Because I'm an asshole

You know when you're driving along, minding your own business and out of nowhere some asshole in a huge car nearly mows you down?  Yeah, that happened to me the other day.  The being the asshole in the huge car and nearly mowing someone down part.

After dropping Molly off at preschool I was heading home with the other two kids and was clearly just not paying enough attention.  Short explanation is this, I stayed in the right lane, which turns into a turn lane even though I really wanted to go straight.  And once I realized my mistake (by "realized" I mean that the driver to the left of me, who was in the correct lane began honking at me and flipping me off) I didn't fix it, no, I compounded that shit.  Instead of just stopping, waiting for the honking car to pass, then gracefully slipping into the correct lane I decided to just turn right.  Mostly because I can't stand to be anywhere near the driver/vehicle I have just wronged.  It's just so goddamned embarrassing.  Seriously, I know they're still swearing at me and mentally re-hashing my bad driving.  That's what I do...and I know I'm not the only person who does that.

But anyway, so I decide to turn right, completely ignoring the fact that I'm almost a whole car- (and by car, I mean super-swank, sexy-bitch minivan) length past the turn.  Yeah.  So I basically execute this bastardized u-turn onto the side street.

The side street that has an oncoming SUV.  Who has slammed on her brakes.

And is also flipping me off.

Fuck.

At that point I pretty much just ducked underneath the dashboard and slammed the gas pedal home to escape my humiliation.  Okay, not really.  But I may have sped away from the scene a little bit.

And taught my two year old how to say fuck 'cause he can kind of talk now.  Yay, speech therapy!

Anyway, we lived, little man isn't dropping the f-bombs like I was afraid he might, but I still can't bear to drive down Benton street.

Here's a little pictorial re-enactment for your viewing pleasure. You can stop being jealous of my amazing art skills now, too.

I'm the red arrow.  The purple arrows are my innocent victims.  The little asterisk thingies?  When they started hurling obscenities at me.

Belated Wordless Wednesday - Chocolate + Car = Rookie Mistake

Karma is a fucking bitch

It is.  And not just the Karma that I worked with a long time ago, 'cause she was kind of a bitch, but not like a fucking bitch...just kind of bitchy.  But anyway, I mean the other karma.

Four and a half years ago I had a baby.  A lovely baby girl who decided that she would sleep through the night pretty consistently from about 4 weeks on.  Oh, we had a few nights where this didn't happen, and a period at about 10 months where she had some issues, but on the whole, girlfriend pretty much just slept.

At different points throughout Molly's babyhood I may have said (and by "may have" I mean OMG, I actually said this shit) things like, "I'm not tired, I don't understand what all the fuss is, they sleep through the night pretty quickly."  That's not really a direct quote, but it's a good summary of my thoughts on the subject at the time; a good representative statement.

And then I had Max.  Who didn't sleep through the night until he was about 16 months old.  He usually woke up once, but more often twice during the night.

And now I have Maggie, who has slept through the night a few times.  But apparently, that was just to mock me.  She wakes up a couple times during the night.  But I don't care, because I have given up.  I am old and I am tired and I really like not being a zombie during the day.  So Maggie just comes to bed with me and we both sleep.  Mostly.

Take that, karma.

I am f&*king lame

I am.

I just read 64 reviews of steam mops.  Which, in and of itself, is pretty goddamned lame, but then I ran across this.  I totally want one.  I was so excited about it that I even emailed it to my husband.

Now he probably thinks I'm lame, too.

I need another hobby apparently.  Not saying that my hobby is mopping floors, 'cause it's certainly not.  My floors are in desperate need of mopping, and I don't mean that in any metaphoric sense, I just mean that seriously, my floors like crunch when you walk on them right now.

Maybe I should actually you know, mop, instead of just reading reviews by people who do.

Yeah, I'll get on that now.

MIA

I've been totally MIA due to out of town guests, backyard tree clearing and general apathy.  No worries, I do have plenty to say, just haven't had the time to say it, but will again after tomorrow.

Thanks for crushing my ego, come again!

Have you ever had one of those days when you feel like everything is going perfectly then somebody's seemingly benign little comment completely kills your awesomeness? Yeah, that totally happened to me the other day.

I had taken the kids to the children's museum and it was great. Seriously. Max only ran off once, and it wasn't even that far away. And he even let me catch him. Molly was nice to other kids and she never even complained about going to the farm room so that it would be easier to feed Maggie. So not like my daughter to be complaint free, but she was. We even met a few new friends, which is always a lot fun. We just had a great time.

Then we ate lunch and went to Target. Lunch was amazing. Max actually sat and ate his lunch. Target was even better. Molly didn't have one tantrum.* Not even a minor bitch-fest.

Then it was time to leave. Baby in stroller, toddler on my back and Molly holding onto the stroller while we navigated the busy parking lot. Military precision! It was so smooth I even had time to leisurely sip my latte!**

Enter older woman (it's always an older woman) who hustled halfway across a parking lot to ask me if I needed any help because I "looked completely overwhelmed." yes, that is a direct mother fucking quote (if you were wondering, iPad totally separates mother fucking into two words--least it doesn't make it mother ducking like my Droid does). She did this all while grabbing my son's ass in obvious fear that he was going to fall out of his carrier which I assure you has never happened.

I was really flustered and kind of laughed/giggled very strangely and said no, I was perfectly fine. I once again sipped my latte*** to prove just how fine I was, then I continued onto my car. She followed for a couple feet with an odd look of concern/doubt/disapproval on her face before turning around and going into the mall.

Totally killed all of my warm fuzzy feelings. I spent the next 45 minutes (I took the long way home to force naps and have some quiet time) wondering why somebody would think I looked overwhelmed. Did she think I look frazzled? Did I sound upset or overwhelmed? Do I just look generally incompetent? I don't think it was any of those. Honestly, I think it was mostly the carrier. Baby on my back = OMG overwhelmed/hands full to a lot of people. Once I reminded myself of that I totally regained all of my awesomeness.

Awesomeness that I am going to need to need today. Because today is kind of sucking right now. Where's concerned woman when I really need her?

*Molly doesn't tantrum all of the time, but Target does seem to be a huge trigger for her for some reason. If there's going to be a huge tantrum, it's going to be at Target.

**It was really a Diet Pepsi from Taco Bell, but "latte" sounds so much more stay-at-home mommy.

***Still not a latte, see above. Also, "latte" sounds so much more relaxed than Diet Pepsi for some reason...

What lurks beneath

Here's a picture of my daughter's cute little "I Love Mommy" cat PJ's.

It's cute, isn't it?  Sweet little kitty hanging out on her mommy's head, hanging out in my daughter's pajama pocket for no discernible reason. 

Until you look a little bit closer.

Cute little kitties, my ass.  Freak show kitty has no fucking legs.  No wonder she's hanging around in a pair of pink infant PJ's; it's not like she can just jump out.

Stupid amputee cat.  It's likely giving my daughter a lifelong fear of legless cats.

Wordless Wednesday

Mornings

My favorite time of the day has become morning.  Really.  Early morning, right when I wake up.  Because my husband is made of facial hair and awesome, he gets up with the two older kids, leaving me to lounge about feed Maggie in bed. 

