Mom's always write!

The Blonde Gene vs The Boy Gene

2009-10-17T09:52:00.000-07:00

So is the blonde gene recessive? And I'm not talking hair color.

I'm not sure if this is an old wives tale, but someone once told me that you can only be as intelligent as your smartest parent. Which, I guess sounds logical, speaking in DNA terms. So, if this happens to be true, then does this theory work in reverse?

I am not in any way admitting that either myself or the Bear are simpleminded, but I do seem to have my doltish ways, AKA "blonde moments." My most recent moment came when my husband and I were at the local Thai Hut resturant and I asked, "where does Thai food come from?"

I'm sure there is no need for details as to the Bears response.

Well, it appears that my middleton, the Tank, has not only inherited my hair color, but has aquired my airheadedness. The other day we were at the kids football game and the Tank seemed to have disappeared off the field and out of sight, so the Coach began to yell for him. When there was no sign of him, parents started to join in shouting, "Tank! Tank where are you?" When all of a suddened I spotted my little green rookie, swarmed by a group of Purple players.

"Tank! Wrong team!" I shouted over to him.

He looked at me completely clueless, "What?"

"You're in the wrong team's huddle!" I couldn't help but giggle.

Later that day I was recounting the inciedent to a friend, feeling sorry that Tank has accquired my "blonde ways," when she started to laugh. "It's not a blonde thing," she assured me. "It's a Boy thing."

The Weight Watcher

2009-09-21T10:29:00.000-07:00

After a recent comment from the General, "Mommy, you look like you've got a baby in your belly!" I've once again have ventured off and on to yet another health kick. After packing on several pounds, over the last year, I've decided an intervention was needed. I thought I'd seek professional guidance.

I decided to share my new epiphany with the Bear. "I think I'm going to call Weight Watchers," I told him, all proud of myself.

He just shook his head.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I asked.

"You don't have a weight problem. They probably wouldn't even let you join" answered the Bear.

"Why would you say that?"

Before the Bear could answer I continued my whining, "I can't button my jeans, and the General told me I look like I have a baby in my belly!."

"So buy new jeans. And the General jut wants another brother, wishful thinking on his part," answered the Bear, annoyed at the fact that we were even having such a conversation.

Annoyed, I came up with all that I could think of at the moment, "Even my bras don't fit!"

"And that's a bad thing?"

Guys just don't get it.

I decided that I was going to have to go at it alone. So, I looked into several weight management programs to see which one I could possibly stomach.

Motivated about my new commitment to a healthier lifestyle, I decided to research the program on line, to find out more information. As I read the webpage, my insides were bubbling with excitement, I could envision the new fitter and healthier me!

I decided to fill out the on line questionnaire to determine which group would suit me best.

1. Are you over 17?

yes

2. Are you pregnant?

I sure as hell hope not.

3. Breastfeeding?

Only when my husband's really hungry.

4. Are you or have you ever been bulimic?

God no! If I was getting rid of the food before it had time to settle on my a** then I wouldn't need your program.

5. What are your goals?

To be able to button my jeans.

6. How tall are you?

5 feet 3 and 1/4 inches

7. How much do you weigh?

***lbs

8. List health goals.

I don't really care how much weight I loose, I just want to button my jeans, fit into my bras and not look like I have a baby in my belly!.

It's been about two weeks, and I still haven't heard anything back. I'm starting to think that no one takes me seriously!

The Tank's new Achilles heel

2009-08-02T07:39:00.000-07:00

Is there such thing as having slight OCD? Or is it like being a little bit pregnant...you either are or you aren't?

My four year old, the Tank has recently become extremely germ conscious. At first, I thought it was really cute when the Tank insisted on washing his hands to "kill the germs." In fact, I praised his pre-school teachers for stressing that good hygiene keeps everyone healthy. I was really excited that they were reinforcing habits that I was already teaching my troops at home.

The Tank's teachers were militant about the children washing their hands upon entering the classroom, "we don't want to pass around our germs" they would reason with the students. The teachers were also adamant about the children not sharing food or drinks, "no sharing germs" they would emphasize at snack time.

