Hurricane Sandy Is A Real B****

I've got a lot of friends that are up north dealing with this Frankenstorm. And my heart goes out to every single one of them. I've also got family up there. Which is super scary. Thankfully all my friends and family are okay.

At last count, there are seven million without power, and likely will be without it for a week (according to The Today Show). The Weather Channel showed one of their reporters standing in Atlantic City, NJ. She was standing on six inches of sand. In the middle of the street. Six. Inches. I've even seen one picture of a shark swimming the ocean-flooded streets of New Jersey, but I'm not entirely sure if that's a hoax or not.

Hoax? I'm seeing more and more pictures of this, so I'm
thinking not.
(Photo Credit: now.msn.com)

This is not real. I knew it wasn't the second I saw it.
This is from the movie The Day After Tomorrow.
(Photo Credit: abcnews.go.com)

Can you imagine that? You're hanging out in your house, worried about floods and wind and everything else that comes with hurricanes and BOOM there's a shark swimming by your porch. Okay, I live on the Florida coast, I would've thought I'd see that before someone in New Jersey for sure!

And to make this whole ordeal scarier, people are coming up with pictures that are fakes. And they look very, very real. As if people aren't terrified as it is, let's see how many computer freaks with time on their hands can bump the fear factor up to mass hysteria. I swear, some people have no brains in their heads.

And then there's the people who chose not to evacuate. Listen, I get it. Florida is sort of like Hurricane Central. It's hard to leave your home and your belongings behind. But getting you and your family to safety is really what matters the most. And honestly? I leave when there's a voluntary evac because chances are it'll turn mandatory and by that point, everyone and their momma is clogging up the gas stations and highways trying to get out.

I completely understand how ill-prepared the North East is for this type of storm. It's probably a lot like how it would be if the South East got a blizzard. It did snow here once, in 1989. I was four and thought it was so cool. I didn't even have gloves though. My sister wrapped dish towels around my hands so I could play in the snow. And you know what? We got like half an inch and it shut the entire city down. A lot of us didn't have power (I can't remember the specific number) because our power lines just aren't equipped to handle that. Bridges and roads everywhere were shut down. It was crazy. And I'm imagining that's how it is up north right now. Except no one's playing in the six inches of sand on the streets in New Jersey.

Right now, I'm so incredibly thankful that the death toll this storm has caused is under twenty (last time I checked). But that's still way too many. And no, not all of those people died because they didn't evacuate on time. Some just weren't told too, some didn't need to evacuate and got crushed by falling limbs or other objects.

And now comes the time to see how we respond as a country. If you're able to get out of your house safely, please go check on your neighbors. They don't have to be elderly to need to be checked on. If you have power and your neighbors don't, invite them over (if you know them or are comfortable with that) to help keep them warm. Especially if they have babies or young children. And when it's time to clean up? Don't hesitate for a second to help clear away the trees. If you've got a chain saw, put it to use.

It's called humanity. Right now is not the time to be stingy. And honestly, a day may come where you need help from your neighbor. And she'll remember the time you took her and her six-month-old infant in when she didn't have power to make sure they were warm. So she'll help you, without question.

All of you up north, my heart and prayers go out to you. May you stay safe during this scary time and recover stronger than ever.

~Dee

If you'd like to donate to The Red Cross Hurricane Relief Fund (and I truly hope you will) please go HERE

Terrified, Party Of One?

Today was the typical Monday morning rush. We woke up a bit late (although not too late) and I didn’t get to sit down for a second. No big deal though, I’m fairly used to it. I didn’t have any gasket-blowing issues (well, almost, when Monster was refusing a jacket because “I wike duh cold, Mommy!”) and I didn’t even seem to mind that we were leaving late.

We were driving on the interstate when it happened though. I was almost to the exit I take to get to the school when a car from each lane on either side of me came over. No blinkers, no warning, no nothing. They just came over and almost collided. And then they just stopped. And I had been going 65 mph. Because it’s the highway. It all happened so fast. I don’t think I could’ve slammed on my breaks any harder without breaking the pedal off.

You know how people say that your entire life flashes before your eyes when you think you’re going to die or whatever? Those people must not have kids. Because I honest-to-goodness thought there was going to be a massive accident. And with me slowing down from 65, I don’t know if I would’ve survived it. But that thought didn’t even cross my mind until later. My first thought? “OHMYGAWDNOTMYKIDS!” As fast as it all happened, I had a second to think “Maybe me and the whole front end of the car will absorb the impact to keep it from them.”

That was it. Just keep my kids safe. It’s all I wanted.

Once the adrenaline wore off (which took some time, mind you) I realized that my kids hadn’t the slightest clue of my panic. They were fine. Monster was staring out the window and Roo was kicking her little mirror thing, laughing at herself. What had seemed like the biggest deal ever to me, they were completely oblivious to. And I am so eternally grateful for that. I had never been so close to having an accident. Ever. It was horrifying. And my babies didn’t feel an ounce of fear. Thank God.

But then I got to thinking, was that normal? For me to be so consumed with fear for my children that I was willing to be completely crushed with no chance of survival if it took the impact from them? I’m pretty sure I know that the answer any good mother would give is a resounding “yes”.

And then I wonder, how many women have actually done that? Sacrificed themselves for their babies. It’s morbid, and I know this… but I have to feel honored to be a part of Motherhood club, knowing that any of my fellow club members have so selflessly done so.

