The Shopping Trip

I just got home from a surreal shopping trip to Walgreens.  My first child is moving away to college in 3 weeks and I was buying some of the necessities he will need.

"We only have 3 weeks left...."

*  *  *  *  *  *

When he started kindergarten, I remember being worried about 2 things.  "If he has to use the potty, where does he have to go?  Are the facilities all the way down the hall?  Will my 5 year old be wandering the halls alone, trying his hardest not to have an accident while trying to remember which door is the right one?"  As it turns out, the brilliant minds who built the school put a restroom in the kindergarten classroom.  Problem solved.  I also wondered if the students got snack time.  Which, of course, they did.

It took years for me to figure out that I had focused on two relatively small issues so I didn't have time to worry about the big stuff, like the fact that my little guy was starting "real" school and would be away for 7 hours a day.  Or the fact that we were simultaneously exiting one phase and entering another.  Up until that point, I was his main influence in most matters.  He had good manners because I enforced it....over and over.  He didn't like soda because I didn't allow him to have it.  He called adults Mr. or Mrs. because I told him that's how children address grownups.  He wore the clothes I bought for him and he had no idea if something was cool or not.  But once he entered kindergarten, he was under the influence of others as well.  I can look back now and say that's a good thing.  A very very good thing.  He maintained the polite, friendly, kind heart that I had nurtured while learning about the newly expanded world around him from his teachers and friends.

*  *  *  *  *  *

I wandered the aisles of Walgreens.  Slowly.  Glancing at every item.  "Paper towels?  I don't think so.... but then again what if he spills something.  Maybe I'll give him extra hand towels for that?  But I should get those cleaning wipes.  Cuz if he spills something on the floor like juice, you can't just wipe that up....the floor will be sticky.  Oh!  Band aids.  I almost forgot band aids.  I know he's 2 buildings away from the health office, but what if he gets a nasty paper cut after they're closed.  But what about an antibiotic cream?  Hey look at that.  There's little first aid kits on sale and they have everything.  Should I get him a full size broom and dustpan or just a little whisk broom?  Chapstick.  Sometimes he gets dry lips in the winter.  I can't forget the ibuprofen, too.  Cough drops!  He always gets a nasty cough when he has a cold.  Might as well get those now so he has them on hand when he gets sick.  Why the f*** am I getting teary eyed in the medicine aisle?!  Qtips.  3-in-1 body wash, shampoo, face wash.  Guys have it so easy.  One bottle.  Hair product?  Nope.  Comb?  Can't remember what kind he likes.  Floss?  I hope he flosses.  Does he floss?  No clue.  Don't forget that there's a Wal-Mart near campus.  You don't have to buy a year's worth of toiletries.  Just a few week's worth.  There's nowhere to hang a dry erase board in the dorm room.  I'll get post it notes in case he has to leave a note for his roommate.  Vitamins?  Maybe?  His eating habits are decent.  I'll ask him.  Not spending 15 bucks on vitamins that will just collect dust.  I wonder if he'll clean his room sometimes.  I don't really want to know.  LOL remember the friend that went away to college last year and didn't change his sheets all semester?  LOL.  Oh lord please don't be the kid who never washes his sheets."

*  *  *  *  *  *

Sloooooowly I walked the aisles.  Trying to think of every possible scenario so he'll be prepared.  Focusing on the mundane so I wouldn't have to confront the elephant in aisle 4.  He will be surrounded by people who can help him....no matter what the issue.  Big problems or small, there are people for him to turn to.  Except me.  I won't be there.  I'll just be a voice on the other end of a phone call.  I'll be 5 hours away.  7 during rush hour.  And it's okay.  It's a tough pill to swallow, but it's okay.  I'm not supposed to be the #1 forever.

This is how it's supposed to go.....for him, that is.  Not every kid is comfortable with leaving home yet.  Turning 18 and graduating from high school aren't magical events.  They don't all suddenly grow the nerve to head off into the sunset.  We have 4 kids in this family....I can name 2 of them who are most likely NOT moving 5 hours away at the age of 18.  And one who will probably hightail it out of here before the ink on the diploma is dry.

But for him?  This is exactly how it's supposed to go.  This is how our next phase plays out.  He is meant to grab onto his future with crazy blind optimism while I stand back thinking, "I don't know if I'm ready."  I'm supposed to warn him about all the ways he should be careful while he smiles and says, "I'll be fine."

He will be fine.  I know he will.  I'm just not sure if I'm ready.....

The little things

It seems like forever since I've been on this blog.  The profile says I'm 41.  I'm definitely not 41 anymore.  At one time, this blog was the key to my sanity....allowing me to be creative at a time when my brain felt terribly stagnant.  Whether 50 people read it or 3 didn't make much of a difference.  I just needed a way to sort out the shit floating in my head.  Then I started working more hours....and I got too busy....and that's okay.  My brain is stagnant no more.  But I came back today to reminisce.  Looking through my rough drafts, I found this one that I never published.  Seems appropriate to share today since yesterday was our 22nd anniversary and every word of this is still true.  I polished up the ending and decided to post it now.

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't remember exactly when my heart started growing.

Maybe it was in the hospital when I watched him hold his son for the first time.

Or maybe it was in the months before that when he made a million trips, without complaint, to Baskin Robbins to buy the ice cream that quelled my nausea.

Or maybe it was many years after that when he nervously changed his daughter's diaper for the first time while I laughed. "Oh my god. There's poop EVERYWHERE! I don't think I should be the one cleaning her."

* * * * * * *

Rachel has a cold. And pinkeye. The poor kid is an uncomfortable, oozing mess. She woke up this morning with a crusty nose and eyes. She wasn't crying...she calmly told me that she couldn't open her eyes.

I pulled out a washcloth and soaked it with warm water. She patiently waited while I tried my best to clean her eyes, but I was nervous about hurting her or accidentally poking her in the eye with the washcloth. I wasn't making much progress.

Daddy came into the bedroom.

He asked, "Do you want Daddy to clean your eyes?"

"Yeth." (Yes.)

"Okay, pretty girl. Come with me." He led her into the bathroom.

I heard water running. They talked a bit.

And then he said this: "There's my beautiful eyes!" And my heart swelled up a little more.

"Thank you, Daddy!"

She broke out of the bathroom. "Momma! I can thee (see)!"

* * * * * * * * *

I don't know when it started growing, but it continues nearly every day.

Like the time he beamed with pride as he told me how his boy scored 3 goals during the hockey game.

Or the time I saw tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched his other boy get stitches for the first time.

And the time he made some household repairs for my parents when my father was too ill to do it himself.

Growing. Growing. Growing.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We were so young when we got married. As in, 'it was just barely legal for me to have that glass of champagne" kind of young. We had no clue what marriage and parenthood would be like.

We knew we loved each other. We knew we really liked being together. And so, with a white dress and a black tuxedo and a whole boatload of hope, we vowed "for better or for worse."

Little did I know how small my heart was.

Or what it would take to make it grow.

Not with jewelry or a bouquet of flowers or a weekly date night or grand gestures, but with many years of little moments. And just when I don't think my heart can get any bigger, he strikes again.

Like the times he told me I was beautiful when I was exhausted and weary of my swollen, pregnant, stretch-mark ridden belly.

Or when we sort the kids' Halloween candy and he hands me the Kit Kats because he knows they're my favorite. (And in the springtime, when he buys me bunny-shaped Peeps because he knows they're also my favorite.)

It grows and grows some more.

* * * * * * * *

One Sunday morning, several years ago, we sat at the table reading the paper...the boys were quietly enjoying their cartoons and cups of cereal. He was reading an article that listed the top 10 professions that were most likely to show increased growth in the upcoming years. The kind of article that you would hand to your college-bound kids and say, "Here. Pick a job and get a degree in THAT."

One of the careers listed was "pharmacist."

He looked up from the paper and said to me, "You should go back to school and become a pharmacist."

Always the first one to question my own abilities, I raised my eyebrows and said, "Yeah. Right."

With a look of genuine surprise, he said, "Well.....why not? You're smart!"

And it grew some more.

* * * * * * * * *

At least once a year, some article surfaces in which the reporter interviews couples who have been together for several decades.

"What's the secret to a long, happy marriage?"

