Monday, November 24, 2008

Diary of a Bad Mommy (Volume 10)

For me, afternoons are the worst. That icky time between 2:00 and 5:00 always gets me down. I have no idea why, but I can get really grumpy around that time of day. My kids are usually whiny and grumpy too. And the phone rings off the hook, starting at about 2:00 or 3:00 every day. If you know me, you know that the sound of the phone ringing drives me to drink. Add this to my normal afternoon slumpiness and it's not good. Today, with Avery home all day and it being a bit too cold for them to stay outside for any length of time, was an especially rough one.

Sometime around 3:30, I found myself yelling at my kids. I'm not proud of it, but it happens. They had made the 50th mess of the day, left it sitting, and were in the midst of asking me 407 questions, while I answered the third phone call in less then 3o minutes. And I lost it. I just started bitching and didn't stop. I was on the phone with a friend and I forced her to sit and listen to all the bitching.

I felt bad, but not bad enough to stop. I kept going until both girls had retreated to separate corners, in tears. I was happy though, because finally, all the crap on the living room floor had been put away and the kids were out of my hair. Until Avery brought me this note:

My heart softened. This had to be some sort of an apology note. I thought I could make out the word "whining." I called Avery over, just to make sure. "Can you read this to me?" I asked her.
She took the note, and in a very stern voice said "Ok, Mom. I wish you had fun and were good enough to play with us."

Just for that, I'm not writing them an apology note either.

Precious Moments

I'm not talking about the Precious Moments that some people, who shall remain nameless, collect for reasons I cannot understand. I'm talking about the rare moments when your kids are not only not fighting, they actually seem to enjoy each other. Yesterday, we had two such moments.

Avery was really reading to them. (What she doesn't know, she improvises.) And they were really listening.
And my precious baby girls napping, late into the afternoon. Nevermind that they were up last night until 11 because of this 2-hour snooze-fest. They were the most blissful 2 hours of my weekend.
Moments like these are what keep me going. There is always the glimmer of hope that they will happen again.
Right now, all I can hear is Reese yelling "Give me that belt! I want to use it like my wope!" And Avery say "This is my rope for catching bad guys! Get away or I'll tie you up with it!" (It's MY robe belt and if they don't stop arguing soon, I'm going to tie them to the chairs and gag them with dirty socks.) But I have the memories of these Precious Moments. I have a feeling I will need to escape to these pictures many times this week, as Avery is out of school for 7 more days.
And hey, if the magic of the pictures fails to preserve my sanity, there's always Benadryl.

Friday, November 21, 2008

They Hear Everything

Here are a few snippets from conversations with my kids over the last week or two:

Reese: (in the kitchen, talking to one of her dolls) Oh, Dammit!
Me: What did you say?
Reese: Can we say "Oh, Dammit?"
Me: No. It's not a nice word. Where did you hear that? Please dont say me, please don't say me.

Reese: From my dance class.
Whew. Wait. She isn't in dance class.

Avery, sitting at the dinner table last night, burst into song. So glad she chose this one:
"Dontcha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Dontcha."
Note to self: Gotta filter that iPod.

We are all at the chiropractor yesterday for my 2nd adjustment. The kids are looking at x-rays with me.
Avery: Wow, cool! Is that your head? Cool.
Doctor: See how this is kind of crooked? We're going to fix your momma right up so her back won't hurt anymore.
Reese: (Very loudly) Are you gonna fix her BOOTY too????
Doctor: Her booty?
He glances at me with a questioning look.
Me: Ha ha. Um, it's kind of an embarrassing thing.
I start explaining and he interjects with "It's ok. Sounds like a private matter."
That's more embarrassing than just telling him about the stupid boils!

Have a great weekend!

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Not just for cooking anymore....

