Every mom knows that there are a few simple truths that we must accept as fact. For example:
FACT: If you have a particularly embarrassing story that you had hoped would NEVER be repeated while you were still alive, your 4-year-old is going to make re-telling it to the wal-mart cashier her top priority.
FACT: If two or more children are sitting within spitting distance of one another at least one of them is going to inhabit the other one's "space." (and probably do a little spitting too, for that matter.)
FACT: If you forget to pack an extra set of clothes one damn day out of the entire freaking year, THIS will absolutely be the day that your child pees, poops, or pukes all over themselves.
FACT: If you lift up any one of the couch cushions in your house at any given time, you are likely to find at least three cheerios (even if you've never purchased any...cheerios can appear by spontaneous generation), an earring you thought YOU lost two years ago, and something that you "hope" is a raisin.
FACT: If you decide to be a "good mom" and encourage your children to brush their teeth, that's fine but just know that you are to blame for the new toothpaste wallpaper in your bathroom.
This last one is particularly disturbing to me. I've tried and tried to figure out exactly how that much sticky nastiness can come out of that tiny little tube. It's freaking EVERYWHERE!!! It covers the sink, the wall, the toilet, the 4-year old. I seriously don't understand this. I don't think children should be allowed to have a mirror in their bathroom because no matter how many times you clean it as soon as you turn around, the toothpaste fairy spatters crap all over it again. And of course it isn't a nice, minty smell that you may be able to stand for 5 seconds. OH NO, it's that uber-sticky, glitter-clad, bubble gum nastiness that your children just HAD to have. I have shown my children NUMEROUS times how to properly spit in the sink and rinse their toothbrushes out. It isn't rocket science, and my kids are relatively intelligent beings. So, I continue to ponder the reason for the incessant stickiness. Do they not understand? Do they have some sort learning issue I haven't yet discovered? Or do they just hate me and like to see my face turn 6 shades of red on a daily basis?
Well, I think I may have recently discovered the answer. Due to the growth of our family over the past couple of years, we have had to do a little room rearranging. I used to have my own bathroom, and the kids shared a bathroom with their dad. Now the adults share one bathroom, the kids the other. A few nights ago, I was talking to my husband while he was brushing his teeth and I watched in horror as he finished up and walked out of the bathroom. It WASN'T that my kids didn't understand. It WASN'T that they had some sort of learning disability. It WASN'T that they hated me so much...IT WAS GENETIC.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Garden
One of the most beautiful places I have ever been is "The Garden" at St. Louis Children's hospital. Part of it's beauty has to do with the hundreds of different flowers and plants, and the soothing water running through the middle. But the thing that makes The Garden so unique is it's ability to provide therapy for the patients and families at the hospital. If those flowers could talk...but that's exactly why it's the best type of therapy. It's a place that you can go to feel every emotion that comes with having a sick child, and you don't have to speak to anyone. You are free to really FEEL everything on a very raw level.
When Easton was in the hospital, I never left the grounds. And while that may sound sweet and sacrificial, in reality it wasn't very healthy. At times I felt crazy. I didn't sleep, or eat and I rarely went outside to walk around. The Garden became my sanctuary. When we got bad news, and I couldn't handle it anymore, I would go up there and feel what I felt was stifled by the walls of the hospital. I went there to cry and to scream, but also to smile and laugh. And sometimes I went out there just to breathe. I remember one moment when everything seemed to be falling apart, I went out there by myself and as soon as I stepped on that little path around the water, I was able to release a flood of tears. I called my friend Jamie, who unfortunately knew the pain of watching your child suffer. I don't even remember dialing the number. I just remember her voice on the phone, and then my voice as I yelled and screamed and pleaded for her to tell me how to deal with all of it. She just listened and said all the right things, and I will be eternally grateful for that.
I remember going up there another time and seeing all of these children being wheeled around in wagons. They were pointing to the flowers and laughing. I was so angry that Easton couldn't do something as simple as ride the elevator up 1 floor to come out and enjoy the flowers with me. And, I don't just mean "angry." There were times that I was seething. Every emotion was supercharged and lined with pain. I also felt fear... overwhelming fear that sucks the breath right from your lungs.
