I have begun this quirky habit of making my bed. It began when I finally took down the Pack n' Play basinett, that was becoming a collect-all for dirty clothes, spare computer parts, and random pieces of mail. I went through and cleaned and rearranged the bedroom. I even changed the bedsheets. It was clean. And spacious. I didn't want to leave it.
Now, why would anyone in their right mind, with five children, three of which can turn over the rest of the house within five minutes, tops, bother to make her bed everyday? Because it is the one...the only...thing that I have control over.
Tonight I will turn out the lights on the toy littered floor, and the laundry couch (you know...the designated couch where the clean laundry gets dumped until one has time to fold it.) I will walk past the kitchen sink...which was cleared this afternoon, but now holds empty bottles and dessert dishes...and a random piece of bologna that Irelynn decided she no longer wanted. I will step over the ginormous pop-up tunnel that Irelynn set up in the hallway...walk past the bathroom where my preteen daughter's cosmetics and hairbrush still stand on the counter...and enter my clean, uncluttered room. I will close the door and for a few moments...a few wonderful moments....feel like I'm in control, stress-free, and organized.
Of course, the next morning I will walk through the door, and the colors will be brilliant, munchkins will declare my arrival, and the full impact of last night's tornado will be revealed. But tonight....for tonight....I'm going to pretend it is all a dream.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Go Team!
It appears we have a basketball fan in our family...and it's not my husband. The other night, Bruce was flipping through channels, when Irelynn told him, "wait! Go back! Basketball!"
The Pistons were playing. We looked at each other and shrugged.
She began giving us the play by play. "He throw the ball! Mom...look...go! Go go go! Go my team! The blue guys my team. Go my team!"
I am trying to remember if there were any Backyardigans or Dora episodes involving basketball.
Last night, American Idol was on. Usually she is a big fan. We were feeding the babies, when we heard what sounded like...crying? Or...yelling? I'm not sure...but it didn't sound good. I put the bottle down, and ran back to our bedroom, the source of the sound.
There I found our toddler...remote control in hand....yelling at the TV. She had changed the channel and found a basketball game.
"Go my team! Go go go...no! What the hell?"
"Irelynn!"
"What?"
Now, she may not have gotten her love of basketball from my husband...but her vocabulary...well, I'm pretty sure that didn't come from Dora.
The Pistons were playing. We looked at each other and shrugged.
She began giving us the play by play. "He throw the ball! Mom...look...go! Go go go! Go my team! The blue guys my team. Go my team!"
I am trying to remember if there were any Backyardigans or Dora episodes involving basketball.
Last night, American Idol was on. Usually she is a big fan. We were feeding the babies, when we heard what sounded like...crying? Or...yelling? I'm not sure...but it didn't sound good. I put the bottle down, and ran back to our bedroom, the source of the sound.
There I found our toddler...remote control in hand....yelling at the TV. She had changed the channel and found a basketball game.
"Go my team! Go go go...no! What the hell?"
"Irelynn!"
"What?"
Now, she may not have gotten her love of basketball from my husband...but her vocabulary...well, I'm pretty sure that didn't come from Dora.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
"I'm...sick...."
Why is it that men can endure extreme temperatures, clogged toilets, spider-infested crawl spaces and broken down cars...but the common cold can reduce them to whimpering babies?
I should have known it was coming. The other night he began to moan. Quietly...with his lower lip protruding just slightly...he began to complain. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and shuffled through the house, waiting to be asked what was wrong.
The next morning he could not move. His voice came out in weak, broken sentences. He began to sound like a hoarse William Shatner: "I'm...not feeling....so well." He finally crawls out of bed, an hour later than normal, and somehow dresses himself for work. He needs help opening the DayQuil.
Upon returning home, where he weakly boasts of his ability to get through the work day, he collapses on the chair, once again unable to move. He asks for water. And for me to feel his forehead. I tease him about whether or not he behaved this way at work...asking his boss to bring him drinks and kiss him on the cheek. He is not amused.
I am reminded of a video I once saw. At least I know that I am not alone. There is actually a term for this phenomenon: The Man Cold. This is dedicated to all the women in my life who have also had to deal with "Man Colds."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mz6DktXFvg4
I should have known it was coming. The other night he began to moan. Quietly...with his lower lip protruding just slightly...he began to complain. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and shuffled through the house, waiting to be asked what was wrong.
