven years before having my troublemint twins. That's seven years of fun gift giving to little kids.  I brought fun gifts or clothes for kids birthdays or Christmas. SEVEN years. Thats' twenty plus gifts of loud, wild colors or obnoxious playdoughriffic toys and clothes. Seven years is a long time and I banked {prayed really} that my friends who were mommies didn't have long memories. After all many joked they could barely call out the right kid if they were naughty.  

I was wrong; so very, very wrong.

Mommies store information that may require revenge in their memory banks--- just waiting until you have a child of your own and are too stupid enough to realize that Play-Doh {while fun in a controlled environment} can become your inanimate arch enemy quickly.

I didn't realize how many fun gifts I had given in the previous seven years until my kiddos received four different gift box sets---did you read that, I wrote GIFT BOX sets of Play-Doh. These box sets contained every thing that drives a mommy crazy when it comes to the colorful non-toxic tastefully delicious dough. Cookie cutters, "scissors", stamps, dough smasher and a "knife" {actually I think the list is longer, but my pupils were too dilated to take in all of the details}.

I've hidden the Play-Doh for six months.

They found it.

Today.

In the garage in what I thought was my super secret hiding spot. {dang their growth spurt}

Gulp.

They are begging for it.

Double gulp.


They've been watching Hell's Kitchen with Grandma and want to act it out using the dreaded Play-Doh.

They have chefs hats and aprons on.  This is getting serious.

Uh-Oh...did you feel that? I just let my guard down. They convinced the hubby to set up their table.

They are playing together. Quietly. Who stole my children and replaced them with these--these QUIET?!? children?



My son realized that he could create "fur" without rolling around on the dog.

It was the strangest thing ever. How did I get this lucky? I heard the horror stories about the dreaded Play-Doh, but they were loving every second of playing with this dough. Until they realized that there was only one pair of scissors and one knife. Uh-Oh.

I distracted them with all of the different animal stamps and cookie cutter shapes. That lasted for about...three seconds when they decided that they wanted each others colors, but didn't want to share. So, the only way to solve this was to....

Mix your colors of course! Mix them all up so your little {by a minute} brother couldn't get his grubby little hands on your precious pink and purple Play-Doh. D'oh!

Over all the Play-Doh wasn't that bad--probably because we were smart enough to demand that they play outside with it. Otherwise I would be digging it out of the carpet and cursing my friends with an cheap affordable glass of pinot noir.

Peace reigned throughout the land for a total of 23 1/2 minutes and that was 23 1/2 minutes of bliss. Pure Bliss {mostly I've blocked out the screaming, tool stealing and table flipping}.

So, I'd just like to say before the buying of future Christmas and birthday gifts start--I'm sorry to all of my mommy friends. I didn't have kids when I gave out those Play-Doh, sequence and glitter everywhere tutus and "kid friendly" make-up. Please forgive me. I'm not sure I remember what obnoxious gift I gave to your little darlings, but I won't do it anymore. I promise. Pinky promise.

Queen of Frozen Mini Corn Dogs--Crown Me

Since I teach I have the luxury or curse depending on the mood of two three year-olds of staying home during July and August. Lunch time at our house can be a creative time. Sometimes lovely peanut butter {only} or jelly {only} sandwiches are made; other times it's grilled cheese with cut up seasonal fruit. I try to keep it healthy and tasty. I will admit that at the start of summer I am on it, "it" being a great schedule that works for my kids. Mostly. Kind of-- unless we go out then I'm more like: schedule schmedule.

 It's August now, mid-August to be exact and well, my schedule has become as relaxed as my lunch planning. Sometimes, I get this look from my daughter when lunch is late. Have you ever seen an angry fairy? Geesh--slow down angry fairy--it's only 12:15. I'm. cooking. lunch.

Her brother starts loudly signing, " I love mama" or maybe it was, "I'm hungry, I'm hungry. I want to eat". It might have been the "I'm hungry" song.  Did I mention that my children are ruled by their stomachs? They obey their stomach's every command.  I throw fruit at them {not literally, but figuratively} they growl in refusal. If you need a visual imagine the response a lion would have if you tossed him tofu. I break out the secret mom weapon: Frozen Mini Corn Dogs. Ahh victory is mine. Sweet faces smile at me once more.

