What Mother's Day Means to Me...

Mother and Child, @ 2006


Truth be told, and please don't jump on me for my honesty, is that Mother's Day has always left me at least a little bit disappointed. I have never had a Mother's Day go without some sort of glitch or hitch. I suspect no mother has. It's par for the course, really. Fathers rush around - at the very last possible moment - to ensure there are fresh flowers on the table and cards made by the children when they are old enough to do so. Otherwise a trip the the card, grocery or drugstore is made to pick up something wonderfully sentimental by Hallmark. Breakfast is made, or purchased, and set up by Father on the kitchen or dining room table. Until the kids are old enough. When the latter is the case there is a wonderfully home made fruit salad or cereal or perhaps a perfectly cooked omelet that is a tad too salty (shhh!) that has been painfully created and delivered to you while still in bed. This is the part of Mother's Day that I adore!

I am really looking forward to today. The weather outside is spectacular. The birds are signing sweetly in the newly green trees outside my window and the sun is in her glory today. My 10 year old has a soccer game at 2:00 and I'm thinking of taking the kids out for an early dinner somewhere... somewhere nice with outside seating that won't break my bank account.

My kids are older now. They are 12, 10 and 5. They are old enough to appreciate the importance of the day... the importance of giving Mommy a little time to rest. I do not expect the day to go without a hitch. I do not expect them to be perfect. I do not expect them to get through a day without fighting. I have never expected any of these. They are, after all, still children. But I believe, especially my older two, understand all that I do around the house and for them. I do believe that the kids appreciate all that I do around the house and for them. The youngest, maybe not so much. But this is to be expected. And it is OK.

Yesterday in the car as I was taking my middle child to a Birthday party, the three were planning something.  I was singing (badly) along to a song on the radio. I had pretty much tuned them out when I heard Rebecca shriek. She was upset that Alexander had mentioned something about making fruit salad in the morning. They were planning for me. Alexander was getting caught up in the excitement. I thought it was wonderful.

In the past my children have been babies. Babies don't know Mother's Day. For them it's no different from any other day. So they scream and have their tantrums and they get sick. They are not independent, self reliant and certainly not able to be helpful! As much as father's do try, it's always the mother the little ones want. Mother's Day filled with screams and whines when Daddy tries to let Mommy have a few moments of peace and quiet. We are instructed to go relax in a nice warm tub. But a shrieking babies do not make for relaxing soaks! One Mother's Day the children's father had to leave me to watch my children as he had to pick up his grandmother from the airport. He hated to have to do it. I could see the pain in his eyes. It was not his fault, of course, I knew it and told him so. We've always spent our Mother's Day with extended family. When the children were younger this meant I had to jump from the table to soothe whichever child was crying and upset and ended up watching all the other children. This happened for many, many years. I started to, for a few years, loathe Mother's Day. The particular day made me, well, sort of angry and upset. And for many years it was a day that marked more work and less rest than any other day of the year...

By the time my older two were old enough to let me appreciate a nice, quiet and relaxing sunny Sunday, we had to ruin everything and have a third child! (Just kidding, really!)

But this may be the year. This may be the year that I get my Mother's Day. It will be different from other Mother's Days but that's not necessarily a bad thing. This afternoon I will have the children to myself. We'll clean up after soccer and do something nice in the afternoon. Just the four of us. Rebecca will take on the role as the mother, as the oldest and only girl, she is so apt (and willing!) to do.

My mother never believed in Mother's Day. She would tell me and insist that every day is Mother's Day. Other than a bouquet of flowers that I picked out and Daddy paid for, we never really did much to celebrate.

But as soon as my first was born I understood the significance of such a day. I loved the idea of a day dedicated to me. I loved the idea of a day that recognized the appreciation of me and all that I did. And more so now as my children have multiplied and gotten older.

For the past 12 years, and I suspect until my youngest leaves the house, I have and will continue to do everything I do for the children. I am their mother. It is my obligation. Their needs come before my own. It is my obligation. I mother and worry around the clock. Motherhood is a job that knows no end and no rest. Unless you force yourself to get some rest. By rest, I do not mean sleep, though I certainly wish that was the case! But by rest I mean breaks. It is important that I take time to myself. Lately this means getting up very early in the morning. Sometimes it means taking a long bath. And from time to time it means getting together with friends for dinner or drinks.  I try to get to the gym 5 days a week. This is more of a necessity than a luxury. I force myself to get there. I feel better in the end. Worries have been washed away, and I am robed with a new and revitalized energy. I am prepared for the day ahead and all that comes with it. I have learned, over the years, but this past year especially, that I really do need to make time, even if just 20 minutes, every day. A happier and healthier mother is a much more relaxed and effective mother.

So to you, to me, to all the wonderful mothers out there, Happy Mother's Day! XOXO

PS. Daughter just declared that there should be a Daughter's Day to which I declared every day is Daughter's Day! It's OK to tell her to vacuum and mop the kitchen floor today, isn't it?

Today I am going to save the world! (At least my daughter's world!)

Or at the very least I am going to be my daughter's advocate. I'm going to take a stance. I am going to stand tall. And firm. With feet firmly planted on the ground. I have a no tolerance policy. The bullies that are hurting my daughter, and all the other daughters out there, need to be stopped. Need to learn a lesson and more importantly need to be punished. Now. I will not take no for an answer. I will not stop until the bullying is stopped. I will not. I will not...




I am doing this for my daughter and your daughter and all the other daughters out there. We all need someone to lean on. I am there for my daughter. We are in this together. 100%. After all, if she cannot count on me to protect her, who can she count on?

