Mom's always write!

A Little Game of Cat and Mouse

2011-07-08T18:23:00.000-07:00

I think I may change the Tank's and the Destroyer's names to Tom and Jerry. Only problem is I haven't decided who's Tom and who's Jerry.

My middle son and my youngest have an on going rivalry that mimics that of the famous feline and mouse. Much like the cartoon, my two characters have developed a relationship that often involves mayhem and destruction. However, when need be, they can set aside their differences to achieve a common goal.

Recently, I took my troops shopping for party supplies for the General's birthday party. I needed bird seed for a party craft that I had planned. We were on a mission and before we set off into the store I strategically laid out my plan, to ensure that nothing would run amuck.

"We are going in to get bird seed only. You are not to wonder more than five steps away from me and you are not to pick up any toys that we may pass on the way to the outdoor center. Does everyone understand?" I commanded.

To which I received a general nod.

Off we went into the store.

We were off to a good start. We made is safely pass a display of kickballs and everything around us was still intact.

"This is awesome." I thought. I can see the garden center straight ahead. I told myself to keep my eye on the target and not to get too cocky and veer from the plan.

We made it safely to the garden center. And I spotted the bird seed straight away. But so did the Tank and the Destroyer (or I should say Tom & Jerry). Simultaneously they picked up the giant bag. And instantly a battle began over who was going to put the seed into the cart. Within 3 seconds flat an entire bag of birdseed was all over the middle of the isle.

Instantly I was consumed by panic. I screamed "I told you not to touch anything!"

The Tank was quick to retort, "You said not to touch any TOYS!"

I was infuriated and the purple hue that took over my face and the steam that seeped out my ears must have tipped Tom and Jerry off. Because, I've never seen my kids move so fast. The Tank and the Destroyer sped down the isle next to us and returned with a kitty litter scoop and small pail.

"You got to be kidding me?" I scolded. "What are we suppose to do with that?"

Unsure, the Tank uttered, "We can scoop up the birdseed with it?"

My tone of my voice was rising as fast as my temper at this point, I was about to explode, "It has holes in it! It's useless!"

At this point, I thought I was starting to hallucinate as a very kind gentleman walked our way waving what I thought was a white flag. (Turned out he was trying to break the tension and was waving his white hankie.)

My knight in shining armor made light of our situation and told me that he would have someone come clean up the mess.

I apologized for my rogue brigade and the gentleman assured me that "they're boys, it's just a phase, and they'll grow out of it, you just wait and see."

Considering that Tom and Jerry had one of the longest-lived rivalries in American cinema, I think I'm in for a long wait.

Random Act of Kindness

2011-04-05T04:53:00.000-07:00

I have always had faith in humanity and that there are people out there who want to make a difference in our world. People who want to spread kindness as if it is a contagious disease. Although, these folks are a rare breed, they do exist. In fact, I had a memorable encounter with such a person yesterday.

Yesterday afternoon, I took my boys to the bank to cash in our coins, for our up coming road trip to Fl. While were were standing at the Penny Arcade, giggling at the machine munching away at our coins, a woman walks up to us and says, "looks like you all are having some fun. What is this thing? I've never seen such a machine."

So I quickly explain that it's a Penny Arcade, basically a machine that counts your change. While I am telling this woman about the machine, my boys are still emptying their jug and and cheering as the machine devours their savings.

The woman still amazed, I'm not quite sure if she was more taken with my boys excitement, or the wonder of this magnificent machine. She asked my boys, "Did you save all those coins for something special?"

And the Destroyer quickly replied, "Yes, Disney World!"
The General followed up with, "Yeah, we saved our money for a whole year!"

We finally finshed feeding the coin machine and it spit out a ticket for us to go and claim our cash. The woman wished us a fun trip then continued on to the teller infront of us.

The boys waited as patiently has they could while the woman fished up her business. When she was done she turned to us and said, "it's so nice to see a young family so excited about saving their money. Here I want your boys to have this." And she handed me several crisp bills.

Stunned, I said, "Wow, this is really kind of you. But, I can't take your money. You don't even know us."

The kind woman insisted, "Please, take it for your boys. I don't have grandchildren of my own and it would give me great pleasure if you let me do this for your children."

There I stood speechless; utterly taken aback by this woman's generousity. When then General stepped forward and said, "Thank you."

"Yes, thank you!" I said. "I can't believe this, Wow...Thank you!"

"Have a good time with your family," her kind words touched me as deelpy as her random act of kindness.

As she departed our prensence she left behind an aura of warmth that left a lasting impression on our hearts.

MAD- LIBS for You Valentine!

2011-02-08T08:18:00.000-08:00

Dear Princess Peach,

What are you doing after Transformer practice on Valentine's Day? Want to come over to my kettle? We can ride the school California, or, if it's a bright and icky day, we can fall. If you stay for dinner, you're in for a sticky treat. My dad loves to barbecue prime cats. He is practically a gourmet tree. His steaks are juicy, cute, and guaranteed to melt in your eyeball. And my mom makes chocolate chip shoes that are out of this princess. You'll be eating them until they come out our butt-cracks. After dinner we can go to the movies. Wand Impossible is playing. And, because it's Valentine's Day, I'll even pay for the happy popcorn.

Sleepily,
Johnny Bo Bonny

The Naughty Finger and the Naughty "F Word"

2011-01-24T18:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, I was sitting at my kitchen table, finishing my breakfast, when the General came up to me and flipped me "the bird..." and asked, "What's it mean when someone sticks up their middle finger up at you?"

I nearly choked on my granola. Avoiding the question, I followed up with a question of my own, "Who did you learn that from?"

From the look of the General's face, I could tell that he knew that he was in a hole; naturally he started to try to dig himself out.

Thinking quickly the General responded, "No one. I just know that if you stick your first finger out that it means that you're pointing at something. So, I want to know what it means if you stick your second finger out."

Trying to dance around the meaning, I gave the General a very generic answer, which I thought would satisfy his burning curiosity, "It means a swear word. Something that you should never say."

I just added fuel to the fire.

"You mean, like- I swear to God?" The General continued, "Because, I've sworn before; I swore that I wouldn't throw the Wii remote at my brother, again."

I explained that the swear he was referring to was more like a promise and that the swear that I was referring to is a naughty word that he isn't allowed to repeat.

Again, more fuel to the General's inquiry.

"What swear word does it mean?"

I could tell that the General was going to be unrelenting in his pursuit, so I gave in and told him, "It means the naughty "F-Word that you're not allowed to say."

The General looked baffled, "It means Fat?"

Laughing,I relished in my son's innocence, before telling him ,"No, the other naughty "F Word."

“My family is really boring. They have a coffee table book called 'Pictures We Took Just to Use Up the Rest of the Film."