                                       
Okay, maybe they aren't sweet smiling angelic faces, but more like thanks for the food--- put your camera down-why do you have to photograph every moment of my life? faces. {whew that was a long sentence--well, it was kind of a sentence}

I think my son was so happy about the corn dogs that he had a dream sequence of jumping into the pool {his summertime favorite activity} and splashing to his little heart's content. Mini corn dogs are his other favorite summertime thing and I don't make them very often. Ooh dream weaver I believe you can get me through the night  lunch....... Ooh dream weaver............. sorry lapsed into song for just a moment. I love it when something as simple as mini frozen corn dogs can make a kid happy.

 The fairy on the other hand warned me about being late with lunch again. She did however declare: "Mommy you make the best frozen mini corn dogs ev-ah" She looks pretty serious with that wrench in her hand don't you think? I wonder if she thought she could twist me into submission? Go out mommies and get yourself some frozen mini corn dogs. Save the world. Save time. Don't forget the BBQ sauce or it can it ugly. Really ugly. Fast. 

Living Room World Series--He Bats high---do you hear glass?

My three year old son is obsessed with baseball. He lives, I mean LIVES for baseball. He wears the team shirts and hats, can recite the players of the 2011 Padre team even though he roots for the Dodgers. He's three. The weird part is I don't know how this happened. It was just yesterday that I was trying to learn the train names of Thomas the Train. Now, I have been bombarded with the names of players, teams and made up statistics--like did you know that some teams really like kids name Aidan? And that they wear uniforms to look handsome? You're welcome. That my friends was free information brought to you by a three-year old.

While we have encouraged our son's love of the game {and I mean who wouldn't after a year of Thomas the Train?  Sorry Thomas.} we can only handle so much of the obsession with out our eyes rolling permanently back in our heads. I know we're un-American and I see the "for shame" look in your eyes, but I can deal with that.

The house rule as it is in many homes across the the nation is that you are not allowed to play baseball in the house. Easy. Clear. Concise. Wrong. When obsession takes you over anything can become a bat and any small object that can fly--well, you guessed it becomes your ball. Legos have an amazing airborne quality in case you have a son and were just wondering. A sister makes a great catcher or outfielder when trying to play pickle with mom when she is stopping your impromptu game.

For the most part, my son gets "it" it being the rule that baseball is played outdoors. Unless, there is a game on tv, his hat is tilted just right and his Dodger "jersey" {Target t-shirt} was lucky that day and then, all bets are off. Yesterday, was this kind of day for my lovely blue-eyed baseball obsessed boy. I took the Lego's away, Little People who unwillingly flew high into the air {I'm not sure that princess will ever be the same} and any lid that became a makeshift bat. I didn't think about taking his shoes away. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Well, parenting is a learning curve right? 

He took his roguish Stride Rite boot and swung it around like all the baseball greats before him: The Babe, Micky Mantle, Willie Mays {forgive me that's all I know} and "pitched" that boot with all his little might. He let go. The shoe sailed in our living room. Time stood still. I held my breath without realizing it. All we heard was the sound of glass shattering. He yelled as if in slow motion "I'm jjjusst sorry" hurriedly followed with "don't tell daddy! noooooo."  I was overcome with emotions. Frustration. Worry.

After checking that everyone was okay--after all the outfielder was in position for goodness sakes {and close to the shrapnel}. The glass from the laywers cabinet {fancy bookshelf with glass doors}  was gingerly picked up, baseball cards taken away {I know mean mommy}. The heart to heart talk about certain games are better played outside than inside. The worrisome tears {mostly mine} baseball shaped tears streamed down his little face after taking away his treasured baseball cards and the outfielder worrying about if she was going to get her chance to bat.  All in all the world series of the living room was not the treasured All-American past time that might have held the mystique that one would hope. Certainly it was dramatic. Tension filled. Flooding of relief when the hubby came home.  I was happy since that meant it was five o'clock somewhere and I could have wine- the other All-American past time that doesn't get enough recognition--in my humble opinion. So, game on. Hopefully though the game is on outside.