The next morning he could not move. His voice came out in weak, broken sentences. He began to sound like a hoarse William Shatner: "I'm...not feeling....so well." He finally crawls out of bed, an hour later than normal, and somehow dresses himself for work. He needs help opening the DayQuil.
Upon returning home, where he weakly boasts of his ability to get through the work day, he collapses on the chair, once again unable to move. He asks for water. And for me to feel his forehead. I tease him about whether or not he behaved this way at work...asking his boss to bring him drinks and kiss him on the cheek. He is not amused.
I am reminded of a video I once saw. At least I know that I am not alone. There is actually a term for this phenomenon: The Man Cold. This is dedicated to all the women in my life who have also had to deal with "Man Colds."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mz6DktXFvg4
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Venturing Out...
My husband has this odd habit of forgetting that we have five children. He has these idealistic views of venturing out into public as a family. In his mind, we will all pile into the van, head out to Sam's Club, purchase a soda, and walk around as one big happy family, perusing the aisles and checking out what is new in the electronic department. It will be a wonderful family bonding experience...get us out of the house, and provide some free entertainment.
Now, you would think that previous experiences would puncture this happy bubble, and provide a heavy duty dose of reality into his poor, delusional mind. Alas, he always seems to think that it was just a "bad day." Next time will be different. Next time we will not have to change explosive diarhea filled diapers in a public restroom (having to bathe premie babies in the bathroom sink.) We will not have to deal with preteens with skate shoes who want to try them out in the pet food aisle...falling flat on their back with their skate shoe flying through the air nearly taking out an elderly man. We will not have to deal with an overtired toddler screaming at the top of her lungs that she needs a banana right now, regardless of whether you have paid for it. We will not have to deal with a screaming baby with terrible reflux who pukes on us in the middle of the frozen foods section. No...those previous times were all a fluke.
The reality of taking five kids out to go shopping: you need at least an hour to get ready. An hour?! Yes. An hour. Because the babies need to eat. Again. And be changed. The toddler needs to gather her dearest friend, Blanket Snoopy, and her baby doll, sippy cup, and the odd magnetic game she got in a Wendy's kids meal to take with her. Oh, and she needs to be changed, too. The diaper bag needs to be re-stocked. The 13-year-old boy needs to find his wallet. And go search for his sweatshirt. The 11-year-old girl needs to go brush her hair and put on concealer. And find her purse.
The three older ones need to find hats and gloves. And they need to pile in first, as the two babies need to be placed in the middle row of the van. The 13-year-old has to help buckle in the toddler. This takes awhile. The boy can reconstruct a Nintendo DS out of spare parts he has found in playgrounds and around the house, but he cannot figure out how to buckle a toddler into a carseat. Finally, the toddler is secure, the preteens are in their designated seats, and the babies are in place...with a few rounds of shushing and popping the pacifier back in.
Finally, we are off. "The Backyardigans" is playing on the dvd player in the back. Connor is crying because his pacifier fell out. Jaylond is yelling to turn up the radio, because a Greenday song just came on. Marissa is yelling because Irelynn just hit her. My husband is yelling because the driver in front of him is going too slow. Irelynn repeats what he just said, causing the older two to erupt into fits of laughter.
At Sam's Club we are quite the vision. I have Connor strapped to my front, while I push Owen in the stroller. Irelynn is tailing me, clinging onto her baby doll. Marissa is not too far behind, saying "Mom! Mom! Can we get that? Please?" Jaylond has his eyes set on the free sample table up ahead. Bruce is the only one actually perusing the aisles.
Now, I am not one to usually care what others think...but even I can't help but notice the stares we get. Most of them are friendly enough...you see the whispers..."look! Twins!" I've actually seen people count...point to each of my kids and end with a look of either awe...or disapproval. I've also had people actually stop me to see the babies, and ask questions.
"Are they twins?"
"No. I had them two months apart."
Ok...I've never answered that way...but...come on. Seriously?
"Are they identical?"
I look at my boys. One is short...stocky...pudgy cheeks...full lips....not much hair. The other is long...super skinny....hair that curls up and stands on end....ears that stick out....with long eyelashes and a grin that lights up the room.
"No."
I get comments that range from "what a blessing" to "you must have your hands full."
After shopping, if there are no sudden...emergencies...there is still the stopping to feed the babies...and the changing of the diapers. Bruce groans in protest.
Well...we either stop now and feed the babies...or listen to the screaming all the way home. And...we either change diapers (and pull-ups) now...or have them leak through onto their clothes and carseats. It all comes with having kids.