It's a laughable question, really.  What works for you may not work for me.  In hindsight, it may be as simple as keeping my eyes and ears open for the tiny moments that all added up to 22 years together.  I've never cried with joy or surprise over a dozen roses or diamond earrings.  But I've felt my heart swell countless times over small things no one else will understand.

Change is Good!

When you remove a bad habit or addiction from your life, the benefits aren't always immediately evident.  In the first few days...weeks...months...survival is the goal.  Getting through each day without the crutch is the only focus.  One more day.  And another day.  1...2...3...4...Proudly keeping count on the calendar is the reward.

Tomorrow will be 121 days that I've been without my Mountain Dew.....1/3 of a year.  That's an enormous accomplishment considering I once carried a can of soda in my purse "for an emergency."  I feel strong now...the survival phase didn't last long.  Something felt different this time...I was finally tired of the addiction.  Embarrassed by it.  Chained to it.  Disgusted with it.  And so, on March 1st, I woke up and drank water.  I didn't stop at 7-11 to buy my usual daily supply.  I keep bottles of water with me at all times so I can quench my thirst before the craving sets in.  Occasionally, when the thought of temptation passes through my mind, I think to myself, "Do I want a Dew?  Or do I want another day?  Do I want a drink or do I want to be free?"  The temptation passes.

So now I'm able to take stock of the difference.  And what a big difference it is.  I'm no longer poisoning myself.  None of my other eating habits have changed.  One thing at a time...baby steps...etc.  I focused solely on drinking water....LOTS of it.

#1 - My hands don't hurt.  One of those toxic ingredients was causing intense pain in my hands.  Holding a pen to write a note to the teacher was torture.  I wore hand braces at night because if I didn't, I couldn't sleep from the pain.

#2 - The restless leg syndrom is nearly gone.  It was relentless at times.  Once it started, I was doomed to 20 minutes (or more) of feeling like roaches were crawling on my legs.  In especially bad episodes, it affected my arms, too.  If you've never experienced this, you should feel very thankful.

#3 - I don't clear my throat.  Without going into the gross details, suffice to say that the truckload of sugar I was consuming created a thickness in my throat which caused me to clear my throat a LOT.  It even annoyed ME...so I can only imagine how badly my husband wanted it to stop.

#4 - My blood sugar is stabilized.  I had frequent hypoglycemic episodes because my body was crashing from the sugar.  They are now a rare occurrence.

#5 - No headaches.  A common misconception is that only dark sodas have caffeine and that Mountain Dew (flourescent yellow/greeen) does not.  False.  It actually contains more caffeine than coke or pepsi.  To wean myself off that, I used caffeine tablets (think of No-Doz) and slowly decreased my dosage every week.  I've now been caffeine free for approximately 2 months.

#6 - I've lost 7 pounds.  Not exactly "knock your socks off" impressive.  But it's a start.  I'm working hard to strengthen myself and lose more.

#7 - I feel strong, clearheaded, and proud.  Every day is another victory.  My kids are enormously proud of me and I love that I can show them how to overcome a weakness or addiction.  I rely on them and my facebook family/friends to cheer me on.

I once hated myself for the inability to escape the addiction.  Now I know I can be strong.   

Yes, Dogs are Animals

So this might be an odd way to return to my blog...this post will probably be long, wordy, and more than a little uncomfortable to read.  I don't blame you for turning away before it ends.  It's okay.  But I need, desperately, to get this off my chest. 

On facebook this afternoon, I shared a youtube video of a tiny 4-year-old girl standing in a kitchen giving commands to 6 adult, male pitbulls who are sitting approximately 3 feet away from this child's face.  She orders them all to sit....then dumps a large pile of food on the floor....counts to 3 and orders them to eat.  The purpose of the video appears to be "look at how amazing these pitbulls are and how well behaved and how they're not vicious at all and my 4-year-old niece can control them and isn't that just YAY YAY YAY!"

(If I were being a good person right now, I'd look up the video and share it here.  But I'm guessing most of you have seen it and I'm feeling a bit tech-lazy at the moment.)

Anywho.  I ranted a bit.  My point was.....I don't care how amazingly well-behaved these dogs are and I don't care what breed they are....THEY ARE STILL ANIMALS.  And absolutely anything can happen.  Believe me.  I found out the hard way.

***************************************

In the summer of 2011, we adopted a beautiful golden retriever who we named Molly.  She was roughly 5 years old and needed a new family....her family was in a messy divorce and neither spouse could keep her.  We told the kids we were babysitting a friend's dog for the weekend so as to not get their hopes up about a new dog.  She came to us on a Saturday for a test run.  She walked around the house and ran through the yard like she had been born here.  She and Charlie, our beagle, seemed to get along immediately....Charlie didn't seem threatened by this giant, hairy intruder.  Probably because he was still very young and she was so very big compared to him!  By Sunday afternoon, we knew she was never leaving us.  We told the kids....they were over the moon.

The very first thing she did was shed the equivalent of another entire pet.  I have never witnessed that much shedding....we've only had short-haired dogs.  Her previous family, in their turmoil, probably hadn't put much time into grooming her.  I bought a brush.  She and I bonded over beauty treatments.  I sat on the floor with my legs in a V.....she draped her body over my legs....I brushed and trimmed her hair while she slipped in and out of a blissful nap.  She only moved when my legs were screaming with pins-and-needles and I nudged her off my lap.

Molly followed me everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.  When I closed the bathroom door, she waited right there for me.  If I moved from the kitchen to the living room, she came along.  If I went to do laundry in the basement, she had to keep me company. 

My favorite thing was the foot massage.  Whenever I sat down at the table, she went under and sat by my feet.  I kicked off my slippers, she flopped down onto her side, and I rubbed her tummy with my bare feet.  How it started, I don't know.....and it wasn't a conscious thing.  It was just a habit.  A comforting habit. 

Molly was as gentle as any dog could ever be and listened to our commands without hesitation.  When the kids watched TV, they used her tummy as a pillow.  She slept....they watched.  They hugged her....kissed her.....dressed her in silly outfits....snuggled with her in their bedrooms....snuck her onto the couch when I wasn't looking....fed her pieces of cheese....played catch with her in the yard.  We trusted her.  She was a good girl.

Friday, November 16, 2012:  I picked up the kids from school and the girls (kindergarten and 1st grade) asked for a playdate.  We brought 2 more squealing first graders back to the house.  As is typical, the playdate was a boisterous, noisy, silly affair.  The 2 friends left around 5:00.  My husband took the boys to their roller hockey game.  I went into the kitchen to start supper.  Alexa was upstairs...Rachel was in the living room with Molly.

Slow motion yet split second.  Is that possible?  It has to be.  That's how the next moment played out.

I looked over my shoulder to see Molly sitting next to the couch and Rachel coming up behind her.  Probably trying to give her a hug....as she had a million times before.  I saw Molly's face and thought, "She looks a little odd.  Maybe I should tell Rachel to leave her alone."  But I didn't.  I brushed it aside.  I looked down at the meal I was preparing and heard a scream.  A soul-piercing scream.  "MY FACE!  MOMMY, MY FACE!!!!"

The blood was pouring down her cheek from the moment I scooped her off the floor.  Somewhere in my brain the words STAY CALM were running over and over while I stared in horror at the gaping hole in my daughter's forehead.  There was so much blood I couldn't tell if there was more than one wound.  I gently cleaned her face a bit and realized her eyelid was also split open.  Her eyelid. 

Called my husband so he could come home.....he took Alexa to a friend's house....went back to roller hockey to pick up the boys....I picked up a surprisingly calm Rachel and took her to the ER.

50-60 stitches.  On her forehead and eyelid.  I didn't even know you could stitch an eyelid.  We had an excellent plastic surgeon.  He performed nothing short of a miracle to put her little face back together.

As soon as we got home and settled, Nick looked at me and said, "She has to go.  I cannot have her here after this."  I nodded....I knew he was right.  There were too many could-haves.  Rachel could have lost her eye.  Molly could have bitten one of the other little girls.  And worse yet....it could easily happen again.  With a heavy heart, I picked up my phone and sent out a desperate plea via text to anyone and everyone I could think of......I explained what had happened and asked for suggestions about who I could call.  We looked up rescue groups, shelters, vets....we made phone calls, left messages, sent e-mails late into the night. 

On Saturday, Nick took Molly to the vet.  We knew she needed a full checkup to see if anything was wrong which may have led to the bite.  We needed that information in order to find her a new home.  Upon exam, the vet told us she had a severe double ear infection.  We had no idea.  We had no experience with this and no idea what the signs were. 