I remember then the first time they allowed us to take Easton to The Garden with us. Jeff and I were so excited to get him out of his room, but even more so to share with him the only place that had allowed for true BREATHING in the past month. We took the camera, and you would have thought that it was his first birthday! We took about 20 pictures of him outside enjoying the air around him. At the time I don't even know if he knew that he was outside. But we felt like it was such a huge step forward that we pretended that he knew exactly what we were talking about. We pointed out flowers and we showed him the fish. We held him in the swing, and we showed him big rotating ball in the water. That was 4 months ago.
Today, September 2, 2011, we didn't have to pretend. We had to return for a follow-up appointment and between office visits, we decided to take him out to The Garden. We pointed to flowers and he reached for them. We showed him the fish and he stood alone, holding onto the bridge and laughing at the water. We sat him next to the big rotating ball and he reached out and touched it with an ornery grin on his face. I laughed at him, and marveled at the progress that he's made in 4 months. This had been my dream such a short time ago. I had begged some silent power to let me see him enjoy this place that I'd grown to love so much. As I stood there feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, I noticed the wetness on my face. I guess there will always be tears in The Garden.
When Easton was in the hospital, I never left the grounds. And while that may sound sweet and sacrificial, in reality it wasn't very healthy. At times I felt crazy. I didn't sleep, or eat and I rarely went outside to walk around. The Garden became my sanctuary. When we got bad news, and I couldn't handle it anymore, I would go up there and feel what I felt was stifled by the walls of the hospital. I went there to cry and to scream, but also to smile and laugh. And sometimes I went out there just to breathe. I remember one moment when everything seemed to be falling apart, I went out there by myself and as soon as I stepped on that little path around the water, I was able to release a flood of tears. I called my friend Jamie, who unfortunately knew the pain of watching your child suffer. I don't even remember dialing the number. I just remember her voice on the phone, and then my voice as I yelled and screamed and pleaded for her to tell me how to deal with all of it. She just listened and said all the right things, and I will be eternally grateful for that.
I remember going up there another time and seeing all of these children being wheeled around in wagons. They were pointing to the flowers and laughing. I was so angry that Easton couldn't do something as simple as ride the elevator up 1 floor to come out and enjoy the flowers with me. And, I don't just mean "angry." There were times that I was seething. Every emotion was supercharged and lined with pain. I also felt fear... overwhelming fear that sucks the breath right from your lungs.
I remember then the first time they allowed us to take Easton to The Garden with us. Jeff and I were so excited to get him out of his room, but even more so to share with him the only place that had allowed for true BREATHING in the past month. We took the camera, and you would have thought that it was his first birthday! We took about 20 pictures of him outside enjoying the air around him. At the time I don't even know if he knew that he was outside. But we felt like it was such a huge step forward that we pretended that he knew exactly what we were talking about. We pointed out flowers and we showed him the fish. We held him in the swing, and we showed him big rotating ball in the water. That was 4 months ago.
Today, September 2, 2011, we didn't have to pretend. We had to return for a follow-up appointment and between office visits, we decided to take him out to The Garden. We pointed to flowers and he reached for them. We showed him the fish and he stood alone, holding onto the bridge and laughing at the water. We sat him next to the big rotating ball and he reached out and touched it with an ornery grin on his face. I laughed at him, and marveled at the progress that he's made in 4 months. This had been my dream such a short time ago. I had begged some silent power to let me see him enjoy this place that I'd grown to love so much. As I stood there feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, I noticed the wetness on my face. I guess there will always be tears in The Garden.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Low Carb and Loving It
So, I've lost a couple of pounds. Nothing amazing or earth-shattering, just enough that I'm not currently lying on the bed to button my jeans. (Wonder what that little running bunny would think of me now???) Anyway, I've been working out 20 minutes a day and watching my carb intake. I, like every other woman I've ever met, LOVE carbs. However, it's probably one of the most effective ways to lose a few pounds. Having said that, I am NOT one of those people that will tell you that the modified meals that I've been eating are "just as good as the real thing." Who do these people think they're kidding? If it's fat free and sugar free, it's gonna taste something like flavored cardboard. We all know it's the truth, no matter what we tell ourselves.