The good news is: I have the procedure pretty much down. I even enjoy the looks we get at times. My husband always gets his prized fountain soda. And my children will have many memories of family outings....to Sam's Club.
The bad news is: we spend much more money than we intend due to pacifying toddlers, preteens, and husbands....and my husband realizes that there was not so much bonding as there was planning, stressing, arguing, and pacifying.
However, had it not been for his insistance, I would not be eating a warehouse supply size bag of M&M's and enjoying a big-arse glass of wine right now. And so, I shall continue to endure these outings.
Now, you would think that previous experiences would puncture this happy bubble, and provide a heavy duty dose of reality into his poor, delusional mind. Alas, he always seems to think that it was just a "bad day." Next time will be different. Next time we will not have to change explosive diarhea filled diapers in a public restroom (having to bathe premie babies in the bathroom sink.) We will not have to deal with preteens with skate shoes who want to try them out in the pet food aisle...falling flat on their back with their skate shoe flying through the air nearly taking out an elderly man. We will not have to deal with an overtired toddler screaming at the top of her lungs that she needs a banana right now, regardless of whether you have paid for it. We will not have to deal with a screaming baby with terrible reflux who pukes on us in the middle of the frozen foods section. No...those previous times were all a fluke.
The reality of taking five kids out to go shopping: you need at least an hour to get ready. An hour?! Yes. An hour. Because the babies need to eat. Again. And be changed. The toddler needs to gather her dearest friend, Blanket Snoopy, and her baby doll, sippy cup, and the odd magnetic game she got in a Wendy's kids meal to take with her. Oh, and she needs to be changed, too. The diaper bag needs to be re-stocked. The 13-year-old boy needs to find his wallet. And go search for his sweatshirt. The 11-year-old girl needs to go brush her hair and put on concealer. And find her purse.
The three older ones need to find hats and gloves. And they need to pile in first, as the two babies need to be placed in the middle row of the van. The 13-year-old has to help buckle in the toddler. This takes awhile. The boy can reconstruct a Nintendo DS out of spare parts he has found in playgrounds and around the house, but he cannot figure out how to buckle a toddler into a carseat. Finally, the toddler is secure, the preteens are in their designated seats, and the babies are in place...with a few rounds of shushing and popping the pacifier back in.
Finally, we are off. "The Backyardigans" is playing on the dvd player in the back. Connor is crying because his pacifier fell out. Jaylond is yelling to turn up the radio, because a Greenday song just came on. Marissa is yelling because Irelynn just hit her. My husband is yelling because the driver in front of him is going too slow. Irelynn repeats what he just said, causing the older two to erupt into fits of laughter.
At Sam's Club we are quite the vision. I have Connor strapped to my front, while I push Owen in the stroller. Irelynn is tailing me, clinging onto her baby doll. Marissa is not too far behind, saying "Mom! Mom! Can we get that? Please?" Jaylond has his eyes set on the free sample table up ahead. Bruce is the only one actually perusing the aisles.
Now, I am not one to usually care what others think...but even I can't help but notice the stares we get. Most of them are friendly enough...you see the whispers..."look! Twins!" I've actually seen people count...point to each of my kids and end with a look of either awe...or disapproval. I've also had people actually stop me to see the babies, and ask questions.
"Are they twins?"
"No. I had them two months apart."
Ok...I've never answered that way...but...come on. Seriously?
"Are they identical?"
I look at my boys. One is short...stocky...pudgy cheeks...full lips....not much hair. The other is long...super skinny....hair that curls up and stands on end....ears that stick out....with long eyelashes and a grin that lights up the room.
"No."
I get comments that range from "what a blessing" to "you must have your hands full."
After shopping, if there are no sudden...emergencies...there is still the stopping to feed the babies...and the changing of the diapers. Bruce groans in protest.
Well...we either stop now and feed the babies...or listen to the screaming all the way home. And...we either change diapers (and pull-ups) now...or have them leak through onto their clothes and carseats. It all comes with having kids.
The good news is: I have the procedure pretty much down. I even enjoy the looks we get at times. My husband always gets his prized fountain soda. And my children will have many memories of family outings....to Sam's Club.
The bad news is: we spend much more money than we intend due to pacifying toddlers, preteens, and husbands....and my husband realizes that there was not so much bonding as there was planning, stressing, arguing, and pacifying.
However, had it not been for his insistance, I would not be eating a warehouse supply size bag of M&M's and enjoying a big-arse glass of wine right now. And so, I shall continue to endure these outings.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Why I Love Kids
It was not a day for the weak. I ran out of coffee. My husband was called into work...on a Saturday. The children were all home...and getting restless.