Have you ever had an ear infection?  They are incredibly painful.  Now imagine you have no way of telling anyone this....therefore the infection goes untreated....and it's in both ears.

She was in pain.  Excruciating pain.  And she was an animal....so she did what animals do....she lashed out.  Rachel happened to be the one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

*****

Oh by the way.....let me backtrack a bit.  Saturday morning, Rachel woke up with a puffy face full of stitches...dried blood at the hairline....one eye unable to open fully......came downstairs with a smile and said, "Good morning, Molly.  I love you."  As if nothing had ever happened.  Because even at the age of just 5 1/2, she knew it wasn't Molly's fault.

*****

Armed with medication and this crucial piece of information, we thought it would be a little easier to find her a new home.  Time and again, we explained that she bit out of pain....she's not dangerous or viscious.  Time and again, we we were told to put her down.  "We don't take biters."   Days ticked by.  We successfully treated the ear infection and spent hours making phone call after phone call.  We used a baby gate to keep Molly in the kitchen, separate from the kids.

I remember sitting at the table with Molly next to me.  I ran my hand over the silky hair on her head while I cried and said, "I'm so sorry.  I love you.  And I'm so sorry.  This is all my fault.  I'm so sorry."  And it might not make sense to anyone but me....but to this day, I take all of the blame on myself.  Dogs with ear infections shake their heads a lot.  Was she doing that?  Why didn't I notice?  Was I ignoring her pain?  She was my sidekick.....how could I miss her discomfort?  And I noticed she looked a little odd that night.  Why didn't I make Rachel move away?  Why did I let it happen?  It was my idea to adopt a second dog.  I am the one who brought Molly here.  Why did I have to bring another dog into the house?

HOW could I have let this happen???

My punishment, as I see it, was seeing my daughter's blood pour down her face.  And having to hold her legs while she screamed in pain in the ER.  And fighting the urge to faint.  And seeing her wounds change color day by day.  And having to explain to her, over and over again, that Molly couldn't stay with us.  And watching her say goodbye to this dog who had become her best friend.

We found Molly a new home....just in time.  I had started to believe that putting her down would be our only option....but my husband found someone who was willing to hear the whole story and able to find a family that would love her like we did (and still do).  The day I surrendered her, I cooked a large batch of homemade dog food to send with her, along with her dry food.  I sent a list of her feeding schedule, her habits, favorite things to do, quirks, etc.  I packed a bag with her favorite toys and blanket.  The woman who took her was stunned.

It's been more than 2 years now....we are currently a family with three dogs, so there's no shortage of sloppy kisses and tummy scratches.  But I still miss my girl.  Every so often I see or hear something that reminds me of her.  Her collar hangs next to my bed.  I still miss her....my little shadow.  My pretty Molly-girl.  Thanks to her, I'm a better doggy mom now.   

The Plant Sale

During a typical after-school, playground conversation, a friend asked about my neighbors and whether we were happy with them.  Since we have 4 kids and 2 dogs, there's a fair amount of chaos surrounding our home....so any neighbor who can put up with all of this and NOT call the cops is A-OK in my book.  Which is why we frequently shovel/snowblow their driveways/sidewalks and bribe them with homemade cookies. 

Anyway......on one side of us, we have an older, single man who lives alone in his house.  His name is Joe.  We have absolutely no proof of this, but my husband and I believe he may have a very slight mental disability.  Perhaps on the autistic spectrum?  Again....we have no proof of this besides a deep gut instinct.  He isn't very chatty and holding a conversation with him can be quite difficult.  Nick and I have learned how to communicate with him.  To a child, like my 8 year old daughter, it seems that he may be rude or mean.

So during the conversation with my friend, Alexa happened to be listening at my side.  She suddenly looked up and said, matter-of-factly, "Joe is kinda mean."

This caught me by surprise.  I don't want her to think of him in that way.  "He isn't mean.  He just has a difficult time talking to people and he doesn't leave his house very much."

She shrugged.

*******************************************

Fast forward to yesterday.

The school held their annual plant sale for Mother's Day.  The girls were so excited.  I gave them each an envelope with $10. 

After school, they each came out of the school with big smiles and plastic bags holding their precious purchases.  Rachel's bag held two.....Alexa's bag also held 2, though they were slightly smaller.

Alexa:  "Mommy.  I used some of my money to buy a plant for Mrs. C."  (Her teacher)

Me:  "Oh honey.  That's so sweet of you.  I bet she loved it!"

Rachel:  "Mommy.  I got 2 plants and I have one dollar left."

Me:  "Ok.  That's fine!  I can't wait to plant all of these!"

Alexa:  Looking at me nervously....as if I might be upset by what she was going to say.  "I don't have any money left.  I used it to buy one for my teacher."

Me:  Fighting to speak around the lump in my throat.  "Oh that's okay.  What you did was so kind and thoughtful and I don't mind.  That's why I gave you the money...to spend on flowers."

Where did this child come from?  How did she grow such a big heart?  Is it possible for a mom to burst with pride?

************************************************

Fast forward a tiny bit more.

Walking home from school with the prized plants in our hands.  Alexa looked up at me and said, "Mommy?  I want to give one of the plants to Joe."  She squinted up at me.  "Is that okay?"

"Of course it is.  That would be really nice of you.  I think he would love it."

Lump in my throat gets bigger.

She hustled into the house and wrote a note.  It said, simply, "To: Joe.....From: Alexa."  She put the note and the little flower pot on his front stoop. 

"I left the plant on Joe's steps, Mommy."

"Okay, baby.  Thank you.  I bet he'll love it."

That's my girl.  My selfless, big-hearted, gentle little girl.

A Lesson Learned

Every now and then, when I have a couple minutes to kill at the checkout line (because the woman in front of me has 83 coupons and she's arguing over the 35 cent gem that expired yesterday), I peruse the variety of magazines on display.  I do this because it will get me into less trouble than ramming her ankles with my cart and yelling, "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY I'LL GIVE YOU THE 35 CENTS IF YOU'LL GO AWAY!"



Anyway, it must be a rule of thumb in the magazine publishing business that every issue MUST include an article on "How to Improve Your Marriage" or "Tips on Having a Long Marriage" or "The Secrets to Not Strangling Your Spouse in His Sleep" or "This Couple Tells Us How They've Managed to Stay Married for 91 Years!"  Inevitably, it is determined that communication is one of the key factors.



Well DUH.



Here's my tip:  Stop reading stupid articles.  (Unless that "stupid article" includes this one.  In that case, carry on and feel free to sing my praises in the comment section.)



Every marriage is different.  Some people believe that dating (other people) is a great way to preserve a marriage.  Some people believe that never getting married in the first place is the key.  Some people like marriage so much that they do it over and over and over again (Polygamy gives me an owie on the brain.  I can hardly keep track of the deodorant and shaving cream preferences of ONE husband, much less 8 husbands.  That would require charts and lists and stuff and I really suck at those.).  Other people believe in family beds or separate checking accounts or weekly trips to church or never going to bed angry.



I agree that it can be interesting to see what other people do to keep the bond alive....yes, we can even learn from them.  But you can't look at an open-marriage couple and say, "YES!  When we get married, we'll continue to date other people and THAT will guarantee us a long life together!"  It doesn't quite work that way.  When I was a newlywed, I thought that we were supposed to be romantic and that romance = flowers or expensive dinners or an occasional piece of jewelry.  Luckily (for our bank account), it didn't take long for Ye Olde Common Sense to pay me a visit.



Common Sense said, "Dude.  Is your last name Trump or Rockefeller?  I can't remember."



Me said, "Um.  Neither one, actually.  Why do you ask?"



Common Sense said, "Well, if you'd like flowers, dinners, and jewelry on a regular basis, then you'd best get yourself married to a Trump or a Rockefeller."



Me said, "But wait!  I'm already married!"



Common Sense said, "Sucks to be you."



Me said, "No it doesn't!  He's a great guy!"



Common Sense said, "Well then you'd better figure out how to be happy without flowers, dinners,
and jewelry."



Me said, "Seriously?"



Common Sense said, "Seriously.  And, FYI, those things don't really prove anything.  They're just stuff.  Do you hear me?  They are JUST STUFF."



