Now vs. Then

I’m a bad, bad, bad mother. That’s how I ended my blog yesterday. And yet, this morning, driving the kids to school I realized just how true that had become. See when eldest was born I was determined to do everything “right”. I would nurse, and give him mother’s milk because that is best. What else are boobies for? I would make sure he had only pure, healthy foods so he could grow big and strong. I would ensure his diapers were pure cotton with no scary additives to keep his tender skin dry.

As a result, I ate very healthy so he would nurse very healthy. I washed and line-dried his diapers, my mother ironed them so that they weren’t wrinkly on his tushy. I even made his baby food so he wouldn’t have to eat the additives in the Gerber baby food jar. Um, in fact, his very first foods I, um, prechewed, before wising up just a little and getting a baby food grinder. A hand-cranked baby food grinder at that.

The poor kid wore pink, had moccasins as his first shoes and had only gender-neutral toys. Dolls being gender-neutral, of course. TV was taboo. It wasn’t till he was about 2 ½ that he finally started watching TV, just a half hour of course. On public TV. Thomas being the show of choice (this was actually a blessing because even now, at 15, eldest and siblings still play with all the Thomas happy-crappy). Even with closely monitored TV the kid started turning everything into guns and cars. Lego’s, while being my favorite toy ever, very handily transform into any gun or car imaginable.

Today, along with the Thomas , we still have lego’s and TV. Unfortunately the TV is now home to Spongebob, Ed, Edd & Eddy and Anime drama 24/7. The only kid to wear pink is daughter and I have the only pair of moccasins left (used to match eldests… way back when). Nobody is in diapers, but if they were they would be store-brand loaded with chemical gel to keep their tender little skin from ever feeling wet. Thereby extending potty training, and diaper-wearing, another year or two. The worst? Daughter and squareboy had pop-tarts in the car on the way to school this morning.

Not prechewed.

Double Whammy

Hmmm, just figured out a new feature to this blog thingy. So while some days there are no posts, this day there are two. Woooooooohoooooooo! Can you see it? Here's eldest post-headshave. He's in JROTC. While we are a military family, I still don't want my kids in the military. Still, I am proud he's in JROTC and I do think the discipline and high expectations will do him a world of good. So last night it was time to say goodbye to the long locks of late. Beautiful hair streaked with gold by one of the best hairstreakers in my mom's California hometown. He wanted to keep some of the streaks, as did my mom seeing as how it was her money that had paid for the streaks. So I set the razor on "8" and promptly pulled a big chunk of hair out by the roots. Thank God eldest has a high pain tolerance. Turns out too much hair causes the razoer to seize up. First you must cut the hair, then buzz it. Eldest freaked at the sight of scissors in my hand, for a male he is very into his hair.

Personally, I think the chopped look with streaks looked great! But he wouldn't let a camera near his head, so no pic of that. Then I buzzed away and then I trimmed and end result should be shown here... provided I figured out how to use this feature of the blog. Please, feel free to laugh at his stripes. I did.

I'm a bad, bad, bad mother.

Explosion

My parents left late Wednesday night. I came home from work, kissed them goodbye and then hurried up and waited while my dad puttered around the house for 10 minutes. "He's been ready for hours" my mom helpfully shared. So what the hell he was doing now, I have no idea. They finally left and daughter burst into tears. Squareboy went nuts, think trapped squirrel on speed, and it was 10:00 p.m. an hour past bedtime and an hour away from the dad coming home. Yippee.

The next morning was not better and daughter went to school in brandnew pants from Oma. Elastic waist pants that are waaaaaaaaaay too big for her waist all the same. However, I'd argued and screamed enough that morning. We were already a half hour late so I let her wear the brandnew waaaaaaaaaaay too big pants to school. At pickup time I was pulled aside by teacher. Apparently daughter had caused quite the controversy in school that day. She'd spawned numerous discussion on how to politely tell someone their pants were down. Apparently "I can see your butt!" or "I see your underwear!" and the like is totally unacceptable. Daughter herself denied that any of this occurred at school today. I have hid the pants.