I recently saw fat free oreos in the grocery store. What the hell is the point? If I'm gonna eat an oreo, it's gonna taste like a freaking oreo. Can you imagine wasting the few precious calories you get in a day on something that someone "tried" to make taste like the real thing? No. And don't ever trust a skinny person when they tell you that this "new hamburger bun made entirely of wax paper" is delicious!! They have forgotten what food tastes like, and are pissed because they haven't actually eaten in the past 10 years.
The truth is, the weight-loss thing is not easy for all of us. If you are thin, one of two things are probably true. You are either one of those people who just happen to be skinny despite eating 6 ding dongs for breakfast everyday (in which case you should probably sleep with one eye open), or you've been in a state of near-starvation for an extended period of time and are lying to yourself about the "deliciousness" of the newest rice cake. I was once actually interested in how the whole vegetarian/vegan thing works and read a book about the types of foods they eat and why. I was almost sold on the idea until one of them started talking about this "new cheese that looks and tastes like the real thing and ALMOST melts!" Ummm, excuse me? We have to get excited about cheese melting? Sorry, but that is one thing that I fully expect my cheese to do. If we are looking for ways to make it melt, it isn't cheese, and I'm not eating it. So...vegan...out.
It's also difficult to stay on a diet during that one time of the month that you are likely to become ravenous, and dream of emptying every cabinet in your kitchen. (If you are a man reading this and just became uncomfortable, get over yourself. It happens, and there isn't anything you can do about it, so quit fearing it. In fact, get out a book or two and educate yourself. It would save me a LOT of exasperated eye-rolls). Anyway, I hate it when people try to give me snacks that are going to get me through this time of immense craving. "Here, try this sugar-free jello with cool-whip! You'll love it! You won't even know it's healthy!" Yeah, ok lady, you keep telling yourself that, while I go over to the refrigerator section and pour chocolate syrup directly into my mouth.
Needless to say, I may not be following the most strict diet available, but I do think it may be time to call that little energizer bunny and challenge her to a rematch. I'll bet this time I'd only have to wear ONE pair of spanx, and only throw up half of my lung. She'd be so jealous.
I recently saw fat free oreos in the grocery store. What the hell is the point? If I'm gonna eat an oreo, it's gonna taste like a freaking oreo. Can you imagine wasting the few precious calories you get in a day on something that someone "tried" to make taste like the real thing? No. And don't ever trust a skinny person when they tell you that this "new hamburger bun made entirely of wax paper" is delicious!! They have forgotten what food tastes like, and are pissed because they haven't actually eaten in the past 10 years.
The truth is, the weight-loss thing is not easy for all of us. If you are thin, one of two things are probably true. You are either one of those people who just happen to be skinny despite eating 6 ding dongs for breakfast everyday (in which case you should probably sleep with one eye open), or you've been in a state of near-starvation for an extended period of time and are lying to yourself about the "deliciousness" of the newest rice cake. I was once actually interested in how the whole vegetarian/vegan thing works and read a book about the types of foods they eat and why. I was almost sold on the idea until one of them started talking about this "new cheese that looks and tastes like the real thing and ALMOST melts!" Ummm, excuse me? We have to get excited about cheese melting? Sorry, but that is one thing that I fully expect my cheese to do. If we are looking for ways to make it melt, it isn't cheese, and I'm not eating it. So...vegan...out.