Hm.  Ye Olde Common Sense had a good point.....(which annoyed me to no end because I really LIKE being the one who is right.)  And slowly, my priorities shifted....as did my definition of romance.



Romance is.......When The Husband takes all 4 kids to a hockey game so that I can accept a last minute invitation to a Mets game.  When he stops at 7-11 and buys me a pint of my favorite ice cream.  When he clears off the passenger seat of the van and adjusts it to a comfy position for me.  When we have bacon with our breakfast and he hands me the crispiest pieces because he knows I like those best.  When he can see, just by the look on my face, that I'm getting a migraine....and then begins ticking through the list of remedies to see which ones I've tried.  Romance is a husband who is kind, funny, hard-working, and a good father. 



We are coming up on 18 years of marriage in June.  I'm so proud of that.....so proud of him, me, and the knowledge that WE are the secret to those 18 years.

Mice: Evicted

I'm looking over some of my old posts....including the drafts that I never published.  Here's one from about 3 years ago that I had ALMOST finished:  Enjoy.


We have a mouse.

I was working on my computer at the dining room table last night.  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the kitchen.  Paranoia has been my middle name since we had a small mouse problem about 7 years ago....but, in an effort to rid myself of such neurosis, I didn't get up to investigate.  It's nothing.  Stop being ridiculous.  Your eyes are playing tricks on you again.

About 10 minutes later, I heard The Husband heave a sigh and looked up to see him get up off the couch.  "What's the matter?"  He ignored me and walked quietly toward the kitchen.  "What?"  He continued to ignore me while staring intently at the floor.  "WHAT IS IT?"

"We have a mouse."

"I KNEW IT!  I thought I saw something but I ignored it cuz I thought I was CRAZY!"  I pulled my feet up off the floor and tucked them under me.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Am I surprised that we have a mouse?  No.  Spend a day at my house and you won't be shocked, either.  First and foremost, we live in a house built in the 1940s.  "Airtight" wasn't even a word in the dictionary back then.

Secondly (is that a word?  I'm not even sure.), I have kids.  And now that the weather is warming up, I force  encourage them to be outside as much as possible.  For various reasons, the door gets opened roughly 358 times a day.  Per kid. 

I'm hungry.
Can we come in?
I'm thirsty.
Can we come in?
I'm cold.
Can we come in?
I'm hot.
Can we come in?
RACHELHITMEWITHABASEBALLBATANDINEEDANICEPACK!
Can we come in?

Thirdly (now I'm pretty sure that's NOT a word), while our front door is fairly new, our back door has been around since the days of the caveman.  It does not shut completely.

And finally, we have a guinea pig.  Doesn't that mean her presence acts as a sort of magnet for other rodent life-forms?  I thought I'd heard that at some point.

So break out the glue traps and peanut butter!  Don't get all "every life is precious and you can't kill an innocent mouse" on me.  I have no mercy for uninvited rodents.  Yes, I'm a cold-blooded killer.

The main problem with this whole deal is that I feel so gross about it!  Yes, I know that lots of people have mice problems.  I know that it's not always a cleanliness issue.  I know that my house is clean.

And yet.....I find myself scrutinizing every nook and cranny.  And vacuuming repeatedly.  And scrubbing again and again and again.

***************

Fast forward to the current day:  This past summer, we did some renovating in the kitchen and garage.  A couple days ago, I said to Nick, "Did you realize we had NO MICE this winter?!  Cuz we kicked some rodent ASS!  WOOHOO!"

Our guinea pig passed away over the summer, too.  I doubt she was to blame for the infestation.  (YEAH.  I know "infestation" might be an exaggeration.  WHATEVS.  Mice are gross and I will totally overreact if I want to.)   Anyway.  Fiona is no longer with us. 

So....no rodent on residence to act as bait AND we inadvertently plugged up whatever hole was acting as a mousie front door.

Winning!!

XOXO
Mama Cas 

Maybe???

Here I am again.....trying to renew my blogging interest.  I was on a great run for a bit....and then my brain ran out of ideas.  Or I ran out of time.  Something like that.  I miss writing.  (I also miss my quilting.  But I really REALLY can't find time for THAT.)  Perhaps if I get my butt off Facebook now and then......

Anyway.  The Husband got me a new laptop yesterday as an early Mother's Day gift.  He figured it's cheaper to buy the new computer NOW than to wait awhile and also buy a new window because I threw the old laptop through it.  I mean, seriously.....the thing was slower than frozen mud. 

Not much has changed since I last wrote.  We still have 4 kids and 2 dogs.  We still live in the same house.  I'm still battling a wretched Mountain Dew addiction.  I still can't figure out how to keep up with the laundry and dishes.  The Husband is still the best guy I know.  You get the idea.

I still write the same way....in random bursts and sentences.  Occasionally forgetting the grammar rules that were drilled into me long ago. 

So maybe...maybe...maybe I'll give this another shot.  Maybe there are still a handful of people who will humor me and read this.  Sometimes it's drivel....sometimes it's sappy....sometimes it's crass and juvenile.....never will it be award winning.  Maybe we'll call this MamaCas Chapter 2? 

Maybe.

XOXO
MamaCas

Sweet dreams are made of this....or maybe not

Weird dreams are my thing.  I've had some real doozies over the years.  (Especially during my pregnancies.)  Some are forgotten about before my feet hit the floor in the morning.  Some stick with me for days.  In high school, I had a very racy dream about a less-than-sexy teacher.  I couldn't look him in the eye for weeks.  Recently, I had a sticks-with-me kind of dream.  It was waaaaaay bizarre.

Apparently, this dream took place about 16 years ago, because my dad was still alive and my husband and children were nowhere to be found.  I was getting ready for a wedding....I was the bride.  But I didn't know the groom's name.  Many of my high school friends were there.  I didn't want to look like a complete ass, so I launched a sneaky investigation to find out this dude's name from one of my friends.  Mission accomplished. 

Side note: 
The "dream" groom was no one I've ever met.  He is a real-life stranger.  Wouldn't you think the "dream" groom would have been a classmate, old friend, former boyfriend, acquaintance, my dentist, my gynecologist, someone I saw on TV once, or something?  I told you this was weird.  

Now I had NO intention of marrying Mystery Groom, so I went to have a little chat with him.  While we were chatting, I discovered that he was very sweet and was genuinely sad that we wouldn't be getting hitched, which made me briefly reconsider because I didn't want to hurt his feelings.  (!!!)

Side note #2: 
Am I really THAT easily swayed by my desire to please?!  Yeesh.  There may be some intense psycho-analysis in my future.

Then came the REALLY strange part.  Someone brought 2 little kids into the room and Mystery Groom informed me that the oldest one (5 years old or so) was mine.  WHAT?!  And the 6-month-old baby was someone else's, but he had custody.  WHAT?!

Side note #3: 
So I slept with a guy, spaced out his name, got pregnant, carried his offspring, handed him the child, and then FORGOT that I had a baby?!  OMG.  So in my dreams, I'm half brain-dead AND a slut.  Fantastic.

The dream continued.  Mystery Groom and I became fast friends.....we held hands and went to tell our families and guests that we would not be getting married.  And my dad was mad at me for not going through with the wedding!  So he refused to speak to me.

End of dream.

Oy vey.

I TOLD YOU THIS WAS WEIRD.

Can someone get me the name and number of a reputable psychiatrist?

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

My baby girl is home today....she's all pukey and poopy, so I'm playing nursemaid.  I figured this would be a good time to check in with my blog.  I miss writing, but it's been very hard to find the time now that I'm working.  To the handful of people who have inquired about my posts....thank you for remaining interested.  Happy New Year, my peeps!

I'll share my womb with you, but NOT my beverage

Kids are kinda gross.

Harsh and uncalled for, you say?

Oh come ON.  Have you ever spent a day in the presence of a drooling, teething, boogie-nosed toddler?  How about the dirt-encrusted fingernails?  Or the hand that was just busy digging for gold?  Or the other hand that was OMG STOP TOUCHING THE DOG'S BUTT!

Call me crazy, but boogies, drool, dirt, and what-are-you-digging-for-in-that-diaper!? are not suitable additives for a beverage.  High fructose corn syrup?  Yes.  Boogies?  No.  That's how I roll.

Exhibit A:

Gross.

And so.....I refuse to share drinks with my kids.

