A Letter To My Dad

Dear Fodder,

I was thinking about you today, as I often do when I eat M&M's, drink diet soda, or wish the beer I was drinking was actually a Mohave Red. Or Lobotomy Bock.

Owen asks about you. I showed him pictures...and I think he understands, but I'm not sure that he does. He is sad that he never met you. He reminds me of you at times...his sense of humor, his blue eyes that sparkle, and his love of Star Wars.

I wonder what you would say to me now if you could see my life...to see that I ended up with twins, AFTER having three kids (which I'm sure you thought I was crazy to have at the time.) It doesn't seem like it was that long ago that I flew out to California with my brother to say good-bye...it feels like yesterday. The phone call still echoes in my mind: "your father's dead." I remember dropping the phone. I remember kissing my baby, Irelynn, and hugging the older kids, knowing that it would be the first time I wasn't there for their first day of school...and the first time I was away from my baby for that long.

You held Irelynn when she was 3-months old. She will be 7-years-old in two days. You would smile if you could see her...she's very smart, and creative...like you. She has your wit.

You would be appalled by our vehicles. They are dirty and due for oil changes. There are random Cheerios and possibly old french fries hidden between the seats. I am not organized like I used to be...our house is in a  state of chaos at all times. I haven't labeled binders with our videos in alphabetical order. I still can't play chess. And my college degree is gathering dust somewhere in the basement. I'm hardly the person you dreamed I would become.

I think, though, that you would be proud of me. If you could see...and know...your grandchildren, I think you would be proud. That's the one great accomplishment I can claim.

I wonder if you were alive today if you would be on Facebook. I think your posts would be hilarious. Sometimes I imagine what you would say if you read mine.

I know it's not much...I think my religious path is similar to your's...but I do think about you.  Every time I see a crow. Every time I see a movie with a scene filmed in front of Vasquez Rocks. And every time I look into Owen's eyes.

I miss you...and though we weren't always great at saying it to each other...I love you.

Love,
Dodder

The Garbage Collector

My oldest child used to collect seashells.  He had a pretty decent collection.  My next child collected stuffed animals...and had a name and background for each one (which was pretty impressive, considering she had around fifty stuffed animals.)  Irelynn used to collect shells.  Then she collected rocks.  She even collected bottle caps for a brief time.  Now my child has started a new collection...trash.

At first I was impressed by her creativity and penchant for going "green."  She wants to recycle everything into art projects.  Pizza boxes, sucker sticks, pudding cups, wrappers...she somehow finds a reason to save each and every one.

Now, as people who have known me for several years know...this kind of behavior bothers me. Greatly. I have overcome many of my anal tendencies after having several kids and realizing that there is just no way you can remain anal with five kids. You would drive yourself insane. I do still go in spurts, though, and randomly declutter the house, rendering my family speechless.  I also have resigned to merely cringing when the children put things back in the "wrong" place, instead of immediately moving it back to where I feel it should go.  I wouldn't say I've reached a zen-like acceptance level, but I have come a long way.

Until now.

As I was cleaning the kitchen, and Irelynn was quickly removing items from the garbage that I had just disposed of, my eye began to twitch. I tried to be reasonable, and let her keep some items. I tried to take deep breaths as I saw her "collection" pile up in her bedroom. I was reaching the end of my rope, though.

The other day she wanted to fish out all of the unpopped kernels from the bowl of popcorn my husband made.

"WHY??" I felt the eye twitch coming on.

"I want to save them until the summer so I can try to plant them.  Or I can glue them to paper and make a cool picture."

She also wanted to save the wrapper to Owen's Star Wars sucker...for an art project.

I don't remember what item it was that made me snap...the burger wrapper? The empty cat treat bag? The cardboard toilet paper roll?

"Just throw it AWAY!!  It is GARBAGE!  You are NOT keeping anymore GARBAGE! Go collect normal things...like coins, or shells, or even the stupid Obama trading cards your dad collects!  JUST NO MORE TRASH!!"

Yesterday she told me she wants to start collecting the Magic Tree House books. I think I can live with that.