Feeding does happen, but mostly it's just general cuddling and smiling and giggling.  Maggie wakes up so happy in the morning that it should be illegal. She giggles, she "talks" to me, and she pets my face.  And I love it.

I didn't get to do this as much with the older kids because most mornings were filled with showers, feedings and daycare supply gathering.  I never got this extra chunk of time every day to just hang out with my babies doing nothing.  I really wish I had because it's so wonderful.

I know it won't last forever, Maggie's almost 6 months old* now, and she's already on the move.  Pretty soon she'll be crawling out of bed with her brother and sister, But for now, she's perfectly content just hanging out with me, hogging my bed, and I'm perfectly fine with that.


*6 months is the most magical of baby ages.  Six-month old babies are great, they are the reason people keep having babies.  They are giggly and sweet and cute.  They do not run around growling at people in malls, they do not climb on your counters and try to eat your cell phones.  They sleep, they poop, they smile, they stay where you put 'em (mostly) and they think you are the funniest, most awesome-est person on the entire planet. 

Random Sunday stuff

I'm far too scattered for an actual post, but I feel like I haven't posted enough.  And writing is good for me, stops the brain atrophy or something.  So you get a list of random thoughts I've had over the last day or two.

Yesterday we were watching the Hawkeyes game and every time Ricky Stanzi took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his flowing locks (and they have definitely reached that stage of hair growth) I kept expecting them to run it in slow motion.  That would have been awesome.

Speaking of football, I noticed that Hy-Vee actually opens up on game day Saturdays at 6 a.m. as opposed to their typical 8 or 10 a.m. or whatever it is.  Fall is a great time to be an alcoholic in Iowa City, even with the ridiculous new tailgating rules.  I'll have to remember that if my painfully suburban life leads me to the bottle.

Last football thing, and this is a fake football thing, but still important to me.  I really needs to get season 4 of Friday Night Lights.  I love that tv show, and you would too if you watched it.  Seriously, watch it.  Then we can talk about Kyle Chandler's hair.

I have 3 things shipping to me and they should all be here tomorrow (companies/people shipping on Fridays are bastards--just sayin').  I fucking love getting packages.  I'm excited like it's Christmas or something.  I even debated bailing on a park activity that I'm taking the kids to, just in case my packages come early, because I love being home when I get packages.  It's an overlooked perk to being a stay at home mom.  At least for me it is.  But anyway, I won't bail on the activity, not only because I'm an awesome mom (okay, sometimes--like today, when I made carrot cake cupcakes, or is it carrot cupcakes, whatever), but because I know our mailman is always late.  We'll go, we'll have fun and when I get home I get new stuff!  Yay me!

Last thing.  I feel all awkward and self-conscious because my husband knows I'm blogging, so I know he'll read it when he's done reading to the kids 'cause he's awesome that way.  But I'm well aware that this posting is kind of lame and I don't want him to be all disappointed in me.  Shit.  I'll do better next time, I promise.

Children of the Cloth*

There are whole blogs devoted to cloth diapering.  Really.  Whole blogs.  And yes, I have subscribed to some of them.  Why?  Well, anybody who reads this blog (all 2? of you--hi!) knows that I do cloth diaper my babies, and have for quite some time.  I thought that these blogs might have some useful tips and/or tricks**, but really, they don't.  They do have product reviews, which could be nice if you're in the market for new cloth diapers.  But mostly it's just OHMYGODMYCLOTHDIAPERSARESOFREAKINGCUTE wanking.

Over diapers.
You know, the things babies shit in and you have to either wash or throw away.
Yeah, those.

I mean yeah, they're cute and all, and maybe it's me who's weird, but I just can't get all worked up over them.  In my mind they're for befouling, not for mixing, matching and obsessing over.  Yeah, occasionally I know that Maggie's diaper is going to be visible underneath a dress, and I might choose a diaper or cover that kind of matches, but I certainly don't go out of my way to do it.  I have one of the simpler diaper stashes*** around.  Basically two kinds, and 3 colors.  And I see absolutely no reason to go beyond that.  For me, cloth diapering was about simplifying my life, spending less money and maybe, just maybe leaving a slightly smaller footprint than one normally does with three kids.

But for some people that's not so true.  There seems to be a whole subculture of people who have made cloth diapering a hobby.  They're willing to spend hundreds, even thousands of dollars on a huge stash of diapers in different prints and colors.  One company**** has really cashed in on this and offers limited edition diapers that go for $25-$35 dollars.  These things get wait-listed.  Waist-listed, people, for diapers.

Now don't get me wrong, if you have the money, and you want to spend it this way, more power to you.  There are far worse things to collect (and let's face it, that's what you're doing at this point--collecting) than cloth diapers (Precious Moments figurines come to mind).  But I think that these types of blogs and cloth diaperers (not a word, I know--stop judging me) do a disservice to cloth diapering.  When I first went searching for advice I was completely overwhelmed by what seemed to be an endless supply of options.  Expensive options.  These women own a lot of fucking diapers (a shitload?).  I was looking to save money, not spend it.

Fortunately there are a couple of forums out there that have reasonable advice from average everyday cloth diapering families.  Using a lot of this information I was able to put a very reasonable (boring) stash together for relatively little money.  There is really noo need for a ton of diapers, 'cause no matter how many you have you've still got to wash them pretty often 'cause people shit in them.  No need for fancy either, just soft and absorbent.  If this type of information were more available to the average "cloth diaper" google-er that more people might try it (I'm going to assume that a person who's gone out of his/her way to actually google cloth diapers has already gone beyond the OMG there's poop factor).  And that's not a bad thing.


*This is a bad reference to Children of the Corn.  No, I don't usually compare that movie to my kids' diapers, but I was also thinking that it feels like early fall today and that soon it would be time to watch that movie.  I watch it every year in the fall.

**There can definitely be tips/tricks involved in cloth diapering.  Yes, I do realize that the mechanics behind it are crazy simple.  Insert cloth, shit, remove, wash, repeat.  But, there can be washing issues, fabric issues, putting them on issues, etc.  Unfortunately the typical cloth diaper blog answer to these questions involves buying more stuff that you can only get from online companies.

***Stash in this case does not refer to the same thing it did when we were in college.  Amongst the mommy spends too much money circles (cloth diaperers, babywearers) it also refers to your collection of cloth diapers or baby carriers.  I don't know how that term came into use.  I have theories.  I'd go into them, but my son is climbing on the counter.

****Yes, I know they're handmade with organic fabric by WAHMs (work at home moms) who get a living wage, etc.  But I don't care.  Let those bitches go to Tot Lot and make silly blogs like the rest of us.

Plastic Bags and Chewing Gum

On Monday we went to the co-op.  The Iowa City one.  Definitely not the one in Coralville.  Still can't bring myself to re-visit the scene of that crime.  Well, they also don't carry what I was planning on buying.  It was a pretty enjoyable trip on the whole, kids were good, found what we needed, etc.  Oh, and I got a Blue Sky soda.  I know I've mentioned my Blue Sky love before.  Unfortunately I committed one of the larger co-op faux pas.  I forgot to bring my own bag.