I don't think this makes me a bad person.  If you disagree with me, try this nifty little experiment:

Grab the nearest 3-year-old and hand him an Oreo cookie.  Watch him go to town on that cookie.....yum yum yummy!  Yep...don't forget the piece you dropped on the floor.  5 second rule, ya know!

After he's done with the cookie, it's quite likely that he'll be thirsty....so you'll hand him your nice, clean, refreshing glass of water.  And you'll watch as half of that Oreo cookie (along with a gallon of saliva) gets backwashed into your glass.

If you're like me, you'll be watching in abject horror and frantically fighting off your gag reflex.  (Have I mentioned how very squeamish I am?)

If you're Parent of the Year (or the proud owner of an iron stomach), you'll grab that glass and take a swig.  (Just the mental image is making me a bit woozy.  Maybe I should lie down.)

The Husband and I are on opposite sides of the fence with this issue.  He'll eat or drink anything....regardless of the damage that has been done.  I, on the other hand, won't eat any piece of food that might have been manhandled by a little one.  I like my beverages free of shrapnel and my food free of toddler spit.

Yes, I understand this will take me out of the running for 2011 Parent of the Year.  I've made my peace with it.  There's always 2012.

What have YOU done lately that will knock you off the POTY list?

Excuses....excuses......

Reasons why I haven't blogged since February:

1 husband
4 kids
2 dogs
1 guinea pig
2 part-time jobs
1 business that I'm trying to get off the ground
A third part-time job that I just heard about and am hoping I can get
1 house that is FOREVER messy
Meals that won't cook themselves
Laundry that won't wash, dry, or fold itself

Whew.

I sure do miss you all, though. 

When I last checked in here, we had only one dog.....Charlie.  We had discussed, on and off, the idea of adopting another dog.  The Husband was far less thrilled about the idea than the rest of us.  I kept thinking about it......I even ran it by a few other people to see if they had any advice.  Apparently, I had mentioned it to our babysitter's mother.  Miss JP, our sitter, stopped by our house one day and told me about a co-worker of hers who is in the midst of a divorce.  The husband/ex-husband doesn't want a dog and the wife/ex-wife is moving to a small apartment and is unable to keep the dog. 

"Are you interested?"

"Yes!"

"Should I give her your number?"

"Yes!"

Only after Miss JP left did I realize that I hadn't even consulted with Nick about it.  Oops.

We got "Beauty" on a Friday and told the kids that we were babysitting her for the weekend.  I was NOT about to tell them we were keeping her and then find out that she doesn't work well here.  (If you're a parent, you probably understand that kids operate best if they're kept in the dark about such matters.)

Beauty is a 5 year old golden retriever who sheds large tumbleweeds of hair every day.  The weekend went very well simply because she's quite possibly the most laid-back dog I've ever met.  She puts Charlie in his place when necessary yet she eagerly flops on the floor for belly rubs from the kids.  It took very little time for us to fall in love with her.  On Sunday morning, we told the kids that she would get to stay with us.  As expected, they were ecstatic.

After the adoption was "official", there were a couple of matters to attend to.  Item #1?  Change her name.  She is now known as Molly.  Beauty was a cute name, but totally not our style.  We like people names for our pets.  Page, Fiona, Charlie, Molly.  (If she'd been a boy, the name would have been Walter.)

Item #2?  See if there was anything at the pet store that would alleviate some of her shedding.  We got a brush, a comb, and a de-tangling spray.  Just combing her has made a huge difference.  Plus, she looooooves being brushed out.  She freezes in position and her eyelids droop as if she's just found doggy paradise.  The gray hairs around her mouth and nose tell you that she's certainly not a puppy.  For that, I am thankful.  This house can only handle one frisky, misbehaving puppy at a time, thankyouverymuch.

You can be sure that I'll have some pictures up here very soon.  However, with my track record, "very soon" is a pretty loose term.  Could be one week....could be 3 months.

My point is this:  Yes, you will see pictures.  But I wouldn't suggest holding your breath until they show up.

Peace out, people. 

My mascara contains WHAT?!?!

Nick, the boys, and I were all sitting around watching tv a few weeks ago.  The show that we couldn't tear our eyes from?  "Billy the Exterminator" on A&E.  It's reality tv at its finest.  Billy has a haircut that can only be described as mullet-meets-woodchipper.  The show follows him and his vermin-killing family.  They all wear black and appear to be 100% dedicated to ridding the world of icky things.

Hey!  Maybe that should be their company tag line!

Vexcon....We take care of the icky things.

(There's a good reason why I'm not in marketing.)

Anyway.  In this particular fun-filled episode, some poor woman had an attic full of bats.  Hundreds of them.  Her whole house stunk from the, uh, guano.  (That's poo, if you're not familiar.)  So Billy went into the attic to assess the situation....all while talking about how awful the bat droppings are.  They're smelly and full of disease and NASTY. 

Then Billy said that bat poo is an ingredient in mascara.

Ya know.....the stuff I was wearing AT THAT VERY MOMENT.  ON MY EYELASHES.  OMG.

Turns out, this is an urban legend.  But STILL.  Doesn't it sorta highlight how little we know about our cosmetics?  I'm of the "Ignorance Is Bliss" school of thought here.  Do I really want to know if there's toad placenta in my lipstick?

So while I was doing the dishes yesterday and thinking about this, I had an epiphany.  If it were true, could you imagine how the conversation went among the lab techs who were working on this formula?

Tech #1 - UGH!  I'm so frustrated.  I've tried EVERYTHING to get this mascara recipe correct!

Tech #2 - Maybe I can help.  What have you tried so far?

Tech #1 - I've tried armadillo urine, ferret saliva, border collie ear wax, kangaroo colon, frog warts, maine coon cat semen, pitbull prostate, Texas longhorn umbilical cord, chimpanzee testicles, and guinea pig placenta.  But I STILL can't get this right!  It's driving me batshit crazy!

Tech #2 - Well, maybe you could try.......

Tech #1 - WAIT A MINUTE!  I never tried bat shit!

Tech #2 - Gross.

Tech #1 - Shut up and find me some guano.

The truest spirit of Christmas....

I'd love to be all original and witty today, but it appears that my brain is on vacation.  You're likely to see it on an upcoming "Brains Gone Wild" video....topless, drunk, and holding a margarita.  I just hope it doesn't get arrested.

I digress.

Until my brain gets itself back to work, I'm linking you to another blog with a post that I'm begging you to read.  Really.  Especially if you're in one of those "the world is full of selfish, heartless slobs who wouldn't know kindness if it bit them on the butt" kind of moods.  Please, please, please click over and read this amazing post.  You won't be sorry.  You'll be inspired.

Happy New Year, friends and family!

Tis the season to be whiny...fa la la

Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year...the kids get so excited about every little thing and I love to see the neighborhood all lit up.  Even the cold weather doesn't kill my joy to the world.  There's really only one thing that gets my shorts in a wad every December.  No, it's not fruitcake and garishly decorated sweaters.  It's something far more ridiculous and sinister.

Right around this time, every year, the I WANT YOU TO SAY MERRY CHRISTMAS...NOT HAPPY HOLIDAYS whiners come out of the woodwork.  And for some reason, I'm shocked by it every. single. year.  I guess I expect these people to find better things to complain about...sadly, they never do.

(I'm quite sure I'll offend someone with this post.  As luck would have it, I don't care.  The whole thing is pathetic.  So here goes.....)

An open memo to Christmas Whiners:

Grow up and find a different cause to dedicate your energy to.

First and foremost, lets take a look-see at the calendar.....What do you find?  LOTS OF HOLIDAYS.  In just 3 months, we have Columbus Day, Halloween, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, and New Years.  So from a purely practical standpoint, "Happy Holidays" is a handy way to cover the bases, no?

Secondly, I don't remember where it's written that Christmas-celebrating persons have dibs on December.  Believe it or not, there are oodles of people who celebrate something besides Christmas.  *GASP*  Shocking, I know.  Demanding "Merry Christmas" smacks of self-importance and an overly-inflated sense of entitlement.

Third?  Grow up.

Fourth?  No, really.  GROW UP.  Someone wished you Happy Holidays.  Boo hoo.  Put on your big girl pants (or big boy pants) and get on with your life.

Fifth.....I'm not Jewish.  But I have been wished a Happy Passover and a Happy New Year and a Happy Hanukkah on several occasions.  Do you know what I did?  Kick them in the shins and run away crying?  No.  I smiled.  And I said, "Thanks!  Same to you!"  Do you know why?  Because THEY WERE BEING POLITE AND FRIENDLY and I was being polite and friendly IN RETURN.  It's a novel concept, I agree.