Happy Endings

Tonight is one of those nights where I am thankful for good friends, long phone conversations with my mother, and having some peace and quiet after finally putting children in bed.  Oh...and alcohol.  I'm very thankful for alcohol.

I can't pinpoint the moment things started to go downhill...but I do remember the moment I realized that the evening was not going to get any better.  Bruce called to tell me he would be working late tonight.  This meant that I would have to take care of kids, homework, dinner, getting them (and myself) ready for Tae Kwon Do, and getting to and from the martial arts building...with five kids.  I tried to mentally prepare myself...which never goes well because I've been through this enough to know that things will not go well.

Homework ended in arguments between the teenagers because one asked the other one for help.  The helper was not very nice, and the helpee retaliated with some creative, yet derogatory name-calling.  While that was happening, Irelynn began crying.  She cried for the next hour, for various reasons:  Owen used all the blankets to make his tent, she used a permanent marker on a maze and messed up, people were staring at her, and she lost her pencil.  Connor began crying because he stole Owen's blanket Snoopy...so Owen hit him with a light saber.

I decided that I was going to forego making dinner (which involved prepping vegetables and had several ingredients,) and opted for pizza.  I did not want the same battle that we had the night before when I tried to feed my children orange-glazed fish and a beans and rice dish.

Dinner was chaos as the kids had not eaten food like this in awhile (I have been on a kick lately experimenting with healthy dishes.)  The kitchen turned into the set of "The Hobbit," where five starving children hoarded pieces of pizza and breadsticks as though they would never eat again...I think I even heard one of them talking to the pizza, calling it, "Precious..."

Then, Owen yelled.  Why he yelled, I'm not sure, but what he yelled was, "DAMMIT!"

Connor then responded, "MOO-oom...Owen said 'DAMMIT.'"

Before I could reply, Irelynn piped up.

"Oh yeah?  Guess what Brendan said in class today?  He said, 'shut the f-u-c-'...."

"OKAY.  THAT'S ENOUGH."  I cut her off, but not soon enough.

"What?  I was spelling it so the boys wouldn't know."

After dinner the teenagers promptly disappeared.  The three younger ones started feeling the effects of the soda they drank with dinner, and all chaos ensued.  Owen began chasing the dog with a Nerf gun.  Connor started jumping on the couch.  I told Connor to sit down, and then went into the kitchen to see the dog...on the counter...eating breadsticks.

"ONYX!!  NO!"  And then glass broke behind me.  I turned around to see a pink snow boot laying next to the glass dish from my oil burner...on the floor next to me.

"Oops."

Irelynn had kicked off her boot, which went through the living room, over the counter, into the kitchen, and knocked down the oil burner.

At this point I decided that we would skip Tae Kwon Do tonight and I would just put kids to bed early.  I called my mom, who is always great at making me feel better, when I heard a knock at my door.  I was thinking, "uh oh...now what?"

I opened the door to find my good friend standing there...with a bag full of Smirnoff Ice.

"I read your Facebook post and decided I needed to come over."

The kids are now in bed, and the house is quiet.  And I am toasting my Smirnoff to good friends and skipping class (which I don't normally condone...but in this case, I'm glad I did.)

Perhaps I should watch "The Lord of the Rings"...and reheat some pizza for "second dinner."

Valentine's Day

Irelynn, my six-year-old, brought home a letter for me that she wrote in school.  Instead of telling you about it, I will just post a picture:

  In case you can't read it, it says:

"Dear Mom,
You are my valentine. Did you now i love you so moch?  More then anething exept JB! Owen looks like he's five or six right mommy?
love your chield
sencerlly Irelynn"

For anyone who doesn't know, JB stands for "Justin Bieber."  She is completely obsessed with him, and I will take it as an extreme honor to be loved more than anything EXCEPT Justin Bieber.  And yes, Owen is looking older these days.