Daughter continued to be very whiny, cry-y and a general pain-in-the-butt. I chalked it up to missing the grandparents until she started complaining of a hurt tummy. There has been a 24-hour bug going around so I took that a little more seriously and put her on the BRAT diet and cartoons. Unfortunately it didn't cure her and a fever was next. By Saturday night she was very hot and miserable. Figures that all big illnesses occur when there is no doctor available, no urgent care, not even an on-call nurse. I even, briefly, missed the Land of Ice & Snow. At least there I could always, always reach a doctor or nurse when one of the kids worried me.

I decided to wait till morning to see if daughter was better or worse before I would maybe brave the ER. Poor daughter cried most of the night, not loud full-lung crying but pitiful whimpering. Broke my heart and yet made me sooooo long for sleep. I finally fell asleep about 5:00 a.m. and daughter got up, with a very sore tummy, around 7:00 a.m.. It took me about half an hour to drag myself out of bed to check on her. She'd wrapped herself up in Number Two's blanket and was watching cartoons. Medication of choice in our home.

I went back into the bedroom only to be assaulted by a horrific smell. Turned out daughter had woken up because of an explosion of brown all over MY bed. And the dad was peacefully sleeping next to the mess.

Ready for Heaven

My parents are visiting. Staying at the new-to-me house even. In fact, they are fixing up the new-to-me house. My mom called every day the week before actual arrival:

"Make sure you make a list!" for my dad. So I made a list, it's got about 20 things that could possibly be fixed on it. #1 was the stovetop, that was done day #1. #2 was the dishwasher, it's day #7... not done. Not that he hasn't worked on it but as my mom has now told me, several times, he's an electrical engineer not a plumber. And as I told her, I'm a follower not a mindreader. I made a list. How was I to know I should have let plumbing off and made it in the order of skill sets he had?

On day #2 my mom and I volunteered in daughters classroom. I have enormously great respect for her preschool teacher, for all preschool teachers really, because after two hours of supervising, singing, dancing, coloring, praying I was done for. I happily left her to finish the day and went for a cup of coffee with my mom. Over coffee my mom shared her volunteer experience with me. One of the kids had noted:

"Oh you are really old!" yes my mom calmly acknowledged. "Don't worry." He reassured her, "You will go to Heaven soon and you will get a whole new body. You will be as good as new!" The things they teach in Catholic school.

Today my mom went shopping again, day #7 in a row, I begged off since I have a 10-hr shift this afternoon. In fact, I took a bath, read a book, and layed down a minute... only to get woken up from a deep sleep by a loudly, wildly, beeping fire alarm. My mom had set my new-to-me oven on fire. Flames coming out and everything. All is well, no worries. Dammit. My beautiful new-to-me avocado green oven will remain. My mother was a little discombobulated, but I reassured her that cooking a meatloaf for a family of seven, including three teenage boys, is overwhelming for anyone. She couldn't have known the meat would overflow the pan, overflow the cookie sheet and drip onto the element sparking the flames. Not when she's used to cooking meatloaf for a family of two.

As for my dad? He has a new favorite word 'exaggerate'. That was his comment to her big meatloaf that almost got me a new oven. She shouldn't have exaggerated the size. Now, please, hear this pronounced not exaggerate but more like "ex-sag-ggggerate', in a dutch accent. He first used it at dinner sunday night and we've since heard it a million times.

Speaking of that dinner, he was a little irritated that I let me kids up from the table during the meal. In his day that didn't happen, if something was needed, well, the parents got it and the kids stayed in their seat. I said okay, we'd do it his way since he was our guest and we wanted him to feel welcome. Shortly thereafter middle child needed salt. Up he got. Two minutes later eldest needed ketchup. Right after that squareboy needed more milk. He didn't catch-on till eldest again needed something less than 30 seconds after he sat down. Luckily he has a sense of humor.