It's also difficult to stay on a diet during that one time of the month that you are likely to become ravenous, and dream of emptying every cabinet in your kitchen. (If you are a man reading this and just became uncomfortable, get over yourself. It happens, and there isn't anything you can do about it, so quit fearing it. In fact, get out a book or two and educate yourself. It would save me a LOT of exasperated eye-rolls). Anyway, I hate it when people try to give me snacks that are going to get me through this time of immense craving. "Here, try this sugar-free jello with cool-whip! You'll love it! You won't even know it's healthy!" Yeah, ok lady, you keep telling yourself that, while I go over to the refrigerator section and pour chocolate syrup directly into my mouth.
Needless to say, I may not be following the most strict diet available, but I do think it may be time to call that little energizer bunny and challenge her to a rematch. I'll bet this time I'd only have to wear ONE pair of spanx, and only throw up half of my lung. She'd be so jealous.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Sticky Situation
Why is my life so sticky? About 8 years ago, I started noticing the beginnings of a strange sort of "gooiness" in my life. I've decided that something being "gross" is very much relative to your current situation. For example, I have known those women who wear gloves when they do dishes because the feel of the water on their hands is just "yucky." Yeah, well let me tell you something about yucky, my friend. Kids give you a whole new perspective when it comes to all things disgusting.
A friend of mine recently told me that she noticed something on the back of her neck. She reached up to scrape it off and found it to be a dried on piece of some sort of food. She has no idea when it got there, and is fairly certain that she was not the one eating it. This is the perfect way to explain the "ickiness" of being a mom. We are literally, a human kleenex. I honestly can't remember the last time I had a shirt that DIDN'T have something crusty/gooey on the left shoulder. And, I absolutely LOVE when a newly engaged friend flashes her sparkly diamond my way, because I almost immediately think, "That's awesome, wonder what it will look like with baby poop smeared on it."
It's like being a mom means that you no longer recognize a "right place" and "right time" to have the icky conversations. My daughter went to the bathroom in a store once, and came out with a horrified look on her face. Of course the stalls were full of other women, and she says, "Mommy!!! Come look at my poop! It's green, and it has a beard!!" Yeah, great. One more place that I can't shop anymore. Thanks, dear.
We've all done the unthinkable as moms. And if someone tells you they haven't done something absolutely repulsive as a result of mommyhood, they are either a) lying, or b) not actually raising their own children. Here are a few of the gross things we've all done, but some are too embarrassed to admit (note: after 4 children embarrassment is sort of non-existent). You know you're a mom if...
1. You've ever given your child a 30 second spit-bath before meeting someone new.
2. You've ever lifted a child high enough into the air in order to stick your nose directly into their butt-crack to determine whether or not you need to change a number 2. (note: mothers do this all the time, and we don't give it a second thought. It's sort of like waiting for the turkey timer to pop up. Just part of the day.)
3. You've ever dropped your child's pacifier, picked it back up off of the street and licked it off before shoving it back into your kid's mouth. (a slightly germy, quiet baby is better than a screaming one.)
4. You've ever pulled over on the side of the road, held your daughter up in a sort of squatting position and watched helplessly as she pees directly on your foot.
5. You've ever smelled something exceedingly vile, checked every butt in the house and eventually discovered that it's the soured milk smell of your nursing bra. Yeah, gotta change those things every once in awhile.
6. You've ever looked down at your hands after a really long, hard day and noticed something slightly yellowish smeared across your knuckle and tried to remember if you'd eaten mustard that day. In all likelihood it is baby poop, but you figure that pretending it's mustard means that you can just wash it off tomorrow if it happens to be shower day.
These are just a few of the beautiful moments in a Mommy's life. But, like anything else, we must take the good with the bad. Sure, I have to wipe butts while eating, but I also get the biggest, squishiest hugs imaginable. And to be honest, I wouldn't trade those for anything. Even if they are slightly sticky.
A friend of mine recently told me that she noticed something on the back of her neck. She reached up to scrape it off and found it to be a dried on piece of some sort of food. She has no idea when it got there, and is fairly certain that she was not the one eating it. This is the perfect way to explain the "ickiness" of being a mom. We are literally, a human kleenex. I honestly can't remember the last time I had a shirt that DIDN'T have something crusty/gooey on the left shoulder. And, I absolutely LOVE when a newly engaged friend flashes her sparkly diamond my way, because I almost immediately think, "That's awesome, wonder what it will look like with baby poop smeared on it."