I was even excited when the Tank started to share his passion for being clean with his brothers at home. Again, his little anxieties were cute at first. He became the "hand inspector," as his brothers would exit the toilet he'd be standing right outside the door, "Let me see them!" he'd command, referring to their hands. Once the Destroyer waved his wet mitts in front of the Tank and the Tank instructed him to return for another washing, "I don't smell soap," he insisted.

One time we were at Disney and the Tank needed to use the potty, so I brought him to the restroom, where the line was just as long as the line to meet and greet Mickey Mouse. When it was our turn, we went into the stall, only to find that it was out of seat covers, which is a necessity for the Tank to use the facilities in public. I assured him that a little bit of toilet paper would serve the same purpose and not to worry, that his tushy would be safe. My reasoning seemed to appease the Tank, until the toilet paper slipped while he was in the middle of doing his business.

"Quick! Lift me up!" screamed the Tank.

"Why?"

"My butt's going to catch germs!" practically hyperventilating the Tank commanded, "Lift me up!"

"You'll be fine, we're in Disney, it's one of the cleanest places on Earth! You can probably eat off this floor and not catch anything. Just finish up ," I responded calmly.

At this point, I could hear the lady in the stall next to us begin to giggle.

When we finally exited the restroom, the Bear asked, "what took so long?"

"The Tank found a new kryotonite."

Next gift...I'll Take Some Sense Please!

2009-07-13T19:18:00.000-07:00

We all have those not so lucid moments when we say or do totally off the wall things that just don't make much sense. I guess I just seem to have those moments more often than other people. My brother use to say to me, quite frequently, "if common sense is so common, how come you don't have any?"

Apparently I wasn't around the day God was handing it out, but I was in line when he was handing out the blond gene. I guess that's the Polish in me.

My most recent blond/Polish moment, as my family refers to these totally ridiculous junctures in my life, came last week. The Bear called me all excited at work and told me that he got me an early birthday present, "it's something that you've been wanting for a long time."

"Yes, finally diamond earrings!" I quietly thought to myself.

"Are you going to tell me or do I have to wait in suspense?" I asked.

"Well it's something that you can use when you get home if you want," the Bear replied trying to clue me in.

"Hmm, what am I going to cut glass?" I started to reason, I was grasping for straws.

"It's a beater bar for the central vac!" said the Bear almost squealing with excitement.

"Seriously?" I asked, you can imagine how hard it was for me to try and contain my excitement.

Later that night when I arrived home the Bear asked me if I wanted to try my new gift out.

Again, working hard to control my emotion, "that's ok. I'll wait until tomorrow, I don't want to wake the boys."

The next day the restless Bear called from work, "so did you try it yet?"

"Just getting ready to fire this baby up, I'll let you know how it works at lunch."

After we hung up the phone I took my new beater bar up the stairs and hooked the hose into the wall and went to town vacuuming my troops' barracks. As I'm swaying the beater bar back and forth, I noticed it's not really sucking much up. I thought to myself, "what a piece of junk...he should have went with the earrings."

At lunch time the hungry Bear bustled through the door all chipper, "so how did it work?"

"It's a peace of junk, return it. I was just up in the kids room and it barley sucked anything up," I retorted.

Deflated the Bear said he go check to see what was wrong with it.

As soon as he got to the top of the stairs the Bear growled for me to come up and show him how I was using the vacuum.

So, to oblige him, I attached the hose to the central vac, flipped the switch and started to vacuum. "Look it's barley sucking anything up," I whined.

"That's because you didn't plug the beater bar into the wall," roared the Bear. "Didn't you noticed it wasn't making any noise?"

"Oh," I said feeling a little silly. "I thought that it was suppose to be quiet...I thought it was a special feature! That was the only thing I liked about it!"

Mom's Time for R&R...Do I Really NEED a Reason?

2009-07-01T17:01:00.000-07:00

Why is it that moms so rarely get pampered or pamper ourselves?

Recently, after a very long and stressful week, a friend of mine gave me a calming candle and some sound advice. "Go home, light the candle and take a bubble bath," she said.

Ahh, sounds like dream! Or more like something that would only happen in my dreams.

That night when I came home from work, I showed my husband, the Bear, my new candle and I told him about my friend's advice.

"Sounds great, you should go take a bath and call it a night. The kids are already in bed" spoke the Bear in a melodic voice.

