Category Archives: humor

Picture day

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courtesy of forbes.alpineschools.org

courtesy of forbes.alpineschools.org

Picture Day….It’s coming next week.

It’s a big day, I think more for us parents than for our kids.

We can plan so much of this day, the outfit, the background, the hair….. but no matter how much we practice with them, we just never know how that picture day face is going to turn out.

I remember when the older kids came home after pictures…”Show me the face you did today! Did you smile?! Teeth or no teeth??”, and they would indulge with their best reenactment of the picture day face.

It doesn’t always turn out well.

You just never know. Possible future presidential candidate…. and they dig this one up:

face2

Ouch….

So, not knowing what the future holds… we do our best to practice our best picture face. Now, this will be Sammy’s first “real” school picture day. The first in a long line of picture days to mark his growth, his awkward phases, his acne phases, perhaps his bad outfit choices. My problem is, when I tell him to smile, it usually ends up looking like this:

face1

……. I’ve got a million of these faces from a million moments I’ve tried to capture as he looks so natural…until he’s told to smile.

But I’ve noticed something. Maybe you’ve noticed this too with your own kids. Sammy is always most photogenic when he’s not smiling, when he’s serious, pissed off, even crying.

I like to call this " Young Abercrombie" Taken as he is so mad at me for forcing him to look directly into the setting sun.... but SO worth it.

I like to call this ” Young Abercrombie” Taken as he is so mad at me for forcing him to look directly into the setting sun…. but SO worth it.

So we got a form from the photographer, asking for us to fill in the usual, background color choice, blah blah blah. With it came a little questionnaire asking what they can do to help my child attain a very “pleasant expression”, and do I prefer a serious face, or a smiling face?

Serious, definitely serious. And if you can get him teary eyed, but not actually crying, that would be great.

 

 

 

 

Bye-bye binkie

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2312

Binkie. Pacifier. Plug.

That thing you stick in the babies mouth to get them to stop crying. When they need some nonnutritive sucking. When you need a break. I didn’t use one with my first 2 kids….so I must have thought I was doing something right, or better than those that did. Because I was stupid then.

So when I had the 4 year old, and my husband and his family really really encouraged the pacifier, and even the wearing of the pacifier with a string that clips to his clothes… I felt really uncomfortable about it. He was the first baby I successfully  nursed, and I thought maybe he needs the extra sucking practice? Maybe he needs that to be comforted? Lots of kids DO need it. I remember the actual day he really TOOK to the pacifier. Like, if I took it out of his mouth he would scream until I put it back. He didn’t want to nurse…he wanted the pacifier. I didn’t like it at all.

I saw that pacifier as a crutch, almost a drug. Baby Heroin. I didn’t like him NEEDING that. So I limited it’s use, after the newborn period and colic was over….only nap and bedtime.

I can’t tell you how  many fights I had with my husband about that stupid pacifier. I would go somewhere and come home to find Sammy running around with that thing in his mouth. I really, really had an issue with it. I strategized how to get rid of it, researched the best age to do it before the binkie becomes more of a “habit” than a needed comfort.

I preached to my husband about all the things I read, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He didn’t see the problem. Let the kid have a pacifier, geez.

I got rid of Sammy’s when he was 15 months old. I waited until Daddy was on a trip away from home so he couldn’t interfere….I knew he could never stand to see the baby upset about it. Truthfully…. we had a couple nights of waking up a lot…and then nothing, he was fine.

So here comes the last one. baby number 4. As any parent of multiple kids will tell you, your standards seem to be a lot less rigid with each new addition.

I made sure with Jenna that we had plenty of pacifiers. I no longer saw it as my enemy, and sometimes I had to pop it in to buy 10 minutes before I could feed her when I had a screaming toddler to settle down first.