You Swing, I Swing, We all Swing {Dance That Is}

My hubby and I have devoted one night a week to being together without out the kids. {yahoo}. Our activity of choice was Swing Dance. Well, when I say "our" choice I might've had a heavy hand in choosing, but I presented the idea with lovely sweets in order to convince my husband that Swing Dance was really the best option of fun for us.

We walked into a lovely two-story building--about a hundred years old or so, the swing music wafting down the stairs, a black and white portrait of 1940's stars beckoning us toward the top tier of stairs. It felt right. The music embraced us as we floated up towards the dance floor.

We stopped; looked around the dance floor and began to wonder if we just shouldn't take up drinking as our new one-hour kid free hobby. The dancers on the floor were sinuous in their movements-graceful even. We were electrifying at best when we danced and not the good kind. The kind where someone shouted, "just put them out of their misery. I can't stand their pain any longer!"  Have you ever seen Elaine dance on Seinfeld? However, the hubby and I are rebels at heart so we stayed. The dance instructors were {are}wonderful and very funny.  They broke the steps down easily so that even parents of three-year old twins could follow along {not an easy task}.

Fast forward three months. We're still at it-- the dance lessons that is. We are not the best dancers in the class and some how we convinced our friends that they should join us in our 'electrifying' version of swing dancing.  I will tell you that there are nights where we both leave feeling accomplished. We high five each other like we've won the Superbowl {can I say the Superbowl without having to pay someone?} and then there are the other nights {like tonight} where I insist on a creamy coffee drink with lots of whip cream {Weight Watchers be damned} because I blanked and just stared at my partner wondering what he was trying to do. {if I had a bubble over my head it would show: Swing dancing you say? Is that what I'm supposed to be doing?}

Thankfully our dance instructors have it set up where we rotate partners--I know that sounds scary to dance with strangers and it was-- until my hubby and I realized that we often danced better with other people than each other. I think we snark a bit at each other--okay I can be snarky, but to be fair he knew this when we started dating.

What's inviting about swing dance is that it is entertaining and the people are nice--even when you accidentally kick them, step on their feet or stare blankly at them when they know you know the dance moves because you did them last week just perfectly fine.

After eleven years of marriage my husband and I realize that we still like each other. We have fun. We are not perfect, we will never be perfect. Sometimes he irritates the living hell out of me. I'm sure I make him slightly miffed in a mild sort of fashion...occasionally. Maybe. I'm not sure because I'm pretty spectacular...okay that might be an exaggeration, but who doesn't like to feel good about themselves? and no one's up to contradict me so I'm leaving it. It's just like if you don't take a picture of the the food you eat on vacation then the technically the calories don't count. See you just learned something that you might have otherwise felt guilty about. I digress. The point is to go out and find your "swing dance" with the one you love or the one who mildly irritates you. It can be lovely.

The Authentic Me

As a mommy, wife, friend, sister and daughter I wear many hats. Sometimes, I confuse different hats with different personalities. I am the loud mouth daughter, the witty friend (at least I hope I am), the supportive sister, loving wife {well, most of the time I am. I do have limits and sometimes that man just ain't right} and a mommy that my kiddos will one day appreciate even if I am 'mean' right now.  The point that I am making is,  that sometimes I wonder if I am truly authentic? Is my personality so fractured that I become a completely new person for each faction of my life?

I'm sure I overlap 'personalities', but am I authentic? I like to believe that being authentic doesn't melt away with each situation. I like to think that being authentic is letting those that surround me see the real me warts and all. Sometimes I am crude and raw.  I see my poor mother brace herself for what will come out of my mouth, {sorry ma}, but that can be who I am--frankly, I think that people would be surprised if I turned up somewhere and was quite.

I see other mommies {who are my friends not imagined or anything} blend their personalities so effortlessly and I wonder: Have they had more practice at hiding their crazy or is mine so momentous that it's harder to hide? I'm going with that they've had more practice blending their multiple personalities; otherwise, I have to face up with the fact that I really am nutso.

I guess the point of this blog is to let it out. I realize that I am not crazy, well anymore crazy than a 'normal' person I just allow the different roles of my life to play out loud. In some ways we all allow different parts of our personality to shine depending on what we are doing. I've never been accused of being a totally rotten human so, I guess that it in itself is a ray of sunshine on the personality front.