He can be so soft and cuddly sometimes! I was so excited I even asked if he wanted to join me!

"That's ok, why don't you just go up and relax, I'll clean up the kitchen from dinner," said Bear.

At this point I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming.

Nope! So without a second offer I flew up the stairs and drew a nice warm bubble bath. I turned down the lights, lit my candle and turned on some Enya. Total bliss!

As I was just drifting off into tranquility, I had this odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something just wasn't right.

I sat up and peered over towards my door and there stood the Tank, perched idly against the door jam.

"What are you doing?" asked the Tank.

"I'm taking a bath."

Baffled the Tank just stared at me then said, "but it's not Mother's Day."

"No, it's not," and I just put a hot cloth over my eyes and slipped away back into my sedation.

My Dirty Little Secret

2009-06-03T18:57:00.000-07:00

I have a little secret....

Ok, I'm just going to say it out loud...

I LIKE daytime TV!

Not that I actually have time to watch it during the day, but I have my DVR ready to record all my favorites. Particulary, which I am some what embarrassed to admit, Days of Our Lives.

I am a Days junkie. Once all the kiddos are all snug in their bed, I sneak off down stairs, like a little kid trying to evade their folks so they can watch forbidden TV shows.

I can't reason why I am so committed to sub par acting and shoddy story lines. My husband is constantly trying to help me kick my daily dose of daytime, but I litteraly feel like I am going to explode with curiousity if I miss an episode.

You know what they say the first step in recovery is admitting that you have a problem.

Do Not Flush! TP only Please!

2009-03-10T10:16:00.000-07:00

The Destroyer has been out creeping around in full destruction mode. His latest shenanigan had my hubby, the Bear, dismantling the kids' toilet to retrieve the Destroyer's toothbrush.

I was rounding up the troops getting them ready for school. Doing the whole routine, combing hair, brushing teeth etc, when I noticed the Destroyer loitering around the potty, toothbrush in hand, daunting around in nothing but a diaper and a deleterious grin.

I could sense trouble on the horizon so I told the Destroyer to get away from the potty. But before I could even finish my statement, the little warmonger had dropped his toothbrush in the toilet and flushed!

I peered in the toilet, no toothbrush in sight. "Holy Crap! The thing actually flushed!," I thought in disbelief. I did a follow flush just to check to make sure it wasn't caught in the drain pipe. All systems looked a go.

I reprimanded the Destroyer and off my troops went to carry on with their day.

It seemed like both the Destroyer and I were free from facing the wrath of the Bear. I had actually forgotten about the incident until a few days later screams of dismay emerged from the crime scene. "Mommy! The Destroyer flushed the toilet while I was going poopie and now it's exploding! Quick, there is water squirting all over the floor!" screamed the General.

"Shit!" (pun intended)

I rushed up the stairs and was greeted the by Destroyer, "Uh-Oh, I naughty." I head straight into the kids latrine. Sure enough there was water just pouring out of the toilet.

I called the Bear, who told me that there was nothing he could do while he was at work and that he would take care of it when he got home. Surrendering to the fact that there was nothing I could do, I threw towels on the floor and shut the door, not giving it another thought.

Later that night, I was at work when the Bear called me, (I feel I have to premise this next bit with the fact that my husband except for this case in point is more like a teddy bear than a grizzly) growling into the phone that if I ever bought another Clorox wipe again that he would shoot me.

Apparently Clorox wipes and toothbrushes don't flush well. We left it at that agreeing to discuss the matter when I got home from work.

When I walked into the house a few hours later, all was quite and the three boys were sitting on the hearth as still as statues. "Where Daddy?" I asked.

The General was quick to answer in excitement, "Oh, Daddy found the Destroyer's toothbrush when he was taking apart the toilet."

"Yea, and it was covered in our poopies!" giggled the Tank.

"So where's Daddy?" I asked again.

"He's in the shower, cleaning the poopies off his hands," answered the General.

I instructed the boys not to leave the hearth while I went up to check on the Bear. I tip-toed up the stairs where I was greeted by a fierce growl, "I don't know what you were thinking flushing those things down the toilet."

"What? I didn't flush the toothbrush!" I responded, trying to play innocent.

"The wipes! What were you thinking? They got all wrapped around the toothbrush and plugged everything up.!"