Children fight and best friends come and go over the years. Yes that sucks and as painful as it is, it is all a part of growing up and learning who your true friends are. But bullying is something else altogether. I was reminded of this the other day as I was talking to a good friend of mine about the various incidents that have taken place in school over the past couple of years. Yes, this has been taking place for two years now. And my friend, a mother to a little boy (are they still little in the 6th grade?!) told me to stand up and be strong. "Jess," she reminded me. "Everyone is not what they seem. You know who your true friends are. They have your back. You can count on us." And so with that I will take my plan and run with it. My maternal instincts have kicked in full force. The only difference between this Momma Bear and the ones out in the wild is that I have learned to control my urge to destroy those who threaten my young... But the rage and the fury in me is strong and fierce and fiery and I would be lying to you if I told you it was not.

We'll get through this, together, arm in arm and hand in hand. I hope that soon the tears stop and the smile returns. But in this pain and despair I see already how you have grown and flourished. You said to me, just the other night, "I know now who my true friends are. I know who the nice people are." This my friend is huge. Trust your instincts. Rely on them... as well as the ones you know you really can trust as they will never leave you... they will never let you down. You know this. I know you do.

And remember everyone makes mistakes. Everyone does. And everyone deserves a second chance. Everyone. I firmly believe this. So if you ever get to this point and decided one day to forgive those who have hurt you, please do so. I believe everyone has a good heart deep down. Babies are not born mean. They are born full of love. Sometimes we need to remind people that they are loved. And you know, my darling, just how loved you are!

Don't let this destroy you. In the long-run it will make you stronger. I think it has already.





the cursing mommy confesses...

I like to see other moms losing it and yelling and getting frustrated with their children. I'm serious. Because everyone pretends not to raise their voices and to have the patience of saints. Because everyone pretends that Nick Jr. is on for educational purposes. Because everyone claims to practice reading, writing and 'rithmetic with their children on a daily basis. Because everyone pretends that arts and crafts are fun. And these same people play the same board games for hours on end and read the same stories over and over and over again. And they don't mind and they don't whine and they even enjoy it.

And I might have been this mom with my firstborn. I was practically perfect. But now, after three, I am perfectly imperfect. And I am perfectly impatient. Perhaps it's because after 10 years the novelty of this parenting stuff has worn off. Perhaps it's because I have more kids than hands. Perhaps it's because I have a hard time managing three kids, their schedules, meals, clothes, activities, sports and play dates.

I yell at my kids. I yell a lot. I yell in the morning when they will not get out of bed, or shower or dressed and they have had 3 dozen rational warnings. I yell when they do not come to breakfast when asked. I yell when they are busy fighting at breakfast time instead of eating. I yell when they won't come to the back door, or when they are standing around doing nothing instead of putting on shoes, coats and backpacks. I yell when, as we've just walked out of the house, someone has forgotten a book, a piece of sports equipment or a gym bag. I yell when it's 8:30 and we are supposed to be at school, not in the house. I yell a lot. Because sometimes gentle reminders don't work. Because sometimes nothing lights a fire under their bums like a good yell. I yell because I have no patience.

I yell when they fight and won't stop. I yell when they won't pick up their clothes or make their beds or put their toys away after I have asked them repeatedly, over and over and over again. I yell when they spill all over the floor or when they trek dirt in the house because they haven't removed their shoes. I yell when they leave lakes of water on my bathroom floor. I yell when they leave dirty socks behind the pillows on the couch. I yell because after a lifetime in my house, my kids can't remember anything. I yell because I am a mom. I yell because I am human.

I used to spend hour after hour reading to my kids. The same books over and over and over again. And I used to play the same games over and over and over again. And 10 years ago I found it all rather boring. And I still do. But I loved arts and crafts. And the kids would make fabulous projects and gorgeous paintings. I didn't mind spending a half an hour getting everything ready for a project that would last 5 minutes. But suddenly I have developed a hatred for paint, glue, glitter, Play Doh and anything else that makes a mess. Perhaps it is because my artist is now 10 and the boys don't get the same enjoyment that she did. Truthfully, instead of seeing potential masterpiece, I see potential mess.

Keeping up with my home... cleaning, laundry, cooking, shopping, shuttling, caring... has become all consuming. It's boring tedious stuff. I spend so much time doing this that when the kids come home I just want to rest. But I can't. There's still more to be done. But not enough time for play. And that is entirely my fault. I'm afraid Alexander watches too much television. I'm afraid they don't eat enough fruits and vegetables anymore. I'm afraid I've started letting Rebecca go to school in a wrinkled uniform.I'm afraid I am starting to become one of "those" parents.

Somewhere along the line I've lost sight of what's important. I need to start putting in more effort. I'm afraid that I am going to lose my chance. Alexander is now only home 3 afternoons a week. They've been nondescript, run of the mill afternoons. This is it. Next year he'll be in Kindergarten and in school 5 long days a week. And while I am tired and bored of the same old song and dance, this is my chance, my last chance. And I am this close to blowing it. And I cannot fuck it up. I would be so upset with myself. These are the days that we have together. These are the days for our one on one time. There are memories to be made. And we are... I am wasting them away. I was going to send Alexander to lunch bunch on Wednesdays next semester thinking that he would love a third full day. But I have decided not to do so. I have decided that where he really needs to be, is home with me. I have decided that I will hire someone to come and clean and I will spend these final moments with Alexander. And we'll go places and do things together. And yes, I will bring back out the Play Doh and the glitter and the glue... the markers and crayons and scissors. And we'll make a mess and we'll have fun. Because I am losing my last chance. And then there won't be any going back.

I've been so consumed with myself and doing things for me as a person, finding my own passions again. And there is nothing wrong with that. It's important, but I cannot lose sight, as I go about pursuing my interests and passions, of my role as a mother. These two roles are equally important to me. But I have a lifetime ahead of me to pursue my dreams while my time as a mother of a preschooler still fiercely dependent on me is numbered. We can't go back in time. Nor does time stand still. Instead is flies past with incredible speed. Blink and it is gone. While I won't ever promise to stop yelling, I vow to become, once again, that mom I once was... I vow to try to become that (almost) perfect mom again.