It's like being a mom means that you no longer recognize a "right place" and "right time" to have the icky conversations. My daughter went to the bathroom in a store once, and came out with a horrified look on her face. Of course the stalls were full of other women, and she says, "Mommy!!! Come look at my poop! It's green, and it has a beard!!" Yeah, great. One more place that I can't shop anymore. Thanks, dear.
We've all done the unthinkable as moms. And if someone tells you they haven't done something absolutely repulsive as a result of mommyhood, they are either a) lying, or b) not actually raising their own children. Here are a few of the gross things we've all done, but some are too embarrassed to admit (note: after 4 children embarrassment is sort of non-existent). You know you're a mom if...
1. You've ever given your child a 30 second spit-bath before meeting someone new.
2. You've ever lifted a child high enough into the air in order to stick your nose directly into their butt-crack to determine whether or not you need to change a number 2. (note: mothers do this all the time, and we don't give it a second thought. It's sort of like waiting for the turkey timer to pop up. Just part of the day.)
3. You've ever dropped your child's pacifier, picked it back up off of the street and licked it off before shoving it back into your kid's mouth. (a slightly germy, quiet baby is better than a screaming one.)
4. You've ever pulled over on the side of the road, held your daughter up in a sort of squatting position and watched helplessly as she pees directly on your foot.
5. You've ever smelled something exceedingly vile, checked every butt in the house and eventually discovered that it's the soured milk smell of your nursing bra. Yeah, gotta change those things every once in awhile.
6. You've ever looked down at your hands after a really long, hard day and noticed something slightly yellowish smeared across your knuckle and tried to remember if you'd eaten mustard that day. In all likelihood it is baby poop, but you figure that pretending it's mustard means that you can just wash it off tomorrow if it happens to be shower day.
These are just a few of the beautiful moments in a Mommy's life. But, like anything else, we must take the good with the bad. Sure, I have to wipe butts while eating, but I also get the biggest, squishiest hugs imaginable. And to be honest, I wouldn't trade those for anything. Even if they are slightly sticky.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Mommy Bikini
Every woman comes to THAT time in her life. You know, the time that you feel crampy and crabby. No matter what time of day it is, you are bloated and pissed. And pretty much the only thing keeping you from becoming homicidal is a bar of chocolate. Yep, you guessed it...I'm talking about swimsuit shopping.
Is there anything worse than shopping for a bathing suit? No. There isn't. It sucks and yet we have to do it. Even if you don't EVER actually put it on, it is imperative that you have one sitting in the back of your sock drawer mocking you every time you open it. So, we make ourselves miserable by going in and trying it on, which inevitably turns into an inner monologue of self-loathing. Then we spend a ridiculous amount of money on the only one that didn't immediately make us throw-up in our mouths a little, and we tuck it away, tags and all into some corner of a dark drawer knowing full well that it will never again see the light of day. I absolutely HATE swimming suit shopping.
So, I'm proposing that we open a new sort of bathing suit store. First of all, bikinis will not be allowed and anyone who walks in and asks for any size that does not include at least two digits will immediately be punched in the face as they are escorted back out the door. There will be a rack for the "new mommy", one for the "mommy to be", and of course one for the "mother of 4 or more." This rack will only contain those swimsuits with a girdle sewn into the bottom, and stainless steel cups to hold the girls in place. You see, when 4 kids have been hanging off of them for the past 8 years, regular underwire just doesn't cut it. This new store would NOT have any mirrors. No one actually wants any mirrors around when they're trying on a bathing suit anyway, and if they do they have probably already been punched in the face. And, there would be no need for self-loathing and promises to oneself that when you get home you will begin a strict crash diet. In fact, this store would give you a free donut with every purchase. That's right you single digit, swimsuit wearing wenches...bet you wish you'd asked for at least a 10 right now, don't you?