I will be more aware of being authentic and try to do better at blending all of my personality traits together {God help my poor mother} so that everyone that I love will get to know me, the real me and I will do the same with them.

Lesson Learned: You can be as real as you want-- until you pass gas and then it is always the dogs fault. I don't care if you don't own a dog ---I'm sure you have a neighbor that does so it all works out.

Mommyhood: Pay Your Dues Here

Let's be clear here, Mommyhood is a club where dues are definitely paid. The choice to join the club is both exciting and scary. Being a mommy is scary even when you make the conscious decision to be a mommy. This club, where women gather and share heartwarming or wrenching stories often welcomes newbies with open arms so that they too can have a strong shoulder when the moment of realization hits: I am responsible for a life. This is now the most important job I will have.  Many outsiders of this club will look upon those who stumbled into mommyhood as interlopers--women not truly understanding the overwhelming task and sacrifice a mommy must make and that may be true, but they are members of this club regardless.

The first day you are on your new "job" {even if you're going to go back to a full time job} you will stare lovingly into the eyes of this brand new baby and think "Oh My God--what now?" Being alone can make a new mommy nervous especially if they wait until later in life to start a family.  New mommies will feel an overwhelming desire to try to be perfect. This is a dream, nothing is ever perfect with parenthood, it's all about finding a new normal and mourning for the life that you've given up. People looked at me strangely when I say this. I mourned for my old life after having twins; that is NORMAL and don't feel bad if you do.

Love is important, but having a realistic idea of what needs to happen is ideal. Love warms your soul ;being mentally prepared for a is baby priceless. Share your curiosities with mommies who have been around the block they will help ease your fears and offer great advice. Why keep hitting your head against the wall if someone else has something that will help you get on with life smoothly?

So, yes there are dues in mommyhood and you will pay them in more than one way. Unfortunately, you never know the form of payment until it comes due.

Save the Drama for your Mama...wait--that's me...OH NO!

I have twins, currently they are three and full of all sorts of opinions and theories on how to manage one's life. We have a boy and girl set of twins {Did I just hear a gasp?} You were probably gasping out of joy and excitement like we were when we first learned our children's gender---the day they were born. Now, we gasp because boys and girls are so very different. Being a girl I've never had figure out or worry about the differences of being a boy other than the random pleadings of a teenager imploring to her mother that a baby brother should not get pointy cowboy boots no matter how cute you think he looks, but I digress.

I thought the boy would be harder to parent---don't get me wrong he is NOT a piece of cake, but I can easily figure out his needs: Where's my baseball cards? Why can't I wear this shirt everyday for two weeks? She hit me first.... you see where this is going right?

My daughter on the other hand who I thought would be the easier of the two {and to her credit sometimes she is} can be the most difficult. She screams. Not the normal three-year old scream. It's an octave that I didn't know even existed and I fear that one day she will actually scream so loudly that the cemetery occupants will stop by and ask us to lower the noise level. We don't encourage the screaming, we are firm with her and she knows that it is not okay, but she still does it. I've asked other mothers about this and they nod their heads close their eyes ever so slightly as if lost in a torturous memory that, well, most likely involved screaming. So, I am comforted in the fact that this is not an experience unique to me or my daughter.

The best part of this little vignette is when I am surrounded by family and said family who shall remain nameless {rhymes with "Tom"} casually says, "you know, when you were little you had a set of lungs on you that could wake the dead too" gives a lingering smile and glides out the door chuckling softly.

Lesson Learned: Screaming apparently is genetic as are many other things of a flawed personality  I'm sure {Great Cesar's Ghost!} and Ear plugs come in all sorts of pretty new fashions now.

I have to have what removed? Now? But I'm Busy.

Life. It's funny some days it's so slow I'm sure that I can hear the wings of the humming birds my mind imagines when I look out the windows of my classroom and home. Then, there are the other days when life hits you at full speed and you either run for fear of being run over or you stand there and hope that the impact won't leave any lasting scars.