O is for Squid

Daughter is in rare form tonight, I'm just going to keep track of random mutterings as she does. It all started when I walked in the door:

"O is for squid." (and, LOL, as I type this, she runs up and says "Oh! You typed an O"). O is the letter of the week and, of course, an octopus is the picture for O. Except she knows squid, not octopus. I think, perhaps, O will be a hard letter to learn.

While I was at work the Daddy came home. Finally! It's been a long, long month... even if he has been home a little here & there. Daughter was very excited to see him, and the Tshirts he made while helping Papa in New Mexico, until I mentioned her impending nuptials. You see, earlier, while driving her & Squareboy home from school, and again refraining from cell phone use, the marriage was announced:

"Roman is my boyfriend."
"Does he know that." Squareboy.
"Yes! And he loves me. We are getting married." I butt in with an it's-okay-to-get-married-when-you-are-18 speech.

"But I'm 4!" Duh. "Hmphf. Roman thinks we are getting married when Oma is here. So we are getting married." Oma arrives tomorrow, guess that settles that. At least it did until I announced this to the Daddy about 5 minutes ago. He told her No. She uninvited him. I'm still waiting for an answer on how she's going to hide a whole husband from the daddy.

Midnight Snack

Last night, after work, I brought home a little treat for the kids... left over KFC! We'd had inventory at the store and that being extremely time-intensive they'd fed us rather than letting us off the premises. Okay by me. Feeeeeeeeed me Seymour!

So I got home with a couple of meals of KFC and the kids jumped up & down like I'd brought home the winning lottery ticket. I'd intended for it to be tonight's meal, but they were so excited, and they'd been so good, that we hopped up to the table and all ate away.

"Mmmmmmh! This is the best chicken ever."
"I wasn't even hungry but this is so good!"
"I'm allergic to gravy."

That last one was daughter, she's so not allergic. Just doesn't like gravy and the new thing is, she's "allergic" to anything she doesn't like. It's all Charlie's fault, really, he is, really, allergic to peanut butter so she has a peanut free classroom. As a result I make her jelly sandwich first in the morning, and then Squareboy's PB&J. That way there's no cross-contamination worries. I like Charlie. I'm not thrilled that daughter has learned to use his allergies to her own advantage, however.

Anyway, so last night we were really enjoying our free KFC during our "Midnight Snack"... even if it was only 10:30, heck, I was trying to get them to bed after 3 nights of staying up late. We don't ever buy KFC at our house. It's expensive for fast food! For that kind of money, I'll go to Applebee's and have a sitdown meal. The most we ever do is a burger off the dollar menu, I won't even buy potatoes for a buck. I can buy a whole bag of potatoes and fry them up for a buck, why pay a buck for 10 soggy sticks?

Part of the struggle of raising a large family is having to make your own french fries, part of the joy of raising a large family is Midnight Snacks with unexpected treats. With the bad comes the good, and I have to say the good far outweighs the bad. I looked at their smiling faces last night, they were so happy! How many people can say their kids were thrilled to have KFC for dinner? How many kids appreciate the value of money enough to understand that it's much more cost-effective to fry your own french fries, and your own chicken?

Coffee

Squareboy is not normal. I can prove this. He is always begging me for a sip of my coffee and sometimes I let him have a sip, like this morning. I'd been talking on the phone and the last third/quarter of the cup had gotten cold. What the heck, let him enjoy it. With the cold coffee gone I got up to get a nice, hot, refill. The pot was friggin' empty! And Squareboy walks in, dumps my empty cup into the sink, grabs the big (and in big I mean one of those huge oversize Starbucks cups) full cup next to the pot and walks off like it's nothing. I blow my top and ask him what the hell he is doing. Squareboy looks at me innocently, shrugs his shoulders and nonchalantly states "I felt like a big cup of coffee." He drank the whole thing.

After all that caffeine I figured he needed to go outside and burn some of it off. Not for my sake but for the babysitter, AKA The Girlfriend, this afternoon. Now we've moved into this big, new-to-us house and it comes with a big, new-to-us yard. And that yard is filled with trees. Jam-packed, filled. Mostly pine and some miscellaneous beats-the-heck-out-of-me trees, I'm going to wait till they grow leaves or bloom or something before trying to identify them. "Can't you tell by looking at the bark?" My sister asked early this morning. Um, no. No I can't.