Yeah, that would be nice. But, since it doesn't exist I will just stick to swimming with the short people in my house. They don't judge me when I walk down the stairs in my purple (seemed like a good idea at the time, but now sort of resembles a certain dinosaur that I'd rather not mention) full body suit/tent. They're just happy that I'm playing with them. They don't care that there are a few more curves than last year. And really, they shouldn't have a problem with it because it's totally their fault that they are there in the first place. I still hate putting it on, and I still sort of walk/run to the pool and get in as quickly as possible. But, it's easier to take when your 4 year old looks at you with all of her baby honesty and says, "Oh, Mommy, I LOVE your bikini."
Is there anything worse than shopping for a bathing suit? No. There isn't. It sucks and yet we have to do it. Even if you don't EVER actually put it on, it is imperative that you have one sitting in the back of your sock drawer mocking you every time you open it. So, we make ourselves miserable by going in and trying it on, which inevitably turns into an inner monologue of self-loathing. Then we spend a ridiculous amount of money on the only one that didn't immediately make us throw-up in our mouths a little, and we tuck it away, tags and all into some corner of a dark drawer knowing full well that it will never again see the light of day. I absolutely HATE swimming suit shopping.
So, I'm proposing that we open a new sort of bathing suit store. First of all, bikinis will not be allowed and anyone who walks in and asks for any size that does not include at least two digits will immediately be punched in the face as they are escorted back out the door. There will be a rack for the "new mommy", one for the "mommy to be", and of course one for the "mother of 4 or more." This rack will only contain those swimsuits with a girdle sewn into the bottom, and stainless steel cups to hold the girls in place. You see, when 4 kids have been hanging off of them for the past 8 years, regular underwire just doesn't cut it. This new store would NOT have any mirrors. No one actually wants any mirrors around when they're trying on a bathing suit anyway, and if they do they have probably already been punched in the face. And, there would be no need for self-loathing and promises to oneself that when you get home you will begin a strict crash diet. In fact, this store would give you a free donut with every purchase. That's right you single digit, swimsuit wearing wenches...bet you wish you'd asked for at least a 10 right now, don't you?
Yeah, that would be nice. But, since it doesn't exist I will just stick to swimming with the short people in my house. They don't judge me when I walk down the stairs in my purple (seemed like a good idea at the time, but now sort of resembles a certain dinosaur that I'd rather not mention) full body suit/tent. They're just happy that I'm playing with them. They don't care that there are a few more curves than last year. And really, they shouldn't have a problem with it because it's totally their fault that they are there in the first place. I still hate putting it on, and I still sort of walk/run to the pool and get in as quickly as possible. But, it's easier to take when your 4 year old looks at you with all of her baby honesty and says, "Oh, Mommy, I LOVE your bikini."
Monday, July 11, 2011
Finders Keepers
I have a theory. My thought is that there is a direct link between increased amounts of testosterone and not being able to find ANYTHING that isn't surgically attached to your body. Obviously, men have this issue but I'm also convinced that all children are born with a little more testosterone than needed and eventually the females just replace it with estrogen. At that time, they seem to be a little more adept at locating things. I swear if the "lost" item isn't IN my husband's hand, he simply cannot find it. For example:
Jeff: Do you know where my shoes are?
Me: Did you look in your closet where we keep YOUR shoes?
Jeff: No.
Me: Oh, I see. They weren't on your feet, so therefore they have magically disappeared.
Kids are no better. The worst part about kids is that they KNOW that Daddy can't find anything either, so even if they are sitting right next to him, they will get up and walk a mile and a half to find me and ask me to find the lost item. We have a rule that you are not allowed to ask mommy where something is until you have actively looked for it. This does NOT include standing in one place and complaining that said item hasn't appeared in your outstretched hand.