My Perfect Day



I couldn't have asked for a better day. In my ten years of mothering, I think this one was the best yet!


I did not get a fancy Hallmark card. I did not get any flowers. I did not get breakfast in bed. I did not get a long luxurious bath. I did not get a massage, manicure or shopping spree.


I woke up to the sound of the leaves rustling in the trees outside my window and to the heavy breathing coming from the three year old curled up in bed next to me, slumbering ever so peacefully.


I went downstairs and made myself a cappuccino and came back up and crawled back into bed and under the covers... (Then the peace ended and the chaos and bickering began!)


We went out to brunch and had a lovely brunch. The kids gave me their hand made cards and I enjoyed a mimosa and Eggs Benedict, my favorite! Despite the rather slow service the kids were wonderfully behaved and kept themselves busy coloring, drawing pictures and playing hangman!


Christopher had a soccer game so we went home to change and then enjoyed a nice afternoon on the field with the other families, children and mothers. (Our team won and is so far undefeated this season!)

After soccer we celebrated some more with ice cream! We all indulged in our favorite flavors.





When we got home I managed to sneak in a short nap... did some laundry, folded some laundry and vacuumed the kitchen floor. Yes, indeed this could all have waited another day but the laundry does not stop and I am a bit OCD when it comes to vacuuming! But as I was vacuuming, which I truly do enjoy, Daddy was giving Alexander a bath and even cleaned up the rest of the kitchen for me!

It's so rare for us to spend so much quality time together without rushing around to this place and that place, this activity and that activity. It was nice to slow down, enjoy my family and enjoy my day!

And as I sit in bed writing this, happy that my day did not disappoint, I cannot help but think of the others... the other mothers out there who are hurting. The mothers who have lost children, or the dream to have children. The mothers who would do anything to have bickering-door-slamming-hitting-biting children. And I cannot help but think of the children who have lost their mothers. As we were walking off the soccer field this afternoon the other team was lined up, each child had a long-stemmed red rose in hand ready to give to his mother and while for a split second I thought our team could have done this, my eyes rested on the manager who lost his wife to cancer just last summer and how hard indeed this day must have been for him and his 8 year old little boy... and so at that moment my thought shifted from the flower to the little boy and his father with no mother to celebrate and hug and kiss and praise... with no mother to tell how much they loved her...


And just before I started writing this I read my friend Jenn's blog and was touched to pieces as she talked about the birth mother, "the other mother" to her two adopted children. And I could not help but think how selfish it was for me to want the things I wanted today... after all I have everything in the world, and how dare I ask for more! How selfish to ask for more! I have my children, my healthy children and really, when it comes down to it that is gift enough!

To all the mothers out there, with children, without children... I salute you!

My Mother's Day Wish

I love my family... I love my kids... I love spending time with them. But to be honest I spend a lot of time with them. Too much time. They crawl into bed with me at night and in the morning. They barge in on me when I am in the bathroom, or as some of my Southern friends prefer to call it... the commode. They hover over me on the computer and in the kitchen. And they are loud. And they all talk at once. No, they all shout at once. And if I leave a room to get away from me, they follow. As do their voices. All three of their loud voices. All at once. We have lots of rooms here. We even have a play room. A room for children. A large one over a 3 car garage. It has a sectional, a TV and toys. Lots and lots of toys. But the kids don't go up there. And if they do it is to get their toys and bring them down and leave them through the rest of the house. The play room has a door that closes. Too bad they close the door behind them, when they leave, not when they go up there. And when I am not at home they follow me... into the car where they seem to get louder and continue to all talk and shout at once, screaming, fighting, kicking, whining, oh my! Then they follow me to after school and sporting events and those who are not playing or sporting complain and whine some more that they always have to be dragged to this place and that place, and then they whine some more because well, they love to hear themselves whine!

So you see when it comes down to it I don't get much alone time.

And that's what I would like for Mother's Day! I want a few leisurely kid-free hours where I am not rushing to run this errand and that errand, or rushing home to do laundry and clean. Because those don't count.

I want a few hours where there are no screaming-fighting-shouting-hitting-biting-door-slamming children in the background.

I want to watch TV, read a book or blog without having to yell "keep it down!"

I want to eat my Bon Bons on the couch in front of Oprah and not have to sneak into the bathroom.

I want to go shopping by myself for myself.

I want to take a shopping break and have a nice cup of coffee.

I want to have a nice relaxing manicure and pedicure.

I want to come home to a clean house with laundry that has been washed and folded and put away.

I want to see a lovely bouquet of flowers.

I want someone to pour me a lovely glass of wine.

I want someone to hand me a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie and say "I love you, Mommy. I missed you Mommy!"

Or maybe what I really want is a nice day with my family with no fighting and no bickering. Bunches of little hugs and kisses. A nice relaxing day. And maybe a nice handmade card or two, with a coupon inside for a Day Off for shopping, coffee and a manicure and pedicure. And then there will be another coupon which will entitle me to a Day Off on the Couch to Eat Bon Bons!

Happy Mother's Day to you all!

BECAUSE I SAID SO!

I go through about a roll of paper towels a day. I know, it's not terribly kind to mother earth, but it is the most sanitary method I know of for cleaning spills off tables, counter tops and floors. We are very spilly people in this house. This morning I had to refill the paper towel holder. I usually ask Alexander to help as it's one of his favorite jobs.

He was as happy as ever to oblige this morning, however, he was driving me crazy. I kept having to tell him to put the towels on properly. All he wanted to do was unravel the entire roll. I kept asking him nicely and he kept telling me "No!" I calmly asked why couldn't he just be a good boy and put them on for me. After wasting a few more minutes arguing with a two year old -- by the third kid who has been 2 for a couple of months you'd think (unless you are Don) that I would be a little wiser in this area... Finally, frustrated by my constantly asking "Why?" he shouts out in his loudest voice, "BECAUSE I SAID SO!"