Turns out, these are fairly versatile and can be used outside the kitchen. Let me explain.
I have boils on my butt. Yes, they are gross, they are painful and they are difficult to reach. If you know anything about boils (Sadly, we know plenty in our family. We are disgusting boil/staph/funk people.) you know that, in order for them to heal and not let the infection spread all over your body, you have to constantly drain the boils. It goes like this. Press with a warm cloth or soak in a tub. When all the pus (ewwww) rises to the top, it forms a whitish head and that's when it's prime for popping. It hurts like hell, but if you don't do it, the pressure builds up and hurts even worse. So, I now have three of these on my BUTT. Near my crack. My poor husband, up until recently, has been in charge of draining these. He hates it. Partly because he hates hurting me and partly because he has a very weak stomach when it comes to blood or pus or general ooziness. But he's done it, because my other options are to go to the doctor and have them lanced (hurts like double hell and keeps hurting) or let an infection spread to my bloodstream and I'll die.
However, on Monday morning, he left town for three days. He won't be back until late tonight. Which means I'm on my own in Boil Land. And they are hard to reach. Have you ever tried to squeeze anything in your crack region, using both hands? I'm not a contortionist, so I struggle. I've let it go a bit, but last night, after taking two Vicodin and still not getting any relief from the pressure, I decided I had to do this somehow. I soaked in the tub for 30 minutes. These babies were ripe when I got out. They were sick and huge and ready to be squeezed. But I couldn't get a grip on them. What can I do? I can't ask my kids. I don't have any friends that I'm willing to lose over a butt boil. What do I do? And then it hit me. I need a tool. Not pliers because that might hurt. But something like that. What do we have around the house that will squeeze without damaging? Ah, yes. Tongs.
You know what? It's a bit ridiculous and it hurt like hell, but it worked. It's easier than using my hands because there's something innate that prevents me from hurting myself. Using tongs creates the illusion that someone else is hurting me. Pus squirted, pressure relieved, problem solved. I feel like a genius for getting myself out of this strange predicament. I've used the tongs two more times (on the butt boils only), just because I can. Still in pain, but I feel better knowing I've taken matters into my own hands (or, in this case, tongs).
And just in case some of you were worried about being invited over for fried chicken, I've already added tongs to my grocery list. The Butt Tongs will be trashed immediately following the final draining.
Now, I don't know about y'all, but I've suddenly got a craving for some tapioca pudding.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

What is it with kids and being naked?

My girls have always appreciated their own nudity. They'll get naked anytime, just for the sake of being naked. We allow it (at home) because we want them to get it out of their systems before high school.

Now their little brother has gotten in on the action. And he's learned that I'm going to try to catch him and dress him, so he tries to find a place to hide.

Sunday, I was getting him dressed and realized I had run out of diapers in the living room. I ran back to his room to get another pack and came back to find him in a spot where you just know he thought I couldn't get to him!

Note: He's carrying his Disney Cars...he had them in his hands while I changed him...and made sure he took them with him when he went AWOL over the gate.
I also like how the gate is strategically placed over his unmentionables. It's like it was planned! (It wasn't.) He's laughing at me, by the way. I feel him saying "Na na nee boo boo! You can't catch me!" I would have punished him for hiding and laughing at me, but I have a feeling that the naked trip over a wood and metal gate was punishment enough.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Kids, We are in a Recession

"We are in a recession." That's the 2008 version of "Money doesn't grow on trees," and it's the talk we had to have with Avery today. She asked "Can we go out to dinner tonight?" (She's become very big on going out to eat lately.) Her dad said "Do you have any money?" She said "Yeah, I have that money that Pa Pa gave me (about 40 pennies in a Skoal can) and I have money that Brad paid me for playing restaurant (our neighbor who gave her way too many quarters for pretending to serve him food)." I asked her if she knew where any of that money was. "Well, um, no. But I have it somewhere."

So, her dad and I proceeded to inform her that we were in a recession, and it hard times like these, we have to make sacrifices. While it would be possible for us to go out to eat tonight, we'd probably have to scratch a few things off the Christmas list. You can guess her response to that. "NO WAY! I want presents! But I still want to go out to eat."
So I came up with a plan. We would go get the money can out of the closet. You know the one...we all have some sort of can/jar/bank that holds all the loose change. If we could roll up enough money to afford dinner out, we'd go.

