Overheards: Milk

Scene:  Breakfast table.  TD is headed upstairs to dress for school. The Comedian is still eating the last remnants of her cereal.  I'm packing up her lunch, picking up items off the floor, and putting dishes in the sink. 

The Comedian:  "Wash, wash, wash."

Me:  "What are you washing?"

The Comedian:  "Um. Myself."

Me:  "Good. You need to use napkins more. Good job!"

The Comedian: "Yesss. Wash, wash, wash. Washing with milk."

Me: "What?" 

I turn to look.  While I packed her sisters lunch The Comedian has stripped down naked at the breakfast table and begun smearing her cereal milk all over herself. 

Me: Loud, audible sigh.  "We don't wash with miiilllk. Ugh! It doesn't get you clean. It makes you smelly and dirty." 

I'm not even going to impart the possible beauty lesson milk has for the skin. I sense this is not the right crowd. 

She's Crafty. Sort of.

Actually no. Ask anyone and I will deny being crafty any time, any day of the week.  There was that brief period in the late 90s where I scrapbooked but to that all I can say is, "I got caught up in the frenzy, man!" 

I am thrifty.  I like being economical, hard times or not.  Finding a bargain or way to save money kind of gets me all hot and bothered.  It only seems natural now that I combined the two practices and came up with this idea for The Comedian's last birthday.

Yup, I made cupcake toppers and it was free courtesy of Mooo.com

Face masks for the "Cheeky Monkey" theme at Mooo.com.  Only costs me a $1 for the sticks.

The bags were bought at Micheal's in a pack for less than $5.  Inside I printed out a coloring page and personalized door hanger from Mooo.com and added a Target $1 hardback kids book about fall, crayons from a multi-pack in the party section at Target also under $5 for a set of 8 packs.  Bug tattoos and fake bugs from Oriental Trading Company came to $12 total.  Bags complete!

I purchased a helium tank for $20 (with balloons) and let them hang all over the house.  We had a light snack and blew up our hand-me-down fun house.  All total- $60 was spent for a cute, memorable party that was actually no stress.

Frog tattoo on forehead with two half-sleeves on the arms = priceless.

Two Turns Three

"Let's crush her!" I heard it plain as day even though she was whispering it to her older sister.  The talking out of the side of her mouth, the sneaking and stealing of food, hiding out under furniture and popping up where you would least expect it.  That's all Soucy.  She's smiling one minute, charming you with her smile and the next she is telling you that "I yell at you! I put you in a trap and make you cry!" 

She loves eggs and not for eating. She thinks they are her babies that she can carry with her and carry around in blankets. 

She will eat all the fruit in your fruit bowl but you will never know until a day later when you grab an apple only to find half of it bitten and gone.  The girl turns each apple or pear around each and every time. 

If you look in her bed you'll find half your chapsticks, some spare change, a few pieces of candy and probably another egg and apple. 

She is a charmer.  A character through and through. She calls herself "Soucy-boots" and she's three.

Happy Birthday little girl. You make us laugh and nothing is better than one of your strong hugs. We couldn't imagine our world without your sweet, smiling face.  Even when you wake us up each day telling us, "Quick! Darth Vader is fighting in my bedroom!"

The Dead Rabbits vs. the Natives

While in marriage counseling this week (Yup, still going. Go Team Mason!) we touched on a lot of relevant things.  How my work defines me, my need for validation and equality despite a continuous paycheck and a host of other issues that can cause marital strife when not addressed properly.  Somewhere in this the subject of our kids came up.  Our counselor made this observation-

"Well, at this point they have formed sort of a gang."  I glanced at H and nervously stated, "Great. We've got a roaming gang in our house.  All the time. Our house if Five Points. "  A pack of marauders.  The kids are close in age and work together to achieve whatever it is they want around the house.  Now that The Fifth Element is mobile it is even worse.  "They are a gang!", we both exclaimed!  Our mouths hanging open. 

Holy Hell. 

Then it hit me.  It's like the Gangs of New York in our house on an almost daily basis.  TD, the first born, is the Nativist and The Comedian is like a pack of Dead Rabbits.  The Fifth Element is like the bizarre scene at the end where an elephant just walks into the room wreaking havoc throughout the town square.  While they may work together occasionally for the good of the cause these kids war with each other daily and what is left is a path of destruction and mayhem miles wide. 

Go Team Mason!

Your Preschooler

When you are a new Mom and you sign up for every little milestone and update website. Then you become a parent and you don't have much time for that what with the spit-up, the 18 wardrobe changes a day (one for you, 17 for baby) and pureed food splattering your walls like the latest crime scene from Dexter.  Months, years go by and you realize your inbox is still getting these sweet little updates. 