Back to Squareboy burning it off. I ordered him outside with a rake. I got a whine in response and told him his grandparents are coming next week and that they'd drive right by our new house. They wouldn't be able to find it for the mess. He looked at me like I was stupid.

"But the neighbors all raked their yards. Our house will be easy to find!" Nice. Real nice genius.

He's actually very good at raking, very conscientious. Unfortunately Sister went with him, with her special small rake. She loves looking up to her big brother (*snort* at the idea of Squareboy being the big brother) and doing exactly what he does. In this case that meant raking exactly, and I do mean exactly, where Squareboy was raking. This led to the relevation that the ends of rakes are shaped like lightsabers. I'm still confused how no one is bruised or bloody after that battle. I do know that Squareboy, while hiding from Sister, found the waterguns. I know this because I've been squirted. He's now watering all our bazillion trees with the watergun... and daughter is drinking the last third/quarter of my second cup of coffee, which got cold as I type this.

Loose Teeth & Boyfriends

A while back I read someone's weekly column ranting against all the mothers out there on cell phones while ignoring their children in the backseat. The author was of the opinion that valuable time with children was being wasted while on the road. I agreed and since then have tried to ignore my cell phone while in the car with my kids. I've done pretty well, and as a result, I have the following interesting conversation to share, occurring on the drive home after school today:

Daughter: "I miss Roman"
me: "You just spent all day with Roman."
Squareboy: "Roman is your boyfriend" in that tone. You know the tone. I try to jump in to explain boyfriends vs. boyfriend. But daughter beat me to the punch.

Daughter: "Fine. Roman is my boyfriend. I admit it." The kid is FOUR! "I'll say it. I love Roman." I mutter something about how loving people is wonderful and makes for a life of happiness, blah, blah, blah. All the while wondering if I've gone wrong somewhere. In the meantime daughter is asking if I know Roman's phone number and can he come play at the park with us. Of course I have his number and of course I'll call his mom.

Daughter: "Great! Roman and I can have a date!"

Squareboy had lost interest in this conversation way back at the beginning and asks if I know how many loose teeth he has. I acknowledge that I know he has one loose tooth. At this point daughter butts in with the opinion that Squareboy needs braces. His teeth are a little crooked with all the gaps from previous loose teeth so I get her point. Then she announces that the brothers tried to pull Squareboy's teeth out with string and a door. Just remembering makes her tear up because Squareboy had, gasp, blood! Squareboy cackles maniacally and notes that daughter will be a mess when she loses her teeth. This is true. The girl has a serious blood phobia. She's still teary-eyed at poor Squareboy's bloody teeth weeks ago as we pull up to the house. It's too bad we don't live farther from school, I wonder what was next on their conversation agenda.

I still don't know how many loose teeth Squareboy has.

Quilthammer

Middle Child and I bonded today. I got home late from work last night to a wonderful message on my answering machine, my sisters Wedding Quilt was done! Now I’d designed it and pieced it… after the Dad found the absolute perfect fabric that defined the whole project. For a tough military guy he has a great eye. And the self-confidence to share it with me. Favorite moments in my life are heavy discussions over fabric choices, in public, with the Dad. It’s kind of an anchor for what is truly our marriage.

Miss Judy quilted it for me. Baby quilts I can piece and hand-tie, even some minor machine quilting but a big ol’ full-queen-king size quilt? I need help. Miss Judy’s help came in the form of “King Tut” thread. Considering the absolute perfect fabric was little Egyptian guys dancing around the border, “King Tut” thread was perfect!.

