Ah, the joys of motherhood!!! Today, little man Aiden is much better. After a good night's sleep, he woke up with a smile on his angelic little face. While he still pulls typical 3-year-old stunts, and he is certainly no Ghandi, he is back to his normal self. Halleleujah!!
Zoe is another story. Yesterday she wasn't bad for Zoe. In fact, considering how tired she was, she was downright good. Zoe can hold her own in the tantrum department, let me tell ya. One would even think she invented the tantrum, as skilled as she is at it. Today she seems to have taken a page from Brother Aiden's gospel and has created her own religion from it. Whoeee! Watch out DFW, Hurricane Zoe is threatening to hit! That girl wants what she wants and that's ALL that she wants! Oh, and she wants it STAT! How does one so young become so versed in such gigantic drama?
Oct 2, 2007
Oct 1, 2007
**Small one for sale
*disclaimer* this post is rather lengthy and describes exceedingly unpleasant events. It is rated PG-13 for mild language (ok, that was only unvoiced in my head) and the pervasive desire to beat small children. If you have a weak constitution, taxed adrenal glands, or are pregnant in anticipation of a wonderful mothering experience, it is recommended that you hit next blog in the task bar and move on swiftly.
My Beloved husband has an amazing brain. He has rooms and rooms of storage up there, filled with, I imagine, millions of filing cabinets overflowing with manilla folders chock-full of information. He also has an amazing ability to access and recall the information stored in those files. One rather large file includes long-forgotten jingles and songs from his childhood. Usually, I'll be going along in a blissful empty-headed state when he starts whistling/singing one of his tunes. It promptly lodges in that space between my ears and bounces around like an Atari Pong game for the rest of the day. Today, one such song has been stuck in my head. I particularly refer to a song he occasionally sings that goes something like this: "Small one, small one, small one for sale. One piece of silver, small one for sale."
In my mind, instead of a small donkey, I picture a small monkey named Aiden. What a day this small one has had! I'm experimenting with a babysitting exchange with some sisters in the ward. This morning was my opportunity to load my kids on someone else for 2 and a half hours. What a joy to have that time to myself! It felt really surreal as though my mind couldn't quite accept that I was actually alone. If I can survive the one day in two weeks that all of the little ones descend upon my house, this could be a really wonderful thing. But I digress. Aiden, Zoe and Jonah went to a friends house and had a blast playing with a plethora of friends. Afterwards, I picked them up with picnic lunch in tow and we ate it at the playground before we took Jonah to school. After eating, they played hard on the playground, then we dropped a very sweaty Jonah off at kindergarten. It was a very fun and lovely morning. Within moments, however, of this peaceful scene, the swirling vortex of exhausted 3 year old devilry (that will forever be referred to in the history books as Hurricane Aiden 2007) hit and savagely wiped out the once peaceful and unsuspecting greater Northeast Tarrant County.
We had to make a trip to the library (or as I often refer to it as "the place where my panic attacks reside"). Most days, trips to the library are a daunting task, to put it mildly. Today was no different. In the parking lot, Aiden started off the trip with exceptional gymnastic skill, executing a perfect double tantrum with a full twist, followed by a double back, double twist wet-noodle maneuver. We opened up negotiations, whereupon he agreed to be a good boy (no tantrums, screaming, whining) and stay right by my side.
Within moments of entering the library, however, he reneged on his part of the bargain and all-out war started. He wanted to get a particular movie, when I said no, he launched the dvd with all the brute-strength he could muster, onto the floor. I am still battling with a cough and the sharp intake of breath that followed such an unacceptable and shocking move sent me into a furious coughing fit. I picked him up in a football hold, grabbed the stroller with Zoe in it, and swiftly walked to a secluded corner of the library where I could hack my lungs out in solitude. As I desperately searched through the diaper bag, tears streaming from my eyes, for a cough lozenge, he misinterpreted the move to mean I was searching for the keys to drag him out to the car. Aiden has no volume button, the darn knob broke off in the birth canal, and we haven't been able to find a jury-rigged replacement. At full volume, he began to scream, "no mom, not the keys, I'll be good!" This illicited some dirty looks from a little old lady peeking at the scene through the rows of books in the mystery aisle, who no doubt thought I was planning to beat my errant child with my keychain.
Once the coughing subsided, Aiden and I once again opened up negotiations. He would stay buckled firmly in the double stroller the rest of the trip, throw no more fits, talk quietly, and apologize for throwing the dvd on the floor. In exchange, I would let him live to see another day. The rest of the trip was uneventful *whew*, (both children were uncharictaristically quiet and exhausted) with the exception of a sweet lady commenting how content and quiet the kids were and Zoe feeling the need to prove her wrong by screaming down the next three aisles.