"This week your preschooler will love going outdoors and collecting leaves, acorns and pine cones.  Make a fun collage, take pictures and enjoy the fall weather..."

Reality:  Hm... sounds fun.  Except we head outdoors and she has no interest in the leaves or acorns. She wants to rip down my neighbors decorative yard border and pick up all the worms on the sidewalk and roll them into a tangled ball.  When we take the leaves inside she crunches them into a million pieces and scatters on them on the just swept kitchen floor.  Her baby sister shoves leaf bits into her mouth faster than I can grab them.  Hours later she coughs up a leaf bit onto to the now twice-swept kitchen floor. The floor still looks like it hasn't been cleaned since W was in office.

"Your preschooler might have trouble staying in bed.  Just walk her back to bed and let her know she is there to sleep."

Reality:  Weeks have gone by with these nocturnal wakings.  I am beginning to think of our sweet, cherubic preschooler as an annoying bit of paranormal activity that we have to survive each night.   She bangs on doors, creaks them open and whispers our names right before letting out shrieks of terror.  We dead walk her back to bed and we are all left to feel like zombies the next day. 

One day, when I am not so familiar with the ways of the Walking Dead and I've finished sweeping my kitchen floor I will unsubscribe to those darling little updates.  Right now I'm too damn tired.

It's All About Men

We are a house full of women, four of us and then the dog.  Yet our vocabulary is all about men. 

I have a tendency to say, "Man!" when I'm frustrated.  At least it's not "Man, alive!" anymore. Thanks years of evangelical schooling where you couldn't even say the word, 'man', without adding something about life to the ending.

The Comedian has been walking around the house over a year now exclaiming, "Aww..maaaan!" when things don't go her way.  She then hangs in her head in Charlie Brown-like hang doggedness.

Now we are in a whole new territory in vocabulary courtesy of the Tiny Dictator. 

"Mannit!"

When she drops something.  When she spills something.  When she falls or gets frustrated, it's "Mannit!"

I think we are starting a new trend, Mannit!

The First Day of School, Knives Included

I'm no different than anyone else. I cannot believe that I have one child in Kindergarten now. Each day that I see her get on that bus I am surprised that we are already here.




Then The Comedian says to me yesterday morning, "I have my knife in my purse. I'm ready for school, Momma!"

Oh, Indeed.


Preschool has begun. The knife stayed home.

A Week with Soucy

TD went off to camp this week (I still get nervous each time I think of it) and that means a week with The Comedian as the big girl in the house. It's been a blessing and a blast. We've had quiet story time (something she normally doesn't sit through), taken in a puppet show and Recess Monkey concert. We had a picnic at Wolf Trap, spent mornings rockin' to the White Stripes and cuddled.


Even better I have realized that without her Chatty Cathy big sister around The Comedian can have some actual conversations. I told her she was a ham and she said, "I'm no ham. I Soucy-Ham!" It's been a really good week.

Working on Chicken

The office she set up contained her phone, laptop, a drink and a "blackberry".

Kids with Knives

Most mornings I wake up to The Comedian shaking a jar of gummy vitamins in my face. Other days she just wants to come and grab a quick snuggle before she sets off on a new day and new path of destruction. Today I awoke with a sack of bread being thrown in my face. "Open! Open!" I complied as I knew that she was going to take it downstairs to her sister and they would have the ultra healthy and not CPS worthy snack of bread and water before I could make it to the kitchen. Wily little things, those girls are.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw next.

As she turns to leave the room with the now open bag of bread I see she has something else with her.



Granted, it was a butter knife but still. She was carrying it just like that. I couldn't help but laugh at the perfect way in which she hid it behind her back and carried it so stealthly.

I weep and cackle simultanesouly for the boys she dates many years from now. She is going to be a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure.

Your Female Andy Rooney

Is it just me or is the weather getting really freaky lately? Spring lasted all of a day here and then came summer. Throw in a few near biblical storms and I am beginning to think I might need hailing frog insurance.  I will not be wearing any striped stockings or ruby slippers any time soon.

I put 'Remedy Oil' on my knees last night before bed. Not only does that make me sound old but it seems like something Laura Ingalls Wilder would have bought from a tinker by the side of the road.

I told The Comedian that her whining "does not become her". Move over Joan Crawford. Betty Draper has apparently taken over.






*Image from kenlevine.blogspot.com

Overheards- Toddlers with Knives

Scene:  The dinner table.  TD, The Comedian, H and myself are seated and The Fifth Element is on the floor playing with toys while we eat.

