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"?