Allowance Day

I have decided that it is time to get the younger kids to help out more at home.  My goal is to at least get them to pick up their own toys...and not poop in their pants.  I would say that is another story, but I have actually included "going pee and poop in the potty" as one of the daily chores for the boys on their new chore charts.  Unfortunately, I did not think that one through...the first time they use the potty they will happily check off that chore...and then later in the day have an "accident."  I use the term "accident" loosely, as they are now four years old and perfectly capable of making it to the bathroom on time.  As you can probably tell...I'm getting very frustrated with the potty-training thing, envisioning my boys accepting their high school diplomas in Pull-Ups, and have succumbed to pure bribery in an attempt to put an end to accidents.  I am literally paying them to poop in the proper place.

But I digress.  Back to chores and an actual allowance.  I've gone back and forth on the idea of allowance for years.  On one hand, I understand the benefit of teaching children to earn and spend their own money.  On the other hand, I also think that they should be expected to help out and be a part of the family...without the need to pay them to do so.  As you can probably guess, that hasn't been working so well.  Chores rarely get done...and when they do, it's only part way and often times somehow manages to make more work for me in the end.  I'm determined to change things...I have five children...I should be able to expect some help around the house, even if it means I have to pay them, right?

Irelynn is very excited.  She helped me create the chore charts.  She does all of her chores and then asks if she can do more.

Connor and Owen are excited, too.  The like to color all over their chore charts and sometimes erase Irelynn's chores.  They like brushing their teeth (one of the chores.)  They do not like picking up their toys.  This is usually a battle as one won't do it if the other one isn't "doing his part."  They pick up one toy and want to go mark it off on the chart.  And then go brush their teeth again.

Somehow we muddled through this week...and though they didn't do everything perfectly, I decided to award all of the kids allowance just to give them incentive to do better next week with the warning that NEXT time they need to actually do all of their chores.  I gave Irelynn two dollars.  She proudly carried them around, waving them in the air.  Then she lost one.

The boys wanted to know how much a dollar was (they each received one.)  Then Connor wanted to know who the funny-looking guy was on his dollar.  I finally told them to go put their money someplace safe.  Then Owen came up to me, crying.

"Connor ripped my dollar!"  He held up two pieces of a one dollar bill.

Connor just grinned.  I then made him give Owen HIS dollar.

That evening I put to bed two unhappy kids.  Owen was fine, because in the end, he had a dollar.  I didn't have the heart to explain to him that his dollar was not, in fact, going to buy another Wii game.  Connor was crying because he felt that ripping Owen's dollar was not just cause for taking away his dollar.  Irelynn was devastated that she worked so hard for her money and then lost it. (We did find it the next day, so all is currently well.)

I obviously have a lot to learn about children and allowance.  This was an epic Mommy Fail.  And I don't even have a clean house to show for it.  Perhaps I should start more simple by keeping envelopes or jars or something for each kid that I keep track of...or just forget it and give the boys chocolate coins for allowance.    

I wonder if I can still spend it if I tape the dollar back together.  If so, it is totally going into the beer fund.

Look Out, Jackie Chan...

We have signed our family up for Tae Kwon Do.  The whole family.  We thought it would be a great idea for exercise, discipline, and to just have something we could all learn and do together.  The kids were all very excited, (outside of the teenage girl, who went back and forth between being very excited to hating us for "forcing" her to do a sport.)  Our oldest was starting at a yellow belt because he had taken it before...and has made sure we are all well aware of his skills.

The youngest three take class very seriously.  Irelynn is a proud Tiny Tiger, and tries to execute every move with precision.  She has earned several stars in class already.  What Owen lacks in skill, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm and charm.  He has charmed his way into earning stars after class is over...even though his front kicks involve running forward, kicking so hard he nearly lands on his bottom, and letting out a warrior yell each time.  I'm not sure Irelynn appreciates that he can flash the instructor one of his smiles and convince her that he deserves a star, too.

(Owen and Connor taking the moves seriously)

(Irelynn taking it seriously, Owen and Connor not so much)

Bruce and I are taking the adult class with the older kids.  The class is very physically challenging for us older out-of-shape people.  Honestly, I think I can do the forms much better than the warm-up, which involves jumping jacks and push ups.  However, I did have a shining moment when it came time to spar.  I had to go against our oldest son, neither of us having any protective gear.  He was trying to look impressive, sending kicks toward my head and starting each move with a stance that looked like something out of a Kung Fu movie.  After the third kick toward the head, I got irritated and grabbed his leg, mid-air, and tripped his standing leg, bringing him to the ground.  Twice I ended up taking him down, and the instructor said (quite loudly, I might add,) "Dude...your mom's kicking your ASS!"  Damn straight.