2010-09-29T09:40:00.000-07:00

There's a New Sheriff in Town

2010-08-13T18:59:00.000-07:00

and her badge reads : MOM!

I admit it, I am the Queen of Empty Threats. I can't tell you how many times I've threatened to sell my kids to ebay or busted out the world's largest wooden spoon and threatened to paddle their tushies.

Every time my boys would run amuck, I'd pull something new out or my arsenal. Like, "If you don't settle down and BE QUIET while I'm driving, then I am going to pull over and make you walk!" Or,this next one, which I stole from my mother-in-law, and is one of my all time favorites, "Stop hitting your brother! Because if you can't keep your hands to yourself, then I am going to rip them off and beat you with their bloody ends!"

I know what you're thinking, If it didn't work on her or her husband, when they were kids, then why on earth would she think it would work on her kids? I often wonder the same thing, but hey, let's be honest, my sanity, along with all my reason and logic flew out the window a long time ago.

There are days when I feel like I spend hours on end screaming, in what I think is my scary voice, at my little band of trouble. Only to be overrun every time. At my wit's end, I went to the Bear, to seek advice. All he has to do is roar once and our bandits fall straight into formation.

"I don't understand why the kids listen to you and not me?" I whined.

Without even glancing my way the Bear casually answered, "Because you don't intimidate them, they don't take you seriously. They're boys and you're the Mom. I was the same way." He went on in a tone that suggested that I should already know this.

Defensive, I responded, "What do I mean I don't intimidate them? I think I sound scary, when I yell. I'd be scared if I were them!"

Again, in a tone that suggested that he couldn't even believe that he was having to explain this to me, the Bear quickly knocked me off my horse and casually told me, "You don't sound scary, just annoying."

I was taken aback, and a little hurt. I really did want to believe that I could lay down the law with my kids and be taken seriously. So, I devised a new plan. No more screaming. I would simply state the problem, address it, and take action, no more empty threats.

I seized the first opportunity I could to roll out my new plan.

I was on the phone the other day, when the Destroyer came over to me and rudely interrupted, pointing to the phone, "Mommy, I say hi?"

I excused myself from my conversation, "Honey, you're being rude. Mommy's on the phone with someone you don't know."

Momentarily satisfied by my answer, the Destroyer started to walk away, until a light when off in his head, "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! Mommy, I say hi?"

Again, I told him that I was having a conversation with someone that he didn't know and I asked him for some privacy while I talked, a foreign concept to the Destroyer. The badgering continued relentlessly. I once again excused myself from the phone to address his unyielding behavior.

I knelt down next to the Destroyer and looked him straight in the eye and sternly said, "You are being very rude and you need to go to your room, NOW!"

"I don't want to go to my room!" he cried.

Trying to keep my cool and not scream, I channeled my inner HULK, "You need to stop before you make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry."

This stopped the Destroyer's tears mid stream and he looked up at me and asked, "Why Mommy, you going to turn green?"

I couldn't help but laugh, looks like this Sheriff has been run out of town again.

I Can Fly! I Can Fly!

2010-06-16T08:23:00.000-07:00

"All it takes is faith and trust!"- Peter Pan

Occasionally, my boys go on treasure hunts in our attic, sifting through my reserve of stuff that I basically wish would disappear, but I don't have the heart to throw away, because someone has given it to my kids as a gift, like Moon Sand and Flubber. Yes ,they are as messy as they sound and my troops don't need any extra help in that department. They are ruinous enough on their own.

On the Destroyer's most recent rummage through the attic, he found a set of fairy wings. (Which, my aunt picked up on clearance a few years ago and gave to me; I think she figured that at the rate I was popping out babies that one was bound to be a girl.) The Destroyer was tickled by his find. The wings matched his new wand perfectly.

That night the Destroyer showed off his new wings for the Bear. To my surprise the Bear didn't growl at the sight of his son in fairy wings whirling his purple magic wand around. Instead, he picked the Destroyer up and helped him fly around our family room. The Destroyer was truly lost in flight as he started shouting, "Throw me Daddy! Throw me! I can fly!"

At this point the Bear lost his composure to a fit of laughter. "I'm not throwing you! You'll kill yourself!"

To which the General chimed in, "Yea, you can't fly you don't have any fairy dust!"

I don't know which gives me happier thoughts, my boys wild and fantasic imginations or the Bear's acceptence of them...fairy wings and all.

Kids Say the Darndest Things...

2010-04-26T18:33:00.000-07:00

My troops latest number definitely warrants them a place in Bill Cosby's hall of toddler fame.

We were recently at Disney World enjoying our family vacation, when duty called. The General desperately needed to use the latrine, so the Bear took him to do his business. No sooner does the Bear disappear, when my other two mouseketeers decide that they too have to relieve themselves. So we head off to the restroom.

After my guys were done, I figure that I better make use of the facility as well. So, there I am hovering over the toilet when the Destroyer asks, in the loudest voice possible, "Mommy where's your pee-pee?"

To which the Tank responds, "Mommy doesn't have a pee-pee. She pees out her butt!"

That's the BEST FRIEND'S Job

2010-04-04T14:35:00.000-07:00

"A good friend will come bail you out of jail, but a best friend will be sitting next to you saying..."Damn that was fun!" - unknown

A statement so meaningful that even my 6 year old gets it.

The other day the General exited his school bus with a sour look on his face. "What's with the puss?" I asked jokingly.

The General followed up my question with one of his own, "How come you never let me bring toys to school?"

"Well, because toys don't belong at school. They belong at home." I answered.

"But, Ralphie brings his toys to school!" voiced the General.

All that I could come up with was, "If Ralphie jumped off a bridge would you do it too?"

Without hesitation the General answered, "Yes!"

I was actually shocked by his answer; after all, I call my first born the General for a reason. He is a leader by nature, not a follower.

"General, I was trying to make a point. You don't have to do something just because one of your friends is doing it."

To which the General responded, "Mommy if I don't jump after Ralphie, who will help him up?"

Man is he good. And he actually does have a point. I can recall many of times following my friends into danger, purely to help them emerge unscathed, of course!

Job Opening

2010-03-02T09:56:00.000-08:00

After my refusal to turn the Tank's inside-out Darth Vader costume the right way, the Tank walked over to me, frustrated and irritated. Then, in his most Donald like voice, told me, "Mom you're FIRED!"

I was shocked, "Fired? You can't fire me, I'm the boss!"

"Fine. Then you're grounded," quipped the Tank.

I couldn't help but laugh, "Sorry, can't ground me either."

Annoyed the Tank asked, "Why?"

"For the same reason you can't fire me...I'm the boss!"

Totally unsatisfied by my answer, the Tank demanded a new boss.

Seeing as how I don't know many people willing to take on my troops, at least not without reinforcements, I was feeling pretty confident in my job security. I even agreed to help the Tank create a job posting.