The bad news: These girls are pitiful at counting and rolling money. So I had to do it all.

The good news? We got $63. I let Avery pick the place. She chose Arby's. We really splurged. Everybody got their own meal. No splitting drinks, fries, etc. And we even stopped for Cold Stone ice cream on the way home. And Momma still has $25 left. Woo hoo! Party at my house. Oh, wait. Rhett needs diapers and Avery's lunch account is down to $7.65. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Somebody Feed This Kid

Guess where he got his breakfast this morning? Hint: It's in the picture with him...and it's not the laundry basket in the background.

I blame Reese. She's the one who threw away a perfectly good apple. I know it has nothing to do with neglectful parenting.
Does not.

Thursday, November 13, 2008


I wish this was me. Right now.

That's all.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

His Latest Hobby

I love that my little boy has developed this latest hobby. It can keep him busy for extended periods of time. Periods of time when I don't have to worry about what he's getting into. Plus, I think it's just adorable. He discovered cars and trucks a long time ago, but it seems he just figured out what to do with them.

Look how serious he is! First, he lines them all up, as if he is "parking" them. He'll switch their spots about 40 times before they are all where they belong.

Interrupting this process elicits this look:

(As I type this, he is sitting at the kitchen table with three of the same cars, making what I assume he thinks are car noises. He is also using the girls' puzzle pieces to cause very loud "crashes.")

He still manages to stop and say "YEEEE!" (Cheese!)

Monday, November 10, 2008

Pics from the Mud Run

I learned something about myself this weekend that disturbs me and thrills me at the same time. I like rolling around in mud. A lot. I like being dirty and sweaty and filthy.

This disturbs me because, well, I'm a 36-year-old woman and it's not dignified or lady like to roll in mud. It thrills me because it makes me feel young and it also sheds a lot of light on why Avery doesn't like girly girl stuff. She comes by it naturally.

Anyway, the run was more fun than I had imagined. There were walls to climb, which left me with countless bumps and bruises, and big mud slides that I would give anything to do again right now. Doing this also made me feel extremely tough and strong. The only bad thing is this horrid blister I have on my left foot. I'll tell you this, folks: Running in combat boots just ain't natural!

So, aside from the bumps and bruises and that big ass blister, and a snotty nose from all the muddy water in my sinus cavity, I came away pretty unscathed. At least where it face was intact for family pictures Sunday morning, which was my main concern.
Here are a few pics from the event. Aaron brought the kids out to watch, which made it even more fun.
The girls arrived just as we were about to begin the race. You've heard of "Mom Jeans?" These are Mom Camos. Just as comfy as they are attractive. Actually, just walking around in them wasn't so bad, but running in them and then running in them while they are weighted down with water and mud is torture. And I would do it again. I'm sick that way.
Can you see me jumping around like an idiot?

This is the "long" run before the first muddy obstacle. I was smiling, although I'm pretty sure the blister had already started.
Here are two of the kids, climbing a tree to get a better look at Mom's foolishness. They didn't get to walk down to where all the obstacles were, so they saw me running off, dry and clean. The next thing they saw is me coming across this bridge.
That's me, the one in front facing the dude with his shirt off. The kids said I looked like a "grungy monster." They were right.

Here we are as we approach the finish, tired but proud. (only 100 more feet before these boots come off!)

Here I am, being hosed off. By the freezing cold water from a fire truck. That was it. They came up, threw the hose for a bit and then drove off. I had to cut my underwear off of me in the parking lot and go home commando. Very dignified.