OMG, where on earth did he get that expression!

A Typical Crazy Day!




A friend of mine had this crazy idea that we should photograph every aspect of a typical day in our lives. While there isn't a really typical day --this is as close as it gets. I had taken so many pictures that I had to do this project in two segments. It was a lot of fun and I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to try!


So for a glimpse into my little world in this very big universe click on the links! (More fun to watch them as a slide show)





Manners and Children...

What is considered to be a well mannered child? One who always says please and thank you, who looks an adult in the eye when talk ing to them? At what age is this to be expected? Do you correct your child's manners in public? Do you ask another child to mind his or her manners?

Obviously I do not expect much from my 2 year old. We are working on the very basics these days. Please and Thank You. We are having a little more trouble remember to say please when we want something than we do saying thank you. Over all I think Alexander is doing a good job.

I am pretty certain that Rebecca is better mannered when she is not with me. I know what she is capable of, I have seen it on occasion, but it is nice to hear from other parents. We are still working on Christopher, but so far, for the most part things do look promising. He is not perfect. No six year old boy is and no six year old boy she be expected to be so. There are certain basics I expect from him at the dinner table. At this age he should properly be using fork and napkin and should know when to wipe his mouth. He should sit at the table properly and not slouch or fidget. I do not expect him to know how to identify all the forks, knives and spoons in a formal table setting.

I do have a problem when a six year old child asks for something without saying please or thank you... without even asking nicely. This really, really bothers me. Am I supposed to remind this child to say please and thank you Or would I be over-stepping my bounds? It's not as though this child was doing anything mean or spiteful or dangerous. I did have to reprimand this child several times on the playground when rocks were being thrown, grass being tossed or general disorderly conduct being displayed as this child was, at that time, under my supervision. I have no problem disciplining another person's child when it may compromise the health and well being of my children, others around them or that child in particular. I firmly believe that it is my duty as a parent. But discipline and manners are different. Or are they? While I was irked and extremely annoyed by the complete lack of manners shown, I did nothing correct it. (I thought it a bit peculiar that even after the proper pleases and thank yous were said by my children -- all three -- and the other guest, this behavior was not exhibited by the other child.) I did tell the child that we neither stand on nor do we do not walk across the couch. I repeatedly asked this child to please eat the cheese sticks at the table as we do not walk around with food, nor do we walk around with glasses filled with beverages, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the top... but I did nothing about the manners...

A Question of Ethics...

Is it, in your opinion, okay to have a glass of wine at the end of a long day when there are two children, not your own at your home? There are 5 children here, currently. Four of them extremely well behaved... the other one mezzo-mezzo for the moment but keeping me on my toes. The Fourth one needs disciplining on a regular basis -- like every 2.5 minutes. (The Fourth one is not my kid, I feel the need to add.) I would love a glass of wine. I could really use a glass of wine. Just one glass. Not more. I am not looking to get drunk or tipsy. I would like simply to kick my feet up and relax. With two children under my care is this irresponsible or my God-given right as a parent crazy enough to watch a crazy kid? Nevermind... I have answered my own question!

Two Year Olds Say the Darndest things (on line at the grocery store)

As we approach the one checkout line less than a mile long Alexander shouts out "It's Party Time!" Shoppers smile at this. Then Alexander tells me all about his party.
"My party is at the playground, Mommy. I am going to have balloons there. I am going to slide. I am going to swing. I am going to drink juice with asaw (a straw). Mommy, I want so (soda)." I tell him he is not getting soda. "Why Mommy?" I tell him it is not good for little children. "Why Mommy?" I tell him it has too much sugar. This seems an impossible thought. "Too much sugga?" He asks as though I had made a mistake. I tell him yes, too much sugar -- bad for the belly and the teeth.. "Why?" I tell him the sugar will get him a belly ache. Another "Why?" This goes on for a few more rounds and when I get bored and can not take it anymore I say "Because I said so!" to which he replies. "Oh, Okay Mommy!"

We talk a bit more about the party. At this point I have found a nice spot on line. Alexander tells me that he wants a cake and songs. I ask him what songs and he breaks out in to Happy Birthday, which was pretty damn cute if I can say so myself!

"Mommy, I want those!" Alexander says pointing to some tic tacs. I give in knowing that it is too close to nap time and if fifty-nine cents will avoid a tantrum so be it. I give him the box of orange tic tacs, take one out and give it to him. He takes the little box and chants "Shake Shake Shake" a few times. The box mimics a maraca, and I am shaking along with him, when all of a sudden there is an "Oh Oh Mommy!" with little orange tic tacs all over the place. I bend down to pick them up but the lady standing behind me beats me to it and I thank her. As we move toward the conveyor belt I start unloading some items. Alexander starts to unload the candy shelf. I manage to put everything back on the shelf kinda-sorta where they belonged, but as I turn my back he has managed to grab a pack of Rolos. He took a chunk right out of it. I guess the gold foil wasn't too tasty, as he spit it out, but continued with the chocolate covered caramel. I had no idea he had done this -- he was that fast! -- until I heard a "MMmmm goot!" I grab a wipe from my bag and clean Alexander's face off... at this point stuff is all getting bagged and I am getting ready to pay and Alexander has now made a friend.

He is smiling at the older, gray-haired person who is packaging my bags. As we leave he waves good-bye to the baggage person and says "Good-bye Daddy!" as clear as a window in a Windex commercial. I chuckle because Alexander's daddy isn't grey... yet! And then as I am passing by I noticed that this "Daddy" had a name tag which clearly said Gloria.