I teach, I'm a teacher.  I am in love with literature. There I said it. I am a book nerd. I salivate at the thought of obtaining new books or now ebooks {love that kindle of mine, thanks hubby}. I read the stories over and over again. I repeat, I am a book nerd.  With that being said, the state believes that inspiring a student's love of literature isn't enough, they want to test every single aspect of what they have learned over the course of the year. Here I was trying to pull these early memories forward, preparing for a friend's baby shower and my baby sister's nuptials. Oh and my stomach felt like it wanted to reenact the Civil War one night. I did what any busy mommy/teacher would do. I took some Tums slept in the opposite direction than normal and wished the pain away reasoning with myself that I could indeed do that. Turns out my magical powers only allowed a two day truce with my stomach and my ever growing schedule of things to accomplish.

After the baby shower was over life settled down, state testing was the next night what the students knew they knew and we were prepared as we could be to send off my little sister into wedded bliss until early Sunday morning {4 a.m. to be exact} the war started to resume and I knew it wasn't good.  I woke my slumbering husband who asked in confused tones, "wha, you're going to the where? what time is it? okay text me when they tell you you're fine".  So, off to the emergency room I go to ease my fears of an exploding appendix.  After telling the nurse my symptoms I was immediately sent back and set up with an IV. Not the cocktail I had been dreaming of, but at least I didn't scream when she put the needle in. After seeing a few doctors, {I luckily made in to the ER right at a shift change} they confirmed that my gallbladder would need to be removed and that it would be happening sometime today. {insert silent scream here}. I texted one of my students so they would know what was happening {I know weird} along with the hubby who immediately went the "oh crap, sorry I thought you had gas" speech.  Not really thinking about my gallbladder or the intensity of the surgery I agreed and mumbled, "the naughty gallbladder has got to go!"

Almost twenty-four hours later my gallbladder was removed with four incisions with one being larger than it's mates--evidently they had to 'tug' a little to get it out. I asked if I could go back to work in the next few days, swing dancing, yoga and to my sister's wedding--which was in five days and I was the matron of honor. The doctor looked at me and smiled clearly believing that the anesthesia held a tight grip on my faculties. Ha! Little did she know I was serious until I tried to walk or go to the bathroom.

Nothing is more humbling than asking someone to help walk you to the bathroom ---so you can pee with an audience.

Lesson learned:  Gallbladders and other internal organs can be naughty and may need a permanent time out. Also, just because you think you're too busy to take care of yourself you're really not in charge of what will happen next. 

In case you're worried {the two people who read this blog} all worked out fine. I was able to be with my students as they finished up their state testing {I wasn't supposed to, but I worked out a a deal to be with them in the morning during testing}, hobble down the aisle in my baby sister's wedding and watch her enter the newest phase of her life all the while realizing that life doesn't always have to be jam packed to be worthwhile, because swing dance waits for you even if you're hobbling during the triple step.

Tale of Two Whoopie Pies

Great Whoopie Pie Caper of 2011

My husband is a snack-a-holic. I think he actually needs to attend a program. If he ever questions the DNA of our children all I have to do is remind him of the Whoopie Pie Caper of 2011 to reassure him that our darlings are in fact his.  My hubby in his quest for the next perfect bite size snack introduced Starbucks mini-whoopie pies-specifically red velvet to our children. We limit the sweets in our house because their energy level on a scale of 1-10 is 2,000. Just seems to be smart to limit their sugar intake so they don't try to take over the world using brute force (aka the dog) by age four.

My husband in his infinite wisdom gave sugar deprived {in their opinion} twins butter cream frosting on red velvety cake goodness and they liked  loved it. To which I reply, "Dear God, what have YOU done?" I can see their eyes dilate once the sugar hits the blood stream-their intake of oxygen is quickening and they decide that whoopie pies are good life sustaining necessities and they want---gulp--- more {Egad man, what have you done?}. My husband puts on his best "What? No, really what?" face and tells these children who fell in love at first bite that these are special treats and not meant to be eaten everyday {says the snack-a-holic}. I knew their "ohhhhh okay" unison response was not to be believed.

Today, my darling husband brings home two whoopie pies so that I can work on my photography shots and so that I can use them as a bribe so he'll attend a swing dance class with a happy whoopie pie smile. I told you he was a snack-a-holic---I use what works and cake and butter cream work. My little darlings see the whoopie pies and I can see my son's wheels turning--he's thinking "that cake will be mine". 