"Again, I didn't flush the toothbrush," I said rather coyly.

Finding no humor in my statement, the Bear roared, "What are you three? Toilet paper only!"

More Power!

2009-03-02T10:41:00.000-08:00

I feel as if my life is turning into daily episodes straight out of Home Improvement. For those of you not familiar with the show, it's a comedy from the early 90's, that deals with the daily trials and tribulations of an over zealous handyman and his wife raising three mischievous boys. Sounds like my life right?

I get that it is in man's nature to feel the need for "more power," but seriously, how much "power" do four and five year old little boys need?

My husband's latest Tim Allen moment involved a foot of snow, a hose, sleds, and two eager boys who felt the need for speed.

I opened my front door and asked the Bear, "what are you doing?" I could clearly see that he had dug out a tunnel in the snow which he was icing up with water from our hose.

Now a deer caught in the head lights, the Bear turned and replied, "The boys wanted to go faster."

"So you decided to create a luge in the front yard? How fast does a five year old need to go?" I was completely dumbfounded.

Visons of our children rocketing into our neighbor's yard down the hill danced in my head. Have our children not had enough stitches and staples for one year?

Deceptively Delicious?

2009-02-09T10:47:00.000-08:00

Like most mothers, I endure a daily battle to get my children to eat healthy. It is no easy feat to get three toddlers to eat their greens and usually I am the one who surrenders, cowering off in frustration.

But, I have decided, I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!

My first, and only, real plan of attack was to disguise the "good stuff", (i.e. the veges and such) in a way that would be virtually undetectable to my troops. To pull of such a coup I would need some foolproof recipes. So, I borrowed the book Deceptively Delicious from a friend. This book guaranteed I'd be able to hide all sorts of vegetables in my kids' food without them ever knowing.

I decided to try something safe, Mac & Cheese. KRAFT, which I am embarrassed to say, is a staple in our home. The picture in the book even looked like the stuff out of a box. I could feel a victory brewing!

I set out a box of KRAFT on the counter to throw off any suspicion and began to blend puree butternut squash and cheese on the stove top, when the General came in the kitchen to check on lunch.

"Cool! Mac&Cheese, my favorite! Can I stir in the cheese?" asked the General.

"Sure." I said as a peered at my bubbling concoction next to us on the stove.

Then I proceeded to pour the cheesy blend over the noodles.

I could see suspicion in the General's eyes, "Where's the cheese packet?"

Thinking on my toes, "Oh, this is it. I just heated it up so it would keep the noodles nice and warm."

The General started to mix the medley of squash and cheese into the noodles. So far so good, it really did look like the stuff out of the box! The General and his comrades sat down at the table ready to chow. Just as I was getting ready to declare victory, the General started to gag. I mean, he literally started to retch over his bowl.

"Mom, I think the cheese got bad when you heated it up!" The General's eyes were watering at this point from trying to choke down his food. "Next time let me make the Mac&cheese!"

Talk about feeling deflated. Needless to say, I have temporarily forfeited my conquest.

Everyone, Man your stations!

2009-01-16T09:41:00.000-08:00

We call my youngest "The Destroyer" for a reason. He is like Godzilla and everything around him is Tokyo. He can make grown men whimper with fear in his presence. I swear I saw a tear in my husband's eye when the Destroyer smashed his DVR remote. And after the Destroyer's latest hazardous shenanigan, our local pre-school actually posted a sign with the Destroyer's picture and underneath it read: "BEWARE, do not be fooled by his size and boyish charm. He is extremely dangerous."

Previous to this posting, the Destroyer and I were accompanying the Tank to school. Under normal circumstances we would never take the elevator at school, but on this occasion both the Tank and I had our hands full of goodies to share with his class. So I caved and against better judgment, we took the elevator up one flight. And in less than 10 seconds, the Destroyer had put our ascent to an alarming halt! He had pushed the emergency fire alarm, which stopped the elevator and set off every flashing light and buzzer in the building.

The Destroyer stood motionless for a moment then proclaimed, "Opps! I sorry!"

The Tank literally dropped to the floor in tears, while several women started to shout up the elevator shaft, "Stay calm! We'll get you out of there. Not to worry!"