I'm really not a wasteful, terrible person who wants to paper our earth with little plastic bags of death or anything.  I did have a nice reusable bag with me that I intended to use.  I just forgot it in the car because I spent so much time trying to get everything else all NewPi ready, which is quite a process with three kids in tow.

First, I rearranged the clothes on the two younger ones so that a good chunk of cloth diaper was sticking out.  That way everyone would know that I totally love earth and am trying not to overflow our landfills.  Then I made sure to put not one, but two children into carriers, one on back, one on front.  No stroller for me in the co-op, I made that mistake once.  Nobody likes a NAV* in the co-op, somewhat understandably as it does have small aisles. I then talked Molly out of bringing a Disney Princess Barbie with us.  Too bad I don't have any Waldorf dolls to use as props.  And lastly, I pulled my faux leather wallet out of my real leather purse so as not to offend any wandering Vegans.  And then I forgot the reusable bag.

I was so ashamed at the check-out counter when he asked if I needed to purchase a plastic bag.  When I told him that I had forgotten mine in the car he so didn't believe me!  There was a bit of an eyeroll.  But he wasn't so bad.  It was the older woman behind me.  She totally gave me a 'bitch, I know you club baby seals while shamelessly spraying Aqua Net' look.  It's just a bag.  One bag.  That I've reused already.  Twice (well, the last use was as a garbage bag--does that count?).  Besides, I have two kids in cloth diapers.  I've built up some environmental karma (that I totally squander by being a terrible recycler--I plan on changing that, really, I do).

Then we skulked out of there with our plastic bag of shame.  Somewhere between the door of the co-op and our car (about 30 feet) my daughter found a prize.  She tucked it away in her hand and waited until I was on the other side of the car, getting her brother into his car seat to pull it out.  Pretty clever plan on the whole.  Except for the I have a sense of smell part.  Because even though the gum she found was already chewed, it was still quite fragrant having sat in the hot sun for who the hell knows how long.  That was awesome.

*NAV = Natal Assault Vehicle

Wordless Wednesday - Thanks, Max!

Loading Zones

I feel like ranting.  I've been holding onto this rant for two days now, since I went shopping on Friday.  My husband has heard this one like a million times before so I thought I'd take it here.  So now he can read about it instead of hearing about it, which probably sucks about the same amount.  Sorry.  I know I have like 4 readers, one of whom is my husband, and now I'm alienating him.  Oops. 

So anyway, here it is.  I fucking hate it when people pull their cars into a store's loading zone to load/unload passengers when it's raining (or snowing--I'm just picking on rain right now 'cause it's still summer).  Unless your passenger is rocking a pointy hat and green skin, he/she can probably walk across the parking lot in the rain without any serious damage.  And if getting wet is a really an issue I've been told that there's something on the market that can help keep a majority of the rain off of a person.

I know, there are some exceptions.  It can be difficult for some handicapped or elderly people to walk in the rain, It can be a bit slippery, and it can wreak havoc with walkers and wheelchairs.  However, it's not typically these people taking up precious loading zone space.  Nine times out of ten, it's someone with an infant.  There's nothing worse than seeing a young couple pull their shiny new OMG-we're-having-a-baby SUV up to the door of the local Target, take out their covered baby bucket, put the covered baby bucket into the stroller, pull the cover up over that, before finally pushing the giant travel system into the store after having blocked that loading zone for about 10 minutes. 

Now, I feel like I can speak with a little bit of authority on this as I've had a few children myself, so here goes.  Babies can get wet.  No, really, they can.  They'll be okay, they're pretty resilient.  Some babies even get regular baths and they're okay.  Also, that little hood thing on your baby bucket carseat, and that hood thing on your stroller?  Yeah, those help keep the baby dry.  Baby's going to be fine.  Just park, unload, and hurry into the store.  If you're worried enough about inclement weather that you need to take special precautions just to load/unload, then stay home.

Why do I hate this so much?  How does it affect me?  Because it's never just one car doing it.  It's several.  Every person who thinks they're too damned special to walk in the rain pulls up into the loading zone, and at any given time you have 3-5 cars blocking a good chunk of major parking lot thoroughfare.  It's dangerous.  Vehicles driving through the parking lot have less room to maneuver and more importantly, they're less likely to see pedestrians stepping off the curb.  Given the fact that visibility is already likely hampered by the poor weather, this additional impediment dramatically increases the risk for everybody involved.

It's especially bad at our local grocery store right now as it is under massive re-construction and their parking lot not in the best condition now as part of it is blocked off.  Add to that 3 SUV's sitting in front of their door and you've got a truly dangerous situation.  On Friday night when I was shopping I watched several near-misses of both the bumper-bumper and bumper-person variety.

It sucks having to go out in bad weather to do something you likely don't want to do, I get that.  And sometimes there are valid reasons for needing to use the loading zone, that's why it's there.  But please, people, be smart about it.  Use it when it's truly necessary, and don't take all day doing it.  Load/unload, but be quick about it.  Don't put other people in danger if you don't have to.

I'm done ranting, I'll save my parking space stalker rant for later.

Molly Explains it all - Tylenol

Molly has a fever, so we gave her some Tylenol.  Right after she finished it she came over to tell me how it's made.  I typed it as she spoke, so it's pretty accurate.

Tylenol is made out of purple strawberries.  First, you take a strawberry and you paint it purple.  A sweet strawberry, then you let it dry.  When it's dry, you slice a little of the purple strawberry and you mix it with a big little mixer thing.  Then you mix it with glue, to make it good.  Then you put a purple candy in to make it sweet, then a steak.  The steak and an ingredient help make it sweet.  Then you put a bead in it, it's a bead you can eat.  Then you put it in a big bottle and you shake it.

And there you go, the top secret Tylenol manufacturing process.

Ducking Android

I swear a lot.  But don't worry, I don't swear much around the kids.  Much.  I wait until they're gone, then I let loose.  I also swear a lot in emails.  Especially to my husband.  Unfortunately my phone has hampered this a bit.  It doesn't come with all of my favorite swear words built in so it auto-fills and auto-corrects for me.  Here's an email chain between my husband and I from last week:

Me:  Max just pees in the potty.


Mark:  He doesn't do anything else?  He just pees in the potty?  


Me:  Peed. Ducking autocorrect.  Ducking, even.


Mark:  I am literally laughing out loud right now.


Me:  Goddammit.  Fucking.


Mark:  I totally shared this with people.  

Puddle Jumping

I stepped in a puddle the other day.  Doesn't sound like a big deal, does it?  Except that this puddle was at the Tot Lot in a gymnasium filled with toddlers and preschoolers.  I was giving the kids their we're going to leave in 10 minutes warning, felt something splash on my toes, looked down and found my Reef flip-flops totally surrounded by liquid.  Mystery liquid.  In a room with toddlers.

Be proud of me, I didn't say what I was thinking, which involved a lot of not-so-nice words, including one or two that start with "mother" but don't end on such a pleasant note. I shuddered, calmly walked back to my stuff and wiped my foot off.  Then I grabbed the kids (screw their 10 minutes) and went home where I could scrub my foot in the comfort of my own bathroom. 