But… 15 months went by, 16, 17….20, 21…. and I am telling myself that I need to get rid of that thing… but I admit… I am so lazy now. Beaten down. Tired. I don’t WANT to deal with what might happen if I take it away. Now that she looks for her binkie at bedtime. although it does nothing to keep her sleeping all night, and she still ends up in bed with me, or loudly whispering that she wants to go downstairs at 6:30 in the morning.

Well, hubby was on a trip this week. I prepared to dispose of the binkies. I did nothing the first couple nights… and finally 2 days ago just brought her to bed without it. she asked for it. I told her it was broken and yucky. She slept. Now, I’ve collected the binkies around the house…and they are all in a cabinet and have not been used in 2 days.

this feels so weird.

Are we really done?

I guess so…

I don’t feel super excited or relieved to have the horror of the binkie behind us. I feel like it’s not real yet. I need to throw them away, but I’m afraid. Maybe it was just too easy. If I don’t have that, what else can I hyper-focus on??!!

I’m sure I’ll think of something.

Dear Puke:

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The “puke bowl” which has remained puke free while the house is christened with vomit

Was it necessary to lure my son into a false sense of security…… allowing him to eat hard boiled eggs, black olives, hummus, and pickles RIGHT before you decide to make a grand entrance??

Was it necessary to wait until he was cuddled up in the middle of my bed for a nap, surrounded by fluffy pillows and all of his little blankets?

Have you also been thinking that it’s time for a new bedspread? And sheets? And pillows? And mattress???

You probably think I’ve gotten soft, a little too comfortable, since you’ve been away for the past 10 months. Did you think we’d forgotten you?

I assure you, you will never be forgotten.

All the times you’ve erupted from an unsuspecting child, into my lap, my hair, down my back (remember that time??), sometimes the sink or the toilet…. I promise, I will not forget you.

All the times I’ve held my sick baby close to me, and then you decide to show up and make it a party. Thank you. I love laundry. The kids love the pretty colors, you never look the same twice. It’s a neat trick.

Now, the 4 year old seems pretty excited to see you again today. He just asked me for another pickle, and I asked him if he was on crack. We both said no.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the random beauty of your nature. It’s a gift that you can ALWAYS catch us off guard. But, I can’t make it that easy for you. Despite the years we’ve known each other, the odd situations we find ourselves meeting in…. I can’t say you are a “friend”. But, I will acknowledge you when we meet, and treat you with the very careful respect you deserve. You can be sure, I will never ignore you.

And thanks, really, for keeping me on my toes.

And for the new bedding I will be purchasing, as soon as I know you are gone.

The joy of having a 13 year old

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jake6jakejjakej5

Truly, an unparalleled experience.

This is the second time I’ve had a 13 year old. I have 2 more to go after this one.

There are just so many amazing and wonderful things that go along with this age. Some things I remember from my first child at that age, and some new things I am just learning. For instance…

There is a need to be right, and always have the last word. It’s not even a need to be right, who am I kidding. He’s right. that’s IT. I just NEED to accept it.

There is a potential argument for everything. Because he is always right. And by speaking to him, I might somehow be questioning his awesome rightness, so he must assert himself yet again.

the whole idea of good personal hygiene is still a bit hazy….the need to take a shower after football practice does not strike him as urgent, although the rest of us are gagging every time he comes close to us and begging him to clean himself.

Deodorant is still considered optional.

He will still take walks with me and the little kids to get ice cream, and even pull the wagon without embarrassment.

If he is required to make his bed and keep his room clean, I have no right to expect him to help vacuum the living room. because that is borderline abuse. And the start of a text argument.

He plays amazingly well with the 4 year old, then fights with the 4 year old, then gets mad at me because I expect one of them to be more mature than the other in these situations. Apparently the 4 year old should know better.

He still lets me kiss him goodnight, and tells me he loves me.

hairy legs and baby face. (him…not me)

All discussions (arguments) will end in me losing. Because no matter how wrong I believe he is….. he simply reminds me that  I am the one who chose to bring him into the world. And since he couldn’t have done anything bad if he didn’t exist…..that clearly makes everything my fault. (he’s a philosopher.)