Mom Wanted.
Job Duties include but are not limited to:
Must ensure that all our costumes are turned right side out at all times, especially Darth Vader. Must be able to locate all our toy's missing limbs, on demand; and must be able to successfully reattach them them. Must let us eat what we want, when we want, even though it has been proven that we turn into Gremlins, when fed after 8pm. No bed times, EVER! Not to worry though, we've never stayed up for more than 18 hours straight.

After reviewing his want ad, the tank wanted to know what I was going to do with it.

"Well, I guess we should post it, and see if we have anyone interested in the job," I told him.

It's been about a month and The Tank is still awaiting his first applicant.

Mom isn't ALWAYS Right...

2010-02-10T10:31:00.000-08:00

It's hard for me to admit, but I'm not ALWAYS right, except for 99% of the time! And it's that 1% that the Bear remembers the most...

Except for lately it's more like 2% and that 2% is definitely riding on my hubby's side. Believing that I have a tendency to jump into false hysteria, the Bear has dubbed me the Chicken Little of the family.

But in my defense, I believe that most moms would become distressed if their kid's front tooth was kicked out of his head, by his menacing brother.

After noticing what looked like a shard of tooth left in the gum, (it was kind of hard to be sure through all the blood) I became alarmed and called the dentist. Of course not being able to see the gum and tooth over the phone, the dentist wanted me to bring the General in to be examined.

I called the Bear in a panic, saying that he needed to take the General to the dentist. I explained the whole tooth kicking incident and insisted that he bring the General to get checked out because it looks like a piece of the tooth might be stuck in the gum.

After listening to my recap of events, the Bear calmly asked," Was it a baby tooth that was knocked out?"

"Yes! But I think part of it is still in the gum!" I replied.

To which he Bear followed up with, "Are you sure it's not the new tooth popping through?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure. That's why I want you to take him to the dentist to find out!"

I could hear the annoyance and restrain the the Bear's voice, "Is this going to be like the time I paid $90 for the Dr. to tell me that the kids had bug bites, which you insisted were the chicken pox?"

God, I hate it when he's right!

When I Grow Up...

2010-01-19T06:49:00.000-08:00

Every kid dreams about what they want to be when they get older. My boys have already started their "When I grow up list..."

The General wants to build houses with the Bear during the week and on the weekends he wants to be a super hero, so he can "rid the world of punks!"

The Tank wants to be a Fireman, build houses, fix snowmobiles, and change car tires.

And the Destroyer, who is the biggest brute of them all, wants to be a princess, and if that doesn't work out, then he'll settle for being Glenda, a good witch.

I keep assuring the Bear that if the Destroyer is anything like me, he's got nothing to worry about.

When I was little I use to dream of being the lead drummer/singer in a rock band. I thought I was going to be the next Don Henley. Until I realized that I didn't carry a musical note in my body.

When I realized that music wasn't my forte and sports was, I decided I'd be a pro football player. I was going to be the next Dan Marino. Until I realized that the NFL doesn't take five foot three inch girls that are afraid to get hit.

When music and sports didn't work out I needed to figure out what I was good at, that's when I turned to my folks for guidance.

"What am I good at?" I asked them.

To which my parents honestly responded, "relentless talking."

Great, I think I'll go in to politics. I'll put my chops to good use and help change the world. For about the next 12 years, I aspired to be the first female president of the United States. This dream lasted until I went off to college and sat through my first Poli-Sci class and realized that there were more relentless talkers out there besides me, and I couldn't tolerate people that differed in opinion so drastically from my own.

For the first time in my life I wasn't sure what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had no direction, no clear plan. All the while my parents continued to support me as I tested the waters. They supported all my phases that were to follow, my art/photography phase, when I wanted to be the next Margret Burke White; they supported my computer phase; the list continued to grow through college.

Even when I graduated from college, I was still clueless as to what I wanted to do with my life.

It wasn't until I got married and started my own band of trouble that I found my true passion in life. Being a Mom is the one job that I never thought I'd ever want, but it's the most fun, the most rewarding and the most fulfilling job I could do. I only hope that I'm as patient and supportive with my kids as my parents were with me.

Now if I could just get paid for doing it, it would be PERFECT!

The Gift of Giving

2009-12-17T18:15:00.000-08:00

With Christmas closing in and my kids lists and demands growing at an exponential rate, I started to panic...my children were turning into unappreciative spoiled brats. They actually started to catalogue their gifts that they expected to get and from whom they excepted to get them.

Before they reached the point of no return, and turned into a pack if "give me" savages, I decided I should intervene and teach my impudent brigade how to politely receive gifts, especially if it is not the giant $100 Devastator, which I think is appropriately named, because what parent wouldn't be devastated when they found out that their child's number one toy on their Santa list costs a hundred bucks! And more importantly I want my boys to experience the merriment of giving to others.

So, I devised a game to help teach some proper gift giving and receiving etiquette. I gave each boy a shopping bag, and told them that they would be shopping in the playroom for gifts to give each other. Before I set them off to do their shopping, I set up some ground rules. 1. Everyone would take turns being the shopper/gift giver and everyone would get a turn to be the recipient 2. You must pick only one gift, so be thoughtful in your selection 3. Upon receipt of your gift you must clearly thank the gift giver 4. Once you open the gift you must say something constructive and positive about it, whether or not you like the gift. 5. Never say "I hate it" or "this isn't what I wanted."

Once I was certain that each boy understood the rules, they set off to do some shopping. Two boys would feverishly shop for the perfect gift, while the other would patiently await to receive his present. The first couple of rounds went surprisingly well, I was beginning to think that maybe I didn't have anything to worry about after all, "my kids are such thoughtful little Santa's," I thought to myself.

THEN, it was time for the Tank to shop for the Destroyer. I feel like I must preface this story with the fact that the Tank and the Destroyer's relationship is more like Tom and Jerry's than Wallie and the Beaver.

The Tank was in playroom on the hunt for the perfect present for the Destroyer, when all of a sudden he broke out in to a fit of uncontrollable laughter. When I went to see what was so funny, he was laughing so hard that he was crying, tears were literally streaming down his face.

"What's so funny?," I asked, starting to laugh myself.

Still laughing the Tank was unable to compose an answer.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

The Tank shook his head and off he went to allege the Destroyer with a token of his brotherly appreciate. By the time we reached the Destroyer, the Tank's laughter had ceased and had been replaced with a grin that could rival the Chester Cat's.

The Tank presented his masterpiece. It was a beautiful exchange of hugs and thank yous. I couldn't have been prouder.

Then, bursting with excitement the Destroyer opened his present. He pulled out an old crusted up Lighten McQueen sneaker, that went missing about six months ago. The Destroyer squealed with delight, "Oh, THANK YOU! I was missed this!"