Eventually, I turned around long enough for the classic hand swipe to occur and it did. I'm thankful that the whoopie pies are small so the sugar intake was minimal {I know I'm lying to myself, but let a woman dream} and I was able to save the last one of the two so I could still bribe the hubby.

All and all not too bad; unless, you're the whoopie pie then it was doomed from the word go.

Indoor Living is the Life for Me-- as Long as I Can Have a Lantern

My brother, whom I love dearly {for many reasons, but also because he has agreed to watch three year old twins} bought my children lanterns. They are adorable. The lanterns, the children are cute too, but I'm talking about the lanterns right now. Not expensive ones, they have silly faces printed on them and are plastic.

Ahhh plastic. I never knew how you would become my friend. I would sing you a song, but it would be terrible and make dogs howl and my friends and family flee from me.

My children were dazzled by the fact that these googly faced creatures glowed a brilliant blue light that illuminated a darkened living room into something magical. They told "ghost" stories that consisted of Thomas the train yelling boo at Olivia the pig. Not scary, but it made them both squeal with delight--and by squeal I mean shriek until the dead requested that they quieted it down. If I were a daring woman I would've made S'mores and introduced them to ooey gooey goodness, but did you read that I have three year old twins? I'm not crazy. Okay, maybe I'm a little crazy, but I own it. There was a bear attack {the dog licked them}, rock climbing {up the red couch, down the red couch} and then there was bath time in the river {we heard splashing in the toilet}.  My daughter asked her brother, "Where can I get my nails painted here? I need more pink." to which he replied, "I don't know. Your nails are awesome!" I'm not sure if we're concerned about  the fact he noticed her awsome nails or the fact that my daughter who is three is looking for a nail salon in the pretend woods.  They were pretty awesome I must admit, but mostly because they were clean.

So, what' the lesson to be learned here?

1. Call your mom and tell her you're glad she kept your brother and didn't sell him to Gem Co.
{if you don't know what that is--it is the place you used to buy things before Walmart took over}.

2. Lanterns don't have to be expensive to be fun

3. Lanterns keep your electric bills down because your children insist on everything being pitch black so they can 'camp' in your living room while you accidentally fall asleep.{because that's what happens to mommies and daddies when the lights go out}

Baby Bottles, Onesies, Pacis & Baby Showers

Today I attended one of the most beautiful baby showers--ever--and I'm including my own. The attention to detail, the dainty and demure outfits, the pale pink accessories and the glowing and joyous mommy to be. It was simply beautiful.  I had the luxury to stop and observe the love that emanated throughout the room for this new little bundle of joy that has yet to arrive.  The feeling of camaraderie was almost overwhelming.

Mommies take on the world-, but hey, even Atlas Shrugged.  So why don't mommies? We need to shrug every once and a while; letting the weight of the world slide off our shoulders for a minute or two. Looking around that room I saw people I can depend on and call on when my mommy moments drive me to the brink of insanity.

On my way home from the shower I called the mommy who saved me the night I truly realized that I was in charge of other human beings. I told her she was the smartest person I know, and it's the truth. I will call her "Mama D"--she has grown kids now so that means she has survived teenagers {eeekkkk}. Re-read that people. I wrote SURVIVED and by survived I meant survived girl teenagers. She gave me the best mommy advice: "Carry an unlit cigarette around {I don't smoke--never have} and if you don't light it that day, it was a good day." So, now when things get a little hairy I think back to that advice and realize if I didn't light my metaphorical cigarette then the day wasn't that bad after all.

I'm glad that I have a group of women that I can depend on, shout at or to, let a string of curses fly only to hear, "feel better?" and really care about the answer I give. So, thank you women in my life who make me a better mommy everyday. Who share their war stories, childhood traumas and fabulous cocktails in the hopes of making me realize that mommyhood is hard, but it doesn't have to be done without the support of your friends. It really does take a village and I'm glad that I'm part of this tribe.

Here's to the mommy-to-be:  may your metaphorical cigarette remain unlit and your hands stay poop free for at least the first two months. I mean, let's be realistic here TWO months is a very long time to be kid poop free.

C'mon you didn't really think I wouldn't mention the poop thing did you?

Whose voice is that.... wait--is that me yelling?