Overreaction much?  Yeah, probably.  I know it was likely water from somebody's sippy cup.  I know it wasn't juice, because it wasn't sticky.  But there is still the possibility that it may have been urine.  Toddler urine.  From a toddler that is not mine.  I get the chills just thinking about it.  I find pee disgusting.  Worse than poop for me.  I know, I have my own kids, I must see quite a bit of toddler urine and I do, but I deal with the pee from my own kids 'cause I love them and we share DNA and stuff.  I can even deal with pee from kids I know if I have some advance warning, but stranger pee* crosses the line for me. 

Also, who the hell spills (bio- or otherwise) stuff all over the gym floor and then doesn't clean it up.  They're pretty lenient about food and drinks at that tot lot (as opposed to Coralville, where the woman in spiked heels crossed the gym floor just to tell my kid to put the raisin box away), so come on, clean your damn spills up.

And speaking of urine, I need to go wash diapers.


*I wonder if the phrase "stranger pee" will get me any kink-search hits.

Pest? Or Preschooler?

Joel McHale has a great stand up routine in which he discusses the toddler parent genius/retard (don't get all Sarah P on my ass, he used the term, not me) dilemma.  It's about spending a good chunk of your time trying to determine if your kid is a genius or a retard based on all of the silly little toddler things he/she does.  Kid flips lights on, genius!  Kid flips lights off, gets scared, can't turn light back on, retard!  That sort of thing.  If you like that kind of humor, google it, it's funny, you'll LOL and stuff.

Well, I have my own little dilemma going on now that I'll refer to as "pest or preschooler".  I don't actually use the term "pest" when thinking about this myself, I use something far more colorful.  But not too colorful as I am referring to my daughter, even if she is being naughty.  But anyway, it boils down to trying to decide if my 4-year-old is just a hopeless bully who will never have any friends 'cause she's totally mean, or if she's just being a typical 4-year-old, but I don't realize that 'cause she's my first 4-year-old.

I've had several people reassure me that Molly is a pretty typical 4-year-old, but still, I find myself playing this game more and more every day.  Molly has always erred a little on the less side of the sensitive scale, but lately it's been exaggerated.  She's become very physical (poor Max), and she's also started talking cruelly to other children.  Not insults, 'cause she's not there yet, but tone; she uses a haughty/cruel tone with other kids.  And the pushiness.  Oh dear, she's a pushy little girl, it's her way or the highway.

Until recently I never had to worry about Molly's behavior when we were on outings or hanging out with our friends, she would be a bit shy at first, then she'd play pretty nicely.  Every so often I would have to remind her to stop being so bossy.  But lately I've found myself having to step in and correct her behavior more and more.  There's been some hitting, some pushing, and even some barking (yes, barking) and it's scaring other kids away.  Obviously it's embarrassing for me, nobody wants to have the mean kid in a group.  But worse, is that I'm afraid that it's going to start affecting her negatively soon.  She's going to be the little girl that nobody wants to play with (and no parents want their kids around) and that would absolutely break my heart. 

I know I'm being silly, and I know it probably really is a phase, but still, I worry.  I don't want people to see a hitting, barking little girl.  I want everybody to see the Molly that I see.  She's silly, and she's smart and she has a huge imagination that is filled with fairies, cotton candy and awesome.  That Molly is a lot of fun to hang out with.



I had to pause in the middle of typing this post to get her to stop whacking her brother with a string of Bud Light Lime beads.  Twice.

Wordless Wednesday- The hand that feeds

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Bitch-Slapped

Blogger ate my post, so this is a re-post, which is probably just a pale shadow of the original post, which I can assure you was full of awesome.

Today I took the kids to a "Paint the Town" event at the library.  Based on the name I figured that the library had wised up and was going to use child labor to re-paint benches and shit.  Or that it would at least have something to do with graffiti.  But neither thing was true.  It was just painting on big pieces of paper on tablecloth covered tables.  Paint the town my ass, the only thing that got painted was Max's front teeth and my left thigh. 

But whatever, the kids feigned interest for about 5 minutes, then I let them change into their swimsuits and hit the fountain.  That's what they really wanted to do anyway.  And I have to admit that hanging out in the shade by the fountain was far better than dodging an army of 3-year-olds wielding large plastic cups of tempera paint.  So we played in the fountain.  I chatted with friends, chased after my son and tried to keep Molly from barking at strangers.  We were all having a pretty good time.

Until I got bitch-slapped by a mentally disabled person.  No, really.  I was standing in the middle of the Ped Mall, threatening my son gently requesting my son return to the fountain and stop loitering outside the Sheraton.  Suddenly I felt something hit my upper arm and shoulder, so I turned to look (I so thought it was a bird, which would have freaked me out, 'cause I really hate birds) and I got slapped in the face, well, more batted in the face, it wasn't really an open-handed slap. 

After slapping me, he/she (I'm not being shitty, I really could not tell if this person was male or female) just kept walking, trying to keep up with his/her companion.  I didn't do anything, well, except utter a few really choice swear words; I was just in shock.  I am glad I registered that this person was disabled, though.  Because if I had hit back or caused a scene of some sort there's no way I would have ever lived that one down.  Not to mention that I would have probably felt like a total asshole.  I do wish that I had said something to the companion because I'm not even sure she saw it happen.  She seemed far too busy just rushing about 10 steps ahead of the person she was being paid to take care of and that's not cool.  Especially considering the person she takes care of is clearly a hitter (unless it was just something about me that made her lash out, which is entirely possible).

The upside of the mauling (melodramatic much?) was that it knocked me out of my bad mood.  I was in a seriously craptacular mood all morning.  I didn't wake up that way, and nothing happened to cause it, it just crept up on me at some point.  Fortunately it wasn't the kind of bad mood in which I spend all day being pissy and snapping at everyone.  It was the kind of bad mood in which I just keep a running list of every single thing that has annoyed me all day long (quietly seethe).  I even debated posting my list, but I didn't.  I probably would if asked, though.  At least a few of the big things.

Anyway, bad mood gone, I was able to really enjoy the rest of the day.  The kids and I had a picnic lunch in the ped mall, and then we went for a walk.  Maggie fell asleep in the stroller and Max fell asleep on my back in his carrier, so I was able to treat Molly to a juice box (Max can't have them, he squirts them everywhere) and myself to a Blue Sky soda (oh how I love thee) at the Bread Garden.  We had a great time.

Then we went home, where it seems the dog enjoyed his own "Paint the Town" event.  All over the living room.  At least he kept it on the hard surfaces (mostly) and contained to one room.

Wordless Wednesday

Every Wednesday my reader's inbox is full of other people's "Wordless Wednesday" posts. These are usually sweet, meaningful pictures of their children sleeping or running through sprinklers and shit. No words, just pictures. I thought I'd try it, too. Although you can see that I failed on the no words part.

Holy shit it's hard to blog from your phone.

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It's been one year

If you know me, you know what song is going through my head right now by the title.  Just sayin'.