Whosits, whatnots and whatshisface

I am fried. My brain is fried. That egg in a frying pan is not a brain on drugs, it's the brain of a mom with three kids. I can not think straight, see straight and apparently I can not talk straight either. I can never get my kids names straight. I mix them up and mess them up all the time. We have a Rebecca, Christopher and Alexander. We have a Mookie, Griffie, Owie, Zowie, Boo Boo. Who knows which name will come flowing from my mouth at any given moment. I may turn around and see Alexander sticking his fingers in the outlet when I shout out "Rebecca, stop it! Stop it now!" At first, I confess this really confused the heck outta the kids. Let's not even go into the mixing up the genders and names, but now they have adjusted well. So I may have blurted out Rebecca's name, but she continued doing whatever it was she was doing and the child who was incidentally thisclose to getting electrocuted stopped what he was doing. Christopher never hears anything, so it doesn't matter what I call him. He is always in some sort of zone... when he is not in a zone he ignores me, so does it really matter what I call him? I am so lucky I have only 3 children. Honestly, I have no idea what I would do if I had more. Maybe I would number them instead. Like Doctor Seuss, I would have my Things. Thing One, Thing Two, Thing Three and so on and so on and so on. But knowing me I would get those numbers all screwed up too. So while I really meant to reprimand Thing One, poor Thing Seventeen was sent up to her room. Speaking of Seventeen... I honestly want to know how Ol' Mrs. Duggar (and you can not even pretend to claim you have no idea who the heck she is) remembers the names of her children. Not only does she have seventeen of them, but by gosh, all the names begin with the same letter!

Names were given as a means of identifying people and I wonder who this person was and if he had children and whether he ever one of them by the wrong name. (I am absolutely certain it must have been a man, you see, because I know a woman would have found a better method... unless she had born at least three children already and her brain cells were shot...)

Sometimes it really is better to say Hey There! Or, You! Not only have I developed an inability to remember my kids names, but apparently the few brain cells I have left are rapidly dying because yesterday I was sitting on the grass at the playground with the kids after school talking to a friend. We were trying to arrange a play date for the boys -- easy to say boys as there are no names involved. And for the life of me I could not remember her kid's name. Her kid is a very good friend to my kid -- my eldest male offspring... and I called him, not my kid, but the friend's kid, Whatshisface! I called another boy Whatshisface! And the best part is that she has just one child. One little name, which came back to me, Henry. That's it. One kid to shout at. One kid to nag... one kid to tell it's time to go to bed or get up or eat breakfast. One kid. One name. One easy name. One easy monosyllabic name. Henry. Henry get up. Henry get dressed. Henry do this. Henry do that. Man, my friend Sally just doesn't know how good she's got it... perhaps George Forman was on to something after all!

Always Running out of time...

I don't think I need a lesson in time management. I really don't. I budget my time, allow for mishaps and whatnots and still, we never have enough time. Admittedly, I do much better on my own than when burdened with three people below four feet, but still. Take today, for example. I am up at 5:oo am. This was partially by choice. A headache got me up and out of bed and then I decided to stay up so I could get some stuff done before school. I had to run a load of washing because when I went to pull out Christopher's clothes for today (he wears a uniform) he had no clean beige shorts. (With tempurates in the high 80's I am not sending my kid into school in long pants.) Sure, I could have washed everything last night, but at 9:00pm I needed a little bit of down time. This brings me to this morning.


At 5:00 I turn on the coffee maker which automatically goes off at 5:30 but I didn't want to wait that long. So while it is brewing I head up to take a shower. If I wait much longer I will wake the baby. The shower feels nice and is a rare treat these days. But blasted, I can not find the new conditioner I just got so I will have to do without. I dry off, moisturize, toss on the nightshirt I was wearing and head back down for my coffee. Only I get distracted because I remember that I have to wash Christopher's clothes. But I have to empty both the washer and the dryer first... eventually another dirty load gets tossed in and turned on. I try to find the white shorts I folded last night and somehow they have disappeared. This happens all the time in our house. I wish the little ghosts and gobblins pulling their little jokes on me would just quit it. I head back up to the kitchen empty handed. I grab my coffee and tiptoe up the stairs. Ahhh, it's nice and quiet and I hope to rest for a minute. But no such luck. It is now 5:55 and Alexander is hollering from across the hallway. So much for a relaxing morning. Rebecca is up too. Sure, why don't we just have a party! Grrrr. We all go downstairs and I decide to be a good mom for once and make something for breakfast. I make a pumpkin apple cider bread and toss it in the oven. I have doubled the recipe and forgot to double the cooking time. Meantime Christopher is up now too. I say up because he is certainly not awake. I run up (sneak up!) so that I can get dressed without 3 kids interupting me and straighten up the kids rooms. Their beds are all made, but since the house is on the market it has to (in my opinion) always look perfect. Now we are back downstairs and it is almost 8:00. How on earth is this possible? I just got up? it was only just 5:00am... nevermind... Alexander needs to get dressed but he's off hiding in a corner working on something, his little face reddening, mini grunts escaping... Christopher is still on the couch despite my incessant nagging telling him that he must get dressed. Finally, I threaten not to take him to soccer practice tonight and he jumps up faster than you can say Pele! Rebecca is freaking out (and I mean littereally) because she can not find a shirt to wear with her uniform. Great, T -20 to take off and my kid has no shirt. We go up to look through her shirt drawer together. Oh, BIG MISTAKE... I toss out the shirts wich are no longer shirts but balls of wrinkled cotton and break out in to a song and dance that she should learn to be tidy and neat and take care of her clothes. I certainly did at her age... (Yeah Right!!!)