I like to think that the Destroyer wasn't really oblivious to the Tank's intentions of sticking it to him; but rather, he just really understood the point of the game and was truly appreciative.

Next Stop, Pea Pod!

2009-11-16T10:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, that was me with Will Turner, Captain Jack Sparrow and the Knight in Shining Armor at Stop and Shop today.

Sounds like something out of a dream, right?

If only I was dreaming. Every outing is literally an adventure for my little band of trouble. They look forward to dressing up and heading out on the town. Everyday is a new Halloween here at the Putnam patch.

Sounds cute and even at first glance, they look cute. But if you look close enough you'll see that they are really just wolverines in sheep's clothing.

It's usually just a matter of minutes before the claws come out and I'm in total disarray. Today was actually different.

It only took about 15 seconds into our shopping trip, when the Destroyer spotted some contraband... balloons. I purposely try to avoid any stores that carry balloons and now Stop and Shop has moved them from their small corner in the flower shop to the front and center of every aisle of the store.

"Balloon!" squealed the Destroyer! "I want a balloon!"

"Shoot me now," I quietly thought to myself.

"We'll see. Let's get all our shopping done and maybe we can stop and look at the balloons on the way out." I said as I quickly rolled past the balloons.

I quickly developed a game plan in my head, mapping out my shopping list to get out of the store as quickly as possible. But before I was able to finish my planing, the Destroyer started his tenacious attack.

The next seven or eight minutes seemed like the most daunting of my life as the Destroyer relentlessly pressured me for his balloon. "Mommy, I be good. I get a balloon? Mommy is it time to see the balloons?"

My constant promises that we'd check out the balloons on the way out of the store did little to calm the Destroyer's offense.

The Destroyer's cute and coy pleas for a balloon, quickly turned into ferocious demands. "I want a balloon," he screamed.

Looking over my shoulder to be sure the no one could report me for child abuse, I grabbed the Destroyer's arm and threatened to sell him on e-bay if he wasn't quiet.

To which my sassy three year old stood up in the cart and pointed his little finger at me, stomping and screaming, "YOU MEAN MOMMY! I WANT A BALLOON!"

Embarrassed, I grabbed all three of my troopers without saying a word and dashed toward the door leaving my cart in the middle of the aisle.

The General concerned brought up a very important fact, "But Mommy, what about our food?"

To which another shopper, who I sensed was pleased at our exit, suggested, "Honey go home and order from Pea Pod, they deliver!"

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 "blond moments." My most recent moment came when my husband and I were at the local Thai Hut restaurant 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 acquired my air headedness. 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 sudden 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 incident to a friend, feeling sorry that Tank has acquired 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 just 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.

I've Been SPOTED!

2007-12-09T17:21:00.000-08:00

Okay, I'm six months shy of hitting 30 and it seems as though I've just hit puberty. Or at least puberty has hit my face.

I seem to be in the midst of a hormonal rage that is attacking my face with red bumps. I'm not talking the occasional blemish that one would normally get around that time of the month, these things mean business. Every morning I seem to wake up with a new enemy staking claim on my face.

I actually considered calling out of work the other day because I felt so awful about the way I look, until my husband, the voice of reason, laughingly said "what are you going to tell your boss that you came down with a case of the pimples?"

These suckers aren't just a nuisance that I'm dealing with, they are a painful embarrassment. I went to my sister's yesterday and before she even greeted me, she asked if I had the chicken pox.

"No, just a case of pimples," I moaned.

Determined not to been defeated, I've collected an arsenal of gels, creams and washes to destroy these little suckers! I figure if I can do battle with the General and the Tank and survive, then I can definitely take on the Pimples.

Road Trip- 2007

2007-11-05T11:03:00.000-08:00

The Departure

We recently took the kids, yes all three, on a road trip to Florida to visit my parents and of course Mickey Mouse. You’re probably thinking, “What was she thinking driving 1100 miles for 20 hours with three toddlers and a husband (who counts as a 4th toddler at times)?”

We started our adventure at 4am. We wanted to beat the Jersey turnpike traffic. Normally my husband has only one rule while we’re on a road trip.

I’m not allowed to drive unattended, navigationally speaking. Apparently, I inherited my Nonnie’s sense of direction, who once decided to follow a car with a Florida license plate, because she was going to Fl, and ended up in Michigan. I too seem to suffer a serious deficiency when it comes to sense of direction.

But this trip seemed to pose an odd situation. My husband went to a college football game the night before and, since he only got home two hours prior to our departure; he was in no condition to drive. In other words, he needed a nap. So naturally I assumed I was going to drive the first leg of the trip. And we all know what they say about ASSUME.

My husband’s response to my suggestion of driving was less than enthusiastic. But I assured him that with our new GPS device that it would be virtually impossible to get lost. I just put in our destination and let my cool new gadget lead the way. So with the whole navigation issue resolve, I told him to take a nap that me and Navman had it under control.

So my hubby slipped into a nice cozy slumber passing thunderous zzzz’s along the way.

Suddenly I felt my control quickly slip away. We hit the Jersey turnpike and there were so many lanes and so many exits that I got confused by Mr. Navman’s directions and got off on to the wrong route. Instantly, Mr. Navman picked up on my mistake and quickly corrected my error, “Please perform a U-Turn as soon as possible.”

Uh-oh.

Okay, I told my self not to panic that Mr. Navman would redirect me. But it just kept chanting, “Please perform a U-Turn as soon as possible.” I needed to find an off ramp and quick so I could turn around and get going in the right direction before my husband woke up. “Please perform a U-Turn as soon as possible,” was starting to become Mr. Navman’s mantra. There was no off ramp and sight, so I just kept driving until the darn contraption’s hymn woke up my husband, the bear, next to me.

“Why is the GPS saying to perform a U-Turn?” grumbled the bear.

“I think I missed the exit for the Jersey turnpike,” I said timidly.

The bear sat upright and turned to me with a fierce growl, “You THINK you missed the exit? Where are we?”

“Okay, I definitely missed the exit. And I’m not sure where we are. I was hoping to find an off ramp and turn around before you woke up, but I’ve been driving for 11 miles with no signs of away to turn around.”

The next bit of exchange between me and the bear I’ll leave to your imagination, but it wasn’t pretty. We eventually got turnaround and heading in the right direction. Needless to say that was the end of my unsupervised driving for the rest of the trip.
Stay tuned for more of Road Trip-2007!

Toughing Out Toddler Torture While the Hubby is Away

2007-10-19T10:51:00.000-07:00

My husband’s recent business trip has definitely put a cease on any thoughts that I’ve had about having another baby. After spending fours days alone with The General, The Tank and my youngest, which I’ve newly named The Destroyer has led me to the conclusion that handling three boys under four is like trying to fend off a pack of hungry wolves while standing there with a fresh slab of meat around your neck. I never stood a chance.