Brother-in-Law (aka BIL) had proposed to Sister last Christmas during a surprise cruise down the river Nile. He shared his iPod with her and dancing to some Bob Marley he asked her to be his wife. One of the most romantic proposals I know and one that needs to be retold and shared, just to keep that kind of love in the air. I hope my quilt leads to the retelling of that story often, and that it sparks others to love in such a beautiful way. Thoughts of their quilt immediately filled my head hearing the news. The Dad knew that without asking me and happily chauffeured me to JoAnn’s fabric shop way out in Fayetteville. He found the perfect fabrics immediately. I’ve never picked the pieces together so quickly. It really is a joy that he shares my hobby and holds my hand through some of the tough decisions and, yuck, math that goes with quilting.

I had the top cut & roughly pieced easily and quickly. Deciding where each block went & flowed best was a lot harder, poor Dad spent some rough evenings coming in off the field deadbeat only to find his bed covered in quilt blocks and me, yammering away “like this?” , “Or maybe like this?” , “What do you think?” Poor guy was game anyway and helped me figure it all out. The top turned out beautifully. And now I’ve got it back from the master quilter Miss Judy and it is GORGEOUS! The King Tut thread flows through the quilt just like a Bob Marley song, in the gold, greens and reds of reggae. She even showed it off to the quilting guild ladies and they ooohed & aaaawed over my creation. I’m on cloud nine and soooo wish I could see Sister and BILs faces.

Miss Judy really was impressed with my “modern” style and she had a book or two of new techniques she thought I might like to explore. The first book was very cool, but a little over my head. The second book was completely my style. A traditional pattern with a twist. Exactly what I like to do. I raced home with the book and my excitement was contagious for middle child. He wanted to help. Fantastic timing! Right at that second I had two quilts I wanted to start, one easy but needed color and he has his father’s eye for color, and one difficult that I would tackle. We worked side by side for several hours, washing, ironing, cutting, hemming & hawwwing a little here and there. He learned quite a bit about selvage edges, fabric biases, rotary cutters and using a sewing machine. In the end he had enough strips for several nine patches and he was quite please with where it was going. I don’t know if I was more pleased at how long he’d hung in there, or the fact that being a military family we can still be a quilting family too. It’s just cool to me.

I continued on with my twisted new project, realizing I was in deep doodoo with the amount of math involved. Eldest sprang to my rescue sprouting out numbers and angles left & right. I said “Listen to me, I just need to know how long to cut each side of the triangle” and he insisted that I listen to his explanation of how he got to those numbers (He had a point, after round one of triangles there would be 6 more rounds of triangles in proportionately bigger sizes). But I don’t do math well and all I really wanted was the math done & the size of the triangles given to me. I can cut them out just fine, once I know what size they are. The Dad understands my need of just the answer. And I thank the Dad for having set to example that quilting with me is good. I’m going to choose to believe that is is good family bonding and leave it at that. I am thankful my boys help me sort out my quilting dilemma’s... now if only the days were longer and I could quilt some more without feeling like I'm falling over... all would be perfect.

The Snoring Duo

The Dad is out in the field, leaving me all alone, um, all alone with all the kids that is, in my big, new-to-me house. I’m blessed with Squareboy and daughter tangled together in my covers snoring away in contradicting rhythms. Very non-conducive to sleep. Or maybe it’s the big, new-to-me house. It creaks. Creaks I don’t know and have me feeling jumpy. Me thinks we need a dog. But, shhhhhhhhh, don’t let the kids hear me think that!