It's been one full year of stay at home mom goodness for me.  Well, technically one year ago today was a Saturday, and Mark was home with me, so I guess my new "job" hadn't started yet, so it hasn't been a full year, but whatever.  I'll take my milestone now anyway, k, thanks.

When we shared our Candace is going to stay at home plans with our family a couple years ago, we got a mix of opinions.  Most were pretty positive, well, actually everybody thought it was a good idea, so I guess it wasn't really a mix.  Thing is, most people didn't think I could do it.  Particularly my family.  I think the most optimistic time frame given amongst my family was 6 months (if they'd asked, I would've put myself down for at least 8).  They figured I'd be bored and sick of kids pretty quickly.  I guess I don't give off super fuzzy stay at home mommy vibes.  Granted, I don't, but they severely underestimated my ability to entertain myself and three small children.

All that aside, I was actually pretty terrified this time last year.  I really wasn't sure if I could be sole entertainment, source of snacks and nutritious lunches 9 hours a day, 5 days a week without going nuts.  I was definitely worried about having a lack of adult interaction, all of the typical things people bring up when I said I was going to stay home.  Not to mention the fact that I was newly pregnant and suffering from pretty nasty morning sickness (and only able to eat fast food chicken sandwiches without vomiting--so add in a dash of malnourishment).  So yeah, I was nervous, and I honestly have no recollection of what we did that first week at home.  I do remember that it went well, and that we had fun, though.

Overall this whole year has gone so much better than I thought it would.  We've done so many things, and gone so many places that we would have never gotten the chance to had I still been working.  I've had so much fun, and I think the kids have, too.  We've met so many new people and have made so many new friends (random plug - if you stay at home and are in Iowa City you should so be joining our play group), it's just been incredible.

One year down, and several more to go before my baby* is in school.  I hope that all of them go as well as this past year.

*In case you were wondering, Maggie is definitely the last.  Tubes tied.  Hopefully she tied those fertile little bitches with a double-knot and an extra dose of cauterization.

Can I have a hall pass?

I haven't meant to abandon this blog, I've just haven't used my laptop much this week.  Partially because it's not holding a charge much, but mostly because I'm cheating on it with my new phone.  In theory, I could blog from my phone, but I'm not a great writer, so I tend to edit a lot (no, really).  That would just get tedious on a wee screen.

But anyway, I've discovered I have a problem.  I probably have a lot of problems, but I have one immediate one that's been on my mind quite a bit lately.  It's silly, it's very silly, and you're going to think I'm insane, but nonetheless, it's been bugging me, so I'm going to share it with you.

I can't pee.  No, I'm not sharing some weird intimate health secret with you, and it's not that I can't pee, 'cause I can, it's that I can't find a good time to do so.  And it's only when we're out and about, not at home, believe me, my mama-martyr flag doesn't fly quite that high (oh noes, I'm so busy, I can't even pee).  Basically it boils down to a problem of logistics.  On the whole I'm pretty good at carting all three kids around, but when it comes to getting all three of us, plus our assorted gear into the bathroom for me to go, I just can't get it done.

Yes, I know the mall has a family bathroom, and I know that handicapped stalls are fantastic for bringing "bathroom helpers" with you, but neither option is working for me.  The reason?  Max.  Max knows how to open all doors.  Having to squat-run, pants around my ankles to shut a bathroom door before any small children or pets are traumatized has gotten tiring.

I used to love the stinky family bathroom at the mall because I could just put the stroller in front of the door and turn on the hand-dryer.  That used to be enough of a distraction.  Well, now Max likes to sit on the little potty and get soaking wet (when he's not climbing the stroller to get to the door).  Having to follow up a trip to the bathroom with a run to Target to buy new pants can get a little expensive.
 
And I won't even go into Molly's running bathroom commentary on volume, fuzziness and who may or may not be pooping in the other stalls.  I've gotten used to that embarrassment and know that I can just hide in the stall a few extra minutes if need be.  Can't do that once people have seen you crab-walk your half-nekkid ass to the open bathroom door.

You're wondering what I've been doing instead of going to the bathroom?  No worries, I haven't been peeing behind bushes or anything, I've just been holding it while we're out.  So, if you see me in public, feel free to offer to watch my kids for a few minutes, 'cause I've probably really gotta go!

Afternoon Delight

I went to Wal-Mart today.  I know, I know!  But I did it anyway and I'll just have to live with myself.  As we were walking in I glanced at the wizened, angry face of the Wal-Mart greeter (I rarely look them in the eye for fear of being turned to stone) and noticed that he was singing along to something on the radio.  I listened, and heard, "... sparks ignite, and the thought of rubbin' you is getting so exciting."

Now, I always feel a touch unclean when I leave Wal-Mart, but after viewing the world's second or third angriest Wal-Mart greeter singing along to the Starland Vocal Band (it is apparently possible to be angry and sing Afternoon Delight, didn't know that), I felt positively soiled.  I couldn't even use the same door

And now, of course, I can't get the song out of my head.  I've been singing this stupid song all afternoon and I'm quite alarmed at how much of the song I know.  But the worst part is that I've spread this terrible virus to my four year old.  In the midst of all of her singing and dancing and princess-ing (if you've seen her do it, you know it's a verb) I distinctly heard, "skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight."

Ugh.

At least he has good taste or oh f&*k, that's a $60 bottle of wine my toddler's manhandling!

Max is a runner.  Turn your head for one moment and odds are, he'll bolt.  It's not his best trait (also not his worst, that would probably be the biting).  In his defense, he's getting better.  There have definitely been fewer mad dashes at the park, or oh-shit moments when walking with him.  But still, I don't tend to take him anywhere without having him fully under control.  Typically this means I carry him on my back.  In a carrier, not hanging off my back hair like a gorilla or anything.  Not saying I have back hair, 'cause I don't.  Really.

Anyway, when I go to stores I typically have shit under control.  Things tend to go very well.  Our normal configuration involves baby in trusty red stroller, Max on back, Molly walking.  Well, a few weeks ago I decided to change things up when I went to New Pioneer Co-op.  I had been lulled into a false sense security by Max who had so nicely walked hand-in-hand through the mall with me earlier the same day.  Now granted, my husband was there to chase if need be, but still, Max had done so well. 

So, here's what I did.  I let Molly walk, tied Maggie up in a Mei Tai and held Max's hand and let him walk.  Once we got in the door, I realized that maybe this wasn't the best idea.  So I went back for a cart, but the door wouldn't open!  Oh well, I only needed one thing and since I had forgotten to bring snacks, I would get them some cookies (and myself a Blue Sky soda). We were only going to be there a couple of minutes.

It started going downhill almost immediately.  We hadn't even passed the produce department (right by the door) when Max was trying to eat the peaches.  The two minutes in the supplement aisle were two minutes of disaster aversion mayhem as Max decided that he really liked the bulk teas in glass bins.  Supplement in hand, it was time to move on to the cookies.

This is when it got bad.  While trying to pick out their yummy vegan cookies, Max decided it'd be awesome to spin the little snack carousel (the spinny thing that holds chips and such).  Did you know that a bag of Pirate's Booty will fly about 15 feet when flung off a snack carousel?  Who knows how far it would have flown if that pesky deli wall hadn't been in the way.