H:  "We don't hold knives over babies!"  He says to The Comedian who is swinging her table knife* over the top of The Fifth Element's head as she plays down below. 

Especially not at the dinner table.  It's just bad manners.


*All knives used in the making of this post were dull and void.  No babies were actually harmed in the making of this post. 

New Obsessions

Cross-posted from DC Metro Moms.  Original post date April 10, 2008.

I used to obsess about handbags and cute sandals. Really. Just weeks ago. Accessories and nail polishes were like air to me. These days all my creative juices seem sapped by a guppy-sized being inhabiting my lower regions. My desires for cute butt jeans and wedge heels have transferred to working myself into a lather over just the idea of a Pizza Hut pan pizza only for me.


When I sit down to work all I can think of is how brownies repulse me and the idea of a nachos bell grande seems like pure bliss. My house never feels clean and I want to change my sheets daily. I yearn to plant acres of flowers and all ideas of baking, my old hobby, have been put aside.

I am not pregnant. It seems in fact, that I have had a lobotomy. People say this about mothers all the time. "Oh she had that baby and now she never goes anywhere without it. She is all about the baby all the time and can talk nothing but bottles and binkys." In some cases this is true. I have met these women. I have friends who have gone over to this side and I've yet to see them in something other than what can only be called "Mom Jeans." For me this first trimester has been one of intense mind and body numbing sickness and exhaustion. T.D. has clocked more TV time than a Nielsen family. I am never alone. The guppy is always with me reminding me that the tuna sandwich I wanted to maim someone for at lunch time is now a less than stellar idea. Chocolate cake and cookies makes me gag. My mind works in only one way. Sick today? Not sick today. Sick this moment? Oh wait- sick RIGHT NOW!

I obsess over food, drooling over pumpernickel brain and take as much care slathering on melted butter as I once did with writing up reviews or articles about living green. My need to ingest massive amounts of Newsweek and NPR has tapered. It's like I'm slightly dead or frozen inside.

Where have I gone? How does a guppy already hold so much sway? They say parenting changes you but really it is not until moments like this that we see how much.

I want my old brain back and my personal pan pizza.

Life in the Weeds

I keep thinking back to this saying I used to hear when I waited tables back in the day, "I'm in the weeds."  Truly, it runs through my brain on a continuous loop more and more.  The addition of a third child factored with a two-year old and more has put me over a barrel.

I look at my kitchen windows and see that only one blind has been pulled up to reveal the outside world.  It is at a haphazard angle and crooked while the remaining windows are still drawn shut.  I think to myself, "Yup, that about sums up my week. My life, as of late. Half-assed.  Haphazard and askew."  My shit is all apart. 

Take the fact that the kitchen sink clogged the other night.  Just before we were headed out the door for the Disney on Ice spectacular the damn thing clogs up.  As the kids sit down to an early bird dinner, TD asking, "What is wrong that we are having dinner so early?"  I remove the contents from underneath the sink and begin to unscrew the pipes.  I pray that dirty drain water doesn't spray me in the face.  The clog doesn't budge.  I scoop the water out of the sink and beg the girls to keep this to themselves. "DON'T TELL DADDY THE SINK IS CLOGGED.  We have to be in the city in an hour!"

He isn't even in the door when TD yells, "Daddy! The sink is clogged and Mommy...." Do I need to go on?  Cue clenched teeth and shoulders scrunched to my ears. 

Cut to the next morning. The sink is still clogged.  Armed with the bucket for disgusting drain water and a plunger I again remove the under the sink contents, get the trusty bucket in place and unscrew the last remaining pipe where surely the clog must be.  It's then I hear a noise that doesn't sound quite right.  I look to my right, then left. The plunger is missing.  Gone.  It was just here!  I peer over the counter to see The Comedian has gone stealth and taken the plunger from the kitchen and moved to The Fifth Element who is currently being held captive in her exersaucer.  You guessed it, she's sticking the dirty, toilet scuffing, sink unclogging, germ-infested plunger in the baby's face! 

"Plunge! Plunge, my cute baby sister, squishy cheeks! Let me plunge your kissy face!"  I swear, that is running through The Comedian's mind as she waggles and shoves the plunger into her sister's no longer clean face.  I charge and the plunger drops to the floor. The Comedian takes off running back into the kitchen.

CRASH! SPLASH!

I round the corner to see she has taken the bucket and poured it out onto the kitchen floor.  Dirt brown water, laden with coffee grounds and bits of old food slosh the wooden floor and seep out all over.  I scream. I pant with irritation and exasperation.  I bite my lower lip and tears prick my eyes.  If my hand were not so crusted in dirty sink water I would bite it to keep from screaming. 