Back down to the beasement I go and tear through (good thing sloppy- almost-nine-year-old can not see me now!) 5 laundry baskets and find one lowly cotton, collared school shirt. HALLELUJAH! I run upstairs... it's a race against the clock at this point. Kitchen timer goes off... and out comes the pumpkin cider bread (in a bundt pan so we have to let it cool a few minutes before trying to pry it out of the pan) and I scream (I mean really, scream) at Christopher who is standing in the family room trying to blow a sock up like a balloon... (no, it is not working) He needs his nebulizer. (But this is not why the sock won't blow up.) Ok, he's settled. Now to get Rebecca and Alexander their breakfast... It suddenly hits me that I have to pee... badly... get the kids settled with food and drink, skip the napkins and run off to the Loo because if I don't now it cours be hours to go before I pee, hours to go before I pee...
T -1 minute... all three need to brush their teeth and Christopher is just sitting down to breakfast. Alexander needs to get dressed still and is fighting me with the buttons on his shirt. Becca's got her shoes on. Alexander is dressed and his sandals are on. Christopher is still eating. I am checking my emails... what else am I going to do? Finally Christopher is done. I shoo him off to brush his teeth and Don bellows to me from upstairs... we are talking about my new cellphone, which warrants an entire blog entry of its own, and now the kids are all ready but I am not because I am talking to Don and they are yelling at me in the entryway. Finally Rebecca takes my keys and heads to the car with C and A and helps the baby into his car seat. By this time we are already 5 minutes late. The older two continue to yell at me from the back and this is just one of those times I had one of those plexiglass dividers you find in taxis. We live just up the hill from school and we are the last to get there, or so it seems. Now, in the parking lot I shoo the kids off. But they stand there, their feet cemented to the ground. I tell them to get a move on and we walk through the side doors at 8:45 am, precicely 15 minutes late. Luckily it is Assembly day and the kids, teachers, administrators are headed into the gym. We slip in silently with everyone else.

Red Crayola Crayons + Whites in the Dryer = Bad Mix!

It was bound to happen at some point. After 8.75 years of parenting to 3.5 children (I never did get that .5 thing unless they were including husbands) it was bound to happen. I just have no idea how on earth it did happen.

Honestly, I wash about 12 loads of laundry a week, give or take a few. The washer and dryer never stop. Of those 12-give-or-take loads, maybe one is mine. Yesterday I happened to be washing a few of my things. A few white towels, my favorite Banana Republic T-Shirts, a pair of off white linen shorts and some white underwear... and a pair of Alexander's plaid shorts?!!!

I reached in to the dryer when the buzzer had gone off to a sea of pink... not white, not red, but pink. My first reaction was that I had left something red in the dryer or in the washer, but then I saw the streaks, stripes, spots and splotches. Bright red. Bright red streaks, stripes, spots and splotches all over EVERYTHING! A few of the white towels were toss-able. But not my shorts! Not my favorite Banana Republic T-shirts (and they are not cheap!) and not my white underwear!!!! I don't have many pairs of white underwear. I find them bland and boring, like many people consider vanilla ice cream to be. But white underwear, like vanilla ice cream, is an absolutely essential must-have item. One can not wear a pattern or a bold color under light or white pants or shorts. White underwear makes a perfect partner... it can be likened to vanilla ice cream and a nice warm apple pie. You need one if you are going to have the other.

Well, thanks to the Red Crayola I can no longer wear white underwear and no longer wear white pants or shirts. I can no longer wear my white T-Shirts either. The timing, my friends, is bad... very bad... You see, according to Vogue and all the top fashion magazines white is the new black. What a shame as I have so much black. But I would hate to walk out of the house in all black and be accused of wearing last year's fashions!

I have been to the Crayola Website... I have looked at their suggestions which range from soaking items in WD-40, which, by the way is extremely flammable. Gee, I think I will stand in front of our gas dryer while my WD-40 infused clothes set out for a spin! I have seen the bleach thing, and the soaking everything in detergent solution... someone even told me to iron a candle over the spots... I said "Honey, my clothes have more spots on them than Texas has cowboys. That ain't gonna work." I told her so in a slow, Southern drawl too. There are also red streaks, stripes, spots and splotches all over the barrel of the dryer. If anyone has any real solutions I would love to hear them, otherwise I am off to the hardware store to get a bottle of Red RIT clothing dye!

WARNING: Toothfairies should Compare Notes!

I had to have known that this was going to happen. Kids are nosy. Kids are curious. They are always jealous of what their friends have or else try to one-up them. Rebecca was in Kindergarten when she lost her first tooth. She was the first and, at that point, the only kid in the class who had lost a tooth. The Toothfairy came in the middle of the night and deposited $2.00 under her pink floral pillow... not bad since I got a Quarter when I was a kid. Several more teeth go and several more dollar bills find themselves under Rebecca's pillow. Her tooth losses were always so dramatic... "Moooo-ooom," she'd say, "I can't eat an apple now. My tooth ith looth." Apparently her loose teeth couldn't go near anything cruchy -- translation, healthy. Funny then, for her to lose one while eating apple sauce and another in a pancake and another in a bagel. Her stories are equally as dramatic. One fell out at camp, while swimming in the pool. And one fell out at school, in gym class when Victoria crashed into her. I wonder whether that crash was accidental or deliberate. It doesn't matter as it makes for a good story. Rebecca likes to tell a good story.

The toothfairy hasn't shown up in a while. I couldn't remember if the Toothfairy gave a little something special for the first tooth or not. Rebecca assured me that she did not. Each and every tooth got $2. I still don't think that is right.

So yesterday Christopher comes running out of the school directly past me asking if he can go to the playground. "Sure," I tell him as I always do. But I notice his mouth looks funny so I ask him to come back and open up, and there is a big red gap where a teeny tiny little white tooth stood just that morning. I'm getting all teary-eyed and verklempt. "Did you lose your tooth?" I ask all motherly-sad because another baby is growing up. "Oh yeah," he says and takes off again. What kind of a comment is that?

So that night the Toothfairy comes and deposits $2 under his pillow after she catches his note:
Dear Toothfairy,
Please do not take my tooth. I will miss it if you do.
Love, Christopher

Turns out he does not want the Toothfairy to take any of his teeth. Also turns out he yanked it out in the classroom. No drama there!