We survived the library and, in kamikaze fashion, I felt the need to take my children to the store. Most went well, but at the end of the trip, there was a problem with the self-check out machine and it wouldn't accept my card. As I worked with the store manager to remedy the situation, little man saw the Coinstar machine against the wall. Mesmerized by the sound of all the clinking coins, his eyes glazed over and he began to chant, "I want money." Each repetition increased in volume and fervor until he was in full-on tantrum mode, whining at the top of his voice (keep in mind when the volume knob broke off, his volume was set at extra loud) "I WANT MONEY!!!" The store manager shot me sympathetic looks, and appearing increasingly uncomfortable, she swiftly fixed the problem and sent us on our merry way.
Once safely home, I speedily launched my Quiet Time Torpedoes. He dodged, hedged, whined, cried, but finally I had target lock and he went down in a brilliant blaze. My joy was short lived however, since he seems to be made of trampoline material and he kept springing right back out of bed. "Mom, I'm done now!" "Mom, I need another book." "Mom, I need to go at the bathroom." His stalling tactics worked long enough for time to run out (which is just what I wanted to do) and we had to go pick up the kids from school.
Home again, home again, jiggity-jig, I settled the mini monkeys in with a small snack while I began the lovely task of cleaning up for and preparing dinner. In a moment of 3-year-old dexterity, Aiden knocked Jonah's mug full of sunflower seeds off the table, which shattered upon impact with the chair and floor. I scooted the kids out of the kitchen and attempted to vacuum the mess. I say attempted because the vacuum, upon coming in contact with the shards of glass and seeds, promptly spit them out and sent them flying across the floor. What can I say but "well it certainly does suck!"
While in the throws of cursing the vacuum and dislodging shards of ceramic from my foot (brilliant to do it bare-footed, I know) Little man noticed the baby peacefully looking at a book. He promptly walked up, grabbed it, and started pulling it away from her to the tune of her screeching like a tornado siren signaling the world's end. When I stopped him, his defense was, "I WANTED TO LOOK AT IT!" Meanwhile my head seems to be filling up with some sort of expanding gelatinous muck that is threatening to make my noggin EXPLODE any second in such a way that would put Boston Pops Forth of July celebration to shame. It was at this time that The Beloved called on his way home from school. Too busy to answer, Kolbi answered it for me and urgently relayed the message "under heavy enemy fire! Please send reinforcements!"
Aiden spent dinner-preperation time examining extensively every crack and nuance of the time-out corner. He did his penance and the rest of the evening went fairly smoothly, especially since the cavalry boldly rode in to my rescue. Needless to say, bedtime came early and with much swiftness. Small one was sent off to dreamland with hugs and assurances of love. *Whew* yet another day he miraculously survived to see the morning sun. Suddenly from the other room, a three-year-old voice could be heard screaming some sort of obscenities, willing them to penetrate through the bottom of his brother's bunk bed.
*SIGH* "Small one, small one, small one for sale. One piece of silver, small one for sale."
My Beloved husband has an amazing brain. He has rooms and rooms of storage up there, filled with, I imagine, millions of filing cabinets overflowing with manilla folders chock-full of information. He also has an amazing ability to access and recall the information stored in those files. One rather large file includes long-forgotten jingles and songs from his childhood. Usually, I'll be going along in a blissful empty-headed state when he starts whistling/singing one of his tunes. It promptly lodges in that space between my ears and bounces around like an Atari Pong game for the rest of the day. Today, one such song has been stuck in my head. I particularly refer to a song he occasionally sings that goes something like this: "Small one, small one, small one for sale. One piece of silver, small one for sale."
In my mind, instead of a small donkey, I picture a small monkey named Aiden. What a day this small one has had! I'm experimenting with a babysitting exchange with some sisters in the ward. This morning was my opportunity to load my kids on someone else for 2 and a half hours. What a joy to have that time to myself! It felt really surreal as though my mind couldn't quite accept that I was actually alone. If I can survive the one day in two weeks that all of the little ones descend upon my house, this could be a really wonderful thing. But I digress. Aiden, Zoe and Jonah went to a friends house and had a blast playing with a plethora of friends. Afterwards, I picked them up with picnic lunch in tow and we ate it at the playground before we took Jonah to school. After eating, they played hard on the playground, then we dropped a very sweaty Jonah off at kindergarten. It was a very fun and lovely morning. Within moments, however, of this peaceful scene, the swirling vortex of exhausted 3 year old devilry (that will forever be referred to in the history books as Hurricane Aiden 2007) hit and savagely wiped out the once peaceful and unsuspecting greater Northeast Tarrant County.