He will be a man…tomorrow. But still clings to his childhood today, as do I. The day I can’t excite him with some fake tattoos or bubble tape will be a sad one indeed.

Drive Thru Phobia

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courtesy of: hautemealz.com

Sometimes I am out in the car, alone or with kid(s) and decide to drive through someplace for food.

I don’t do it often, and maybe that’s part of the reason I have such a hard time doing it.

My drive through experiences often end up with me frustrated, disappointed, anxious, and still hungry for…..something. Sometimes if there is another person in the car with me….we argue.

Why?

Well, it goes something like this:

A vague conversation about getting lunch…..or me thinking I should stop somewhere if I’m driving around for work and know I won’t get another chance to eat.

I pull into the drive through.

Sit behind several cars, not able to read the menu, not able to remember specific things I might like on the menu.

Get anxious because I don’t know what I want and I need to think of something……what was that chicken thing I liked that one time????

Squint, and try to read the menu from back here….impossible.

Ask people-if I’m not alone- what they want. If they are older than 4, this can be helpful, because they might actually know what they want. If they are under 4, they might ignore me completely, stare at me blankly, or tell me something not remotely close to what is offered at this place.

Get closer. Am I sweating?

Why don’t they make the menu bigger, so I can read it before I have to order?

Why can’t I think of ANYTHING????!!!

Shit. I’m next.

Do I want a baked potato? Salad? Fish sandwich?

I pull up to the speaker, stuck in the middle of a huge menu wall. Frantically trying to find something, anything that looks like I might want it.

via fontsinuse.com

via fontsinuse.com

TOO MANY CHOICES.

My brain shuts down.

Oh god, it’s been 14 seconds, I ask for a minute….. the person says yes…. but I know they are rolling their eyes, and probably muting their microphone as they tell their friends what the hell was this lady doing the whole time she was in line, she still doesn’t know what she wants….. and the cars are just sitting there, waiting behind me.

So I just order. Blindly and often stupidly. Things I don’t eat, things I won’t eat. Just to ease this panic welling up because everyone is just waiting for me to make up my damn mind! I feel very unsatisfied as I pull up to pay for the bag of things I don’t want. The girl at the window looks smug. I’m pretty sure she knows I just freaked out back there.

If there is anyone else in the car with me, we might argue about why I only ordered one milkshake, or some tiny thing off the dollar menu for two of us…. or how I embarrassed them by asking for a minute when everyone in the world knows you just DON’T ask for a minute at the drive thru and obviously I’m just not fit to be out here, driving around in society like this…

But usually this happens most when I have no one old enough to guide me through this awful experience and I am forced to rely on my own decision making abilities. Which are pretty bad to begin with, but add a little anxiety and they just go away….

As I pull away, I glance into the bag.

Right.

And look for anther place to try again.

 

 

 

snot season

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whattoexpect.com

It’s that time.

A couple weeks into the school year, we start with the sniffling, sneezing, hacking, sore throat, whining, complaining…. and that’s from the 17 year old.

Of course it spreads.

It’s too late once it’s invaded the house. Even as my oldest describes the feeling of razor blades every time she swallows, I’m less concerned about her–too late to save–than the ones who are still healthy. “Don’t touch anyone! Don’t kiss anyone!! Wash your hands!!!”

The four year old is next.

“How’s your throat Sammy?” I get a sad face, “Still not good”. He wants weak tea, basically warm sugar water… and cough drops. this is his excuse to avoid eating chicken at dinner, and stick to fruit and jello.

After a couple days, all seems well.

Hubby mentions “Hey, look who didn’t get sick!” as he gestures towards the unassuming toddler.

Because he doesn’t know how things work.

Next day, during nap…..sounds like she’s gurgling in her nose.

Wakes up, we run to the store.

She sneezes.

WOW.