Today Rebecca announces to me that the Toothfairy gives her friends different money. Grace gets $5 and someone else gets $10. "Why, do they get more Mommy. That's not right!" I really want to blurt out that their Toothfairies are richer and that isn't fair either. But I can't. I can't let my Dreamer Girl believe that there are millions of Toothfairies all over the world, even if there are. But what all these Toothfairies should do is unite once or twice a year and have a meeting. They should all plan what the going rate of the year will be. Every one will be in accordance. There will be no more hesitating, guessing or wondering. Like our interest rates today, the going tooth rates will continue to rise. Everyone will agree on on a set rate -- a prix fixe, if you will. Then, just in case there is even a tiny doubt, every Toothfairy will get a confirmation on her Blackberry. Unless of course you are like me and haven't quite advanced to that stage yet, copies will also be sent to home email adresses. There should never be a question as to why Dick gets $5 for his tooth while Jane only gets $2. (Especially because Jane's story will likely be so much more detailed, interesting and dramatic than Dicks!)

When will it ever slow down?

I thought for sure that as soon as the older two went back to school I could have some time back for myself. Boy was I wrong. I am still schlepping kids all over the place. The baby has soccer and gymnastics lessons. I am not so sure what he thinks of gymnastics... He has fantastic upper body strength and I am amazed at what my little 24 month old can do on a bar or with a pair of rings. But I do not have any aspirations for him to become the next Bart Conner. Soccer, on the other hand, he adores. Perhaps it is because his older brother plays and imo (in my opinon) he is pretty good. So if Alexander wants to emulate Christopher, or the Great Pele (I want him to emulate a true soccer player, not a frufru British star because he is good looking and married to some Spice chic) then let him. But Alexander can sing pretty well too... and can do quite a bit in the kitchen. So maybe he'll be a chef... and a soccer player... who can sing to boot!

So in the morning I am schlepping Alexander all over the place and in the afternoon I chauffeur the other two and some friends all around town. I live for days like today when the baby actually naps for me. And when he doesn't I am an overtired, cranky witch in search for a break. Mornings are chaos because we have to leave for school and the house has to be immaculate on the off-chance we have a interested, perspective buyer and in the evenings it's a mad dash to get homeworkshowersdinnerspajamasallergymedicinesandofftobed. By 9pm I can not see or think straight. So I crawl up to bed and curl up under the covers and toss and turn and turn and toss, and do this about 150 more times before a siren or a car wakes me up... or else I am jolted awake in a panicked state because I forgot to attach a check for $42 to each child's school picture sheet... or I forgot (once again) to get the key and the wipeable marker for Rebecca's locker, or because the school nurse called because Rebecca had a sore throat and I did not take her to the doctor like I should have and in 24 hours we will all have strep... or because I forgot to lock the car... or because I have to pee...

So, as tired as I am, and as much as I would like to tell you more about my lovely hectic September... I am going to go lie down on the couch and turn on the tube and catch a little Giadda deLaurentis or Sandrunk Lee and maybe even close my eyes...

Elvis and the Princess of the World



My kids, the older two, are fascinated by life and death. They constantly ask questions, to which I have no answers, like what does it feel like to die and what really happens to us. We had one such conversation in the car yesterday. Rebecca brought it up again while we were running errands, getting those last minute things we still need for school. "Wouldn't it be great if we could keep coming back over and over again. We could keep getting reborn and it would be like we would never have to die. And we could do all the things we like over and over again," she said. Of course I need to interject and point out the obvious. "You'll get to do all the things you don't like to do over and over." I feel the need to say this because in my old age and with all my accumulated mothering experiences I am getting more and more cynical by the hour. Despite my negative comment, she does not seem put off. More questions asked and I try to answer as well as I can. I explain to her that different cultures and different religions do believe in life after death and I go on to explain a little about reincarnation. I tell her some cultures believe that you come back in different life forms, say an ant in one life and a cow several later. This evokes some silly animal sounds, to be expected, of course, from the six year old in the back of the minivan. Rebecca doesn't much care for that answer, though. She would prefer to come back as Rebecca for all of her lives. I then go on to explain that "some people believe that when you die your soul stays around and eventually you do come back as someone else. Some believe that people you are close to in one life remain close to you in all your loves. I could be your Mom in this life, but maybe in your next life I am your brother or your best friend. You may come back as a boy next time, or another girl. You could be a girl in India or a boy in Africa." I look in to the rearview mirror to see Rebecca contemplating all this information. She is silent for a second, then looks at me and says with all seriousness, "so Christopher could have been Elvis!"

Yep, and in my next life I am going to be Princess of the World and my feet will be massaged and my grapes will be peeled for me and I won't have a worry or a care! Boy am I way overdue ...

Daily Necessity -- Friday, August 24th



Most people associate Champagne with celebrations and joyous occasions. We'll toast on New Year's Eve, or to the lovely bride and groom. But why must it be saved and savored only for special times. This concept was first introduced to me about 10 years ago when my room-mate's love interest of the month would always bring over a bottle of champagne. For no reason at all. Imagine that! He didn't leave much of an impression on me. I can not remember his name, nor can I remember what he really looked like. I vaguely remember him being a jerk, but the one thing that stuck with me was the fact that Champagne could be enjoyed whenever I damn well pleased. hey, I remember his name... so Thomas, I thank you for introducing this concept to me!