We had to make a trip to the library (or as I often refer to it as "the place where my panic attacks reside"). Most days, trips to the library are a daunting task, to put it mildly. Today was no different. In the parking lot, Aiden started off the trip with exceptional gymnastic skill, executing a perfect double tantrum with a full twist, followed by a double back, double twist wet-noodle maneuver. We opened up negotiations, whereupon he agreed to be a good boy (no tantrums, screaming, whining) and stay right by my side.
Within moments of entering the library, however, he reneged on his part of the bargain and all-out war started. He wanted to get a particular movie, when I said no, he launched the dvd with all the brute-strength he could muster, onto the floor. I am still battling with a cough and the sharp intake of breath that followed such an unacceptable and shocking move sent me into a furious coughing fit. I picked him up in a football hold, grabbed the stroller with Zoe in it, and swiftly walked to a secluded corner of the library where I could hack my lungs out in solitude. As I desperately searched through the diaper bag, tears streaming from my eyes, for a cough lozenge, he misinterpreted the move to mean I was searching for the keys to drag him out to the car. Aiden has no volume button, the darn knob broke off in the birth canal, and we haven't been able to find a jury-rigged replacement. At full volume, he began to scream, "no mom, not the keys, I'll be good!" This illicited some dirty looks from a little old lady peeking at the scene through the rows of books in the mystery aisle, who no doubt thought I was planning to beat my errant child with my keychain.
Once the coughing subsided, Aiden and I once again opened up negotiations. He would stay buckled firmly in the double stroller the rest of the trip, throw no more fits, talk quietly, and apologize for throwing the dvd on the floor. In exchange, I would let him live to see another day. The rest of the trip was uneventful *whew*, (both children were uncharictaristically quiet and exhausted) with the exception of a sweet lady commenting how content and quiet the kids were and Zoe feeling the need to prove her wrong by screaming down the next three aisles.
We survived the library and, in kamikaze fashion, I felt the need to take my children to the store. Most went well, but at the end of the trip, there was a problem with the self-check out machine and it wouldn't accept my card. As I worked with the store manager to remedy the situation, little man saw the Coinstar machine against the wall. Mesmerized by the sound of all the clinking coins, his eyes glazed over and he began to chant, "I want money." Each repetition increased in volume and fervor until he was in full-on tantrum mode, whining at the top of his voice (keep in mind when the volume knob broke off, his volume was set at extra loud) "I WANT MONEY!!!" The store manager shot me sympathetic looks, and appearing increasingly uncomfortable, she swiftly fixed the problem and sent us on our merry way.
Once safely home, I speedily launched my Quiet Time Torpedoes. He dodged, hedged, whined, cried, but finally I had target lock and he went down in a brilliant blaze. My joy was short lived however, since he seems to be made of trampoline material and he kept springing right back out of bed. "Mom, I'm done now!" "Mom, I need another book." "Mom, I need to go at the bathroom." His stalling tactics worked long enough for time to run out (which is just what I wanted to do) and we had to go pick up the kids from school.
Home again, home again, jiggity-jig, I settled the mini monkeys in with a small snack while I began the lovely task of cleaning up for and preparing dinner. In a moment of 3-year-old dexterity, Aiden knocked Jonah's mug full of sunflower seeds off the table, which shattered upon impact with the chair and floor. I scooted the kids out of the kitchen and attempted to vacuum the mess. I say attempted because the vacuum, upon coming in contact with the shards of glass and seeds, promptly spit them out and sent them flying across the floor. What can I say but "well it certainly does suck!"
While in the throws of cursing the vacuum and dislodging shards of ceramic from my foot (brilliant to do it bare-footed, I know) Little man noticed the baby peacefully looking at a book. He promptly walked up, grabbed it, and started pulling it away from her to the tune of her screeching like a tornado siren signaling the world's end. When I stopped him, his defense was, "I WANTED TO LOOK AT IT!" Meanwhile my head seems to be filling up with some sort of expanding gelatinous muck that is threatening to make my noggin EXPLODE any second in such a way that would put Boston Pops Forth of July celebration to shame. It was at this time that The Beloved called on his way home from school. Too busy to answer, Kolbi answered it for me and urgently relayed the message "under heavy enemy fire! Please send reinforcements!"