Stay calm, right. Visions of every fire truck and police car responding to this absurd incident danced in my head. I started to sweat in fear that I would be cited a hefty fine for falsely setting off a fire alarm.

What seemed like an eternity later, the doors opened and I emerged with the Tank and the Destroyer to every spectator in the building glaring sternly at us. Luckily, I saw no officers in sight. I offered my sincerest apologies and assurance that this would never happen again, then I continued to my son's class in a wake of embarrassment, all the while the Destroyer is heralding his mischievous nature to anyone who will listen, "I naughty! I make Mikey cry! I push button! I naughty!"

The next day as I sheepishly entered the building, with the Tank and the Destroyer strapped to my side, the woman behind the desk picked up her walkies-talkie, and I swear I heard her tell everyone to "man your stations."

Children. Side Effect: may cause severe headaches which may lead to severe eye twitching.

2009-01-15T18:07:00.000-08:00

It's been my case now for several years that all children should come with warning labels. Everything else in the world has one, I mean really it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you shouldn't blow dry your hair while bathing. But it would be nice however, if someone would have warned me that a two year old, who can't reach a door knob yet, can some how figure out how to escape his room and exit our home undetected at 6am and walk to his grandparent's house.

Case in Point:

I've never been one to get frequent headaches, until recently. And by recently, I really mean, the headaches actually started about five years ago (around the time of the General's arrival). And as with my children, over time they have become out of control and more aggressive. Sometimes, the pressure is so bad that my eye actually will begin to spasm. So, a friend of mine recommended that I go and get my eyes tested.

This sounded reasonable to me. I actually have been having vision trouble lately.

So I made appointment and off I went to the eye doctor.

"So what brings you hear today?" asked Dr. M

I explain to him that I've been having headaches and that my right eye frequently twitches, which I think, although I am no expert, may be related to my newly developed vision impairment.

I don't see half the crap my kids do until it's too late, like the time I punctured my hand because I didn't see the nail that the Tank was using to prop his ninja turtle's convoy up so he could change its tire.

"Ok, let's take a look at your eyes," says Dr. M. "But I have to tell you, usually eye twitching is a result of stress, lack of sleep or too much caffeine. Could any of these be affecting you?"

DING! DING! DING! How could I not have seen the writing on the wall? "I have three BOYS under five. My life revolves around stress, and I live off of little sleep and a whole lot of coffee. So yes, all of the above."

After the eye examine the kind Dr.M wrote me a prescription for some drops that he assured me will stop any eye spasm. He also recommended getting more sleep. "Can you fax that one to my husband and children?" I asked a little to earnestly.

Seriously, this is just reason #121 why children should come with warning labels. When you exit the hospital, upon discharge, your nurse should hand you a list clearly outlining all side effects and impending hazards; like, may cause severe headaches, which can lead to severe eye twitching."

For Emergency Use Only!

2008-11-23T17:21:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, The Tank woke up from his nap. All groggy and wiping sleep out of his eyes, he asked me, "Why can't I say shit?"

Just in case I misheard him the first time I asked, "What?"

"Why can't I say Shit?" he asked again.

"Because shit is a swear word and swear words are naughty. So we don't use them when we speak."

I could tell the tank was cooking up something as I saw the wheels cranking in his little noggin. Then he inquired, "But what if it was an emergency? Could I say shit then?"

"What kind of an emergency would happen that you would have to say that? " I asked.

The Tank answered, "You know, if there was a fire. Or if a coyote was chasing me. Because, if I coyote was chasing me, then I'd have to say Oh Shit!"

Pass the buck!

2008-10-25T18:07:00.000-07:00

I read somewhere once, "The easiest way to teach children the value of money is to borrow some from them" -Anonymous

I wonder, at what age can I introduce this concept?

Last Wednesday, my sister and I had to make a trip to her second home, Home Depot. So, I carelessly tell all my boys and my nephew that if they are on their best behavior that I will treat them to ice cream.

While my sister is in the store I check my wallet and realize that I have no money. "Oh well", I think to myself, "there is no way in hell that these little rascals will sit still."

Of course, my sister is out of the store in record time and as she departed from the store, I notice the four boys are sitting in my car still as statues and quiet as mice.

"So do we get ice cream now?" asked the Tank.