Ok, one last picture and I'm only posting it because of my new love of being pitied. This is the blister. Does it look as painful as it feels? I cried in the shower when the water ran on it. Last night, when I soaked it in peroxide, I chugged a beer in the hopes it would dull the pain. It didn't.
Do you feel sorry for me, even though I brought this on myself? I choose to believe that you do. Thanks.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Today is Friday

Thank goodness, too, becauseI can't handle any more school days this week. My 5 year old darling is going to turn my hair gray with her drama and attitude.
Avery had a runny nose and was up all night long, crying and snotting all over the place. When the alarm went off, I tried to wake her and she wouldn't budge. I actually thought I would just call our neighbor and tell her to go to school without us because Ave needed to sleep. But she heard me dialing and bounced up and freaked out. She whined and griped all morning. Everything I did was wrong and she let me know it. I was worn out before the other two kids even got out of bed. I wanted to crawl back in my big, king-sized bed and just shut out the morning.

And then, this came in the room....

She was a little salty that I made her wear sweats today, but she spiffed it up with pink socks and tap shoes and all was right with the world.
This poor guy, however, is not so lucky. He has to wear sweat-capris because his mommy hasn't bought him any comfy sweats that are long enough this year.

But he has a "Rhett Pop Tart" (Reese's name for a Nutri Grain bar) so he's cool about the high waters for now.

Have a great Friday!!!

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Momma Wears Combat Boots

I'm feeling a little envious of my husband this morning. He walked out the door to get on a plane to Miami this morning. He's only going for dinner and then will be back tomorrow. How "jet set" does that sound? All slicked up in his dress clothes, flying to Miami for dinner. But, as he was leaving, he said "This guy is probably going to want to go somewhere really trendy." Aaron doesn't go for trendy. (FYI-Aaron thinks non-fried shrimp is trendy. I'm not sure he had ever even tried asparagus before he met me.)

I, however, would LOVE to go somewhere trendy. In Miami. All dressed up, having adult conversation. Yep, I'm a little jealous.

But, as they say, the grass is always greener. Turns out, he is jealous of me right now. You'll never guess why. So I'll tell you. It's because I get to wear these:

Yeah, that's right. These are real, live military combat boots. Ok, they are GI-copy Jungle Boots. The real ones are twice the price, but I'm all about the cheap imitation.
I have to confess: I love them. I mean, I really love them. I look ridiculous in them and Avery says that, when I put them on with my real, live USED (not from a dead soldier - I checked) camo pants, she "knows I'm still her mom, but I look more like a dad." Every woman's dream, right?
Now, you might be wondering why I am wearing camo pants and combat boots. It's not because I'm trying a new fashion experiment. No, it's much more insane than that. I signed up to run a Mud Run on Saturday in Fort Worth. You are required to wear pants and at least ankle-high shoes. Since I don't have either of these items that I would allow to be soaked in mud, I ordered from the Army/Navy surplus store listed on the Mud Run website.
So, about this Mud Run: A friend of mine was on a team of girls and a girl dropped out. She thought I might like it and when she told me about it, I jumped on the idea. I like to have a fitness goal and I like to do unusual work out things. Then I read the website. This thing is not a fun run. It's a 10K obstacle course in the mud. Designed by a Marine. Hence, the name: Fort Worth Marine Corps Mud Run. I like the mud idea, but after reading people's testimonies, I'm a little nervous. These are some of the reminders: "When you are crawling, crawl on your belly, like Marines. Do not crawl on your knees." "Remember to empty your pockets of mud and water as much as possible." "When running/swimming through the "English Channel" (a ditch of water, apparently) go through the middle. If you try to go through the shallow part on the sides, you have to start over."

So now I'm nervous. I wasn't going to tell anyone. But I decided that, if I told everyone (all 40 of you) that I was doing it, then I have to do it. I will have to finish because I can't get on here Sunday and say "Oh, I gave up. I couldn't do it."
So, I'm doing it. I think it will be terribly difficult, but also totally hilarious and fun. I actually can't wait. My friend and I wore our boots to boot camp (How's that for irony?) this morning, to break them in, and got lots of attention. Everyone thought they were super cool...I may start wearing them all the time. I had them on with shorts the other day (again with the breaking in) and made quite a fashion statement to all the neighbors, I'm sure.
The point is, I'm doing the Mud Run. In combat boots and fatigues. And my husband is flying to Miami to have a big fancy dinner and stay in a very nice hotel. And we are jealous of each other. See? The grass is always greener. We always want what we can't have. You never know what you have until.....ok, you get the point.
I think that, next year, we should have my mom come stay with the kids, do the Mud Run together in the morning and go out for a fancy dinner later that night. Then everybody is happy. Good plan, huh? We'll just decide about that IF I survive this weekend....