Aiden spent dinner-preperation time examining extensively every crack and nuance of the time-out corner. He did his penance and the rest of the evening went fairly smoothly, especially since the cavalry boldly rode in to my rescue. Needless to say, bedtime came early and with much swiftness. Small one was sent off to dreamland with hugs and assurances of love. *Whew* yet another day he miraculously survived to see the morning sun. Suddenly from the other room, a three-year-old voice could be heard screaming some sort of obscenities, willing them to penetrate through the bottom of his brother's bunk bed.
*SIGH* "Small one, small one, small one for sale. One piece of silver, small one for sale."
Sep 27, 2007
Feelin' crappy, but loved
Uuuuuuggghh! I feel yucky! We all seem to have missed the gamboo that Jonah had (yeah baby!) but I caught something else. I think it's the gothitbyamacktruck virus. Certainly not deadly, but NOT comfortable either. Mostly I've only been feeling yucky at night for the past 3 days. After the kids go to bed (and I finally get to catch my breath), I start feeling achy/coughy/sniffy and when I wake up I feel the same. But after a few hours of being up and about it would subside. Not today! I've been dragging around like a zombie. Uuugghh, I need a nap!
Actually, I told Chris I wasn't sick, that I was just faking because I knew he found the raspy voice and the smoker's cough dang sexy. I don't think he believed me though cause when I leaned in for a smooch he put on a gas mask. A fine how do you do!
So today my house is going to pot. I've got so much to do, but I'm such a slow poke today I'll never get it all done. And unfortunately, my chillins feel just fine and are way to energetic and trouble-making for my taste. Calgon, take me away . . . .
***as an addendum to this post, I must say that I feel loved. I Visit Teach a lovely lady, whom I have adored since the first Sunday she taught Jonah's Sunbeams class shortly after we moved here. She was the only one who could get my shy guy to release his vice-like grip on my now-wrinkled/tear-stained skirt to go it a-la-big-boy style to class. Under her wing, my guy became brave and started enjoying going to church (which means so did I). She will forever hold a special place in my heart and now I get to be her visiting teacher. Sadly, I have been a very poor one--something seemed to always come up to keep me from visiting her consistently (usually my monkeys getting sick the morning of our appointment--aargh!). When I do get to visit her, I have such a wonderful time talking with her and have so much fun with her kiddos (who are SO adorable), I feel I must be getting more out of our rendezvous than she. Well, I spoke to her today and she could hear how pathetic I sound. She promptly offered to pick up the grade-school monkeys so I could have a break. My inner guilt-monster immediately apparated onto my shoulder and ordered me to refuse, but the little shoulder angel (who incidentally looks like and talks like a mini-Chris) told me to "Just let someone actually help you out once in a while, for heaven sakes!" I listened to the winged one. I'm letting her pick up my monkeys, and I am enjoying a few free moments to, of all things, blog (followed by more cleaning up of my incredibly messy house while the baby is sleeping). Does it count as visiting teaching if the visiting teachee does all the work?
Actually, I told Chris I wasn't sick, that I was just faking because I knew he found the raspy voice and the smoker's cough dang sexy. I don't think he believed me though cause when I leaned in for a smooch he put on a gas mask. A fine how do you do!
So today my house is going to pot. I've got so much to do, but I'm such a slow poke today I'll never get it all done. And unfortunately, my chillins feel just fine and are way to energetic and trouble-making for my taste. Calgon, take me away . . . .
***as an addendum to this post, I must say that I feel loved. I Visit Teach a lovely lady, whom I have adored since the first Sunday she taught Jonah's Sunbeams class shortly after we moved here. She was the only one who could get my shy guy to release his vice-like grip on my now-wrinkled/tear-stained skirt to go it a-la-big-boy style to class. Under her wing, my guy became brave and started enjoying going to church (which means so did I). She will forever hold a special place in my heart and now I get to be her visiting teacher. Sadly, I have been a very poor one--something seemed to always come up to keep me from visiting her consistently (usually my monkeys getting sick the morning of our appointment--aargh!). When I do get to visit her, I have such a wonderful time talking with her and have so much fun with her kiddos (who are SO adorable), I feel I must be getting more out of our rendezvous than she. Well, I spoke to her today and she could hear how pathetic I sound. She promptly offered to pick up the grade-school monkeys so I could have a break. My inner guilt-monster immediately apparated onto my shoulder and ordered me to refuse, but the little shoulder angel (who incidentally looks like and talks like a mini-Chris) told me to "Just let someone actually help you out once in a while, for heaven sakes!" I listened to the winged one. I'm letting her pick up my monkeys, and I am enjoying a few free moments to, of all things, blog (followed by more cleaning up of my incredibly messy house while the baby is sleeping). Does it count as visiting teaching if the visiting teachee does all the work?