My voice actually started to crack as I sorrily told all my troopers, "I don't have any money." But, I quickly assured them that I am positive that we have two different kinds of ice cream in our freezer at home.

"That's ok Mommy," the General said.

Oh! How sweet my heart started to melt.

"Auntie Katie can pay!" the General finished.

Astonished at how fast my heart started to harden, "We don't ask other people to pay for things. That isn't polite."

Missing the point, the General replied, "Fine Mommy, Aunt Katie can hand you the dollars so you can pay if you want."

I told the General that it is not polite to ask people for money to buy you things.

Laughing to the point of tears, my sister decided to chime in, "that's ok buddy. I would gladly give you money for ice cream, but I don't have any either."

My children always seem to be just as quick with their come backs as they are with spending my money. Without wasting a moment, the Tank, frustrated by our exchange suggested, "Let's just drive to Papas house. He ALWAYS has money!"

There comes a time in every little boys's life....

2008-09-01T13:30:00.000-07:00

for him to step up and take responsibility for wiping his own tushy!

And that time for the Tank has arrived.

"Mom, you come in here?"

"Where is here?" I dare asked.

"I'm in the bathroom and I need you to wipe my butt."

I shouted back from my spot in the kitchen, "No, you need to do it yourself."

"Please!" The pleading began. "Please!" "Please!"

I walked over to the bathroom and explained to the Tank that he is a big boy and he needs to start wiping his own tushy. "You are starting big boy preschool next week. You're a big guy now. You can do it."

The tank responded without missing a beat, "I'm not going to big boy school, it's little boy school. So they can wipe my butt."

"Nope. Your teacher definitely will not be wiping your tushy."

In a nervous voice the Tank asked, "Will she watch me wipe my tushy?"

"Nope."

"Will she check my tushy to make sure all the poopies are gone?"

"Nope."

"Why? Who's going to make sure all my poopies are gone?"

I can't believe I am trying to reason with a three year old about wiping his own hiney.

And here was the only reason I could come up with, "Because your teacher wants nothing to do with you tushy."

Sound reasoning on my part, so I believed. But definitely not good enough for the Tank, whose ONLY fear about starting school is who is going to wipe his tushy for him.

The Family Pet

2008-07-06T18:41:00.001-07:00

I believe that around the age of two every child finds their place within their family. For example, my eldest, whom I refer to has the General, is a natural leader. He is as potent in mind as he is fierce on his feet. The General likes to keep his younger brothers in line, spouting off commands at whim, "You better stop your fussing, because I don't let little guys that cry sleep in my bunkbed!"

My middle child, whom I refer to as the Tank, is the coadjuter of the family. He is always waiting in the wings, ready to be called to duty, whether it is to help is brother fight off evil forces or to assist me in the kitchen. The Tank always wants to be in on the action.

Then there is my youngest. The Destroyer. I believe the name should say it all. Recently he turned two, and the Destroyer has come to find his place in our house as the family pet. Like a puppy, he is loving, loyal and very social. He also, like most puppies, he is yet to be house trained, is prone to wandering off, sloppy wet kisses, biting, barking for attention, and devouring unattended food to the point of explosion.

Attack of the Big Tomato

2008-06-05T10:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the General came running in my room, practically hyperventilating, "Mommy, quick! We need to hop in the car and drive over to Auntie's house and pick up my cousin, before the big tomato comes!"

"Slow down! The what is coming?" I asked.

"The BIG Tomato," cried the General. "It's coming and we have to get my cousin before it blows his house away!"

Laughing I asked the General, "Do you mean a tornado?"

"Yea, the big torMado is coming," replied the General. "Like the one that took Dorthy to OZ."

I looked outside and the sky did look pretty ominous.

Later that night...

I was sharing the General's humorous theory about the "big tomato", with my husband.

My husband laughed and wondered if that was how The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes was created. Some guy was sitting around with his son one day having a conversation and the kid started telling his father about a big tomato that attacked homes destroying everything in its way.

Yes, I agreed. Except I think somehow the son's idea was lost in translation.

Mother's Day 2008- Gift priceless!

2008-05-16T09:44:00.000-07:00

The General recently invited me to his Mother's Day Tea at his pre-school. Each mother was presented with a certificate that was filled out by their child....here is what the General had to say about me!