After enduring hours on end of tantrums and bickering I decided that some serious intervention was needed to round up the cattle and draw them back to the corral. With the meanest and toughest voice I could muster up I tried to scare the herd back in line. The result was definitely not what I was aiming for; the only thing my booming outburst succeeded at was setting off the house alarm.

This was only night one.

The following days didn’t offer much relief. My hubby hearing the distress in my voice kindly suggested that I pack the boys up and head up to New Hampshire to spend the rest of the week with him while he finished up his work.

I weighed my options. Three more days of being tortured alone with no other adult companionship or endure the nuisance of packing up the whole house to head up to New Hampshire to share the insanity with my husband. Visions of more nights setting off the house alarm swim in my head. Option two it was!

The next day I packed up everything but the kitchen refrigerator and hit the road. Thirty minutes into our adventure and the car started to shake and it started to expel this awful order. “Mommy, Mommy the car is on fire!” cried the General. I looked in the review mirror. There was smoke coming from the rear tire. The smoke and the fumes of burning rubber only too clearly pointed to a flat tire.

I pulled over to the breakdown lane immediately called my husband seeking some advice and some sympathy. I don’t know what I was thinking....that maybe he would teleport himself there to change my tire I suppose. “Call AAA,” was the only thing he could offer. I dialed AAA, the gentleman on the other end told me he’d send a repair truck out and that the wait time would be between 1 and 2 hours. I felt like I just landed on Gilligan’s Island. I left my home for what I thought was going to be a short two hour journey, but there I was, on the side of I-91 by myself, with a flat tire and three toddlers.

Just when I thought my situation couldn’t get any worse, tears and screams of panic started to emerge from the back of the car. I calmly pleaded with the AAA guy, “You don’t understand, I have and infant and two toddlers under the age of 4 and I’m traveling by myself.”

Twenty-five minutes later a repair guy pulled up behind me. He put a doughnut on my car and I was off, driving 50 mph down the highway. You can imagine all the friends I was quickly making. “Mommy, who was that?” asked the General as a not so gentleman waived some choice fingers at me beeping his horn.

Needless to say I quickly exited the highway and took the scenic route the rest of the way.
Our time up in New Hampshire with my husband and his family went by smoothly.

When I got home I called my sister, who I knew would be very empathetic to my situation as she was home alone with her son for the week as well. As I was sharing stories about my house alarm incident and my time on Gilligan’s Island, I could tell she was only half listening.

“Are you listening to me?” I selfishly asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “I just left the emergency room with TJ; he stuck a rock up his nose.”

I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Boys!” she said, meaning “you know boys”.

“Yes, boys,” was all I could say back. And so ended my self pity….it could always be worse.

The Not So Holy Bible Of Parenting

2007-10-08T12:50:00.000-07:00

When I left the hospital with our newborn son, who looked to be the most angelic child I had ever seen in my life, I thought I was prepared for it all. The dirty diapers, the all night feeding sessions and even the crying. The endless crying. (At first I thought we brought someone else’s child home, because ours definitely didn’t cry this much when we were in the hospital when we had endless amounts of help to come to the rescue if we couldn’t figure out what was troubling our seemingly perfect baby.) After all, the nurse that discharged me gave my husband and me this handy thousand page book, that she assured us would cover everything that we would possibly need to know until our son reached the ripe old age of 5. Like what to do when this yellow pussy stuff is oozing out the side of your baby’s left eye. It even has detailed steps on how to change your baby’s diaper and even more detailed charts on your child’s growth patterns from birth to 5. We really thought we hit the jackpot, “cool, like a how to manual,” my husband, the new dad, said. As if we just bought a new car.

My husband and I treated this book like the holy bible. Before we gave our son his first bottle we consulted our handy manual only to find out that before we gave him a bottle that we had to sterilize it. Ok that makes sense. But, after further reading we learned that since we have well water that we have to sterilize the water before we could mix the formula. I instantly thought, “Wow, thank God we have this book because our son could really have gotten sick.” Then the next day when the doctor called to check on his new patient, we proudly told him of our finding and not too worry that we boiled our water for 5 minutes before we mixed the formula. And without hesitation Dr. Bill chuckled and said, “What old book did you read that in?” There it was plain and simple our first clue that this book was not the be all and all of raising a child.

Yet, for some reason night after night “the book” called out to us to consult it. At first, even after the little water incident, it proved to be handy. It reassured us that in fact babies do eat ten to twelve times a day and it’s completely normal for a baby to hold his or her poop for 5 days only to release what my husband now refers to as “the Mother Load.” But over time my husband and I began to notice that things started to happen to our son and to us as parents that just weren’t covered in the book. For instance, babies can simultaneously puke out their nose and relieve their intestines at the same time. Or what a child eats comes out their rear the same color that it goes in their mouth. No where in that book did it reassure me not to panic beacause it would be completely normal for my child to poop bright blue for two days after eating Cotton -Candy Trix yogart.

It’s been over four years since that fateful day the nurse gave us “the book” and I am convinced that the authors were paid to purposely leave things out for fear that parents would be leaving newborns unclaimed in hospitals all over America.

The Mom Bag

2007-09-24T06:13:00.000-07:00

Men equate the "official" arrival of parenthood with trading in their small, cute, and sporty ride, which most of their friends envy and beg to go cruising in, for a practical and spacious Mom-mobile, aka the Mini-Van, which causes most of their friends to disguise themselves before stepping in for a ride.

Not woman. We'd be OK with a Mini-Van. For us, it's trading in our cute designer handbags for what our co-workers refer to as "the mom bag." With tears in my eyes, I tucked Kate, Andi, and Coach into a safe spot in my closet and broke down and bought A Vera Bradley cross-body cargo sling. This bag is the Mother of all bags. It's has enough room and pockets to pack up all my child paraphernalia, in fact I think I could pack a small child in it too.

I decided to take make bag out for a test drive. I wore it to my son's school fair. I was instantly plagued by Moms green with envy. They were in awe over all the pockets and "the colors," one mom excitedly declared "it goes with everything!" I imagined what followed was similar to to the Man's version of testing the waters with his new ride. You know, when a Dad pulls up with the top of the line mini-van and shows off all the bells and whistles, to other curious Dads who are contemplating taking the plunge, in hopes to gain their approval.

The question and answer session continued for a 20 minutes. "Have you tried to wash it yet?" "What other colors does it come in?" "Can you strap it to your stroller?" "Is it heavy?" "Can I try it on?"

So, yes it is official. I am now the proud owner of a "mom bag." And like most everything else that I've come to acquire through motherhood, I love it.

Is Diarrhea of the Mouth Contagious?