Once he had tested snack aerodynamics he turned his naughty little eye to the shelf with olive oil and balsamic vinegars.  Which would have been okay at Hy-Vee, where I could afford the destruction without a payment plan, but no, this was NewPi where $40 bottles of vinegar abound.  Fortunately we were able to make it to the check out lane without accruing any debt.

I had really thought that once we were in the check out lane that we'd be in the clear.  Unfortunately we were behind free-range chicken guy.  He and the checker were having a very in-depth discussion about raising chickens while she very, very slowly scanned his groceries (all 6 of 'em).  Seeing that we weren't going to be checking out anytime soon Max decided that it would be a good time to explore the store.

Here's a (not-so-) quick rundown of the events that transpired in the next 5 minutes (5 minutes that felt like hours):

Run #1 took Max directly down an aisle toward the wines.  Molly and I chased after him to find him inspecting a bottle of wine that cost $62.  At least he went for quality?

Back to the check-out lane.  Same cashier, same hippie.  Still talking chicken.  Clearly time for more exploring!

Run #2 took Max to his favorite section of the store.  The dairy aisle.  Max loves milk like a frat boy loves 2-for-1 drink specials.  I found him lovingly caressing a gallon of organic whole milk.  It was hard to tear him away from this one.

Back to the check-out-lane.  Are you for real, hippie?  Still, with the chickens?  At least we've moved on to the bagging portion.  Which, I'd like to point out, involved plastic bags.  New plastic bags.  Free-range chicken poser didn't even bring a re-usable bag to the co-op.

Runs #3 & 4 were quickly aborted as I mostly kept the boy's arm in a death grip.

Run #5 back toward dairy.  This time I left Molly in line with our stuff, hoping that the cashier would just ring us up as she has to have noticed all this shit going on.  I'm hard to miss!  I'm the sweaty mess running through the store with a tiny baby strapped to me in a bright red carrier!  Everyone else has noticed.  Oh, and how.  I think I'd cry right now if I thought about all the ugly looks I got when all this was going on.

Back to the check out.  Cashier tells me that my daughter was here and asks if I knew that.  Really?  Come on, you have to have noticed us in and out of your line the last few minutes.  I'm only standing 2 feet away from you!  I tell her that yes, I was aware.  She continues to stare at me and hold my grapefruit seed extract.  I finally snap at her and say, "please, just ring me up so I can get out of here!"

Finally, we pay (I had to hold Max between my legs) and get out of there, Max tucked safely under my arm so that he couldn't get away again.  I strapped the kids and myself in and cried.  Like a little bitch.  Then I ate Max's cookie.

Today was a good day*

5 ways in which my day was far more awesome than yours:

1.  I woke up to a grinning, smiley baby snuggled up beside me and coffee already made.
2.  I enjoyed a leisurely picnic lunch in a beautiful park with good friends and good conversation.
3.  Our afternoon snack was ice cream at the mall (in front of 30 kids from Diabetic Camp. Really).
4.  Afternoon story and cuddle time on the couch with 3 of my favorite people.
5.  Taco Pizza from Happy Joe's for dinner.

3 ways in which your day was head and shoulders above mine:

1.  You probably didn't have to wash spit up out of your hair.  Or out of your baby's eyelashes.  And I won't even go into what I saw the dog do with the spit up on the floor.
2.  You probably don't have sand in your bra from the sandbox at the park.
3.  You probably didn't inadvertently pick up a large "piece of lint" from the bathroom floor that was less linty and more feculent than expected.



*I am completely unable to say or think the phrase "Today was a good day" without tacking on "I didn't even have to use my A.K."  I don't think I'm the only one.

Oh, you're not joking

Today I went to Wal-Mart.  Shut up, it's not something I do often, but I needed pectin and flour and I knew they had the former.  Once I had grabbed the few things I needed (carrying more than my recommended weight limit, by the way, stupid recuperation) I went to one of the self check-outs and put my stuff on the belt right away, so as not to strain myself (again, recuperation, pity me).  The woman in front of me was just finishing up, bagging her 5 packages of bacon (no, really) when the belt with my items rolled up toward the scanner.  Instead of paying and leaving, she attempts to find a divider to put in front of my groceries.  Unfortunately there were none there, in the self check-out line.

Her:  Oh, sorry, there are no dividers, I don't want your stuff to get all mixed up with mine.
Me:   Really?  You forgot what you bought and you don't want to ring up all of my stuff as yours?
Her:  Dirty look.  Pays.  Stomps away.

Okay, yeah, I was snarky, but in my defense, I thought she was kidding, she was kind of smiling at me when she started talking to me!  Really, wouldn't you think she was kidding, too?

Netflix

This lapse in blogging was brought to you by the TV show Friday Night Lights and Kyle Chandler's hair.  I'm addicted to both.  I seriously can't finish a post until I know if Matt Saracen takes the Panthers to state.

Damn you, Netflix streaming!

Lovely parting gifts.

I'm having surgery in a week.  Not a huge deal, and nothing I'm terribly concerned about, in fact, I'm kind of looking forward to the overnight hospital vacation.  Okay, the looking forward to the relaxation part is not entirely true, as staying in a hospital is anything but relaxing.  But they do have drugs and cable, which will likely make me nostalgic for college.

My largest concern about this whole thing is my doctor.  For one thing, he looks like a shorter, less-ginger Conan O'Brien, which is a bit disturbing.  Makes it just a touch harder to take him seriously, not to mention the horrible nightmares in which he starts the surgery, but Jay Leno finishes it.  But I think it will be okay, I'm certain he can he can yank a gallbladder in his sleep.  I believe it's something they teach the first semester of medical school, right after ingrown toenail and appendix. 

The other problem is the fact that I don't know him, I've only met him once.  I know that's the standard with a general surgeon, but it's just not something I'm used to.  I've had 3 other surgeries, all of them c-sections and all of them done by the same doctor, a doctor I've been seeing for about 13 years.  Our relationship has been much more organic, starting with a meeting in her office, which slowly progressed to the grope 'n' poke, then eventually to surgery.  With this doctor, it's just hello, slice.  It's weird, and I almost feel like I'm cheating on my OB something, I mean she's the only one who's ever cut me open before!

And here's my last concern, my other surgeries all involved getting to come home with a squishy, pink (okay, in my case, yellow), yummy smelling prize.  I have the feeling that I do not get an awesome parting gift with this surgery.  And if I do, I don't think I'm going to much care for it, let alone want to feed it or send it through college.

Different definitions of awesome

Today my children and I walked to the park.  We all hung out with some of our better friends, played in the splash pad, played on the playground and dug in the sandbox.  We then took a leisurely walk home, taking a different route than usual.  On the way we stopped and looked at new flowers, touched trees and talked to an assortment of people who were out and about.

Once we got home we had a delicious lunch of fresh fruit, vegetables, cheese and homemade bread.  Then the exterminator, Merle visited to rid us of wicked earwigs and nasty little ants.

Can you guess the highlight of my childrens' day? 


Yep, it was our bug guy.  Molly is currently singing a song that I will refer to as the Ode to Merle (the Orkin remix).