Sep 24, 2007
Dinner conversation
Mom: (while scooping beef onto rice into a tupperware for Chris's lunch tomorrow) "won't your friends be jealous about the dog food I'm sending to school with you?"
Dad: "Actually, they are jealous. I'm like the kid with the good lunch that everyone wants to trade with. They're always asking, 'so what did your wife send with you today?'"
Mom: "Wow! Maybe this makes me a total nerd, but that just makes me glow."
Jonah: "Nerds GLOW?!"
Dad: "Actually, they are jealous. I'm like the kid with the good lunch that everyone wants to trade with. They're always asking, 'so what did your wife send with you today?'"
Mom: "Wow! Maybe this makes me a total nerd, but that just makes me glow."
Jonah: "Nerds GLOW?!"
At least the floor is clean
So Jonah woke up this morning complaining (mildly for him) that his tummy was hurting. But nothing came of it and he said he was sooo huuunnggrry. I let him eat a little bit of breakfast and within 5 minutes he proceeded to HURL it back all over the kitchen. Appropriately this gigantic stinky mess was made 5 minutes before we had to rush out the door to get Kolbi even close to on time to school. Guess who was late for school and guess who isn't going today? My kitchen is now clean and disinfected and Jonah gave kudos, "wow the kitchen is really clean mom". So far, no more stinky messes (I'm currently pounding on wood table) and Jonah's new accessory is a big plastic bowl. I'm really hoping to avoid Hurlapalooza 2007. We'll see. . .
Sep 20, 2007
HEELLLLOOO?
Hello? **hello? hello? hello? hello?**
Anybody out there? **Anybody out there? Anybody out there? Anybody out there? Anybody out there?**
Guess not. *Sigh!*
Anybody out there? **Anybody out there? Anybody out there? Anybody out there? Anybody out there?**
Guess not. *Sigh!*
Sep 19, 2007
Things I'll never understand:
- How such an immensely loud bellow can come out of Zoe's itty-bitty body.
- why, upon seeing a kleenex approach her nose, the baby promptly turns and wipes her boogery nose ON MY SHOULDER!
- How, when I say, "I have to go to the bathroom real quick, BE GOOD!" it comes across to my children's ears as "let the the floodgates of hades open up! Welcome all demons from the depths! Fight/shove/scream/gouge/bite each other. All rules are null and void until I come back."
- How the turning of the lock on the bathroom door sends out subliminal messages to my children that say "stop what you're doing! Go pound on the bathroom door! You need ________ RIGHT NOW! Whine and cry like your life is coming to an end until that door is open!" When they hear the click signaling the door has been unlocked, does that release them from the evil spell, hence those angelic smiles that appear the second the door opened?
- Why Jonah, the boy who is always STAAARRRVVVINNGG (especially when asked to do an unpleasant task "but I'm too hungry!") takes an ETERNITY!!!!!! to eat his meals. Seriously, the boy ages faster than he eats! Molasses could take a lesson from him!
- my children's fascination with the drawstrings on my sweats. Do you like to see a full moon? Stop the madness!!! For that matter, my belt is not a rock climbing toe-hold miss Zoe. Please leave mom's dignity and pants around her waist and not south of the border!
- Aiden's Sponge-bob nudie-pants phase. I know you can get dressed by yourself little mister! Do you just enjoy hearing me bellow "Aiden get dressed!" a million times? Do you get some kind of prize if I say it over 200 times a day? Going for the guiness book of world records are we? Or are those new spiderman undroos just to stellar to cover up? Clue me in here.
- Where all these dirty dishes keep coming from. Didn't I just wash you? I swear they multiply like bunnies! How is it that it takes me hours to clean the kitchen and nanoseconds to UNDO all the sweatshop-type labor?
- Where all of my time goes. Did somebody mess with my watch again? Is there a black hole somewhere in my house? Is my Time holding clandestine meetings somewhere with my Sanity, my Money, and my Mind? Cause those are mysteriously absent too. Didn't we just get up? How is it time for lunch already? Didn't I just drop Kolbi off at school? How is it 3 o'clock already and why does my house look like I haven't done a thing all day?
- Why my children feel it is their mission in life to make a huge mess in whatever room I am not currently trying to clean up? "Mom's in the kitchen cleaning up, let's hit the bedrooms with tornado-force destruction! Mom's cleaning the bathroom, the living room is up for grabs!"
- How my children can squander those brain cells I (so generously I might add) donated to them upon childbirth. I'd give anything to have them back, how can they mean so little to my children? For the love of Pete, why don't they use them????? (P.s. I do love you grandpa Pete!)
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