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Things to be happy about right now....

1. No more political discussions for a while. Woo hoo!

2. You don't have to clean up this mess:

Tuesday, November 4, 2008


Looks like McCain should have actually used the "Sad Grandpa" strategy. He described this, on SNL last weekend, as the strategy where he whines that "This is his last shot at becoming President. Obama can run lots more times."
Poor, sad Grandpa.

Pity is Underrated

I've always despised pity. I don't want people to feel sorry for me, even if I'm conducting a full-scale pity party of my own. I want you to understand, but I don't want your pity. And I hate to listen to people whine about the same things over and over. (However, I to like to "discuss" the fact that I can't seem to lose an ounce of weight over a plate of cheese fries and cold beer.)
I like to vent to my friends and Lord (and those sweet friends) know I complain and vent alot. But I really, really, really don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. It makes me feel weak and it's embarassing.
Buuuuut, in the last few days, I may have changed my position. Last Friday, I was a bit hormonal and completely lost my mind because I couldn't leave the house to get a diet Coke. First of all, I go days without a diet Coke. We had been out for over a week. It rarely bothers me to NOT get a diet Coke. It's bad for you and I need more water anyway. But this day, I had a headache, all four kids were crying (my two, plus the two I babysit) and I was tired. And I wanted a diet Coke. Once I realized I couldn't leave to even run through Sonic (Hello? 4 car seats in a Toyota Highlander? Not happening) to get one, I broke down. I felt sorry for me. My husband called and I actually cried. I'm not proud of this, people, but I'm all about full disclosure when it comes to me being an ass.
Anyway, it was a long day without diet Coke. I finally got one after gymnastics around 4:30.
I didn't tell my friends about it until after the fact because, well, it's stupid. Plus, what do I want them to do? I mean, what do you say when your friend calls and says "I'm so mad I can't go get a Coke?" I mean, talk about putting someone on the spot. I know my sweet friends and I know any of them would have said "I'll bring you one" and I just couldn't handle that.
But, me being me, I have to tell every mundane detail of my life to anyone who will listen, so I mentioned it a few times over the weekend. Mostly to say how ridiculous I was, but also to let everyone know that I am HOME WITH FOUR BABIES ALL DAY EVERY DAY AND AM TRAPPED AT HOME which is my choice and I could stop at any time. But it's much more fun to play the martyr (read that last line with sarcasm) and whine.
I felt like a tool acting so pitiful, but you know what? I kind of think it's paying off. Yesterday at play group, all the other moms were scrambling around trying to help me clean things up, when we have a standing rule that it's your house, your mess. Then, this morning, I mentioned to my friend Jennifer that I was out of my appetite suppressants and wasn't going to get them until this evening. Guess what she did? She went and picked them up and brought them to me. Along with a Skinny Vanilla Latte.
And my other friend, Kealey, called me on her way to Michael's to buy craft stuff for a turkey disguise we have to do as a school project and asked if I wanted her to pick something up for me.
So I'm thinking...if you have really, really nice friends who will offer to do just about anything for you, go ahead and use pity to your advantage.

So here we go...this morning, I did full sit-ups on the cement and scraped the skin off of my boo-tay. It hurts bad. I probably need one of those donuts to sit on. Or maybe I need some alcohol. The drinking kind, not the rubbing kind.
Also, as I was getting out of the shower, my angel-baby, Rhett laughed out loud and pointed at my saggy boobs swinging around as I toweled off. So I need a boob job. But I can't afford one unless I keep about 12 more kids and that, my friends, ain't gonna happen.