2007-09-05T10:16:00.000-07:00

My husband seems to think that I have this awful aliment. Things just spew out of my mouth uncontrollably. For example, when I told his mother, over a nice dinner, that her kitchen wall paper was totally out dated. He refers to these thoughtless spells of mine as "diarrhea of the mouth."

If this is in fact what I suffer from, than I think my children have come down with the same affliction. My boys tend to share the most humiliating things at the most inopportune times. Like the time we were shopping at the Gap and my Tank announced to the kind woman behind the counter, "My mommy poopies in the potty." Or the time that my little General's pre-school teacher noted how much Scotty had grown over vacation, and he responded with, "yeah, I'm getting bigger so I can drink beer like my Dad."

Yes, I am beginning to believe that this particular sickness really does exist. Our most recent presentation of the indisposition happened at our neighborhood block party. Again it was the General who was unable to control himself, while he looked at our very kind yet very bald neighbor, he and asked, "Where did all of your hair on your head go? Is it hiding on your back?" I quickly apologized and told my neighbor, who was thankfully humored by the remark, that my children and I suffer from what my husband refers to as "diarrhea of the mouth." He chuckled and assured me that it wasn't just us, his wife and children make him endure the same condition.

2007-08-20T11:29:00.000-07:00

"In In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You'll find the fun, and...snap! The job's a game!"
-Mary Poppins

The Diary Continues

2007-08-15T04:29:00.000-07:00

March 14, 2007

Since it’s still too chilly to run outside and when I run inside on the treadmill there are always three tots mingling around my every step, I haven’t gotten much running in over the last month. I’ve tried several times to rise early to sneak in a run before one of the boys finds me. Except I think my husband has installed a secret sensor on the basement door so when it opens it sounds an alarm in my kids’ room, because without fail, before I am even done lacing my shoes, one of them is standing at the top of the stairs demanding breakfast.

My sister in law has now taken to sending me “inspirational” emails to let me know how far she’s been running. She has also set the date of our 5k run, April 29, 2007. She assured me that it will be a lovely run along a river with a “few rolling hills.” Sounds like something I should definitely be looking forward to.

Distance : 1.4 miles

Diary of a Wanna Be Runner

2007-08-04T12:31:00.000-07:00

"The trouble with jogging is that by the time you realize you are not in shape for it, it is too far to walk back." - Author unknown.

January 1, 2007

I must have drunk too much wine last night. My husband greeted me this morning with a chipper grin on his face and a pair of running shoes in his hands. I couldn’t imagine why he’d have running shoes. He despises running, rates it up there with getting teeth pulled with no Novocain.

Rubbing my eyes, I said to my sweetie, “Wow, I’m impressed. Decide to get in shape for the New Year. Good for you!”

Laughingly my husband handed me the running shoes. I looked at them, size 7.5 staring at me. “Cutie, I don’t think you’ll get very far wearing my sneakers.”

My husband’s charming grin quickly faded into a giddy smirk as he informed me that I had committed to run a 5k with my sister in law. “What?” I said bewildered, “You know I don’t make New Year’s resolutions.“ It’s true. I don’t normally make New Year’s resolutions, mostly because I never seem to follow through with them. I’m still trying to shed the 10 lbs that I vowed to loose from the last resolution I made, in 1998.

But I was determined to wipe the snide look off his face; I sat up and said, “5k, no problem. I ran cross country in high school. I can totally run a 5k.”

The expression on my husband’s face quickly washed away. But instead of batting a look of unconditional support or motivation at me, he had the appearance of a school age boy heckling at other kids on the playground. He was laughing so hard that he had tears welling up in his eyes. Through his fit of laughter I was barely able to make out him saying, “Yea, that was 10 years ago! Happy trotting!” And he walked out of the room leaving behind the echoes of his amusement.

I laced up my running shoes and headed out the door settled on the fact that not only did I make an asinine resolution, but now I had something to prove. I thought I’d start out nice and easy and jog a leisurely 1.5 miles. I didn’t want to push it too much my first day.

As I rounded the first bend on my road, the frigid air made it feel like someone had lit a match in my lungs. This wasn’t a positive sign. And I was convinced that my dear supportive husband tampered with my sneakers and lined them with lead. I felt like I had bricks tied to my ankles. My optimism was quickly vaporized. There’s always tomorrow.

Distance: ¼ mile.

February 8, 2007

Ok, so tomorrow came later rather than sooner. I haven’t set out on an official run since my first outing. I needed sufficient time to investigate my sneakers. Unfortunately there were no signs that they were tampered with. That and it took nearly two weeks for my calves to recover from my last excruciating run. But I’ve been chasing after two toddlers and an infant, which should definitely count as a workout.

Again, I didn’t want to over do it, so I set a more realistic goal this time. I thought a mile should suffice just fine. I even had my I Pod set with a play list that was sure to keep me moving. Oh, and this time I thought I’d stick inside the comfort of my warm home. After all it’s winter in New England.

I set up movie for the boys to watch while I hit the treadmill. I can see two heads in font of me fixed on the screen before them. “This should definitely buy me enough time to run a mile,” I thought.

Thirty-three seconds into my run and it started, “Mom, can you fix Darth Vader’s mask? It keeps coming off.”

Distance: 1 mile (with three pit stops to fix Darth Vader’s mask)

The Name Game

2007-07-19T11:13:00.000-07:00

For months , before the arrival of my first son, my husband and I spent hours on end trying to contrive the perfect name for our first born. We wanted something meaningful and special. My husband turned down my suggestion of Jameson, saying that it sounded like I picked it off the shelf of a liquor store. And I quickly vetoed his suggestion of John Deere Putnam. "Are you kidding?" I replied, "I can hear the kids on the playground, "Hey John Deere want to come mow my lawn?"

After much deliberation and great thought we decided on Scott Michael Putnam Jr., after my husband of course. We thought our eldest son would be proud to share his Daddy's name. Yet, he insists that everyone call him Peter.

Everywhere we go he proudly boasts his name is "Peter the Knight!" Last week I dropped my son off for his first swimming lesson at the local YMCA. When I returned to pick him up, the instructor walked my son over to me with a perplexed look on her face and asked, "is this your son?"

"Oh, boy. What did he do now?," was my first thought. "Yes," I replied.

"What is his name?"

"Scott," I said.

"And his last name?" she asked.

"Putnam," I knew where this was heading.

The swimming coach continues, patting my son on the head, "He told us his name was Peter the Knight. So I thought he meant Peter Knight. But I didn't have a Peter Knight on my roster. I thought we had the wrong kid in the class."

With an embarrassed giggle, I said I was sorry and explained that my son has decided to call himself "Peter the Knight" after a character in the movie Narnia.

I'm sure that there are a lot of little boys that prefer to be called by names that they think are way cooler than their own. Like Spiderman, Superman, or Batman, but at least if they tell someone that their name is Superman, one can infer that is not his real name. Although if my husband was ready to name our son after a tractor than I am sure that there are some boys out there with some Super names.