And my last thought? My own mother. I know that growing up, she would’ve done the same. She would’ve put herself in harms way to keep my siblings and I away from it. But does me being an adult now, with my own children change anything? I doubt it. From talks with my amazing mother-in-law (and no, that’s not sarcasm. I won the damn in-laws lottery when I married Jeep Man) I know that this is not the case. To this day, she would lay her life on the line for her grown-up babies. Never mind the fact that both are much bigger than she is. Never mind the fact that both have spouses and children of their own. None of that matters because they are her babies.

For a fleeting moment I wondered if either car in front of me had children in it. Were the drivers someone’s parent? Were they having the panic attack I was at the almost-accident? I have absolutely no doubts that it would’ve been near-fatal at the very least. Were they thinking the same thing? Are they at home or work right this second thinking about what could’ve turned a typical rushed Monday into tragedy?

I’ll never know. And even though I was thinking it, I don’t really care. Why? Because my babies are safe. My cojones as a mother were tested. I was ready to put it all out there for them. So no, I don’t believe your life flashes before your eyes when you’re staring death in the face. And honestly? I’d rather my last thought be of my beautiful babies than of my entire life any-damn-way. Because they are amazing. They are sunshine in the fall. They are beaches and rain forests. They are waterfalls and lagoons. They are the stars and full moon on a clear night. They are the sunrise and the sunset.

They are everything beautiful that ever existed.

~Dee

Please bear with me!

Well hello, readers.

I'm currently in the process of moving my blog over from Wordpress. No hard feelings to them, I think I just like the way Blogger is set up a bit better. So for the next day or two, I'll be uploading my old blog posts. I hope you enjoy!

~Dee

Ten Things I've Learned Since Becoming A Mommy.

So this is the first post of a four part series that will be written over the course of the next month. There will be a few different points of views regarding ten things learned since becoming a parent. The views will come from myself, a dad, and two different step parents. I’m sure you’ll agree with most, if not all, of what’s written.

————————————————————————————————

I’ve been taking care of kids since I was 9. I was always the first any of the neighborhood moms went to when they needed a sitter and made a good buck doing it. So naturally when I got pregnant, I was all “Pffft, I’ve so got this.” But guess what? I. was. wrong.

So here it is:

Ten Things I’ve Learned Since Becoming a Mommy.

Adorable Ball of Gross

(Photo credit: thatblueyak.blogspot.com)

10. Babies are adorable little balls of gross. And the reason they are adorable is nature’s way of preventing you from dumping them off somewhere because of the gross. They barf all the time, they’re farts are always loud and happen at the most inappropriate times, and they poop in their pants (if you’re lucky). The they turn into toddlers, who are equally gross. Because even though they don’t barf on the regular anymore, now they’re constantly putting nasty things in their mouths. Which is likely to make you barf. Toddlers are also almost always sticky. It’s best not to ask why. And don’t ever tell them to wash up on their own because one of two things will happen, 1) they will pull out every baby wipe in the little box and throw them all over the floor or 2) they will use toilet water. Without soap.

This is not picking your battles.

(Photo credit: o5.com)

9. You know that saying “Pick your battles”? Yeah that never holds truer than it does with children. You will find yourself going back on almost every “I’ll never do that when I have kids” that you ever said before you got impregnated. Do you think my former childless self would ever imagine that she would gladly chase a toddler with a broom to clean up her crumbs because she refuses to eat her snack in the booster seat? No. She would laugh in my face like a obviously crazy person that I have become. There are certain situations where you just have to let the little hooligans win. It does not mean you are less-than as a mother. It means that you value your sanity. Or what you have left of it. And when you meet the other mom that scoffs and tells you how terrible it is that you are giving in to your screaming toddler’s hissy fit, and you will meet a few, take a moment to smile politely while you flip her the bird.

8. Babies need stuff. Lots of stuff. I thought I had an idea of what they need since I’ve been baby sitting/nannying for almost twenty years now. But I was wrong. Were

You only need 3/4 of what’s in here.

(Photo credit: milfordct.newenglandsite.com)

those people who’s kids I watched hiding all this crap or something? There’s a reason Babies R Us is so massive. And then, just when you think you can start giving away some of this crap and freeing up some space in your home… They need different crap. Ride on things, push toys, musical instruments, learning tables… So. Much. Stuff. Once you have children, you should pretty much expect to never have a decluttered home again. There are not enough Ikea shelving systems in the world to house all this crap.


7. With children come trust issues. You birth this baby and suddenly you’re suspicious of everyone. Is that weird guy across the street a pedophile? Before kids, he was just sort of strange. Now you’re wondering if he’s got the body of every missing kid in history burried under his back patio. The lady who comments on your adorable baby in the check out line? You now wonder if she’s going to follow you outside, knock you out with her giant Coach bag, steel your baby and run over your groceries on the way out of the parking lot

Creeper.

(Photo credit: jennleiser.blogspot.com)

Adding to this, your brain will be able to conjure up some of the most jacked situations ever. Ask a man how many ways a baby could become seriously hurt by the things in your home and he’ll state the obvious. Ask a mother and she’ll completely trump him. When my son was born and I went back to work, I was so concerned about stepping through his eye socket with my heels that I refused to wear them in the house. You will be horrified by what goes on in your head when you’re not taking care of that baby.

6. You can no longer be described as cute. Unless stretchy pants, over sized t shirts and a perpetual pony tail are cute. Which they are not. Your husband will still say you’re hot. He has too. Or else he gets no grown up fun time. Plus, he presumably loves you and doesn’t really care what you look like as long as you keep up with personal hygiene (except for those fist six moths of motherhood. No one is required to remember to bathe every day when you’re trying to figure out how the heck you’re supposed to take care of a tiny grunting being. Just make sure you brush your teeth every day and you’re solid.)