My husband has his daily misplaced items which always include the keys to his car. And that is a serious problem because he already lost the extra sets of keys to BOTH of our vehicles. We do have an actual key holder right inside our front door, but putting them there would just be too sensible. We must ALWAYS throw them haphazardly on some surface that the children are guaranteed to touch, and it can never be the same surface because then we would know where they are the next time we need them! He also has his chronically misplaced items. The man has had approximately 27 different pairs of sunglasses since I met him. I've had three. However, I believe the most ridiculous example of his, "I can't remember where my own ass is" moment was just recently.
We had just watched our oldest son win his championship baseball game. He was so excited, and decided to talk to a few of his friends after the game. I told Jeff that I was going home with my mom so that I could feed our youngest son before she and I left for a short trip to Springfield. He arrived at Mom's a few minutes after we did, and sat down on the couch to use the computer. After a few minutes, my Dad asked what our 4-year-old daughter, Morgan, was doing. I looked at Jeff for the answer and he sort of just sat there for a second and then his eyes grew wide. I SCREAMED at him to, "GO GET HER!!!" He jumped up off the couch and sprinted for the door. He had LEFT her at the ball field!!!!!
That's not the best part. When he came back, he tried to blame ME for not TELLING him to get her. Oh, right, jackass. I forgot to tell you that we still have FOUR children. Wait, did you also know that in order to continue living you have to breathe in AND out? I mean, if these are the kinds of things I have to tell you then we may have a problem! Of course Morgan was fine because she can make friends with a grasshopper if need be, and in fact she didn't even know we were gone. When I asked her if she was scared, she told me some story about her flip-flop not staying on her foot.
I'm not saying that I've never lost anything. I've had four children, so my brain is mush. What I do have is the ability to LOOK for things that are "lost." Although, I guess if my theory is correct then he really can't help it. It's just the testosterone at work. So, fine...as if the female body doesn't have enough going on, I suppose we must come to terms with the fact that the uterus is also a tracking device.
Jeff: Do you know where my shoes are?
Me: Did you look in your closet where we keep YOUR shoes?
Jeff: No.
Me: Oh, I see. They weren't on your feet, so therefore they have magically disappeared.
Kids are no better. The worst part about kids is that they KNOW that Daddy can't find anything either, so even if they are sitting right next to him, they will get up and walk a mile and a half to find me and ask me to find the lost item. We have a rule that you are not allowed to ask mommy where something is until you have actively looked for it. This does NOT include standing in one place and complaining that said item hasn't appeared in your outstretched hand.
My husband has his daily misplaced items which always include the keys to his car. And that is a serious problem because he already lost the extra sets of keys to BOTH of our vehicles. We do have an actual key holder right inside our front door, but putting them there would just be too sensible. We must ALWAYS throw them haphazardly on some surface that the children are guaranteed to touch, and it can never be the same surface because then we would know where they are the next time we need them! He also has his chronically misplaced items. The man has had approximately 27 different pairs of sunglasses since I met him. I've had three. However, I believe the most ridiculous example of his, "I can't remember where my own ass is" moment was just recently.
We had just watched our oldest son win his championship baseball game. He was so excited, and decided to talk to a few of his friends after the game. I told Jeff that I was going home with my mom so that I could feed our youngest son before she and I left for a short trip to Springfield. He arrived at Mom's a few minutes after we did, and sat down on the couch to use the computer. After a few minutes, my Dad asked what our 4-year-old daughter, Morgan, was doing. I looked at Jeff for the answer and he sort of just sat there for a second and then his eyes grew wide. I SCREAMED at him to, "GO GET HER!!!" He jumped up off the couch and sprinted for the door. He had LEFT her at the ball field!!!!!
That's not the best part. When he came back, he tried to blame ME for not TELLING him to get her. Oh, right, jackass. I forgot to tell you that we still have FOUR children. Wait, did you also know that in order to continue living you have to breathe in AND out? I mean, if these are the kinds of things I have to tell you then we may have a problem! Of course Morgan was fine because she can make friends with a grasshopper if need be, and in fact she didn't even know we were gone. When I asked her if she was scared, she told me some story about her flip-flop not staying on her foot.