We all have One of Those Days from time to time... well, today was certainly one of them. I've been dealing with my bad back for nearly two weeks now and while I was given some strong and very good stuff that effectively takes away the pain, the same medicines also take away my ability to function and therefore my inability to look after the kids. So after a particularly hectic day that was preceded by a particularly hectic couple of weeks I chose unwind with a nice glass (or two) of bubbly. Of course there is no wine in the house at the moment so I go opt for the next logical choice; Bubbly. I love a nice Champagne. I do enjoy other drinks as well, but Champagne has a festive, joyous air to it, and when things seem anything but festive or joyous a nice glass feels damn good. I have chosen to open a nice bottle that I got for my Birthday a couple of months ago. I have several of its kind and several other kinds as well. I am a champagne kind of a girl. So what if I did not drink it on my Birthday. I chose to drink it today instead and let me tell you that I enjoyed it. Every last bubbly drop of it. I may even pour myself another. I won't attempt to drink more than that though. That would ruin the pleasure and the indulgence of it. Two glasses in a lovely crystal flute when my day has been anything but lovely. How perfect! Fret not, the rest will not go to waste. I have a method of keeping the bubbles perfectly in tact. This method costs nothing and will work for you too. Everything you need is in your kitchen. Place a piece of cling wrap (any brand you like) tightly over the bottle's opening, next wrap the rubber band around the top of the bottle as tightly as it will go. You can see the air immediately being trapped inside. The bottle will remain as effervescent the following morning for Mimosas or by itself following evening. Now that the kids are quiet I am off to enjoy another glass.

My life (lately) in a nutshell...

I keep waiting for it to get easier. I think I have a long way to go still. Had Alexander not shown up on our doorstep two years ago I think we would have been home free. But add a third to the mix and the results are almost always messy. Poor kid. It often seems as though no one wants him. The older two, understandably, want to play without his interference, and I would be lying to you if I said I wanted him in my face 24/7. I keep pushing him off onto them and they keep bringing him back to me! He is a handful. He is actually several handfuls and in to everything and all the time. If I had a third eye it would be plastered on him. He's going to be the kid who gets injured if we let him out of our sight. And yet we do. We have to. I can not be on top of him 24-7.

The other night Don and I were downstairs while the three children were up playing ever so nicely. All of a sudden Alexander starts to scream then Rebecca starts to scream. "Mommy! Daddy! Come up here quick!" We have become accustomed to the screams and antics of the Dramatic, but this was different. My ailing back still slowing me down, Don was the first one up the stairs. I heard a few words which did not sound too good so I hobbled up the stairs to see that Alexander had gotten some of Rebecca's nail polish in his eye. (And on his face and in his ear and on his foot and on the white rug and on the white sheets...) Poor kid was screaming. Don took him and ran the faucet to flush out the eye. I was ever so grateful that he was home because with my bad back there was no way I would have gotten Alexander to the sink. There was no way I could have lifted him to even for a consoling hug. We were lucky and everything turned out OK. Rebecca felt horribly because she thought it was her fault. It was no one's fault actually. The nail polish, from some party favor of years past, was put away and forgotten about. This probably happened before Alexander arrived on our doorstep. I can not be at all places at all times. Accidents will most likely continue to happen despite our best efforts.

We have everything baby proofed in this house. But baby can get to it all. We'll just have to wait until he grows up a little and loses interest. Until then we'll not rest. I wish I was directly affected by Mattel's recalls. I wish my needs were that simple. I worry not about a few plastic toys. I worry about plugs and outlets and covers that my 2 year old can manipulate. I worry about the doors he can open and the locks he can unlock. I worry about the medicine tops that I can not take off but he can. I worry about faucets with scorching hot water he can turn off and on. I worry about everything any mother worries about and more. Yet I can not hover over him. I have to give him some space. I have to be there for the other two. And I need to take some breaks for myself from time to time. I could turn off the power and the water. I sure would save a lot of money that way. But then I would have to get up and run down to the basement every time a kid wanted a drink of water or to flush the toilet. Maybe I would lose some weight that way! Maybe if the power was off the kids would not whine about not being allowed to watch this or that. If the power was off I would have no freeze and therefore I would have no ice cream. Boy, I can already feel the pounds melting away. If I had no power I would have no ability to blog or talk to my So Called Imaginary Friends. No thanks. They are my sanity... and on certain days my raison d'etre!


If Alexander was my first I really do wonder if he would have been my last. I love him dearly, more than words can explain. He is such an affectionate child with the best of intentions. But he is cuious... and as long as he continues to be curious I will need to stay on my toes. But that's OK because I really do know how quickly this precious time does fly. Next year he'll be in preschool and two years from then he'll be in Kindergarten. I can already picture him getting on the school bus waving to me telling me that he is going to love school and there I will be on the corner a wailing, blubbering fool because my baby is off gorwing up and living and getting along just fine without me. It astounds me just how quickly time does pass... It seems like just yesterday I was watching Party of Five and feeling the earliest twinges of what would soon be labor, leading to the birth of my first baby. My first baby Rebecca is already almost halfway to college. But how can that be? She was born just yesterday? So forgive me if I continue to whine and pity myself... forgive me if I mope around some. Please know it is temporary because as much as I want a little Me Time, as much as I wish things could be a little bit easier now, I want to savor every single solitary second of what's left of my baby because he is my last and because in so many ways he's less of a baby and becoming a boy, so I want to complain now before I have to mourn this loss. But I have to end my ramblings now because my baby is waking and he is a smart one and he knows where the car keys are kept!

Over or Under?


You are either an over or an under kind of a person. If you place your toilet paper on in a certain way, it's pretty hard to switch. Well, I have been an Over kind of person for as long as I can remember. It's second nature. I do not think of that I am doing. Well, now I am going to have to. I need to start being an Under kind of a girl. You see the kids use toilet paper for everything (even though I tell them not to) from cleaning the sink -- they always leave it sopping wet, to blowing their noses to washing their faces, and Alexander even eats the stuff. Well I am sick of the messy, uneven, ragged way they leave it. I am fed up with having to go around and rip off the half squares that are remaining. If I change my TP hanging I will only have to push the roll slightly and the jagged, torn edge will be hidden from view. Sloppy TP ain't pretty to look at and we are getting ready to list the house. September 4th is the day it will officially go on the market. Everything about the house must be spotless and perfect. And this includes the toilet paper. My Charmin will now have to be pulled from under instead of over.