5. Boogers are a food group. And snot is the side dish. It’s disgusting and repulsive and a bunch of other words to describe icky things. But kids still do it. Why? I feed you. I even feed you food that you like to eat. Nothing that comes from your nose, or any oraphice for that matter, will taste better than this chicken, rice and veggies. So why?!

Children, please stop doing this. Signed, every parent in the whole history of ever.

(Photo credit: agefotostock.com)

This actually happens.

(Photo credit: everydayadventure11.blogspot.com)

4. Kids create laundry like rodents create baby rodents. It just multiplies over and over and over. And it’s a huge pain in the arse to fold because its so small. I cannot wait until my kids are old enough to put away their own laundry. I may make them put mine away as pay back for the years of putting theirs away.

Torture device?

(Photo credit: babyage.com)

3. What you see as a safety device to protect your precious cargo, said precious cargo sees as a torture chair. What is this aversion to carseats? Being honest here, they look super comfy. And you don’t even have to do the work. I’m the one that buckles you in. And furthermore, I’m the one that installs that bulky piece of… Okay, you might have a point with this one. I don’t care. I’m still buckling you in.

This super sucks.

(Photo credit: pursuitofyourboyfriend.com)

2. You will lose friends. Sad, but true. Even more so as a young mother. I had my first when I was 22, and you wouldn’t believe how quickly my number of friends diminished. Most, if not all, of your friends without kids just don’t get it and aren’t interested in trying to. A few really good ones will stay, but for a while there you’ll be lonelier than a man at a bridal shower. I had no one to relate too. My best advice for this: as soon as your flower is all pollinated, join an online mommy group for your due month. Trust me, they will talk you off the proverbial mommy edge and remind you that you are, in fact a real person and not just a walking spit up rag.

1. You could probably guess this one but, with motherhood came an indescribable love. The amount is unfathomable. You won’t understand how your whole body doesn’t turn into one giant heart, because yours swells so big.

The second my son crowned, I started crying. Which makes pushing really difficult, just so you know. From that moment, I cried for forty-five minutes. And I had only pushed for a few more minutes after the crowning, so a lot of that was just looking at him with tears streaming down my face.

And it won’t matter how ugly your newborn is (face it, they all sort of look like Winston Churchill at birth) you will think he or she is perfect. No one will ever be more perfect than this tiny human. Ever. And no one will ever be good enough because they are not perfect an your baby is. You will want to put them back in, much like a marsupial, just to ensure they are safe and fed and warm and never have to feel heartache.

And then comes the fear. The all encompassing “What the eff have I done? Can I do this? How do I do this? Where is the owners manual? Can I return him/her if something goes wrong? What if I break it?” But you have those fears because of the love. You’ve loved a younger sibling or a niece or nephew. But that is mere pennies compared to what you will feel at the birth of your own tiny person.

You won’t always look so adoringly at them (see above), but nothing will ever make that love waiver. It’s there forever, much like your poochy belly and stretch marks. So embrace it. Remind your babies just how much they mean to you and be there for everything you can. Because just one baby makes up for at least a dozen lost friends.

~Dee

Things That Are Not Helpful: A Rant From A SPED Mommy.

This is a letter to all of those people who have completely skewed ideas of what ADHD/learning disabilities are:

Let me start by saying that I know my son is… Unique. I am not unaware of this and you attempting to bring it to my attention is just making you look like an ass.

Monster has severe ADHD. I was never surprised by this. Jeep Man has it pretty bad, and not only do I have ADD (not the H part) but I am also dyslexic and have dyscalculia. You don’t mix those things and expect to have perfectly “normal” children. He may or may not have some other issues going on, we’re still working on figuring all of that out.

This chart is based on research showing how ADHD is often
linked to other disorders from 1998. (photo credit: hms.harvard.edu)

Here’s the thing, I can take a sympathetic smile when my son literally cannot sit still in a restaurant. I can handle people politely asking him to lower his voice because he doesn’t realize that he’s now shouting. I can even handle someone pointing out that my kid might be climbing the shelves at the hardware store.

What I cannot handle, at all, are people who think that because their neighbor’s sister’s cousin has it, they are an expert. Sure, some of these people are very well intended. But most are just snobbish dillholes who make my eye get all twitchy. So here are some facts, so that the next time you encounter a family that’s dealing with this, you can either shut the Hades up or have some actual information on it.

- ADHD does not mean that my son is undisciplined. It does not mean that I cannot “control” him, nor does it mean that he needs stricter discipline. So what does it mean?

It means that he has a massive case of ants in his pants on a regular basis. It means that he hyperfocuses on things to the point that he completely disengages from the rest of the world. He is not ignoring anyone on purpose. This hyperfocus thing cannot be helped, and he has no idea that he is doing it.

These are scans of ADHD and non ADHD brains.

It also means that he cannot focus on certain tasks unless he has some way to channel the excess. He needs fidgets. Yes, NEEDS. When he can put that excess energy into something else, he is actually able to focus on what he is supposed to be doing.

- ADHD does not mean that he “doesn’t get” what you’re explaining to him. He is extremely smart, it’s just that he probably already knows what you’re trying to say so he has already moved on. Or, he can take what you’ve already told him and predict the rest of it. So he moves on.

It’s not impatience nor it is making assumptions. He can literally connect the dots before you can even finish drawing the dots.

- He cannot just calm down at the drop of a hat. He has to slowly work himself down. So stop telling to calm down. If he needs to chill out, pull him aside and help work him down. (To be honest, our entire family is guilty of this, myself included. The difference is we aren’t jerks about it)

- He is not making those noises on purpose. He doesn’t even realize he’s mumbling/humming/babbling. He just is and that’s okay. If he needs to be quiet for whatever reason, then get his attention and ask him to stop. That’s when he realizes he’s been making any sort of noise.