And one last thing....the most important point of them all:  If you're one of the Christmas Whiners, then you should be on your knees, every single morning, thanking your lucky stars that this is the biggest issue you're facing in life.  You're not battling foreclosure, job loss, illness, divorce, death?  Then you are blessed.  I can guarantee there are millions of people who only WISH they had problems this petty.

So lets all use 2011 to mature our wee li'l brains, okay?  Lets expand our horizons and embrace the fact that we are a diverse population and we are free to celebrate (or not celebrate) anything we wish.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, MY PEEPS!

Probably....

She's been his mother for just 14 years.

Not so long ago, she probably rubbed her round belly and said, "I can't wait to meet you, my baby boy."  Maybe she dreamed of what he would look like, but I bet she never guessed he'd have such beautiful dimples.

Not so long ago, she probably cried when the doctors placed him...wailing and wet...in her arms and said, "It's a boy!"  Maybe she counted his fingers and kissed his toes and quietly said a prayer of thanks for his safe delivery.

Not so long ago, she probably bit her nails nervously as she watched him learn to walk.  She probably moved anything and everything that might cause him harm.  Maybe she flinched when he stumbled and fell, but she stayed in her seat....knowing that he had to learn by trial and error. 

Not so long ago, when he had a nasty cold, she probably stood over him one night to be sure that he was sleeping soundly.  Maybe she touched his head to see if the fever had subsided.

Not so long ago, she probably slapped her forehead and asked, "How can those pants be too small already?!  I just bought them last month!"  Maybe she wondered if his growth spurts could slow down just a little bit because it's so expensive to buy new clothes every month!

Not so long ago, she probably kissed his knee to make it "all better" and offered a band-aid to cover the fresh boo-boo.  Maybe she dried his tears with the extra tissue that every Mom carries in her pocket.

Not so long ago, she probably rubbed his back while a stomach virus wreaked it's havoc.  Maybe she repeatedly offered him something bland to eat, in the hopes that he would finally be able to hold it down.  And maybe she held her nose and gritted her teeth in frustration as she washed the 5th set of barf-covered sheets in one day.

Not so long ago, she probably softly touched his dimples and told him, "You'll always be my baby."  Maybe he rolled his eyes and heaved an embarrassed sigh.

Not so long ago, the doctors said, "It's cancer."  Maybe she kept up a brave face for him that day...and maybe she sobbed and screamed and cursed into her pillow that night while her heart broke in half.

And........someday soon, she'll probably rub his back when the chemo causes his stomach to lurch.  She'll probably kiss his hand to make it "all better" after the IV has been put in.  She'll probably hold a cool washcloth to his forehead because she wants to do something...ANYTHING...to make him feel better.  She'll probably watch him sleep and beg for the medications to do their job.  Maybe she'll secretly count how many bites of food he eats and be ecstatic to discover that he took in 3 more bites than yesterday.  Maybe she'll tell her husband, "I promise to never get upset when he outgrows his clothes because it only means that he's healthy and growing and strong."  Maybe she'll find love, friendship, and support in unexpected places.  Maybe her strong faith will be tested as she angrily asks, "Why?!" 

Hopefully, someday soon, the doctors will say, "It's in remission."  Maybe she'll bite her nails nervously when he's finally well enough to return to school, but she'll say nothing because she is overjoyed that this day finally arrived.  And before he leaves the house, maybe she'll softly touch his dimples and say, "Whether you're 14 or 34 or 64, you'll always be my baby."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

If you're a person who believes in prayer, there is a family who could use your help.  If you believe in good vibes, please send them.  If you want to cross your fingers and think good, healing thoughts...go right ahead.  They need all of it.  They're now part of a club that no parent should ever have to be in.

Why are we talking about CHRISTMAS already?!

Alright, y'all....I'm having a very large discussion in my head right now and I was hoping you might be able to help me clear it up.  Isn't this just your lucky day?

PS...I've never used the term "y'all" in my life.  Yet it fits so nicely right up there.  Don'tcha think?

Aaaaanyway.  My kids are ages 10, 8, 4, and 3.  They all still believe in Santa.

Yes, I did say ALL of them.  As of yet, no one has spilled the beans to my 10-year-old son.  And if they have, I've been able to contradict whatever was said so effectively that my little dude buys it hook, line, and sinker.  (I can be very convincing.  Especially if I stare deeeeplyyyyy into your eyyyyyyyyyyyes.)

Ask me any Santa-related question and I can b.s. my way right through it.  With a straight face!

"When we went to the breakfast with Santa, was that the REAL Santa?"  Answer...."No way!  Real Santa is far too busy to hang out here!  The Santas that you see here or at the mall are pretend.  They are the helpers who step in when Real Santa is very busy or when he has a hangover from date night with the Missus.  Isn't it nice that they help him out?"

"Mommy, why can't Santa bring me all of the things I want?"  Answer....."Because Santa has rules that are just like Mommy's rules.  You don't always get everything you ask for.  Do I buy you every single toy that you want?  No?  Well neither does Santa."

"How does Santa know if we've been bad?"  Answer...."I send him a monthly e-mail that contains a detailed list of your recent transgressions."  ???  "Mommy, what does 'transgressions' mean?"  Answer...."It means that you're evil sometimes and you make Mommy cry."

"MOM!  We took down the fireplace!!  OMG HOW WILL SANTA GET IN THE HOUSE?!?!?!?!"  Answer....."Santa has a magical set of keys that he can use to get into the houses that don't have fireplaces.  You know all of those people who live in apartment buildings?  They don't have fireplaces!  So Santa uses his magical keys to commit multiple misdemeanors on Christmas."  ???  "What's a misdemeanor?"  Answer...."It's when Santa breaks into your house just politely enough so as to avoid a felony."

"My friend at school today said that there's no Santa and that it's your mom and dad who buy the gifts."  Answer....."Pfffft!  That's a good one!!  We TOTALLY can't afford to buy gifts for y'all!  That's SANTA'S job!"

You get the idea?  I'm just FULL of the answers.

But here's the problems.  Kids can be mean.  Really mean.  I'm imagining a scenario in January that goes something like this:

Little 5th grade hoodlums:  "Hey, Nick!  What's up?  How was your vacation?"
My sweet baby boy:  "Christmas vacation was great!  Santa brought me a new DS!"
Little 5th grade hoodlums:  "BAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!  SANTA?!?!?!  OMG!!!!!  YOU STILL THINK SANTA IS REAL?!?!?!  BAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!"
My sweet baby boy:  "Uh........no.....uh.....I was just joking."

Do you see my quandary?!  I want to keep up with the Santa fantasy....but I don't want my son getting wedgied on the playground during recess.  AND CHRISTMAS IS ONLY 2 MONTHS AWAY, PEOPLE!  My boys spent an hour this evening studying every page of the Toys R Us gift catalog and making careful notes on every item they might want.  I could hear their very serious conversation from the kitchen.

Ben:  "Ooo!  That's cool!"
Nicholas:  "Yeah, but it's $300.  Santa doesn't bring things that are so expensive."
Ben:  "Oh yeah.  I remember."
Nicholas:  "We have to ask Mom if it's okay to put the expensive things on our list.  And don't forget, Ben.  If the thing you ask for is, like, $150 or something, that's the only thing you'll get."
Ben:  "Yep.  I remember that, too."

And the cherry on top of this mess?  I get a little teary every time I think about it cuz I'm a giant sentimental SAP who cries at the drop of a hat.  (I wish I were joking.  It gets old sometimes.) 

I think I have to tell them.  But do I tell them before Christmas?  Or do I enjoy one final Santa-filled extravaganza and tell them the truth before they head back to school?

Crap.  I do not want to tell them.  I don't want to have this conversation.

Maybe I'll distract them by explaining sex instead.

*sigh*

Once again....thank you

I know that, as a blogger, it's very "uncool" to care about things like blog stats and how many followers are listed over there on the right.  All the cool kids say, "Oh I don't care....I only write for ME and it doesn't matter if anyone reads it."

Apparently I'm not one of the cool kids.  Never have been.  And that's okay with me.