Mother's Day May, 2008

My mom's name is Josie. She is 5 year's old and has brown eyes and blonde hair. My mom is 10 feet tall and weighs 5 lbs. Her favorite food is beef. My mom likes to work. My mom looks silly when she---she never looks silly. I love my mom because she helps me find the toys I lost.
Love, Scotty (Aka the General)

I feel a Mastercard commercial coming on...

Preschool $200 a month,
trip to ER for staple in son's head after jumping off the bed, $1500,
knowing that, in the eyes of my son, I look like a young, tall, thin model that always looks good, priceless!

Pass Over...

2008-04-24T13:06:00.000-07:00

The General has been learning, at school, about the different holidays that people celebrate. Last week, the mother of one of his Jewish friends came to the school to speak to the children about Pass Over.

When the General came home that day I asked him, "What did you learn about Pass Over?"

And he informed me that Pass Over entails passing crackers.

Confused and needing a little more elaboration, I asked again, "What is Pass Over?"

The General let out a big sigh and in a dahh manor and answered, "Mom, Pass Over is when everyone is sitting at the table and you want some crackers, so you ask the person next to you to pass them over."

How could I have been so silly not to have understood that?

The Mom Test

2008-04-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

Ok, so this isn't a story of mine, but it could be the story of my life and it is just too cute not to share....

The Mom Test

I was out walking with my 5 year old daughter. She picked up something off the ground and started to put it in her mouth.

I took the item away from her and I asked her not to do that. "Why?" my
daughter asked.

"Because it's been on the ground, you don't know where it's been, it's dirty, and probably has germs," I replied.

At this point, my daughter looked at me with total admiration and asked, "Momma, how do you know all this stuff. You are so smart."

I was thinking quickly, "All moms know this stuff. It's on the Mom Test. You have to know it, or they don't let you be a Mom."

We walked along in silence for 2 or 3 minutes, but she was evidently pondering this new information.

"Oh..I get it!" she beamed, "So if you don't pass the test you have to be the dad."

"Exactly!" I said with a smile.

Note to Self: Never Go Shopping with 3 Toddlers!

2008-03-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

I recently braved taking the General, the Tank and the Destroyer to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for the Destroyer, and some feminine products for myself. Taking all three of my cadets to the store is something I try to avoid at all costs. Mostly because I spend more time apologizing to those around me, for my children's behavior, than I spend shopping. This trip to the pharmacy was no different.

From the minute we entered the store, all eyes were on us. Mostly because the Destroyer was crying, in agony. Whether it was the pain of his cold or the pain of the Tank trying to rip his leg off, I am still not sure.

I quickly threatened the Tank and told him that if he continued to act up that he wouldn't get to go to Grandpa's house later. A solid threat, so I thought. But instead of retreating to my side quietly, the Tank took off like a ragging hyena in search of fresh prey.

As I followed the clatter of the Tank's wake, muttering apologies as I passed frown after frown on people just shaking their heads in disbelief at my total lack of control over my children. I quickly loaded my cart with my feminine products as fast as I could and bolted toward the pharmacy counter.

When I got to the counter the clerk informed us that the Destroyer's prescription wasn't ready yet. So there I was with a crying infant and now two insanely hyper toddlers. You can imagine all the friends I was making.

When our turn finally came, I asked my guys to make themselves useful and unload the cart for Mommy. Little did I know that unloading a box of tampons and a package of maxi-pads would be so thrilling. But as the General lifted the pack of maxi-pads from the cart, the Tank tackled him and ran off with the pads screaming, "I want to hold Mommy's special band-aids!"

The Destroyer got a haircut!

2008-03-10T18:36:00.000-07:00

Beware! The smile gets you every time!

Someone's in need of a whooping and it isn't Momma...

2008-03-03T10:18:00.000-08:00

One of the trickest things I find about parenting is that no matter how hard I try to teach my children what is right, there is always someone who is better and quicker at teaching them something wrong.

The other night the Tank was impatiently waiting for me to frost his Grandpa's birthday cake. He was hovering over the cake like a vulture waiting to swoop in for the kill.

"Back away from the cake," I pleaded with the Tank as he poked wholes into its side.