A recent (2011) comorbidity chart.
(photo credit:namingandtreating.com)

- He does not have those outbursts/melt downs on purpose. So please don’t get angry. It’s not hard to talk him through it.

- Sensory issues are a part of ADHD. If he’s telling you that something is too loud and it hurts, do not tell him that it can’t hurt because he squeals louder than that when he’s playing. Do not say “But it’s just a vacuum”. He’s well aware of what it is, and you saying that is discrediting his feelings AND implying that he’s stupid.

If he is sucking on his shirt, he will probably tell you he doesn’t know why he’s doing it or that it tastes good. The truth that he can’t seem to put into words is that he craves oral stimulation. Chewing and sucking relieve that. Sometimes he does it because he’s anxious and it calms him down.

Please take him seriously when he tells you that his socks aren’t right, or something on his neck is bothering him or something feels “pokey”. As I said before, sensory issues are a part of ADHD. If he doesn’t voice what’s bothering him and you don’t try to fix it, he will have a melt down or an outburst. And that will be YOUR fault.

- Do not assume that he’s medicated. There are therapies and techniques that we are trying before we go that route. We know that one day it will probably be inevitable, but today is not that day. Jeep Man handles his ADHD just fine without meds. I, however, do not handle my ADD without them.

We are not currently doing this. Stop asking.
(photo credit: saturdayeveningpost.com)

I become irritable and easily frustrated, I forget EVERYTHING, nothing ever gets done and I have outbursts of my own. My meds help me take care of that, for the most part. Without them, I feel so completely out of control. Not having any control of your thoughts and emotions is a very scary thing. Because unlike some mental illnesses that cause that, I’m aware of the fact that I can’t control anything.

And also, the meds won’t help with his sensory stuff. So don’t even go there.

- Lastly, he doesn’t know that he has ADHD. We’ve decided not to tell him until he can understand what that means. What he does know is that his mind works faster than most as well as differently. He knows that his parents have “funny brains” too and I think that makes him feel more comfortable about his.

He tries to explain how he thinks at times or why he’s not understanding something, but he becomes frustrated and has a meltdown. The whole point in the therapies is to avoid that. So if he can’t tell you why, then don’t push him.

I think he needs this shirt.
(photo credit: adhdtexas.com)

There’s a crap ton more to go along with these, but to be quite honest my eye is getting twitchy at the thought of all the nit wits out there and their crappy assumptions about how Monster’s brain functions. So I’m gonna go sweep. Or organize my ribbon box. Or restack the kids’ books. Or clean out my purse. Or some other repetitive task. Because I have ADD and that’s what calms me down.

~Dee

The First Field Trip. Ever.

Monster is 5 and a half (he never lets me forget) years old. And yesterday was his first field trip. Ever. So naturally, I had to chaperone. I’ve made it a point to not miss any milestones so far, and I sure as crap wasn’t going to miss this one. Besides, field trips are fun. And also, I don’t always get to spend quality time with Monster.

Roo is 16 months old and into everything. She also requires more discipline than he did at this age. I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but she hits. And bites. A lot. She’s not in daycare or anything, so I just don’t get it. But that’s for another day. The point is, this was going to be a time that I could enjoy him while he explored something new. Which is always my favorite thing. As adults, we’ve seen a good bit of the world. A lot of people don’t realize this, but when you have kids, you’re getting a second chance to see the world like it’s brand new. I would be stupid to miss any opportunity to embrace that.

The trip was to a farm. The kids would get to go on a hayride, play on some cool new play equipment, have lunch, meet some animals and go through a corn maze. Awesome. They were also supposed to get a pumpkin, but due to weather and either not enough rain or too much (conflicting stories from different teachers) they didn’t get to do that. I don’t think Monster missed it.

Now, I have to digress a bit. There were other chaperones. I think 5, total. One of which was the president of the PTA. She’s tried to recruit me a few times, but there’s no way in Hades I’m joining that firing squad. But our kids both play Pop Warner Football and are in the same class, and I guess that means we’re like the same person or something. Sure.

Mrs. Kindergarten had discussed her plan with me on the bus. I’ve got experience with special needs kids in general and one of Monster's classmates is a bit different than most kids, and a LOT like Monster, so I’d get that little boy (who I’m going to call Captain because he was awesome and regularly made pirate sounds while giggling. It was the best.) and Monster and maybe one other. Between the teachers and chaperones, we should each get two kids, maybe three. Sounds legit. But we got off the bus (which was hell, in case you were wondering) and the farm derails that plan-train completely. We’re supposed to follow a guide as a class. I don’t see why this means each chaperone can’t do their job, but apparently the others did. Except for one. She was cool and like me, seemed to get why we were there in the first place. The others sort of hung back and socialized (including the PTA president). Um… okay?

HELL
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Back to the trip. So we get off the bus and our tour guides take us in the corn maze. There are stops in the corn maze with big signs, and each sign is the page from a book about a pumpkin. The guides read the story to the kids. I have to be honest, this was great. Because the night before the trip, I laid in bed having a mini panic attack about chasing pre-schoolers and kindergarteners through a corn maze. Which did not sound like fun. At all.