Naked Ladies

Molly had daily swimming lessons the last couple of weeks.  At 9 in the morning.  That meant that I loaded up all three kids, swimming gear, plus any additional gear/meals we would need for any play dates we had afterward.  It went a hell of a lot better than you might think.  I take a really crazy amount of pride in saying that in the two weeks she had class we were always there and we were never late.


One of these mornings we go to the locker room after Molly has showered.  The locker room is completely filled with naked old women.  Seriously.  Very naked, very old women.  I'd like to know the exact hormone cocktail I need to take when I hit menopause to avoid the desire to be tits out naked in public.  It's apparently some primal urge that begins in toddlerhood, rears its head at frat parties or around Girls Gone Wild cameras, then returns, full force at about 50, unleashing itself upon innocent locker rooms all over the country.

But anyway, Molly stands up on one of the benches in the locker room (which she's not supposed to do) and promptly tumbles off.  She immediately laughs and stands up, so I know she's not been mortally wounded.  She then proceeds to dance around and dawdle, and gawk at the naked women. At this point I turn into the annoying hurry up mommy, and prod her to move it along as we were going to be meeting friends in the park.

One of the naked women decides to tell me that I need to relax and just enjoy my kids while they're young, they won't be that way forever, etc.  I just nodded and smiled, thinking that it was a nice sentiment, that she was just being friendly.  But as I thought about the incident later I started to get a little annoyed.  I mean here I am, standing in a hot, humid locker room, two kids strapped to my body, surrounded my oddly hairless naked old women.  I think I've earned the right to be a little impatient with my dawdling, gawking daughter.  Especially since I know that within 10 minutes of Molly getting dressed and out of the locker room that we will be at the park, enjoying a gorgeous day with good friends. 

Not to mention the fact that I do enjoy my children.  That's why I kept having them, and that's why my husband and I worked so hard so that I can stay home with them.  I am keenly aware that time is fleeting and that they won't be small and cuddly forever.  Eventually they will go to school and play sports and join clubs and do all sorts of things that don't involve me.  But for now we will continue to do fun things together, like go to the park, visit the library, make cookies and explore the museum.  Not on the list of awesome?  Being cooped up in a steamy locker room, listening to naked old women bitch at us.

Conversations with Molly

Molly:  "Whenever I breathe my butt hurts."

Me:     "How does breathing make your butt hurt."

Molly:  "I don't know, I just breathe funny."

Molly:  "I can't swim in the water."

Me:     "Where can you swim then?"

Molly:  "In the swimming pool."

Me:     "Doesn't the pool have water?"

Molly:  "Yes, the kind you can swim in, not this water."

Molly:  "I can't sleep with a (stuffed) animal. They might get hungry and I don't want to use my boobies."

Molly:  "I want a bra."

Us:      "..."

Molly:  "I want a brawl."

Molly:  "Mommy, I'm really pissed off at these stories."
Me:     "Don't say pissed off, why are you pissed off?"
Molly:  "They're boring. I'm pissed off at these boring stories."
Me:     "Don't say pissed off. I'm sorry you have boring stories, pick out something not boring."
Molly:  "That can't be happening."

Hurry up!

Before I ever decided to stay home I made a decision to not be one of the "hurry up" moms.  The moms you see in the mall or at the park that are always herding their children from one place to another with all the tact and kindness of a not-so-popular drill instructor.  I always thought to myself, you stay at home, where can you possibly have to go?  Just let the kids have fun, etc.  I always told myself that if I were lucky enough to stay home, I'd never do that, I'd let my kids smell the flowers, chase the butterflies, lick the mall floor, etc. 

I was a freaking* idiot.  Okay, maybe not an idiot, just not seeing all of the picture.

Fact is there are things to do and places to be in a timely matter.  Even when you're a stay at home parent.  Doctor's appointments, exterminators and carpet installers don't magically wait for you, just because you didn't have to take time off work.  And although it may look like it, we're not hurrying our children up so that we can go home and watch The OC (or to blog), a lot of times we're doing it so that we can go do something far more awesome than what we're already doing.  Remember that the next time you see an impatient mama at the mall.


*I originally had a different f word there because I swear a lot.  Just not around my children.  Usually.  Although, I may or may not have once dropped the f-bomb at a play date.  Ask me sometime how that went might go over.

Completely non-interesting tidbit:  this blog post was interrupted by my having to go wring out soaking diaper inserts in the tub and wipe a booger off the baby's head (not her own).  This is the glamorous life.

Karma

Once you've spent some time around playgrounds and tot lots you begin to notice different types of parents.  The two most common types found out in the wild are the hoverer and the bench warmer (for lack of a better term).  The hoverer follows their child (or children--which is high-larious to watch - 1 helicopter parent + 2 toddlers = awesome entertainment for me) around the playground at all times, no matter the capability of the child.  The hoverer will help their child climb ladders, hold his/her hand down the slide, etc.

The bench warmer, on the other hand is happy to let his/her child roam free around the playground, climb ladders, climb slides, etc., all without parental intervention.  This is not to say that the bench warmer ignores their children; these parents typically know where their children are and exactly what they are doing at most times.  This type of parent is very quick to jump in when requested or needed.  You'll often find the bench warmers in friendly clusters in the middle of the playground, or somewhere on the sidelines.  Bench warmers are not to be confused with the real asshole parents, the ones who take their (often misbehaved) kids to playgrounds and tot lots and completely ignore them.  Fortunately I've run into very few of the truly oblivious parents.

I tend to fall into the bench warmer category.  To each his/her own and all, but I'd really rather not follow my children around a playground if I can avoid it.  I want them to run and jump and climb and burn off as much energy as humanly possible.  I am old and slow, I will only be holding them back.  Not to mention the fact that I see them all the time and they see me all the time.  Frankly, we're sick of each other.  The playground and the tot lot are much needed separation time.  I have nothing against those parents that like to hover, I really don't.  Some of my friends are hoverers, and my only problem with them is that I don't get to talk to them enough because they're busy hovering.

Unfortunately there are a lot of hovering mamas who don't think that we bench warmers are paying attention.  Some of them make short, snide comments to their equally harried hovering friends as they pass each other in the playground, trailing after their toddlers with the antibacterial spray.  Others choose to just give the bad mama evil eye.  Bad mama evil eye is typically given when the hovering parent is doing something to insure the complete safety of their child and the bench warmer is not.  It implies that the bench warmer is a careless, thoughtless human being who is risking his/her child's life and limb(s) in the playground by not providing proper supervision.  It's an ugly look.

I got the bad mama evil eye the other day at the tot lot.  My son decided to walk up the slide in the tiny little play structure, while a hovering mama was helping her daughter (who looked to be about 3 - she was bigger than my son) climb up the 4 teeeny, tiny little stairs.  They paused mid-climb to wait for my son and to give me the eye.  As mama stared her bad mama daggers at me, little Nevaeh* (it's heaven! spelled backwards!) ripped her hand away from mama, climbed the last two steps into the play structure and threw herself out of the toddler sized hole on the side, landing poorly.  Good, careful mama saw none of it!  Absolutely none!  But I did.  And I laughed.  But only on the inside. And only once I knew the little girl was okay, which she was, I'm not a heartless bitch or anything.  The little girl seemed to think it was pretty awesome, I think it was the first time she'd had any real, unscripted fun.  Her mother didn't.  She scolded her and they left not too long after.  It's been a couple of weeks since this happened and I've seen this mama since (still hovering) and she refuses to make eye contact with me.