"No, I want to frost it!" replied the Tank as he made a second pass around the perimeter of the cake.

"Back away from cake!" I commanded. "You need to be patient, we have to wait for it to cool."

The Tank took his eyes off his prey momentarily to look at me and whispered, "I'm gonna kick your ass."

"What did you say?" I asked genuinely shocked. Neither myself or my husband would ever sputter such harsh words.

Before he could even answer me, the Tank retreated to the naughty corner.

I approached him and asked again, just encase I misheard him, "What did you say?"

The Tank timidly replied, "I said I'm going to kick your ass if you don't let me frost the cake."

Nope. I had heard correctly. All I could think was: where would he learn such words; and if there is going to be an ass kicking around here, I'll be giving it!

I collected my cool and reminded the Tank about manners. I told him that when he was ready to apologize to me that he could come out of the corner.

Just as I turned to walk away the tank sweetly called my name, "Mommy."

"Yes, is there something you would like to say to me?" I asked.

"I'm sorry for saying that I was gonna kick your ass," whispered the Tank.

Mom's Taking a Day Off!

2008-02-21T11:17:00.000-08:00

My husband, the bear, grumbled when he saw the sign on the kitchen refrigerator. "Kitchen CLOSED." But it wasn't until he read the sign on the laundry room door that he started to growl, "What's going on? Kitchen CLOSED, Laundry room CLOSED?"

Lying on the couch I quietly responded, "I'm taking a Mental Health Day."

"A What?" roared the bear. Puzzled, my husband repeated, with question and with no concern, what I said, "A mental health day? What's wrong?"

I responded again, "Yes, I'm taking a mental health day. I figure if the police chief can take a mental health day, than I am certainly entitled to one. I'm on call 24/7, fighting the forces against the General, the Tank, and the Destroyer, and I haven't had a day off in four years. I don't even get a lunch break! So, I have decided to take a day off."

After, a quick wrestling match of words, the bear realized that I wasn't backing down and he retreated to the kitchen.

"Stay away from Mom today," I heard him tell the kids, "she's gone mental!"

The Son Only Rises in Mommy and Daddy's Room

2008-01-19T12:56:00.000-08:00

Four years ago my husband and I believed in the "family bed." Why not let the kiddies sleep with us, if it meant that we all got sleep? That last part is key "if we all got sleep," but recently our family bed has turned into the General and the Tank's resting quarters, while my hubby and I get pushed to the end of the bed or to the floor like family pets.

I woke up last night with my husband, the Bear ,hibernating on the floor by our bed covered with a blanket that looked like it was made for a doll. I nudged him very carefully, I didn't want to startle the beast. Half an eyelid opened, so I quietly asked, "what are you doing on the floor?"

He responded, "one of the boys kicked me in the head so I moved to the floor."

I couldn't help by chuckle. "This is ridiculous," I told the Bear. "After all, we are the adults and that is our bed. If anybody should be sleeping on the floor, it should be the boys."

We looked that our children all nestled in our bed. I don't think that there was a more peaceful scene on earth at that moment. The General had his armed intertwined with the Tank's and they were holding hands. It was truly beautiful. But, with only a moment of hesitation, I ripped the covers off my little soldiers and marched them right back to their own beds.

The next morning, the Bear asked the General why he's been sleeping in our bed so much lately.

The General said, "Because, when I wake up in my room it's still dark out. But if I get up and go into your bed, when I wake up it's light out. Your room makes the night go away and makes morning come."

It took a promise of ice cream for breakfast to convince the General and the Tank to stay in their room all through the night. And low and behold morning really does come in their room too!

Bug Infestion

2008-01-04T21:15:00.000-08:00

My house has been infested. No, not with termites or cockroaches, those would be easier to rid then this vermin that is reeking havoc in my home.

The Stomach Bug. It is a species so vicious that it has literally stopped the General, the Tank, and the Destroyer in their tracks, which is no easy feat.

The General and the Tank seem to be enduring the worst of the damage. After seeing the General make a mad dash for the latrine, I went to check to check on him. When I asked how he was doing, he looked up from where he was stationed and said, "my butt just puked."

It seems that every year this bug likes to take up residence in our house, working its way through each of us. If only I could find an exterminator in the yellow pages that would extirpate this Bug for good.