In one minute this has all taken place.  This is just one of the minutes of my day.  It doesn't factor in the countless pairs of shoes and tiny toys I will trip over or crunch beneath my feet.  The popcorn I will find littered on the dining room table, kitchen floor and under the den coffee table.  The diaper that is removed and left for funkification on the den floor will be found hours after it was removed.  I will never be able to recall actually seeing The Comedian without a diaper at any given point but I know I must have put a new one on and realized one was missing.  Burp cloths will go in the trash.  The dog will poop on the floor.  Milk will be spilled more than once in various rooms and the dog will puke somewhere else.  Spit up happens, emergency baths are needed and Alfredo sauce will boil over from the sauce pan and become a thick, gluey mess on the burner and underneath it.  The laundry monster chuckles in a corner and thinks of spawning.

This is my life.  THIS is my life? This is my LIFE!  Oh Lord, this is my life.... It's sprinting for a marathon.

Forget 'pearls are optional. attitude is a must.'  This is life in the weeds and I feel like I am about to be eighty-sixed at any given moment.

Overheards- Porn

Scene:  TD and The Comedian are waiting for me to pop some popcorn for them.  Much jumping up and down in the kitchen is taking place.

TD: "POPCORN!! YEAH!"

The Comedian: "OPORN! OPORN!"

V:  "Are you trying to say popcorn?  Popcorn is oporn to you?"

The Comedian:  "Oporn!"

TD:  "What's Porn?"

V: "Oh geez... um.  How did we get from popcorn to porn in under a minute? (nervous laugh) She's just trying to say 'popcorn'.  That's all.

TD and The Comedian:  "PORN! PORN!" (More jumping up and down.)

V:  "NO!  It's Popcorn.  Pop-cooornnnn."


All need is for one or both these kids to go to someone else's house or school asking for porn.

Computer No Worky

I was all set to write a bit on the progress I feel I and H are making.  And then this happened-

Those grey spots are all missing pieces on my keyboard that The Comedian felt should no longer exist. I may be going dark for a few days people.  I'm working from my desktop right now and I feel like it is 1995 and I just got the Internets into my dorm room.

Anyone have a laptop they want to give me that doesn't weigh 18 pounds? Heh.

The Sticky, Big Tape

What does it say about your day when it starts with a line like this-

"Mommy!  The Comedian has tape stuck all over her body!  The sticky, big tape that comes from the office!"

OY.

And with an eye barely cracked open I glanced over the edge of the bed where sure enough The Comedian was wrapped in packing tape from head to toe.  It wasn't even 7:30 in the morning. 

Tell Me It Is Worth It

It's a busy here. Actually, when isn't it busy here?  I've got three kids under five.  One of which does all of the following and more in a single day-

"Mom! The Comedian has food coloring!"  Yes, she did.  I entered the kitchen just as she was about to squeeze out drops of yellow food coloring onto the kitchen floor. Next to her feet was an uncorked bottle of wine she had also seized from the pantry. I don't know what kind of party she had in mind but I wasn't down with it. 

That same day she clogged the upstairs bathroom with toilet paper and then proceeded to take all the paper out and throw it on the bathroom walls.  Before I even got to that I had to pick up an unopened box of ob tampons that were all over the bathroom floor and in the tub. 

The tub.  She got in it at 5 a.m. and was stomping around throwing tub toys.  No, it didn't have water in it. Give me some credit. 

She found a stray orange marker and "stripe-ped" the den carpet with it.  Also her face, hands and soles of her feet. 

It sounds like I don't watch her and let her run around like an aimless barnyard chicken but when you are going from one mess to the other trying to clean it up she is paces ahead creating another snafu.  Throw in a dog, high maintenance preschooler ("But I want to make Valentine princesses and glittery heart flowers with you NOW! While jumping on the couch and cuddling and brushing my hair! Can we please!?! Why isn't Curious George on?") and a three month-old who likes to have her diaper changed and be fed in all this mayhem and it's overwhelming. 

Now is where I should insert that line about "it being all worth it."  It is, right?  Tell me it is.  Because when I'm cleaning up dog poop from my old ass dog (heh) who can't quite always keep it in her rear or make it outside, wiping two butts and doling out Bunny crackers like a corner dealer in Hamsterdam I seriously have to wonder. How is this shaping America's future?  Am I even remotely doing this whole parenting thing right because I feel like I'm involved in some sort of government experiment instead. 

The Comedian Turns Two

The last year.  Where did it go? I try to think back and all I see is a haze of pregnancy and randomness.  Now, here we are, celebrating the fact that already The Comedian is two.  I said to H the other day, "It seems like she should be older.  Must be that second kid thing." 