Yes....first and foremost, I write for myself.  This wee li'l brain of mine is swimming with thoughts and ideas and stories and I'm thankful that there's a place for me to vent or celebrate or laugh or cry (for free!).  I like the idea that someday I'll have all of these pieces to re-read and remember these days that are passing far too quickly.  I like knowing that my kids might read this someday and realize that I'm not just their momma....I'm a human being with thoughts and feelings that don't always revolve around them.

And yet.  My tummy does a little flip when I see the stats go up or when I get a comment on a post or when I see that there's another follower.  Do you know why?  It's not because I consider this to be a popularity contest.  "Whee!  I have 100 followers so that makes ME better than YOU!  BAHAHAHA!"

It's because I know that you have far better things to do with your time than to sit at your computer and read the various ramblings of yet another Mom who is trying to be witty and charming and heartfelt.  I know that.  You know that.  But here you are....taking time from your very busy life to read what I've written.  You made a conscious decision to spend a precious 10 minutes here.  And sometimes, you're inspired enough to leave a comment!  I can't tell you how happy that makes me.

My own big brother visited here to read the story about the liver and made my day by leaving a comment for the very first time.  Trust me when I say that he has more important matters on his plate right now....but he stopped by anyway.  He put a smile on my face and it has been there ever since.

Maybe, in 5 years, if I'm still blogging, the stats and followers and comments won't be so important.  Maybe I'll be totally committed to the "I blog for me" mantra.  For now, though, I'm thankful for every one of you.  I'm thankful for the opportunity to show you my side of life....to, perhaps, make you think of things in a different way....to share with you the things that are important to me.

Thank you...for spending your time here.

Parenting shortcuts...Vol. 5

When I hit "publish" on these shortcut posts, I generally feel the tiniest bit douchy.  After all, you're probably a very intelligent adult who is perfectly capable of surviving this life without my uber-helpful, know-it-all 2 cents.  But, I see it like this.....why should any of us have to re-invent the wheel?  Know what I'm sayin'?  If I've banged my head into a wall long enough to come up with a spiffy shortcut that might save you some time or money or aggravation, why not share it with my oodles handful of adoring patient and tolerant fans friends and family who are humoring me???  Right?

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

We live in a house that's large on character, charm, and cozy details but very short on closet space.  Near the front door, we have a coat closet that's the size of a coffin.  It's just about big enough to hold 3 coats, an umbrella, and 2 pairs of shoes.  I wish I were exaggerating.

So a problem arises when it's winter time and I have to stock this closet with enough hats, gloves, coats, scarves, boots and snow pants to outfit 6 people.  The second problem is accessibility.  I need everything available for my kids to help themselves.  In the morning, I want to be able to say, "Get out your hat, gloves, and coat."  The older boys can completely dress themselves AND help their little sisters whenever necessary.

My solution?  Check it out......

I tried using those plastic $9.99 shoe bags for the door, but my kids aren't exactly "gentle".  Those things were generally destroyed within a few months.  So I sewed my own with some scraps from my fabric stash.  Please don't ask me to give you specific measurements and instructions.  I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of chick.....I make this stuff up as I go along.

Some of the pockets are smaller than others, which makes them perfect for holding a few pairs of tiny gloves.  At the top, there are 2 very large pockets for the adult hats and gloves and miscellaneous.

The bottom pockets are large enough to hold some less-frequently used shoes.  The shoes that get used on a daily basis are kept in a large wicker basket near the front door.  Snowboots are kept in the basement since they take up so much space.  I also keep the snow pants down there on a hanger so they can dry after a rousing romp in the snow.

As for the bulky coats....I built this insert, which takes up about half of the closet.  This isn't exactly the finest piece of furniture ever created (it's unlikely that Norm will be knocking on my door and asking for woodworking pointers), but I'm absolutely thrilled with it's function.  (Again, please don't ask me for the details.  I can't remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, much less remember the dimensions and materials for a piece I built nearly a year ago.)  Each child has a cubby that they can easily reach, so each child can be responsible for putting their own coat away.  There are 2 spare cubbies....the bottom one holds shoes for Nick and me.  The top one holds baseball gloves or hats or my coat.  I put hooks on the side of the unit to hold backpacks and umbrellas.  There is enough room left in the closet for the grownup coats to hang on hangers.

Each cubby is labeled.

I don't care if the coats are crammed in and unfolded.  I especially don't care when it's 8:15am and OMG DO YOU HAVE LEAD IN YOUR UNDERWEAR?!  GET YOUR FRIGGIN' COAT ON ALREADY SO WE CAN LEAVE!

 

PS.......I found another problem that occurred every morning.  When I said, "Everyone get your stuff out and get ready to go!", there was a 15 minute traffic jam at the closet which normally ended with a fistfight, a black eye, and crying. 

So now I assign tasks.  "Nicholas, please get out the coats.  Alexa, please line up all the shoes.  Ben, when Nicholas is done, please get the gloves.  Rachel, after Ben is done, please get the hats."  Generally, this works pretty well....except when Alexa decides to be the Little Mommy and do everyone's job FOR THEM. 

That's when things get ugly.

The Story of The Liver (Alternate title: How I Battled My Gag Reflex and Won....Barely)

On September 19th, after two dog-free years, we added a sweet little 8 pound puppy to our family.  He grabbed our hearts immediately with his floppy ears and howling bark and big brown eyes.  He was 4 1/2 months old at the time and his name was Elvis.  After countless discussions (he was briefly named Fredo), we changed the name to Charlie.

I keep calling him Charlie Tuna.

Rachel calls him Charlie Tuna Casserole.

He is starting to have an identity crisis.  He might need therapy.

His transition was pretty smooth, other than the kennel cough that showed up during his first week at home.  After 2 weeks on antibiotics, he's happy and healthy again.

Our previous dog, Page, loved Daddy the most.  This little guy is a total Momma's boy.  Not that I'm complaining.  His presence is comforting....I love to hear the clink-clink of his ID tags as he follows me around the house.  He has a belly that begs to be scratched and his ears are so big that they nearly cover his eyes when he looks down at the floor.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Pagie died two years ago with a heart full of love but a tummy full of cancerous tumors.  Was there anything we could have done to prevent that?  Probably not.  Does that keep me from second-guessing every minute we spent with her?  No.  We were first-time dog owners and I'm sure we made more than a handful of mistakes.  Early in the morning, while Charlie and I walk the neighborhood, I find myself thinking of Page and silently promising to do better this time.

The thing is, I'm a little nutty and neurotic.  (STOP LAUGHING.)  Okay...I'm a LOT nutty and neurotic.  I have this undeniable urge to protect Charlie and do everything I can to keep him healthy and safe.

So I've decided to make my own dog food.

I'll give you a moment to compose yourself......

Seriously?  Holding your gut and falling to the floor?  Don'tcha think you're being a little dramatic?

I'll spare you the exhaustive details of my research.  Suffice to say that dog food consists of all the sh*t that's not fit for human consumption.  Plus lots of inexpensive fillers that have no nutritional value.  I know...I know....plenty of dogs eat commercial dog food and live to be happy, healthy, faithful, grey-haired companions.  I'm not saying that you're a terrible person if you use commercial food.  I'm not saying that you love your pet any less.  I'm not saying that I'm somehow better than you.  I'm just saying that we wanted to take a different road this time.  We knew that some of Charlie's diet would consist of dry food.  So, Nick and I did lots and lots (and lots and lots) of internet research to come up with a brand that was consistently top-rated and repeatedly recommended.  And the list of ingredients includes lots of things that are actual food!  Yay for food!  Yay for being able to pronounce and understand the ingredient list!  Yay for not feeding my dog cow brains!

Here's the problem.  It ain't cheap.  He's a little pup and he doesn't eat a LOT, but I thought, "Hmm.  I think I can cut costs AND give him some top quality grub all at once!"  So he'll be getting half homemade food and half dry food.  We're keeping the dry food simply because it contains some of the vitamins and minerals that dogs need and godhelpme I don't want to give him some kind of weird vitamin deficiency.

So here's where the story of The Liver comes in.  (I give you mad props if you've stayed with me this long.)

The very first batch of food was simmered for several hours in my hand-dandy crock pot.  It consisted of liver, chicken, carrots, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, apples, rice, and onions (for flavor).  (Ya know....you'll never be able to continue reading if you don't stop laughing.)