I'm not saying that I've never lost anything. I've had four children, so my brain is mush. What I do have is the ability to LOOK for things that are "lost." Although, I guess if my theory is correct then he really can't help it. It's just the testosterone at work. So, fine...as if the female body doesn't have enough going on, I suppose we must come to terms with the fact that the uterus is also a tracking device.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Do these pants make my feet look big?
So I was in the bathroom doing my make-up, and my four-year-old daughter came in and started telling me a story. (This, by the way, is the rule. If Mommy is in the bathroom for ANY REASON AT ALL, someone under 4 foot is absolutely REQUIRED to join her.) I have no idea what she was talking about, but I do remember that she was playing on the bathroom scale. I happen to remember that detail because she paused, mid-sentence, as only 4-year-old children can and said, "Someday when I'm a big girl that number on here will go all the way to the top!! Then I'll be in the big numbers! Just like you, Mommy! You get to be in the REALLY BIG numbers!" Thanks kid, you're out of the will.
I thought about her comment for a moment. First of all, why in the hell do women even OWN scales. Seriously, we should never EVER purchase such a thing. It's worse than a medieval torture device. And secondly, at what point do we stop wanting to be in the "big numbers?" I mean, the girl was rather devastated that the number wasn't going any higher and I can recall a time just last week when I decided to piss myself off by standing on the damn thing and thinking that it was most likely broken (as has been the case with every scale I've stepped on in the last 8 years.) They just don't make things like they used to...
Anyway, I think I'm going to take a different approach to this "weight loss" thing. I'm gonna take cues from my four-year-old. It just makes sense. She is beautiful, completely satisfied with the body she was given, AND she eats chocolate ice cream like it's her last meal. The point is, I think in order to be successful at this I'm going to need to like myself FIRST. As difficult as that may be, I'm pretty sure I've got the world's best teacher. Just today she found a new swimming suit in her dresser, took it out, looked it over once and said, "I'm going to look SO cute in this." With that kind of attitude, how could I possibly go wrong?
While in the bathroom with my daughter, I decided to make it a learning experience, as I often find myself doing for whatever reason. It's probably just because I'm a mom, and I try to "teach" when possible. As is often the case, there was definitely a lesson involved but I'll let you decide which one of us was the teacher. The conversation went something like this:
Mommy: "Morgan, can you tell me what number is on there? How much do you weigh?"
Morgan: "Well, I don't really know how much I weigh...but my feet weigh 40 pounds."
And this is why my 4-year-old is a genius.
I thought about her comment for a moment. First of all, why in the hell do women even OWN scales. Seriously, we should never EVER purchase such a thing. It's worse than a medieval torture device. And secondly, at what point do we stop wanting to be in the "big numbers?" I mean, the girl was rather devastated that the number wasn't going any higher and I can recall a time just last week when I decided to piss myself off by standing on the damn thing and thinking that it was most likely broken (as has been the case with every scale I've stepped on in the last 8 years.) They just don't make things like they used to...
Anyway, I think I'm going to take a different approach to this "weight loss" thing. I'm gonna take cues from my four-year-old. It just makes sense. She is beautiful, completely satisfied with the body she was given, AND she eats chocolate ice cream like it's her last meal. The point is, I think in order to be successful at this I'm going to need to like myself FIRST. As difficult as that may be, I'm pretty sure I've got the world's best teacher. Just today she found a new swimming suit in her dresser, took it out, looked it over once and said, "I'm going to look SO cute in this." With that kind of attitude, how could I possibly go wrong?
While in the bathroom with my daughter, I decided to make it a learning experience, as I often find myself doing for whatever reason. It's probably just because I'm a mom, and I try to "teach" when possible. As is often the case, there was definitely a lesson involved but I'll let you decide which one of us was the teacher. The conversation went something like this:
Mommy: "Morgan, can you tell me what number is on there? How much do you weigh?"
Morgan: "Well, I don't really know how much I weigh...but my feet weigh 40 pounds."
And this is why my 4-year-old is a genius.
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