Bringing Sexy Back

2007-07-10T05:59:00.000-07:00

I too like Justin Timberlake want to bring sexy back. Some time, after baby number three, I lost the whole concept of sexy. Maybe out of fear that it would bring baby number four!

After watching an inspirational OPRAH, , I decided it was time to conquer my fear.

I set out determined to bring my sexy back. My decision easily lead me to these beautiful black patten leather peep-toe heels called Ginger. Even the named screamed sexy. I put them on. Excitement started to bubble inside me! Yes, these could definitely do the trick. I checked out the price. They were on sale, $18, marked down from $70. Sold!

I called my husband and told him that I bought a sexy little number that I would gladly exhibit for him when I got home.

When I walked through the door my husband was eagerly awaiting my big reveal. I told him to close his eyes while I slipped into my new something. A second later I told him to open his eyes.

The look on his face wasn't exactly what I was going for. I was hoping for a "Wow, strut on over here" look. But my husband looked wildly confused.

"Don't you like them?" I asked with disappointment.

"So where's the sexy little number you're going to surprise me with?" he responded with equal disappointment.

"These are my sexy little number!" I replied. "Aren't they beautiful?"

My husband still looked confused. So I explained my new plan about how I wanted to feel sexy and feminine.

Although my dear hubby tried to understand, he just didn't get it. "You're home with the kids all day, where are you ever going to wear those things?"

Visions of Ginger and I vacuuming the house and heading out to the grocery store suddenly popped into my head. Hmmm. I guess I could see his point.

Determined not to part with my new heels, I reasoned all the events coming up that I could wear Ginger to, weddings, showers, even a bachlorette party, which would be my first outing with Ginger.

It was a Saturday night and I was feeling pretty good about the way I looked. I slipped Ginger on and off I went, strutting down the stairs ready to prove to my husband that I would get some use out of my new purchase. Except, I wasn't really strutting, it was more of a slow wobble. I looked like a seven year old girl trying to look cool, walking around in her mother's heels. Definitely not sexy.

What can I say, if at first I don't succeed then I will try, try and try again!

Mom's Cutbacks

2007-07-04T19:01:00.000-07:00

My husband and I have recently found ourselves on the brink of a crisis. It seems that lately when it comes to spending money that I have as much control as a teenage girl during prom season. In recent months, we've had weddings, showers, birthdays and three growing boys to feed, and I see no end in sight. We have more weddings to attend, it's always someones birthday and my boys seem to get hungrier with each passing day.

So in order to avoid a financial predicament, my husband asked me to moderate my spending. Easy enough. I thought, "I can be conservative. I'm sure there are lots of things that we don't need that I can cut back on."

A few days later, my loving hubby was helping me empty the dish washer. He pulled out a few straws and asked "why are you washing straws?"

"You said that I should try and be more conservative," I replied sheepishly.

I could hear the restraint in his voice, he was trying not to laugh, "Straws are probably a penny a piece. When I said that you need to cut back your spending, I meant that you should stop buying new dresses or new shoes not stop buying straws."

Hmmm. Clearly not the reaction I hoped for. I guess I shouldn't tell him about the Ziplock bags that I washed out and packed his lunch in.

Hungry, Hungry Hobbits

2007-06-15T07:18:00.000-07:00

It starts first thing in the morning. My boys hop into bed with me, “Mom, I’m hungry. Mom, I’m thirsty.” I hear this at least 23 times a day. Kids are like stray cats, feed them once and they keep coming back for more. And mine never seem to go away.

My children are more like stray Hobbits. Which if you are not familiar with, are small human like beings that enjoy at least seven meals a day, not including snacks. They indulge in first breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, tea, dinner, and supper. The feasting and drinking never seem to end.

After I wipe the slime from my eyes, that my son slathered over my face while trying to wake me, I ask my little Hobbits “What do you want for breakfast?”

My eldest says, “Peanut butter and jelly french toast sticks, bacon and milk.”

My second in command chirps, “Me want waffles.”

Maybe I should change my title from MOM, to Short Order Cook. “How about Lucky Charms and milk,” I suggest.

I shuffle my hungry guys down the stairs. Open the fridge. Crap there’s no milk. How can that be? I bought a gallon and a half yesterday. I turn to my children and look into their doe eyes, “Sorry, we're out of milk. How about PB &J and water?”

After my kids eat their first breakfast, I strap them into their car seats and we head to the local Dairy Mart for the fourth time this week. I buy another gallon of milk and the guy behind the counter smirks and says, “It’d be cheaper to buy a cow.”

We leave and head home. No sooner do we enter the house, when I hear, “Mom, I’m hungry.”

I head straight to the bread drawer to prepare second breakfast. I think to myself, they're only toddlers, what am I going to do when they’re teenagers. I’m going to need a full time job just to buy bread and milk.

The Poop Factor

2007-06-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

Ok, little boys and poop are like men and sex. If their not doing it, they’re thinking about it. And if they’re not thinking about it, they’re laughing with their buddies at the thought of doing it very soon. And they always stake claim to doing it even if they didn’t.

I’ve literally got the shittiest kids in town. And they are quite proud of their status. I walked into the living room this morning and almost passed out from the stench. Gagging I said, “who tooted?”

My General stands up and proudly says, “I did!” Just as he starts to relish in his foul behavior, the Tank stands up and declares, “No. Me tooted!”

First comes love then comes, no, not marriage, but the bridal shower.

2007-05-31T19:26:00.000-07:00

Having been a bride myself, I have to admit that a wedding shower for a new bride is like Christmas morning or a birthday party to a 5 year old. First we make a list, and then we check it twice, or five or six times. Next we tell everyone what we asked for, in hopes that if we’re good enough we’ll get everything we desire. Lastly, our family invites more family and friends for a gathering to eat cake and watch us open gifts.

Sounds like fun. Of course it’s fun if you’re the lucky lady opening gift after gift, receiving everything you ever wanted and more. But, what about the family and friends? Sure it’s exciting to watch someone open a blender, and an iron, and of course new sheets. But, sometime after opening the third set of dishes the excitement wears off and boredom tends to set in. Much like a bunch 5 year olds at their best friend’s birthday party, women are easily lead a strayed by one another. I guess this is why bridal shower games were invented.

Having attended 7 bridal showers in the last year, I’ve played my fair share of bridal bingo, bride trivia, and honeymoon ramblings. But one of the activities I find most entertaining is the advice that guests are asked to bestow to the bride to be. Here are my top five

5. Never let you husband use these four letter words: Dust, cook, and work.

4. Never go to bed angry. Stay up and plot revenge.

3. Don’t withhold sex. You’re only punishing yourself.

2. Don’t have three kids in two years
(Why didn’t anyone share this with me at my shower?)

(And my personal favorite from a mother of a bride)
1. Just remember when the going gets though that it was your father that gave you away,
I wanted to keep you.