Before we even left the classroom, I knew I’d have a load of material to blog about thanks to this trip. The kids had been sitting on the rug, and some kid farted. Loud. There were giggles from the boys, and a chorus of “EEEEWWWWW!” from the girls. The maze did not disappoint. The girls all said things like: “Don’t let it [the corn stalks] touch me!” and “What if there’s bugs on it!” and “OHMYGAWD SOMETHING MOVED!” The boys said things like: “Hey, what if we got trapped in here!” and “I bet ninjas hide in here.” and “Puchaw!” (that last one accompanied by karate chops to corn stalks). Captain picked up a fallen corn stalk and after inspecting it closely, determined it might be a sword but was probably trash. Monster was more excited about pretending to be a ninja than the corn maze itself. I can't blame him.

Then we went and played on the play ground. Which was awesome. There were two really tall slides that had been made out of that black ridgey pipe stuff you often see by highways that are being worked on. Monster loved the slide and took multiple turns, as did every other kid. But my favorite was seeing these kids’ faces the first time they came down. Those slides are fast. I kind of wanted to try it. Also, Captain would climb the steps, stand at the top and hold his arm out like he was wielding a sword and yell “ARRRRGH!” Gawd I love that kid.

Under the platform thing the slides came off was a cornbox. Not a sandbox. It was filled with corn kernals and that was fan-friggin-tastic. It meant not dealing with dumping sand out of 14 pairs of shoes, no one getting sand in their eyes/hair/nose/mouth and no sand wedgies (when sand gets shoved up your butt crack. This usually only happens at the beach though.) Also, it was kind of like walking through a ball pit with millions of tiny balls, you sort of sunk when you stepped in it. The only down side was the smell, but you get used to that quick.

Construction equipment or slide?
(Photo credit: Google Images)

Next were the animals. And every single kid, boy and girl, had to point out the donkey poop. The girls were all “That is just. so. gross.” and the boys were all “Maybe we can fling it!” The donkey wasn’t that interesting. We were told before we even got off the bus that he’s kind of an ass (har har) and he bites. Although, getting this information was tricky because according to Monster, Mrs. Kindergarten says there’s a mean gorilla at the farm and we should leave him alone. Gorilla = donkey; sure.

The small pigs (which were actually fully grown but looked like babies) were sleeping, along with the only goat we saw, so that was no fun. But then there was Miss Piggy and she was huge. And apparently can run 5 miles an hour and eat 5lbs of food per day. I’ve decided I want one of those smaller pigs though and I want to name it Kosher. One of our tour guides was a younger guy (probably 18) and thus, stupid. So he decided that spraying down Miss Piggy’s dirt pit and turning it into mud for her to roll around in and sling around with thirty some odd small children (there were other classes there) near by was a good idea. Like I said, stupid.

And then we had lunch. Because nothing is more appetizing than looking at donkey poop and watching pigs sling mud. Lunch was an event. I sat between Monster and another little boy who we’ll call Mr. Masticate. Why? Because he chewed up his food and then took it out of his mouth and set it on the paper sack. And just left it there.

Cool Mom and I decided to start cleaning up and taking kids to the bathrooms, ‘scuse me, Porta Potties. Gross. Even most of the boys drew the line there. Cool Mom kept opening and closing one of the doors and looked sort of confused. I asked what was up and she just wasn’t sure what she should do. See, she was taking little girls to the Porta Potties.

CM: What do I do? It’s so nasty in there.

Me: Help her, I guess.

CM: Am I allowed to even be in there with her?

Me: It’s either you go in and hold her up so her rear doesn’t touch that seat, or she sits on it and possibly catches Cholera. Your choice.

She went in, by the way. The boys on the other hand, didn’t need help. So I sat by the doors, making sure no one walked in on anyone and started a pee stream war. I cannot tell you how many boys came out immediately after going in and looking at the toilets. They each wore the same face of a scrunched up nose and furrowed brows while shaking their heads. They refused to pee in there. Seriously. I contemplated taking them each into the corn maze to pee while explaining that it’s okay, those toilets aren’t supposed to flush. One little boy (Cool Mom’s son) tried to help as well. It didn’t work and there were at least 10 boys doing the pee pee dance the second we got off the bus at the school.

Boys won’t pee here. Girls will. If you hold them up.
(photo credit: Yeahdave.com)

The next part of the trip was quite possibly the coolest, funnest thing in the whole history of cool, fun things. It’s called the Corn Popper, which sounds totally lame. But I swear, it’s so not lame.

It’s this ginormous air filled bag type thing. Sort of. Kind of like a bounce house without the house? But the sides and corners tapered down to the ground, so to get on the Corn Popper, you had to run up the sides. I know, awesome! You can’t wear shoes on the thing, which sort of squicks me out since there’s a guarantee of barefoot kids, rather than sock footed kids, and of course that means foot fungus or something. But it just looked too fun to not give a try. And when Mrs. Kindergarten got on, I was like “OH IT’S ON!” I handed my camera off to the (female, and a few years older thus slightly less stupid and more responsible) tour guide, took my shoes off and I. hauled. arse. There’s not a whole lot to do on this thing, but it doesn’t matter. Because you’re jumping like you’re a kid that’s polished off a 2 liter of Mountain Dew. It’s fun. A lot of fun. There are times when you get so much air that you get that tingly feeling similar to when you go on Dr Doom’s Fear Fall (a ride that takes you crazy high and then just drops you) or when you drive over train tracks kinda fast. It. Was. Awesome. I’m not sure if I can say that enough. I totally got pictures, but I’m paranoid and weird and don’t want to put kids’ pictures on here without parental consent. When I upload them and crop one, I’ll get right on it.

After that was a hay ride, which I’m not sure I understand why people think kids are even slightly interested in. Especially after the Corn Popper, but whatever. We went and it was boring and the kids started throwing hay. Then Captain goes “Um, Mrs. Kindergarten, in a few hours, I’m going to be feisty.” Which was fantastic and made me laugh. But then he clarified, “No, I meant thirsty.” Got it, Captain. One bottle of water as soon as we get off of this super suck ride.