I used to be a pretty calm person. I would giggle at the naughtiness of my friends children as being cute even impish if you will. I seem to have lost that sense of wonder and joy at such impish behavior.

Why? Because my children are now the imps in question.

My darling husband is the good time dad. It's like a scene out of Leave it to Beaver when he comes home from work. "Daddy!" they cry in unison cheerfully. When I come home it's like the drill instructor has come to punish the troops. Don't get me wrong, I get the "Hiya mommy" and courtesy hug, but I have become the bad cop ALL the time. Daddy saves the kids from evil mommy {at least that's how I see it in my head} and I'm sick of it. SICK of it. Hear me good time weekend daddy that lives with us full time?

So, I've decided to steal his thunder by making the effort today to be the good time mommy. It was hard--he let them climb on the chair and swing the pictures on the wall  willy and nilly, spin on the table like it was a 1980's break dancing contest. It was utter chaos. I'm sure if you ask him he would say it was controlled chaos, but I digress.

I will tell you after a day of being good time dad with no bad cop to reign them in he was totally exhausted. He actually wondered aloud, "Why were the kids so amped up today?"  I am proud to say that I didn't shout out while raising my hand frantically in the air, " I know, I know. Call on me.  Is it because you gave the kids apple pie for breakfast? Handed out sugary snacks throughout the day?" Instead, I merely shrugged my shoulders and said, " I dunno, it's anyone's guess." 

I think I might implode.

I don't know why I feel like I have to have things in order. Maybe the inner mommy in me is slowly taking over the free loving spirit I once embraced wholeheartedly.  Perhaps, it's the fear that others will judge me and my parenting skills by my children's wild behavior. Is this typical of mommyhood? Do husbands usually get it or will they wonder what the heck happened during the teenage years completely dumbfounded?

I know one day I will miss all of this, but right now while in the thick of it I admit it, I cry uncle because being a mommy, a full time working mommy in the trenches is hard.

Natural Nudist?

I am a working mommy. I often have the same repetitive routine when I come home: come in, bag and jacket down hug and smooch the kiddos. Until yesterday. I came home go to put my bag and jacket down when my daughter whom I lovingly and jokingly called "cinnamon" for awhile (well, from birth until yesterday) came out of the kitchen stark raving naked. She proudly put her hands on her waist and shouted "Hello, look at this!" Unfortunately, my first reaction was not one of raucous laughter, but one of "What in the world? We wear pants in our family!" She ran immediately to her room put on her pants and into a self-imposed timeout.  Did I mention that we are firm believers that our children should know the names of their body parts? No, well let me tell you that while in her self-imposed timeout she repeated to herself, "Mom doesn't want to see my vagina. I  wear pants."  Now. I. Laughed. I may have even peed a little, but that's beside the point.

So, I ask of you:  Are three year olds natural nudists? Am I big bad mama with too many years of a "clothing is not optional" attitude?  Have I harmed her inner hippie? Will she refuse to go green?  Oh no, will she become a corporate lawyer demanding a fourteen shot espresso now throwing plastic bags in the wind just because she can?

Three and loving it, I think...well my friends tell me it will get better

I have three year old twins...[insert "how does she do it?" thoughts here]. That being said I signed up for the possibility of twins. I mean, I knew it was possible to have twins with in vitro {not Octo mom's version the normal just put in three eggs and keep your fingers crossed version,} but that story will have to wait for another time though.
I wanted to muse about what happened to my babies. Their loving coos, cuddling arms and gleeful giggles. Humph. It's seems they have been replaced with miniature tyrants. I've talked to my friends and it turns out they too have been taken over by miniature tyrants. Exactly at which point can the moment of insanity take over a first time mother?

I fear that my friends as well meaning as they were those long years ago {four to be exact, but who is counting?} may have sold me on this idea of the Hallmark family hook line and sinker with their adorable family Christmas cards and deceptively charming kids birthday parities--I mean who stays for the sugar aftermath if you're the youngish newly married couple?

So, my question is how much yoga will it take for me to regain the full capacity of my mind? When does three start being really fun--I mean they are fun, but when do they stop wanting to cage fight? When did they get opinions about the world and do they think Gaddafi would really listen to them?  and lastly, can one ever stop singing "I like to eat, eat apples and bananas"?