Such words of wisdom. Offered by women who’ve been there and done that. And who better to offer such valuable advice, like number 4, than those seasoned brides, who have been there more than once! Like I said, put 50 women in a room together, and some of us are bound to revert to our inner child.

The Four Letter Word No Mother Wants To Hear...

2007-05-23T08:06:00.001-07:00

Uh-Oh!

Like many parents, just hearing the word “Uh-oh” sends alarm bells ringing in my head and makes every muscle in my body cringe. Especially, if it comes out of one of my boys’ mouths, you know the ones, The General and The Tank.

Reminiscent are the days that my two cohorts flooded my downstairs bath after continually flushing the potty while depositing an entire roll of toilet paper, or the day when my little General lathered himself with a full tube of Destin, because he needed lotion for his dry skin, or the day when the Tank decided to stoke the fire with his legos. All incidents preceded the word “Uh-oh.”

With three toddlers under one roof, not many days pass without some kind of catastrophe, which leads to “uh-oh.” So, why would today be any different? I was in the kitchen washing dishes when I heard one of my mischievous off-spring utter, “Uh-oh!” from the bathroom. I just bowed my head and said a quick prayer, not for me, but for him. Then I’d headed to the bathroom to see what the damage was.

When I opened the door, the boy before me didn’t look like my usual grinning son. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, waiting to be plowed over with punishment. Looking at him I noticed that the Tank’s arms were soaked up to his elbow and the toilet next to him no longer had a seat on it.

In the sternest voice I could muster up, I asked, “What happened?”

Instantly my son started crying and whimpered, “the toilet bit me!”

I dried the tears from my son’s face then proceeded to the floor, when the phone rang. It was my Dad. So naturally I shared the mishap, in hopes to get some parental guidance and support. Instead, I got an earful of laughter and a brief sentiment from my father, “Ah, payback for all the rotten things that you kids did to your mother and me when you were little!”

Yes, “Uh-oh” indeed.

Uh-oh!

2007-05-23T08:06:00.000-07:00

Like many parents, just hearing the word “Uh-oh” sends alarm bells ringing in my head and makes every muscle in my body cringe. Especially, if it comes out of one of my boys’ mouths, you know the ones, The General and The Tank.

In the sternest voice I could muster up, I asked, “What happened?”

Instantly my son started crying and whimpered, “the toilet bit me!”

Yes, “Uh-oh” indeed.

Who ever said silence is golden , was never a mother!

2007-05-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

Long awaited and almost never present are those few precious moments that any mother desires, the minutes of complete silence and contentment in our home. But as my own mother would say, "be careful what you wish for."

Recently, I was feverishly attempting to mop my boys' goopy blue breakfast yogurt off the kitchen floor. But, my two sons, The General and The Tank, kept tracking their grimy foot prints over it as they re-enacted battle scenes from Narnia. Deafeningly arguing over who would wear the knight suit of armor and hold the sword, that Santa gave to my little General, to fight the "mean witch."

After several minutes, my pleading for them to quiet down and stay in the family room quickly turned in to threatening. And when my carefully chosen words of, "Get off the floor or else," didn't work, I did what any mother would shamefully do to keep her sanity. I bribed my children with a movie.

I marched The General and The Tank up to my room to watch a movie. I got them all set up, put Narnia- The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe on for the 100th time! Then, I left them quietly sitting on my bed, mesmerized by the scenes unfolding before them. I figured this would at least buy me ten minutes of peace before they would come looking for me to sit and watch the movie with them.

Back downstairs I went to finish washing the floor; I was down there for maybe a total of seven minutes. I didn't hear a peep the entire time. No screaming and no loud thuds. I was impressed. I even debated making myself a cup of tea before going to check on my two angels.

Instead, I put the mop away and headed up stairs. As I got closer to my room, I could hear the muffled giggles of a mischievous toddle saying, "Yummmm." I open the door.

There stood the General, soaked with a two gallon jug from my humidifier over his brother's head, pushing the button in that releases water; and the Tank was just parked on my carpet like a wet dog with his mouth wide open at a water spicket trying to catch the ever flowing water.

Before I could even think, I asked, "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" Dumbfounded the General answered, "No Mommy, just thirsty."

After about a minute of reprimand, I realized they were just tuning me out. A trait they inherited from their father. With nothing more to say, I stripped the boys of their sopping clothes, cleaned up the flood in my room, and shuffled them downstairs to return to their boisterous play.

As the room filled with silly laughter, I realized that this is what is truly golden.

Why you should practice what you preach...

2007-05-18T12:15:00.000-07:00

As a mother, I pride myself in teaching my children all the valuable lessons they need to lead a happy and healthy life. For example, I tell them, "Look both ways before you cross the street," or "your dinner forking is meant for poking your food, not your brother." I try to exemplify all the messages that I preach into my children's seemingly deaf ears, so that someday they could in turn pass these along to others. But, I had no idea that this day would come so soon for my three year old son.

The other night, my husband had our financial advisor over, while I was at work. My husband told my son to play quietly so he could sit and talk to Mr. Advisor at the table. Being as obedient as any three year old could, he sat on the floor right next to his daddy and amused himself with his dump truck, occasionally interrupting to engage himself in his father's conversation.

Mr. Advisor, trying to appease my little guy with some small talk, said, "I like your UCONN suit that you have on. Are you going to play basketball for UCONN someday?"

My toddler looked up to the man and simply replied, "No, I can't."

Mr. Advisor asked, "Why not?"

My son continued, "I can't play basketball, because Mommy broke my basketball."

My other half quickly chimed in, "What? Mommy didn't break your ball."

Fustrated, my son said, "Yes she did, Mommy ran my Dora basketball over with her car and popped it!"

Hubby to my resue, "Well, if you put your toys away that wouldn't happen."

Without missing a beat my little instructor stood up, pointed his finger and retorted, "You know, you're suppose to watch where you're going when you're driving."

When my husband told me the story when I got home from work that night, I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or shrivel up with embarrassment. After all, I did quite literally put a hole in my child's chance at becoming Jim Calhoun's next star player. But, before I could decide how I felt, my husband looked me square in the eye, smiled and said, "And you think nobody ever listens to you."

I am proud that I have such witty children and I am pleased to know that not all of what I say falls upon deaf ears. I guess that I can only hope when my children are able to drive that they do as I say and not as I do.

Welcome to the Putnam Patch!

2007-05-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

That's right folks you've just entered the Putnam Patch, where chaos sprouts as fast as the lil' pumpkins around here. Come back for your daily dose of parenting humor where mom's always write!