Maybe it would’ve been better if there were, I dunno, crops or something to see? Instead there was a small patch of just sun flowers and squash. That’s it. And a lot of dirt. Eventually the boys started fashioning guns out of hay (to shoot the bad guys that were swarming our ship, of course) and the girls starting complaining that it was itchy. And also, it got hot. And we had just gotten done sweating like pigs on the Corn Popper. Nice planning there, tour guide.

Super suck ride.
(photo credit: kids.bvcob.com)

The bus ride home was uneventful. I was once again crammed into the inside seat (which was on the wheel well) beside two very chatty boys. A bunch of other kids fell asleep and even a few chaperones. I wanted to but didn’t think I was allowed to since the boys next to me were awake. I’m not sure what the rules are on that.

At the end of the day, Monster was able to actually say that he loves field trips. Which he had said to Mrs. Kindergarten when we got into the classroom that day, but I reminded him “Dude, you’ve never been on a field trip.” (his reply to that was to shrug his shoulders and go get some milk.) And even though I was hot and smelled exactly like I had spent the day jumping on the Corn Popper at a farm and I was exhausted; I got to spend some quality time with my boy while he’s still a little boy. We explored things together and I learned some things and got to be a kid again with him.

That field trip was by far the best $10 I’d ever spent. Thanks Mrs. Kindergarten.

~Dee

PS – have you done the chaperone thing?

A Taste Of What's To Come/

This is a mini post on the fly. I’m am currently riding in a school bus. I am also roughly the size of a small to medium high school student. I also happened to be stuck on the inside of the seat. Why? Because we’ve got two kindergarten classes plus teachers and chaperones and the coolers for lunch. And this seat is missing a seat belt (side note, when did they start caring about seat belts on school buses?) So since all the kids have to be belted in, I’m stuck here. And I have one question for high school students: how do you endure this twice a day, every day?! I don’t remember the space between seats being this narrow. And I’m sure these are the same buses, they just added the belts.

It could be worse. It could be May, which is the month that these things turn into ginormous sweat mobiles. Thankfully the weather is permitting this arse numbing ride.

A big fat thank you to Ms. Kindergarten (the teacher) for not scheduling this thing a month ago, when it was still 487 degrees outside.

Stay tuned, I’ve got a crap ton of material from today’s field trip for tonight’s post.

~Dee

Too Many Things.

Some days, I wake up and there’s just too. many. things.

Today is one of those days. There is laundry everywhere because yesterday it just didn’t get done, there are dishes, there are jars of beef soup that Jeep Man made and canned exploding in my cabinet (I swear this is happening), there is animal hair and outside-y type crap all over my floors, there are toys (good LORD there are toys), my craft table is still in shambles and I’ve got other things I need to do.

My house is too small for this nonsense. What on Earth happens in my house that creates this? I get the toys. I have small children. They make messes. I also get the laundry, because once again I have small children. Who turn clothes into messes.

But what is going on with the rest of these things? Like the exploding jars. Really? What. The. Ferk.

I think I’d be better off with this nonsense if I wasn’t having one of those days. I’m not talking a bad day in general or “I don’t feel good.” I’m talking the days that some people just don’t have. The days where you feel completely worthless as a person.

It’s like you get up one day and suddenly all you see is negative. It’s not rose-colored glasses, it’s crap colored glasses. Everything is negative. “Oh, the laundry didn’t get done yesterday. I must be a horrible mother and house wife.” Well… no. You aren’t a horrible anything. Slow, maybe. I know I am. But not horrible. I may be horrible for other things though. And the list forms in my head before I can take a moment to stop it and the next thing I know, I’m looking at myself in the mirror with wide, tear filled eyes thinking “Why is Jeep Man even here?”

I can’t tell you why he’s still here. He says it’s love. I love that answer. But the obnoxious female in me demands more reasons. Jeep Man is a lot of things. He’s extremely smart, great with his hands, a good dad and really ferking hot. But good with words, he is not. To him, answering “Why do you love me?” with “I just do.” is good enough. And I really need to kick Obnoxious Female in the head a time or two, because she just can’t seem to be satisfied with that answer.

Jeep Man has a lot of jobs, and as a spouse one of which is to share his love with me. Just like that’s one of my jobs. I have to admit that lately we both really suck at it. And it’s not even our choice. Of course we love each other. I can’t imagine any other man in my life. But something just isn’t clicking there. We point out things to each other that annoy us, when we used to just take those annoying things as the “worse” part in “for better or worse”. But somewhere along the way, we forgot to push aside the reactions to the annoying things.

I’d like to think this happens in all relationships. Especially when at least one person sucks at communicating (guilty). The question then becomes, how do I fix it? There has to be a way, and I am determined to find it.

I’m going to take my loser, wallowing time to try and repair what I can in myself to make me feel better about myself. That’s a totally convoluted sentence, but you get the idea.

There will be times that this blog will bring the heavy. Because whether I’m feeling great, or worthless, I am a person. I have thoughts other than the randomness of my life, and writing them down is how I deal.

I have one great piece of advice that has taken me years to figure out: No matter how you feel about yourself, when someone compliments you, take it. Say ‘thank you!’ and walk away or hug them or whatever. But take that compliment straight to your heart. Because the more that you voice your doubts after the a compliment, the less you’ll hear them.