Or the fact that she can scale walls like Spiderman, makes H want to put up concertina wire over our balcony, is stealthy as the Invisible Man and can leap tall pieces of furniture in a single bound.  The other night she climbed the coffee table, then her chair and jump off the top of it into her seat all with a single, "Heeyah!" sound.  It was actually quite beautiful.  The grace, the swift, solid movement.  She could be a circus performer, I think.

She's clever, instigating and a charmer.  Totally different from her sister, TD.  She's the shark to her mermaid.  She's brawn and massive cunning all wrapped into one tiny tank of a toddler.  When you hear her say these two words, "Ready? Ready!"  You don't know whether or not you should batten down the hatches, run for cover or to inspect the inevitable crash, slam or jump from a high place.  She's still our Blutarsky, our Comedian (points if you know where that comes from) and 'sweetness and light' just like her name means.  Just one year older and oh my heavens, wiser. 

Take cover world! She runs, jumps, uses toothpaste and can scream real loud.  She's our Comedian and we wouldn't have her any other way.  Even if she can draw blood as she is hugging you.

Returning Pants with Three Kids

The other day H bought two pairs of pants.  Turns out he didn't like them so much (I seriously don't want to meet the person who is that long in the crotch) and they needed to be returned. Easy peasy he thought.  "I'll just return them when we go to the grocery store today."  I know you are all like "What?!" (cue Aziz Ansari's voice.) "Returning pants at the grocery store?  Where the hell do you shop for food?"  Hold up. There's a men's clothing store next door.  And yes, we sometimes all go to the grocery store together because "it's fun." Heh.  We have some dinner, the kids eat like zombies in front of a TV blaring Nick Jr (unheard of in our house) and then we shop.  Don't hate. I know you want to live like this. It's tres glamorous.

So the pants.  We head to the store.  The Comedian rides shot gun in the double stroller with The Fifth Element in tow and TD tagging along.  As soon as we enter the store the two older girls begin their 'Lord of the Flies' re-enactment. This happens when it is too close to dinner time.  It sucks to be Piggy and the store was designated that part that night.  There was yelling, running, flying shoes that got stuffed into purses and a very long line at the register.  Literally every person in the store decided to check out at the same time.  TD is tap dancing to entertain everyone arms flying, whacking stuff off the register.  The Comedian is in full meltdown mode demanding sippy cups full of milk that we do not have in our possession and as I give H a tight lipped smile we look at our newest addition The Fifth Element who has also begun to cry.  It's then that I notice why.  Creeping down her pants and up her shirt is a stain of gigantic proportions that can only come from a seismic leak and not of the urine kind.  It was epic.  H whispered heatedly to me, "I'll stay with these two.  You get her the hell out of here and change her in the car."  Right.  I make as mad a dash as I can with a double stroller and head to the car.

Once there it becomes apparent that this is going downhill fast.  The car seat is a mess.  She is soaked.  Pulling off her clothes results in more mess and the changing pad is now a wreck too.  This is not a sanitary situation by any means.  I'm going through wipe after wipe, sticking her clothes into a plastic bag as she screams.  Just then a man in an SUV pulls up behind me and lingers.  Really, guy?  We had parked in a part of the parking lot that didn't have a lot of cars and here I am with my back to this SUV and a defenseless, bawling, naked baby and he decides to pick this spot to just idle?  I glare at him but I quickly realize he is some heated argument with the woman sitting next to him.  I go back to cleaning up the wee one. Just as I think we are cleaned up enough I realize there is no spare change of clothes for her.  Scratch that. There is a spare set of clothes it is just made for a two year-old and not a six week old.  I curse myself out and think, "Maybe if I just get them on her real quick and into the carrier H will never notice..."  The carrier that I have lined with tiny baby hats to keep her off the mess.  Seems like I forgot a blanket too.  This is wicked good parenting right here, folks.  On go the size 24 mos shorts (totally inappropriate for the temps too, shut it.) and the equally large shirt.  She is all gangly legs exposed and swimming in a ginormous tee.  H comes up and gives me a look.  As I explain and the kids continue their Lord of the Flies rendition turning it on each other now he suits up with the baby sling.  I look at him and sigh.  He looks at me and sighs.  "Do you just want to go home? Shop later?"  "YES!" I exhale. 

We all pile back in the car.  Three kids screaming as we barrel down the road towards home.  H grabs my hand and smiles.  We burst out laughing.  Returning pants with three kids has turned us into our own sitcom with no punchline needed.  Welcome back to Crazy Town.