Actually, today, a great day today, daughters teacher stopped by the house! Just because I’d shared the new address, for daughter to learn you know, and it turns out she lives down the street. Teacher had to walk her doggies anyway and stopped by to say “hi”. I absolutely love the south! People stop by! I feel loved and not cold-shouldered like in the Land of Ice & Snow. Teachers doggies are rescues. Poor Pepper is very jumpy, I scared her with my enthusiasm and I still feel just terrible about it. The poor doggy just ran as fast as she could, as far as her leash would take her, the opposite direction of me. Marcy on the otherhand, “careful she bites”, loved me! Could be because I was quickly wolfing down a snack when I heard them walk into the backyard and Marcy smelled the snack fresh on my hands. Marcy is a grouchy little bassett/dachshund mix who loves, loves, loves food. And me. Anyway, once again I derail myself, anyone ever finish a whole one of my blogs? And comprehend it? Anyone? Obviously Teacher couldn’t very well come in, Pepper and Marcy couldn’t be left alone and, well, I have no outdoor furniture to entertain on, so me, Squareboy & daughter walked teacher home. Down the street my foot. The woman lives like 4 blocks away. Rural North Carolina blocks. Me wearing my cute, but very unpractical, walking clogs. Squareboy and daughter jumped and chatted the whole way. In between their squeals teacher gave me the rundown of all the neighbors. Well, really, the neighbors dogs. She is definitely a dog person. Along the way we met Lynne and 3 of her rescue dogs. I think rescuing dogs is the accepted social grace out here. Lynne rescues golden retrievers exclusively. How the heck a beautiful, gentle, expensive breed like a Golden ever needs an exclusive rescuerer truly boggles my brain. Still, Lynne was a sight to behold. We couldn’t get too close because Golden #1 refuses to be leashed and has hip displasia on top of it… and Pepper tends to act tough with dogs, just not with scary 5’2” me. So standing half a North Carolina block apart, we met Lynne. Pepper straining at the leash, Marcy sniffing for non-existent food, Golden #1 laying down & not caring at all about anything but resting his poor hip, Golden #2 barking uncontrollably and Golden #3 holding his leash in his mouth and leaning back like a stubborn pony refusing to go forward. Where’s the video camera when you need one?Crap. Rambling. The house is still creaking and I keep losing my train of thought. I’ve checked on each kid, even Eldest-who-can-now-drive, at least three times. Back to my thought in paragraph one, you know, the one about needing a puppy? While wandering the neighborhood and meeting the neighors I learned that Lynne is looking at a 7-month old Golden puppy tomorrow. Maybe our puppy. Depends what exactly the rescue situation is. I even called the Dad, to leave a voicemail and darned if he didn’t have reception where no soldier should have reception, and the Dad didn’t say no! The Dad is a cat person. I really, really would feel better with a doggy at my side on the nights he is in the field. In my big, new-to-me house that I absolutely love, but scares me in the middle of the night. I’d better go try to sleep again. Sitting here typing, whining, is not going to help me nod off. At least the bed will be cozy and warm from Squareboy and daughter, if not quiet.

Shiny, Sparkley Snowmans

Here’s to try #2, back to working on the formatting. I now know I can’t fix any typo’s…. pssst, did you know Faithfull is spelled with only one “l”. I know this, apparently the computer doesn’t & it sure won’t let me fix it. I will forever be staring at Faithfull and forever be aggravating over the extra “ l”

The week before Christmas we bought a house. It went amazingly smooth and amazingly quick. I felt so incredibly blessed to be going from a 3-bedroom apartment to a 5-bedroom house, with more than twice the space. Little did I know how much stuff can be crammed into a 3-bedroom apartment. I found out the hard way when the Dad’s dad came down with leukemia that same week. He hadn’t been feeling well for a while, but an infection finally got him into the doctor, only to be confronted with a lot more than he imagined. A couple of days later t he Dad flew out to New Mexico to be at his side. I truly believe his presence at his father’s side saved The Dad’s dad life. However, his absence at home did leave me moving our junk the week before Christmas. I threw away as much as I could, I believe I filled the apartment dumpster (for 300+ units) all by my lonesome, still the new house soon housed junk from end to end.

In between the kids & I managed to decorate not one, but two! Christmas trees. Our steady, dare I say, old Faithfull, fake tree and a “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree given to me by the Dad. It had been last on the lot & completely free, and to me, perfect. It smelled just right, it held exactly the right amount of ornaments. MY ornaments. And while everyone else made fun of it, it was my little oasis that very hectic week.

Sometimes it is very hard to look at the bright side. Luckily shiny, sparkly snowmans dangling from a tree make it very hard to ignore happiness. My father-in-law made it through his crisis, the Dad got to spend some incredibly valuable time with his dad and our boxes are in our house. The kids have smiles on their faces and their voices echo through the huge space we now have. Life is good.