I know, because it’s happened to me. And while it’s really, really easy to blame the other person for not complimenting you enough, you really have to take the blame for this one. Because how do you compliment someone when they never appreciate what you’re saying? How many times can you say “You look amazing.” and hear “Ugh, but I hate my hair and my pants make me look bloated and I think I’m getting a zit right here and oh. my. gawd. I’m such a fatty.” before you just stop saying it? And truthfully, once the compliments stop, it’s almost impossible to get them back. Which makes you feel worse about yourself.

So when someone is trying to lift you up, let them. Chances are, you need to be lifted up anyways and you’re not going to do it yourself. If you could, you’d have already done it.

I’m off to figure out what the ferk happened to my house. And I might even feel accomplished and stuff after.

~Dee

It's Monday, Can You Tell?

OH MAH GAWD. Monster just wanted to see my head spin today. I know it.

The day started with me waking up 20 minutes late. Awesome. Then Monster turning cartoons on which means he will take fifty years to get ready for the day instead of twenty. So I changed the channel only to hear “MOOOOOMMMMM!!!” Trust, he got an ear full for that one.

I look in his back pack to see that Friday he got his school picture order form in. Fabulous. I ask him why he didn’t tell me Friday (I swear I looked in the bag. Twice.) and his genius reply was “It’s a secwet, Mom. Duh.” I tell him that no, there are no secrets and he rolls his eyes. He’s FIVE. Excuse me, five and a half. What the ferk ever. He’s too young for that nonsense. I’m supposed to get at least ten more years before the attitude starts. (I know, I know. I’m so wrong for that. But I can dream, right?)

So then he finally gets dressed.

Me: “Monster, socks.” (from the kitchen while making his lunch because he *refuses* to eat school lunch. He says it’s gross and when I threaten to make him eat the school lunch he literally cries. I’m sure it’s bland, but WTF? Tear worthy? No.)

Monster: “Where’s my udder Sonic shoe?”

Me: “No Monster, sneakers.”

Monster: “I want duh Sonic shoes!”

Me: (very close to busting a vein in my forehead) “I. Don’t. Care. Socks and sneakers now!”

Monster: “Ugh!” (then stomps into the kitchen holding his sneakers) “Why do you want me tuh wear dese?”

Me: “Because you have to. It’s school. You have recess and stuff. I know you wore the Sonic shoes last year, but that was pre-k and you didn’t have PE in pre-k. Now put. them. ON!”

Monster: “Fine. Ugh.” (another eye roll. Jebus.)

So he gets the shoes on. The baby is sitting her booster seat all like “Mmm Dora cereal.” while she watches this entire thing go down. I’m quite concerned about what it means for her that Monster is her influence. But that’s for another day.

I finally get us ready to walk out the door and Monster doesn’t have a hoodie on. It is now ten minutes after the latest we can leave the house without me driving like a bat out of you-know-where to get to school on time.

Me: “Monster, hoodie.”

Monster: “Whewe’s duh Scooby one?”

Me: “I don’t know. It’s your hoodie. Where’d you put it?”

Monster: “I don’t uh-membew.”

Me: (searching frantically for said hoodie because I don’t know where his other two are anyways,with the baby on my hip.) “Well son, you need to find it because it’s only sixty degrees out and we live in Florida and you complain and I just don’t want to hear it. Where is the hoodie? Where did you take it off last?”

Monster: “I dunno. I only knowed whewe I take it off when I see it.”

Me: (presumably turning more red by the second, start searching through the thankfully clean laundry hamper. I pull out his Perry hoodie.) “Here, wear this.”

Monster: “It’s not Scooby.”

Me: “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PUT ON THE HOODIE. WE ARE LATE. NOT A LITTLE LATE, WE ARE LATE-LATE. Put it on.“

Thankfully he scrambled at that moment and got the damn thing on and we ran out the door.

But it gets better. I wasn’t wearing shoes. Not even flip flops. And I had on fushia paisley fleece pajama pants with a red UGA hoodie. I slept on wet hair so not even a hair tie is going to salvage what’s on my head. But I don’t even look back. I take my raggedy self straight to the car, get Roo buckled in (who’s also in pajamas, hers just happen to be way cuter) and demand that Monster hurries up and buckles himself in.

I swear I should’ve never taken that dagum harness off of his carseat and turned it into booster mode. How on Earth he takes longer to buckle a seat belt than a five point harness, I’ll never understand.

And then I get home. The house is a wreck. I mean way worse than usual. At any given moment if you come over, there is likely some sort of laundry on one of my adorable accessory chairs. I love those chairs. They are cute and comfortable and take up much less space in my tiny living room than a love seat. And they serve as a laundry folding area. Great. But this? No, no. This is way more than laundry on a chair. This is laundry everywhere, my craft table in shambles from using it for something else this weekend, the dining area is just… no. Did a bomb go off in here? Did tornadoes come through and some how leave my walls intact? What. happened.

So that’s Monday. All before 9 am.

~ Dee

PS – I still don’t have shoes on. And I haven’t changed. I did re-wet my hair though, and threw it right back up into a hair tie. But I got the baby dressed and that totally counts for something.

A Random Sunday Post

Today I have to clean the play equipment out back. The weather is finally super nice and the kids can enjoy it without running inside every five minutes because they’re so dang hot.

I’m doing this in my non-wholesome uniform. Leggings that are a bit too big due to recent weight loss (who knew leggings could be baggy? It’s not a good look) a 3XL men’s “All Star Dad #1!” shirt (it makes the leggings-as-pants forgivable since it goes to my knees) and brown leather slide-on cloggy type shoes that I’ve had for almost a decade but I cannot get rid of because they’re just that comfortable.

If you ever come to my house unexpected when I’m doing chores, you will see me in some variation of this outfit.