I scrounged around the kitchen to find another suitable source of caffeine. Aha! There is coffee! Does coffee go bad? It is coffee my mother-in-law brought back from Puerto Rico...when I was still pregnant with the twins. Hmmm...only one way to find out. Yes...still good.
I come back into the kitchen after changing Owen. I see Irelynn has the markers out...and has purple streaks on her face.
"Irelynn...did you color on yourself?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"What are you supposed to color on?"
"Um, paper or sumthin' I think."
((sigh))
"Yes, Irelynn...paper. We only color on paper."
"Oh."
I continue on into the living room to find Connor with a wide-eyed expression in the exersaucer. His hair is standing on end. Next to him, with a satisfied grin, is my 13-year-old...also with his hair standing on end.
"Look...he looks like a Super Saiyan."
I cringe at the Dragon Ball reference. Just what I need...my other two boys to grow up obsessed with it.
The day drags on, with the older children growing more bored by the minute. I finally break up a fight by pulling out some blueberry muffin mix and telling Marissa to bake. It was a simple set of instructions...not (too) much could go wrong.
Jaylond preoccupies himself by building an elaborate backdrop and set for his bionicles. He is attempting to do a stop animation film. This project took up a good part of five hours. This endeavor consumed my dining room, and almost turned into a disaster movie with the onslaught of the monster toddler. I was very grateful when he wrapped up for the day.
Irelynn, not used to having to share the TV, fought with her sister over whether they were to watch "Harry Potter" or "Scooby Doo."
Thank goodness my husband came home soon after that, with Chinese food in hand...and a bottle of wine. I knew there was a reason I loved him.
I must admit, as frustrating as my children can be at times...they are a neverending source of amusement.
I scrounged around the kitchen to find another suitable source of caffeine. Aha! There is coffee! Does coffee go bad? It is coffee my mother-in-law brought back from Puerto Rico...when I was still pregnant with the twins. Hmmm...only one way to find out. Yes...still good.
I come back into the kitchen after changing Owen. I see Irelynn has the markers out...and has purple streaks on her face.
"Irelynn...did you color on yourself?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"What are you supposed to color on?"
"Um, paper or sumthin' I think."
((sigh))
"Yes, Irelynn...paper. We only color on paper."
"Oh."
I continue on into the living room to find Connor with a wide-eyed expression in the exersaucer. His hair is standing on end. Next to him, with a satisfied grin, is my 13-year-old...also with his hair standing on end.
"Look...he looks like a Super Saiyan."
I cringe at the Dragon Ball reference. Just what I need...my other two boys to grow up obsessed with it.
The day drags on, with the older children growing more bored by the minute. I finally break up a fight by pulling out some blueberry muffin mix and telling Marissa to bake. It was a simple set of instructions...not (too) much could go wrong.
Jaylond preoccupies himself by building an elaborate backdrop and set for his bionicles. He is attempting to do a stop animation film. This project took up a good part of five hours. This endeavor consumed my dining room, and almost turned into a disaster movie with the onslaught of the monster toddler. I was very grateful when he wrapped up for the day.
Irelynn, not used to having to share the TV, fought with her sister over whether they were to watch "Harry Potter" or "Scooby Doo."
Thank goodness my husband came home soon after that, with Chinese food in hand...and a bottle of wine. I knew there was a reason I loved him.
I must admit, as frustrating as my children can be at times...they are a neverending source of amusement.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Fix this, Mom...
Well, we had our first disc casualty. It was bound to happen, at the rate of speed my 2 1/2 year-old switches them out. I should have been prepared. After all, the loss of a favorite movie can have a profound impact on such a young child.
Irelynn popped in "Shrek 2" and happily bounded over to me. She climbed into my lap and prepared for it to start up. The screen read "no disc." Uh oh.
"Um, Irelynn, I don't think it's working."
"No, Mom...it's just loading."
"Sweetie, it's saying 'no disc.' Let's open it up and see what's wrong."
"Okay." She jumps down and runs over to open the DVD player. She hands me the disc and I notice a long crack running down it.
"Oh...it's broken..."
"Clean it, Mom," she states with confidence; knowing the reason some discs have not played in the past.
"No, Honey...it's broken, not dirty. There is a crack in it."
"Oh. Fix it, Mom."
"I can't fix it."
"I get you a screwdriver?"