A face full of snot. Just hanging off of her, and I’m standing at the trunk of the car, unloading groceries as she looks to me for some help with this. For once, no Kleenex or wipes in reaching distance.

I have nothing. So I do what any respectable mom does….

I grab it. A  handful of snot.  And I debate who should I wipe this off onto…. her or me…

She wins, because I really like her sweater. So it goes on me. Just a little keepsake.

Mom of the year over here. Or just really gross and unprepared. Maybe both.

 

learning how to take soap in the mouth

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Me and the two little ones were reading a book upstairs.

We love the “David” series. “David gets in trouble”,  “No! David!”,  “David goes to school”. They are written by a former child delinquent turned successful author….named David…..

This kid David is a horror, eating the dog biscuits, leaving home with no pants on, messing up and breaking things all over the house. At the end of each book he finds his conscience or just starts to realize what a little jerk he is….and apologizes.  the adult he’s been terrorizing, usually mom or his teacher, then affirms their affection for him, lots of hugs going on, and we close the book with a happy little sigh.

Some of the things David does in these books are the SAME THINGS my kids do at times. Crazy, I know.

So today, it was “David get’s in trouble”. We get to the page where he is sitting with a bar of soap in his mouth….saying “But Dad says it!”

david

Sammy is fascinated. Remembering his own single experience with soap in the mouth.

“Momma, how did his mom get him to sit still? Because when you tried to put soap in MY mouth I moved all around!”

“Well, because David is still good enough to know that when his mommy needs to put soap in his mouth, he should sit still”

He looked thoughtful.

The event leading up to getting soap in his mouth was pretty traumatic for both of us. He had just turned 4. We were at the drug store, he wanted me to buy him another gun. I said no. First, those cheap pieces of plastic don’t even last 2 days and they are ridiculously expensive at that. And second, I had recently decided that he was too obsessed with guns, shooting all of us and the babysitter at every chance. I was trying to be a decent mom and so put my foot down and said no more guns.

He didn’t just have a tantrum. He may have been possessed, yelling, crying, gnashing his teeth. I was beyond humiliated, but tried to act unaffected, wishing I knew for sure if there were security cameras in the parking lot or not. I actually had to drag him out of the store, as he tried to lie down on the floor to spite me. On the way home he was still screaming, adding a few “I hate you’s” to spice it up. KICKING the back of my seat the whole time. I recorded it with my phone for my husband who blindly believes this kid is the most innocent and gentle angel ever to exist.

We get home. At that point I am dangerously calm. I drag him into the house, still screaming, and tell my husband not to interfere as I take him upstairs to dole out THE PUNISHMENT. For this temper tantrum, for telling me he hates me, he is going to taste soap for the first time. I tell him this, and bring him to the sink. I grab a bar of Dove, extra sensitive, and tell him to open his mouth.

Are you crazy!???!! His eyes spoke to me as he clamped his hands over his mouth. No threatening would work. I tried to pry his hands away, tried to hold him in my lap, it was like wrestling with an octopus. I could not restrain him enough and finally called it after I got the soap to scrape against a single tooth by pure luck. He choked, gagged, drooled huge amounts of spit as he refused to close his mouth. I let him brush his teeth, then sat on the floor in a sweaty heap of failed motherhood.

He did not have a tantrum again. We both still remember that very vividly. He asks me sometimes if I remember it, and definitely seems to have learned something from it, as there is no more asking for guns at the drug stores. He is learning to be a lot sneakier and working on the guilt factor to persuade me to buy him other things that he wants. Now, when I say no, he gets tearful and says in a lost voice ….”so, I guess you just don’t love me anymore…” I can tolerate this much better, I can deal with the guilt and ever present need to over compensate all the time, lest any child feel they are not loved as much as the others.

But I thought David taught us a valuable lesson today. And maybe the more we read that book, it will reinforce it.

See?… David lets HIS mom put soap in his mouth. Good boy, David. Good boy.

david1

 

 

Desperation and dangerous deliciousness

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I’m a snacker.