Better yet was the fact that apparently the instructors all thought this was pretty funny...the next class we went to another instructor came up and said that he heard I had "kicked his ass."  Poor Jay.  I think he took it all in stride...for the most part, anyway.

We will be testing for our next belts at the end of the month.  Hopefully that will go well, and I won't find Owen trying to charm his instructor after testing.  I'm still waiting for the instructor to correct Connor at the end of class, where the class is supposed to say, "Sabum-nim, Kam-sa-ham-ni-da."  Connor says, "Sabun-nim, Feliz Navidad."

Of course, the instructors are probably more concerned about the time Owen peed on the mat in the middle of class.  Or the time Connor licked the windows while waiting for us to order gear in the office.  Or that the mother of this family of seven takes out her aggression on her children during sparring...

Candy, Puppies and Pee

I have three glorious hours with no children Tuesday through Friday, as the boys are into their second year of preschool.  I would like to tell you that I spend this time being constructive...cleaning or organizing.  I would even like to tell you I spend this time selfishly...sleeping or reading.  However, due to the new baby in the house, I have been pretty busy.  Onyx, (don't worry...it is a puppy, not another child that I let my husband name,) is a ball of fuzz with eyes that melt you into forgiving him for pooping in the laundry room...and then eating the poop.

Halloween was cold and rainy, leaving us with plenty of leftover candy.  Bailey and Onyx have been taking advantage of this fact.

Bailey will grab suckers from the bowl...and bat them down to the floor.

Then Onyx will unwrap the sucker...and lick it.

Needless to say, the candy has been moved.  I wasn't smart enough to move it, however, until about the third sucker.  

Luckily he has been good about going in his crate when I have to go pick the boys up from school...because I'm not sure I could have handled coming home to something disgusting after the boys showed me their project from school today.  The letter of the week is "H," so they do various activities that incorporate the letter and letter sound.  I would describe the project...but I think it would be best to just post a picture:

Yes...those are "Hairy H's."  No, I do not know where they got the hair from...and I'm not sure I want to know.  I think that these might skip the refrigerator and go straight to the circular file.  

I thought that this might be the most unsettling thing I would encounter today...but as anyone with children knows, never, ever think that things could not get worse.

I walked down the hallway, talking to my mother on the phone, and noticed a puddle on the floor...that looked like it was coming from under the door to the bathroom.  My first thought was puppy pee.  Upon closer inspection, I realized that even the puppy could not pee that much...and the door was closed, and I could tell the light was on in the bathroom.  I knocked on the door.  Owen answered.

"Mommy...my pee came out."

"In the potty?"

"No...on the floor."

I tried to open the door, but it was locked.  

"Owen...," I said, "open the door."

"I can't...it's locked."

"Can you unlock it?"

"Um, no."

My mom asked if I needed to go, trying not to laugh.  I told her good-bye, and tried to convince Owen that he could unlock the door.  I finally gave up, and ran to look for the little metal key that unlocks all the doors in the house.  In the meantime, Owen was getting frantic.

"MOMMY!!!  I CAN'T GET OUT!!  MY PEE-PEE IS ON MY FEET!"

I finally found the key, and opened the door, to see Owen standing in the middle of his puddle of pee.  

"Just...stay there.  Hold on...don't go anywhere!"  I was imagining wet footprints up and down the hallway.

As I ran to find some paper towels, I heard a crash.  I ran back to find Owen sitting in his puddle of pee.

"Mommy, I slipped on my pee!"

Onyx came running around the corner to see what the fuss was about and skidded across the floor...and into the wall.  Before I could catch him, he was already running off, leaving little pee paw prints all over the kitchen floor.  

I'm not sure which is worse to clean...a puppy or a preschooler.  

I definitely think I will be taking a nice, long bath tonight as I try not to think about hairy H's and puddle-skating puppies.