There you have it. I need new boobs, vodka, and a donut for my bottom. Do what you will with that information. And feel free to pity me. If only because I'm a loser who writes about diet Coke and skinned butt cheeks on a website.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Diary of a Bad Mommy (Volume 9)

Well, I've done it again. I've failed these poor children for the thousandth time. And I've only had the oldest one for 5 years.
Today, we got up early. Time change, remember? Yeah, I did remember that. Not last night, but this morning, when every clock was wrong, I clued in pretty quickly.
Anyway, we had tons of time to lounge before we went to Target to get a birthday present for our neighbor, who is turning 3. We spent a good 45 minutes in the toy aisle before finally choosing a gorgeous Fancy Nancy feather purse and sunglasses.
We came home, wrapped the present, fought over who would draw on the card, and got ready to go. We sat and waited and waited for 2:30 to come. That extra hour sure does make the morning drag on.
Finally, 2:15 came. I loaded the girls in the car and we drove to the park, where the birthday party was taking place. I checked the time on the invitation one last time before we left. Yep, 2:30-5:30. Got the time change factored in. We are good to go.

When we got to the park, we saw the bounce house that had been mentioned on the invitation. Only it wasn't a princess bounce house, as stated. This one was a sports bounce house. Oh well, the kids won't care that the bounce house guy brought the wrong one.
We walk up to the pavilion where all the people are and I see tons of pizza boxes. Hmmmm, K mentioned that they would have finger foods...I didn't know they were buying pizza for everyone. Shouldn't have fed the kids!

We walked around, smiling at everyone, looking for a place to put the present. Avery asks "Where is Andrew?" He's her age and the party honoree's older brother. I didn't see him. Or the little girl. Or her parents. Or anyone who looked vaguely familiar.
One man asked "Can we help you guys find someone?" I said the little girls' name. He says "No, that's not us...this is ____'s party."

I am a bit confused. Did I get the time wrong? No, I checked that before we left. Maybe the place? Yeah, that must be it. Wrong park. We have two or three in our neighborhood, so it could have been another one.
I tell the girls we need to run home and get the invitation. Avery immediately panics, as if she senses that Mommy has made a terrible mistake and that, if we do go home, we'll have to stay there. "Mom, just call K and ask her where it is."
"Honey, I can't call her. She's not at home...they are at the party. We'll just run home and check. We won't miss a thing."
She tries another tactic. "Mom, let's just drive to all the parks we know and see if they are there."
"No, Honey. Then we'll be really late. We're running home."

So, we head home. Avery is bouncing in her seat, begging me not to go home. She knows I've screwed up and she's desperate for me to keep driving.
We get home and I tell the girls they can wait in the car while I run in. I run into the bathroom, grab the invitation off the counter and read it. My heart sinks. Sunday, November 9, it says.
Shit. Shit. Wrong day. I didn't even have to put on makeup today? Shit. I didn't have to go to Target and spend my last bit of cash on a present? Shit. I have to tell the girls there's no party? SHIT.
"Girls, come inside." The wailing begins. Reese has no clue why they have to come inside, but she knows she doesn't like it. Avery is panicked. "Mom, what are we doing? Why do we have to come in?"
"The party is next Sunday. I got the dates wrong."
The wailing turns to gut-wrenching sobs and Reese, by this point, has joined in. Reese keeps saying "But I have a present!" as if she's been mistakenly banned from the party because she didn't have a gift. "But I have a present," she keeps moaning, through tears. Here she is, showing her dad the present, begging him to save them from their wretched mother.

Sadly, Dad won't accept the present. He also won't answer them because he's too busy trying to hold back laughter. The laughter is, like their anger, directed at me. Because I'm a loser. And that's funny.

It went on for a good four or five minutes. They weren't even speaking to me at this point, just begging their dad to save them from this devastating situation. When I tried to apologize, it made things worse. The sound of my voice apparently reminds them that I exist. Which, to them, at this moment, sucks.

I know it doesn't help that I keep taking pictures of them as they cry, but really, how much worse could I have made it? I had already ruined their entire day. Might as well get a blog out of it, right?

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Trick or Treat!

Trick or Treat from the Vampire, the Princess and the Frog Prince. Have a great weekend!