* I do not know that this child's name was Nevaeh (it's heaven! spelled backwards!), I only use the name when I'm being sarcastic because I hate it**.  The child-free get Bratleigh and Snotleigh, so I'm making this one my own. 

** Yeah, I really do hate the name.  Complete and total (ir)rational hatred.  I'm sorry if it offends, but I'm not going to back down on this one.  If you have a child named this, or are choosing to name a child this, just don't tell me about it 'cause I'll think less of you, which I probably don't want to do.  I frequent a message board with a popular poster called Nevaehsmommy, or some shit like that.  I can't even bring myself to read her posts.  Her posts may be the most eloquent and useful posts on the message board, but I'm never ever going to know.

Overheard at the Tot Lot

Rec Center employee (aka hot college boy) to middle-aged mom, "Ma'am, would you like your ticket punched?"

You won't find that kind of service at Coralville's Rec Center.  =)

Snacktime Faux Pas

Between trying to get out of the house by 8:40 to get to Molly's swimming lesson on time, packing for a trip to the new splash pad and attempting to get the cup of coffee out of the carpet in the baby's room I forgot to bring a snack for the kids today.

I didn't realize that I had forgotten a snack until we were in the checkout line at K-Mart (we had gone there to buy carpet cleaner).  Because our K-Mart is incredibly slow (I have visibly aged while standing in line), I refused to leave the line (again--Molly decided she had to go potty while we were in line the first time).  So I grabbed the first thing I saw, which happened to be a package of Oreo Cakesters. I'll be honest, I love Cakesters.  They're horrible, terrible fake-tasting food that I love.  I very, very rarely give in and have these and I've certainly never given these to my children before, and never thought I would.  But today I did.

So, off we go to the splash pad, kids in their carseats happily munching on Cakesters.  Or so I thought.  It seems that Max found his Cakester far too precious for consumption.  Instead he chose to hold on to it until he found the perfect time and place to eat it.  He then proceeded to carry it around the park/splash pad for the next 30 minutes.  Activities pursued while laden with Cakester include climbing up and down playground equipment, going through a tunnel, sliding down 2 different slides, walking up at least one of them, digging in the sandbox and finally, running through the water in the splash pad.  Somehow the Cakester remained completely perfect and safe.  At this point, he sat down right next to me and consumed it in two giant bites.  Then wiped his hands all over me.

While Max's ability to multitask is impressive, there is a huge downside to his Cakester hoarding adventure.  Every. Single. SAHM at the park saw my child running around with the absolute worst snack a mother could possibly feed her child.  Seriously.  This was no mere package of "fruit" snacks, which only nets mild disapproval from the mom with the bag of organic strawberries and SIGG canteen in hand, no it was a freaking Cakester.  Taking a Cakester to a playdate is roughly equivalent to taking a whore to church.  It's just not done.  If I weren't already in a mom's group, I may well have been blacklisted.

Things I've learned since being a parent

My son Max has become a runner.  It doesn't matter where we go, or how happy he is there, he clearly feels the need to be elsewhere.  So he goes.  This means that when we're at the mall play area, he'd rather be in Maurices 200 feet away, or when we're in the "ball room" at the Children's Museum, he'd rather be in the Flight room.

Well, yesterday we were at the park and he decided that he'd rather be on the baseball field, so he went.  Well, I was nursing Maggie in the sling at the time, so off I went to join him.  Then he ran.  So I had to run.  I never thought I'd ever have to learn to run while nursing a baby.  But I have.  It's not easy, nor is it necessarily fun.  However, it did lead me to think of all the weird random things I've learned to do.  So, I've decided to keep a running list.

Spills

Spills I have cleaned up today:

1. Milk
2. Spit up
3. Shit - Max has mastered the art of unsnapping his diaper.
4. Maggie - Either Molly is lying to me or Maggie has learned to leap from her swing. In her sleep.

Tattle Tale

Molly needs to watch the very special episode of "The Brady Bunch" where Cindy learns that tattling all the time is really annoying. Today she has provided me with a running commentary of all the evil perpetrated by her brother, the dog and even Maggie.

Examples:

Max stinks (somewhat useful)
Xander pooped downstairs (extremely useful)
Max is climbing on the ledge (very useful)
Max said "stupid" (Max doesn't speak)
Xander is licking the couch (well, yeah, he's a dog, he licks things)
Maggie is leaning forward in her swing (Bad newborn! No slouching!)

I suppose I can put up with the fluff as long as my toes are safe from dog presents when I walk downstairs.

Dine-n-dash

I absolutely refuse to kiss my son today. He has spent a large chunk of the morning attempting to (and quite often succeeding-bad mommy) eat from the garbage.

Screw you to all that mock me when I say having a dog is good practice for having a kid.

I went to the mall. Again.

Yeah, I'm a stay at home mom, I find myself at the mall quite a bit. They have a play area and a children's museum. Not to mention a Target that sells booze. All necessary SAHM trappings. Sorry about the abbreviations, which I don't typically use, but I have pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel, so keeping typing to a minimum isn't a bad thing.

Back to the mall. Today's trip was proof positive that I should just stay the hell home until I have this baby. Today was just absolutely exhausting, I don't have it in me to chase 2 kids around right now.

Highlights.

1. Lost my daughter in the children's museum. She decided to move onto a different room. We found her, she wasn't doing anything terrible, but still, it took like 5 minutes to find her. It should never take over a minute or two to find my daughter. She wears sparkly princess shoes that leave a trail of glitter dust for all to see.

2. Let my son throw golf balls around a room willy-nilly. I could have stopped him, but he wasn't hitting anybody or anything as his throwing arm is weak.

3. Terrified a young helicopter mommy by letting my son run down the stairs all alone. And by "letting" I mean waddling slowly after my son as he ran gleefully down the stairs and away from the puppet room. I would have chased him in earnest, but I feel that way about the puppet room, too.

4. I made my children share an adult meal at Arby's. This was clearly offensive to the strangely feminine young man taking our order. He kept suggesting children's meals. Then when I told him a #11 and a #23 he asked if I only needed one drink, thinking that all of the food was for my fat ass (my children are skinny...clearly I don't feed them). Um, no.

4a. I let my children eat fries.

4b. My daughter had a giant lemonade.

4c. No fruit cups were involved.

4--note--strangely feminine young man actually made me show ID because my credit card wasn't signed. This was not a cursory check either, he examined both cards for over a full minute. I thought I was going to be denied Arby's. All because I didn't take him up on that kids' meal offer.

5. The marathon run my son took from our table to the carousel near the doors. It was amazing, all of the people who watched him run right by them (while I was "running" behind him) made sure to give me the proper bad mama evil-eye.

I think that outings will be kept to more contained situations for a couple of weeks.