You’ve been warned.

~ Dee

The Day I Met The 'Other Man'

I don’t cheat. Ever. On anything. Except for when the dentist asks if I floss, but that doesn’t count because he knows I don’t floss. He’s got his latex coverd hands in the evidence.

But see, one day in 2007, I became a mother. And this funny thing happens when you become a mother. You turn to things you never had before. I’m not saying you’re going to start doing k trains in the Gymboree bathroom, but you do find a vice. Some thing that makes you feel a little more like a normal person.

The thing varies from mommy to mommy, but each of us have it. For some mommies, it’s nice things. Church, volunteering, baking. The types of things that make us other mommies feel like, at times, we’re a little less-than.

It wasn’t long ago that I found my thing. I hadn’t even realized I was looking for it, but I’m sure that’s how it goes for most of us.

Jeep Man (my husband) and I were in the Mecca known as Costco one day when we stumbled across it.

JM: Hey, you wanna check out the wines?

Me: Really?

JM: Yeah, let’s go look.

Now, neither of us have ever been wine drinkers. I love beer. Lots of beer. Jeep Man drinks anything really. But never wine. Of course, I’ve had plenty of Arbor Mist, like any good completely unrefined twenty something has. But I’d never had much of a pallet for wine.

That day, I realized it was because I was drinking the wrong kind. I had never had white wine, and that’s what made me grab the bottle of Riesling. It was different and I’d heard good things about it. So I said, “Sure, let’s grab this.”

That evening we used a wine bottle opener that we had gotten as a wedding gift for he first time. And I fell in love. I was all “Oh sweet baby Jesus, I love you wine. Will you be my sweet young thang on the side?”

And so started my affair. Wine became the other man. It’s the thing that makes me not only relax, but also feel like I’m something other than Monster and Roo’s Mommy or Jeep Man’s Wife. I’m a living, breathing woman. With feelings and stuff. Plus, it makes me feel like a grown-up. Which is a big deal since I still get mistaken for a teenager at times. I’m sure I’ll appreciate this looking younger thing when I’m 40, but right now the evil glares I get from the GrannynGrunt types in the grocery store for being a ‘teen mom’ are enough to make me flip my skittles.

And it’s a whole lot easier to get than Xanax. (Which I believe should be given to women in lifetime supply quantities immediately after delivery)

I know for a fact that some women are reading this going “Oh hush, drugs are bad.” But they’re secretly thinking “MOTHER OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, I would drive my minivan to the ghetto in my pajamas just to buy one Xanax off a dealer dressed like a pimp if it meant I had one moment of quiet, peaceful solitude.”

You might think you’re totally wholesome, but I know your game. We all have the thing. Mine is wine. Cheap wine, actually. In fact, at the moment I’m drinking a mango and strawberry flavored Arbor Mist moscato. Trashy? Abso-effing-lutely. But as me if I care about the dozen or so toys sprawled across my living room floor, the enormous stack of folded laundry on my bed that’s becoming less and less folded by the minute, the fact that my dining/crafting earring is utterly trashed or the fact that I’m sitting on Jeep Man’s feet while he snores next to me when he knows how much I hate it when he falls asleep on the couch and takes up the whole. damn. thing.

Go ahead, ask me. Me and ‘The Other Man’ are going to sit here and wait to see how long it takes you to figure out that right now, I just don’t give a ferk.

Whats your thing?

~ Dee

Oh Don't Mind Her, She Doesn't Like People.

Believe it or not, I’ve had to say this about my baby before. Yes, my baby. What sort of baby doesn’t like people, you ask? Mine. She’s now 16 months old and if you talk in baby language at her and try to get a smile, she will stare blankly at you and shove her tiny,adorable finger straight up her nostril.

Oh, she’s super cute. Strawberry blond hair that curls in the back, big blue doe eyes and a perfect little nose. But the second someone she’s unfamiliar with tries to talk to her, she becomes the world’s most introverted baby. And I wasn’t kidding about the finger up the nose. I’mactually a little impressed by that one. Her 5 year old brother didn’t figure that out until he was 3.

She’s got tons of personality at home. In fact, right now she’s climbing on my living room chair and dancing. Don’t worry, I’ll stop her when she tries to stand on the chair. She loves stuffed animals and is quite determined to cause bodily harm to her big brother. She gives the dog half of every meal (he’s getting quite fat actually) and seems to love anything zebra print. See? Loads of personality.

And then the new people show up, and it’s all gone. Suddenly her chatter stops and she’s clinging to my neck like baby chimp. What makes it worse is that these new people seem to take her ‘social anxiety’ as a personal challenge to try and invade her personal baby bubble.

They always do the baby-smile thing. Reach out with a finger, put on a big fake smile and speak to her like she’s an idiot. And they wonder why she doesn’t pretend to be entertained. They start getting closer though. And then when I try to back up and say “Oh, she’s really reserved. She really doesnt smile at people she doesn’t know.” they seem to hear “Please, invade our space and harass my almost-toddler.”

What the hell is with that?! The second you conceive, you and your baby seem to suddenly become public property. I genuinely believe that the fear of miscarriage isn’t what keeps women from spilling the pregnant beans during those first twelve weeks. It’s that those first weeks, you’re a walking barf bag and the last thing you need is people touching you. People generally don’t just randomly touch those that aren’t knocked up. Funny how that works, i’n'it?

Then the baby comes. Now you get left alone, but the baby becomes the target for people and their nasty germ covered hands.

The point is, stay away from my baby! She obviously doesn’t like you, and since you can’t seem to back the eff up… I’m inclined to agree.

~ Dee