I love to have something sweet, especially when I’m up at night, enjoying my freedom from everyone else.

This is dangerous, because I no longer have the metabolism to support my shameless snacking. And I’ve developed a habit, a real habit for snacking on garbage.

So I went through all the cycles one must go through when confronting their snacking habit. I ignored it. I lied to myself about it. And to others, if they dared question where their mini snickers bar went. Really, why would  you even try to keep that where I could find it? I pretended if I just went back for ONE piece of candy, 50 times… that it was better than just grabbing the bag and eating all of it. Finally I admitted it. I had a problem.

So I thought I outsmarted my weak willed self, by not buying any candy! No snacks for me. No hidden licorice or jelly beans to grab. No chocolate covered anything. No mini chocolate donuts.

Sigh.

That lasted a couple days. And tonight I’m scavenging for something. Anything to feed this craving. No, I don’t WANT an apple, or a yogurt, or peanuts…. or any of the completely delicious and healthy things I force my kids to snack on every day.

No.

I want sugar, the kind that puts holes in your teeth. The kind that pulls out your fillings, sweet, chewy, delicious and bad for you. And I have NONE.

So on my 3rd round through the cabinets, looking for any morsel that may have been hidden too well from myself…. I find my fix. Delicious and gummy, coated in sugar. How did I not notice these before? And assorted fruit flavors! It might just work.

gummy

So happy to be vitamin D deficient right now. Don’t even talk to me about the dangers of overdose… I’m a medical professional, I’ve got this covered.

I hate that kid

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It’s confession time.

Sometimes….. I don’t like your kid.

It’s weird, this dislike I find myself having. I think sometimes these kids I find myself despising might not seem so bad if I didn’t have kids of my own…. but since I do have kids of my own, other kids have-on occasion-become the enemy.

I’m not proud of it. But I also don’t see myself improving until my kids start having the guts to be the aggressive ones on the playground or at the toy table in the coffee shop.  Because that’s how it starts…my inner kid-hate…when I see my innocent little angel looking confused as they are fleeced of domino’s by some little 3 year old bimbo who doesn’t understand the concept of sharing.

That’s what happened the other morning. I had just dropped Sammy off at his new preschool, so I may have already been a little unstable emotionally. I met my bestie at a little coffee place that had a cute little section for kids with some puzzles, books, and other toys. Jenna thought it was great.

gb5

See?!  Look how innocent she is!! So trusting!

So all is going well, until these other moms come close with their own little girls who head right over to the table with Jenna. Now, these girls were a bit older, you could see it in the hardness of their eyes as they looked Jenna up and down, sizing up the competition. They knew an easy mark….. so first the curly haired one moves a globe away from Jenna, so she can’t spin it anymore…. all the while glancing between me and my baby, to see what I would do. I tried the death stare….nothing. These kids were tough. Now, the key is to give a look to that kid that says “step away from my baby before someone gets hurt”…. but at the same time appearing cool and unconcerned to the mom who may or may not be glancing over at the table, waiting for YOUR little one to start something with THEIR baby. *snort*, As IF!

Then Jenna starts playing with the domino’s. There is a whole container of the things, and she’s got a few in hand. Of course, evil kid number 2 decides there are NO other good domino’s to be had…..other than the ones my sweet angel is holding. She creeps closer to my unsuspecting daughter, like a tiger stalking her prey…. watching me out of the corner of her eye, but Oh so boldly continuing on. Her hand comes out, takes one from Jenna. I look at the other moms, Oh, Of COURSE they are not paying attention to the future criminal over here… too engrossed in their own conversation. Now it’s on. Obviously, she’s got no soul. She must be stopped. She takes another one. My GOD…. I can’t take it anymore. For the love of all things holy, I must save my daughter!

“No-No” (in a sing-song voice), don’t take them from her, look, take them from this box!”

