The Warrior Mom

I like to think of myself as tough. Not tough in a brutish way, but rather tough minded, driven by a strong will. So, when my sister-in-law recently asked me if I'd be up for participating in a Warrior Dash with her, I thought "why not?" I've survived combat with the General, the Tank and the Destroyer and I am unscathed, not counting mental wounds, surely I could handle trekking through a little mud. Later that afternoon, I told the Bear that I was thinking of running the Warrior Dash with my sister-in-law. His growling laughter was not the reaction I had expected. "What's so funny?" I barked. "Do you know what the Warrior Dash is?" The Bear couldn't contain himself. "You don't even like to get dirty!" His laughter was now booming through my ears. "I can handle the mud! I go quading with you and the boys and get muddy!" I responded defensively. "Yes, and you also carry baby wipes. And you're riding on a machine, not crawling through the mud. I think you better do some more research before you sign up," said the Bear. Truthfully the thought of actually crawling through the mud, didn't sit well with me. I decided to google "Warrior Dash." This is what I found, "Warrior Dash-A mud-crawling, fire-leaping, extreme 5k run from hell. Warriors conquer extreme obstacles, push their limits and celebrate with music, beer and Warrior helmets." I was horrified! Fire! My sister-in-law never mentioned fire. And helmets? Unless my children would be chasing me with sticks to get me to run faster, why would I need a helmet? And, I have to be honest- running through mud to celebrate with beer at the end doesn't excite me. However, if wine were waiting for me at the end of the race, I may consider running through mud AND fire. God, I hate to admit when the Bear is right.

Not Me

Seems my kids have a new friend. He tailed my kids home one day from school. He's a pest, run amuck in my household and won't leave. He was totally uninvited and he’s rude. Apparently, he's been frequenting homes across America. Now, normally I am a non-violent kind of Mom. I prefer to scream so loud at my children that I set the house alarm off. But, seriously, this nuisance needs to be exterminated. His name is Not Me. I'm sure anyone that has kids knows him. He's the one that probably broke your favorite vase but "didn’t mean to", or spilt maple syrup on the table and didn't wipe it up, so when one of your other kids sat down to do their homework, the paper stuck to the table then tore apart into shreds when you tried to remove it. Not Me has also taught my kids some new choice words. He'll stand directly behind the Tank, hiding himself like a coward, and drop the "F" bomb. Then he'll run right off before I can catch sight of him. This is his M. O. He's got his disappearing act down to a science. We'll it's time to pull out the big guns and make Not Me disappear for good. Next time Not Me decides to write on my walls with crayon, everyone will be punished. It's time my kids learned what my Mom taught me- You're guilty by association. So, choose your friends wisely.

A Little Game of Cat and Mouse

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

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!

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"

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."

There's a New Sheriff in Town

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!

"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...

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

"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

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...

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...

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

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!

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

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

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

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!

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!"