I have 2 points to make here.  Liver might be the nastiest thing I've ever brought into this house.  (I know I'm stepping on some toes here cuz I have several family members who think liver-and-onions is a delicacy  straight from heaven.  I happen to think it's a nightmare straight from somewhere else.  I digress.)  First, I put on rubber gloves because I was completely unhinged by the amount of BLOOD that was in the packaging.  I opened the plastic, slid the whole mess into the crock pot, and leaned over (I swear to you that I don't know what came over me) to take a whiff.

*GAG*

MUST BREATHE THROUGH MY MOUTH BUT I CAN'T BECAUSE I'M TOO BUSY GAGGING WITH MY MOUTH WHAT THE HELL CAN I DO TO GET THIS STINK OUT OF MY NOSTRILS??!!

*GAG*

Liver will never again enter my home.

*GAG*

My second point?  ONIONS ARE TOXIC FOR DOGS.  Yep.  It contains something that causes their red blood cells to BURST which leads to anemia which can lead to DEATH.  I could just as easily have laced the whole mess with rat poison.  In my 3 weeks of research, WHY DIDN'T I SEE THAT BEFORE NOW?  So I lived with 10 hours of a rancid-smelling house for nothing. 

The bad news?  The entire batch of food went into the garbage.  The good news?  I was only out $15 (roughly).  The other bad news?  I'll be the butt of endless jokes that probably all start with, "HEY!  Remember the time Chris almost poisoned Charlie?  BAHAHAHA!"

So yesterday I made my second batch of food.  I stuck with the basics this time.  Chicken (which, thankfully, doesn't smell like 4-day-old baked on a highway in Death Valley roadkill), carrots, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, apples, and rice.

When The Husband came home from work, I said, "I finished the second batch of dog food."

"Okay."

"I left out the poisonous onions this time."

"Awesome."

"I also left out the liver."

"THANK YOU."

The one where I drone on about a few of my favorite things...

A friend of mine is nearing her 20th week of pregnancy.  She and her husband recently found out they're expecting a boy...so now begins the arduous process of wading through millions of useless baby items to find the select few that are useful, affordable, reliable, and durable.  Today, she enlisted the help of family and friends via Facebook and her private blog.  She posed this question:

"What is your favorite baby item?  The one you can't live without."

Dude.  *shaking my head*

In light of my verbal diarrhea and endless opinions, you may live to regret that question.

I, on the other hand, am positively giddy over the blog fodder.  Thanks!

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

My first suggestion was to get thee an on-line Consumer Reports subscription.  In Yonkers, NY, there lives a laboratory filled with nerdy peeps beating the snot out of various everyday items.  They spend endless hours every day pushing, pulling, dropping, kicking, opening, closing, turning on, turning off, and just generally abusing the things we use all the time.  This is helpful because it prevents the Average Joe from spending wads of cash on products that are LAME and SUCKY.

My second suggestion is to give some serious thought to your needs.  Do you live in a ranch-style house with a big open floor plan?  Then you might not need baby gates.  Do you live in a warm, tropical climate?  You won't need many heavy blankets.  Love to run?  You'll find a jogging stroller to be helpful.  Expecting triplets?  Get a bigger vehicle.  Pronto. 

Hmmm.....so now I'm supposed to pick ONE item that I just couldn't live without?  Ummm.  That would be chapstick.  (Or would it be a good bra?  Dry lips or droopy girls?  I can't make up my mind!  Crap.  This is like asking me to pick a favorite child!)

Pardon?  What's that you said?  It needs to be a baby-related item?  Oh.  Thank god because my 32 remaining brain cells were getting an owie.

Without further ado, I present:

The List of Baby Gear I Couldn't Possibly Be Expected to Live Without

**A changing table, located in the living room.  When I was upstairs, I just used the bed for changing and clothing the baby.  Downstairs, I kept a changing table stocked to the gills with diapers, wipes, blankets, puke rags, and clothing.  Also?  When baby was reallllllly tiny (as in, not moving and wiggling too much), he/she napped on the changing table.  (It had rails on the sides to keep baby from falling.)

**Plain, white, cloth diapers.  For cleaning up pukies and keeping your shoulder well protected from said pukies.

**Exersaucer.  Priceless.  When we finally retired ours, I nearly shed a tear.  My babies spent countless hours hopping up and down gleefully.  This thing is exceptionally helpful when you need to tinkle and you'd really like to do it ALONE or without worrying "OMG.  WHERE DID THE BABY CRAWL TO NOW AND WHAT IS THAT NOISE?!"

**A good quality baby monitor.

**A Bundle-Me...for winter infants in chilly climates.  It completely eliminated any need for a coat or snowsuit when my daughter was born in December.  It's like a tiny sleeping bag for baby!


**The snap-n-go stroller, to be used as long as baby is in an infant car seat.  Seriously?  If I could turn back the clock, I would have purchased this stroller as soon as the stick said, "HEY!  YOU'RE GONNA GET FAT AND CRABBY!  CONGRATULATIONS!"

**The Peg Perego high chair.  Well worth the money.

**An unusual item for you...a waterproof underpad.  I got a couple of these from the hospital where my smidgets were born and I still use them all the time.  They are soft, durable, washable, waterproof, and priceless.  I've used them as changing pads on my bed or the floor.  I've used them between two crib sheets, to protect the sheet under it.  Stomach virus?  Put the pad on the floor to protect the carpet from "flying debris" that doesn't make it into the garbage can.  Putting up the Christmas tree?  Put one of these pads under the tree stand so your floor doesn't get scratched AND to catch the extra water when you fill the reservoir with too much water.  (Not that we've ever done that.  *ahem*)  Baby has a nasty diaper rash?  Put the pad on the floor, remove baby's diaper, and let that rump get some fresh air while the pad absorbs the wee-wee.

**Onesies, onesies, and more onesies.  All of them in white (so you don't have to purchase all new ones if your next child is a girl).  And all of them from Carter's (by far, the softest and most durable brand).

**And while we're on the topic of the next child?  Try to purchase gender-neutral items as much as possible (especially the big-ticket items.....Have you seen the pink strollers?  What a tremendously stupid idea.  If the next child is a BOY, will you be comfortable putting HIM in a PINK stroller?).  Instead of 28 baby blue sleepers adorned with dinosaurs and trucks, pick up a handful of sleepers that can be suitable for a boy or girl.  Admittedly, this might be hard to find, but you'll be thankful when the 2nd child is of the opposite sex and you don't have to raid a clothing store for a new wardrobe.

**Sandra Boynton's "Barnyard Dance" (or any other Sandra Boynton book, for that matter).  I will carry and cherish this book until I'm carted off to the graveyard.  It's funny...and cute...and not-too-short but not-too-long...and if you want to add some extra hilarity, you can read the book like you're calling a hoe-down.  "Stomp your feet!  Clap your hands!  Everybody ready for a barnyard dance!  Bow to the horse!  Bow to the cow!  Twirl with the pig if you know how!"  We've spent countless nights reading this book to our babies.  (Is it weird that I'm getting teary just writing about this???  What is WRONG with me?!)

**A couple of big plastic bins.  Keep one in your room or the baby's room at all times, with the lid off.  When baby outgrows an outfit, fold it neatly and put it in the bin.  When the bin is full, put the lid on and label it....."Boy clothes, 3 to 6 months."  Put the bin in the attic/basement/garage/backyard shanty.  Easy organization.

**The next installment of The Girlfriend's Guide.  Just as funny as the first one.

**Oh yeah!  You'll also need a sense of humor.  I can't tell you where to find that.  But I know that I really could have used one back in 2000 when I was crying and grumping my way through the baby blues for an entire friggin' year.  (Me?  Bitter?  No!  Well...maybe just a little.  Okay.  A WHOLE LOT.)

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Are you sleeping yet?  I know this was a lot to read....you have my deepest apologies.  The thing is, if you want to, you can easily spend every last dime you have on silly baby gadgets and miscellaneous junk.  If I had to do it over again, there are several things I wouldn't buy (infant massage kit?  Never even opened it.) and a few things that I'm thankful I never succumbed to (those goofy shopping cart cover thingys?  Totally unnecessary.  The germs are good for building up their immune system!  Of course, I never ran that theory by my pediatrician, but, whatev.).

So how about you, my lovely homies......Was there something that you just couldn't have survived without during your parenting career?  (Besides a pound of dark chocolate and a large glass of wine at 8pm, that is.)  Please, oh please, share your hard-earned wisdom with us!