I see the hope and determination in her eyes. I explain to her that "Shrek 2" is no longer with us. It will live on forever in our hearts. She took it better than I thought. She nodded in understanding...and promptly put in "Blue Guy" instead.
I guess at least discs are easily replaced.
Irelynn popped in "Shrek 2" and happily bounded over to me. She climbed into my lap and prepared for it to start up. The screen read "no disc." Uh oh.
"Um, Irelynn, I don't think it's working."
"No, Mom...it's just loading."
"Sweetie, it's saying 'no disc.' Let's open it up and see what's wrong."
"Okay." She jumps down and runs over to open the DVD player. She hands me the disc and I notice a long crack running down it.
"Oh...it's broken..."
"Clean it, Mom," she states with confidence; knowing the reason some discs have not played in the past.
"No, Honey...it's broken, not dirty. There is a crack in it."
"Oh. Fix it, Mom."
"I can't fix it."
"I get you a screwdriver?"
I see the hope and determination in her eyes. I explain to her that "Shrek 2" is no longer with us. It will live on forever in our hearts. She took it better than I thought. She nodded in understanding...and promptly put in "Blue Guy" instead.
I guess at least discs are easily replaced.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Technical Toddler
I'm beginning to think my toddler is a technical genius. Her latest favorite activity is instant messaging her father while he's at work. Although she cannot spell, she types out letters and sends it to him. She also pulls up the little animations menu and clicks on different animations to send him. She even knows where to click on the link to open up a box with a wider selection of pictures. My husband turns the sound down at work, and I just let her play while I do the dishes.
She also knows all the intricate details of starting up a DVD. She finds the one she wants, and if I'm not paying close attention, she will switch out the discs, close the player and start up the movie. She even puts the other disc away.
The other night, the cd player in the kitchen was still on while we sat down to dinner. The Chipmunks cd, on it's fourteenth repetition for the day, finally finished up, and the next cd in the player started up. Dave Ramsey's "Total Money Makeover" began playing.
Jaylond groaned as Dave declared that we were financially fat.
"Man...I'd rather listen to the Chipmunks."
"Ok."
Irelynn sighed, as though he had just twisted her arm, and climbed down from her chair. She ran over, hit "stop," then pushed the button to switch it to disc 3. Then she hit "play," and bounced back to her chair. Once again, the Chipmunks filled the room with their theme song.
And, while it is nice to not have to hear the constant whining demands all day...it is a bit unsettling to hear her bound between the rooms with glee as she starts up "Tonka Wonka," and then turns on the Chipmunks in the other room. And did I mention she also knows how to control the volume?
So, if anyone gets an e-mail from me that does not make any sense....no, I have not gone completely insane...it is more than likely my toddler sending out messages. As long as she doesn't upload any embarrassing photos...I guess I'm okay with that. Because...oh yeah...did I mention she has stolen my camera and taken several...well....artistic photos? Connor's nose....her dolls...Bruce's feet....and my behind. I'm half expecting them to end up on the internet anyday now.
Hmmm....better go delete those...
She also knows all the intricate details of starting up a DVD. She finds the one she wants, and if I'm not paying close attention, she will switch out the discs, close the player and start up the movie. She even puts the other disc away.
The other night, the cd player in the kitchen was still on while we sat down to dinner. The Chipmunks cd, on it's fourteenth repetition for the day, finally finished up, and the next cd in the player started up. Dave Ramsey's "Total Money Makeover" began playing.
Jaylond groaned as Dave declared that we were financially fat.
"Man...I'd rather listen to the Chipmunks."
"Ok."
Irelynn sighed, as though he had just twisted her arm, and climbed down from her chair. She ran over, hit "stop," then pushed the button to switch it to disc 3. Then she hit "play," and bounced back to her chair. Once again, the Chipmunks filled the room with their theme song.
And, while it is nice to not have to hear the constant whining demands all day...it is a bit unsettling to hear her bound between the rooms with glee as she starts up "Tonka Wonka," and then turns on the Chipmunks in the other room. And did I mention she also knows how to control the volume?
So, if anyone gets an e-mail from me that does not make any sense....no, I have not gone completely insane...it is more than likely my toddler sending out messages. As long as she doesn't upload any embarrassing photos...I guess I'm okay with that. Because...oh yeah...did I mention she has stolen my camera and taken several...well....artistic photos? Connor's nose....her dolls...Bruce's feet....and my behind. I'm half expecting them to end up on the internet anyday now.
Hmmm....better go delete those...
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