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!
Monday, November 5, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Toughing Out Toddler Torture While the Hubby is Away
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.
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.
Monday, October 8, 2007
The Not So Holy Bible Of Parenting
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.
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.
Monday, September 24, 2007
The Mom Bag
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Is Diarrhea of the Mouth Contagious?
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.
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.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
The Diary Continues
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
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
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