So, I sounded sweet. But SHE knew, and I knew what I was REALLY saying. “Do it again. And no one can save you…”

Then I played with them at the table. Just marking my territory…….

Crisis averted. I had rescued my little one. My innocent Jenna-Bean, full of goodness and light. Protected her from the harsh world a little longer…. kept her away from the predators.

Feeling pretty good about myself.

Turn my back for 30 SECONDS.

Glance back at my daughter. My innocent, sweet, perfect example of all that is right with the world.

What?! Is she….. Oh….oh no…..

Curly hair got a cracker from her mom. Jenna honed in like a retriever. Stalked her around the table. I glanced over as she swooped in, and NABBED it. Oh, thank god…it dropped…. Grab it Curly, Grab it and get away! She did, Whew…… made it….

And I watch Jen.  Sharing a stare with Curly’s mom. Licking crumbs off her finger. Pretty sure she’s saying “next time lady…. just wait”…..

So….. we moms shared a laugh.

Mutually despising each others children, and somehow bonding at the same time.

Hibachi Awkwardness

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It was a rare night of just me and my two girls, so we decided to go eat Hibachi somewhere.

We love the idea of someone cooking right in front of you,

we love the rice, the shrimp, the vegetables,

we LOVE the Yum Yum sauce…..

But we hate the awkwardness.

You know, the hibachi awkwardness that is bound to happen when you don’t have enough people in  your own party to fill up a table. Walking in there, just the three of us…. we didn’t have a chance. So we follow our hostess, past tables already full of people…. oh, maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be no one to sit with!  Nope, they found a table with about 6 people seated already, and placed us at the end.

There are plenty of reasons this feels weird to me. I felt we were already at a disadvantage, having less people in my party than the one already seated. So THEY are going to dominate the “table talk”.

Not that there is much talk between us…. because we all act like we can’t see or hear each other, at the same time totally seeing and hearing each other. I’ve seen it both ways, either the group you get seated with wants to introduce themselves, shake hands, etc…, or, more commonly…. eye contact is avoided at all cost. It’s acceptable to laugh when someone takes a piece of shrimp in the face instead of the mouth… but just a quick laugh, you can’t fully commit to it.

Bringing kids into the mix can really illustrate how awkward it can be….. because if your baby is being bad, or really good, doing something adorably cute, or falling flat on her face on the floor next to the table….. people WILL look, and sometimes laugh, comment to each other…. but at no point do they say these things to ME… so I never know how to respond, and end up doing what I do best, just pretending that I don’t hear them….because you know, I can’t see them….

Once, My husband and I took the 4 year old to eat Hibachi. I think before the toddler was born, so he was probably not yet 3.  We were seated, of course, next to another family. This one had a couple kids. They were not clued in yet about the whole “ignoring the people next to you” thing…  One took a liking to my husband, and proceeded to run and head butt him several times. His parents then had to acknowledge us, apologized, but could not stop their son from groping my husband with his very greasy hands. And then rubbing his face on him for some reason…. the whole time the parents are begging him to stop, the kid doesn’t want to stop, and hubby is all “Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s ok!”

This was funny to me, because anyone who knows my husband is aware that he is nothing if not polite. Ridiculously polite. Especially to strangers he doesn’t know. AND… he really goes CRAZY about his clothes getting food on them, and kids with dirty hands touching him. Or his clothes. So he sits there, smiles, laughs, Oh, that is so cute….how your son is putting his whole hand in his mouth….and then wiping it on my shirt… Oh, I love it! And as soon as we are out of the restaurant, he is almost shaking, desperate to get out of those clothes, and wash the spit off of him.

So it’s not the ideal situation…. eating at Hibachi. But we still do it, probably for the Yum Yum sauce more than anything. And the fire. And the little plastic guy who pees on the fire, if you’re lucky enough to have a chef with one of those on his cart…..

ebay.com. Weepy the wee wee

ebay.com. Weepy the wee wee