Sticky Surprise

My kids, like most kids, love treats. Candy, chocolate, lollipops - you name it, they love it. No, the obsess over it. I think they start every day with the thought 'what good deed can I do (or say I did) to get a treat?' Obviously I have mistakenly used treats as a means to reward good behavior. The problem is that the high five lost its novelty years ago. So, I motivate with treats. Sue me, Dr. Oz.

This past year I really have tried to transform our diet (sometimes to my husband's chagrin) into a more balanced and healthy one. Therefor, the treat days are numbered. In an effort to transition away from the treats, I introduced sugar-free gum. Now-a-days they have a bazillion and one flavors available unlike the blue Trident I grew up with. So I thought I am on to something here! What a selection! With names like Fabulous Fruitini and Sangria Fresca, where could I go wrong?

My soon-to-be 3 year old has quickly adopted the use of gum as a motivator. She loves, loves, loves gum. In fact, every time we get into the car (which with 3 kids, I am sure you can imagine how frequent that occurrence takes place) she pleads for a piece of gum. Seeing as she is merely 3 and may not get the concept of chewing without swallowing, I started her off small. A tiny piece here, a tiny piece there. She learned quickly.

One night, as I do every night, I went to pat Lyla's back to get her to sleep. I can thank the daycare for that little trick. Anyway, as I started patting, I realized that my hand was remaining connected to her pajamas. Little piece of gum, anyone??? The next day, a similar thing occurred. I went to take Lyla out of her car seat and her leg had this really long string attaching her leg to the strap. Another sticky surprise.

Once again, my brilliant ideas aren't turning out to be so brilliant. And I thought I had this parenting thing down.

Life can be cruel

I have been doing a bazillion things, as most mothers do. Juggling shuttling kids to and from camp, tending to my business, trying to keep my house in order - I said trying. I have been so tired, my fuse has been shorter than usual. Needless to say a lot of yelling this week. It doesn't help that my monthly visitor came this week. What I am getting at is all I really wanted this week was an uninterrupted 1-2 hour nap. That is all.

It may not seem like much, but to me this little nap would give me the gift of peace and rejuvenation. Monday didn't work out since we had too many errands to run. Tuesday was a repeat performance. Wednesday NO ONE would nap. I tried and tried, but alas no sleepy time for the little ones. Today, the youngest finally fell asleep. My middle was drifting off. I could see the light. I could touch it, taste it...As I laid down into my comfy bed and started to drift off, the door opened.

Maura: "Mom, I can't sleep."
Me: "Just come in here and lay down. I will even turn on your show."

I was desperate. However, she didn't sleep. She didn't even rest. I think she moved every 4-5 minutes. So, once again I did not get any rest. Instead, I took an invigorating shower. I came out of the shower to find Maura sleeping. Life can be cruel.

Taboo Parenting Topics

When you become a parent, you join an elite (?) club of folks that can relate to your sleep-deprived rants, your love/hate relationship with your children and your many stories of the crazy things your kids do and say. However, I feel a little cheated with certain topics. There are secrets in this club that are not being exposed. Maybe that is the wrong term to use.

One particular topic that has me baffled is masturbation. I just read that sentence. Let me rephrase...No parent ever talks about what to do when your young child has an obsession with humping. Why is that? I feel cheated that no seasoned veteran parent had the generosity to share this possible eventuality. I know it is an uncomfortable topic, but couldn't someone have warned me that girls do this? And then proceeded to share with me how to address it? We can't be the only parents going through this.

Is it a phase? Is my daughter going to be an adult entertainer? (Please lord, spare me the horror.) Is she lacking something in her diet? Is she not getting enough sun? And what do we do? Post signs in public areas of the house? NO HUMPING ALLOWED. If only she could read. Do we tell her if she continues her hand will fall off? She's going to be in therapy one day anyway. Why not give her some good material? Should I have a siren that blares every time she does it? She'll move her hand to cover her ears, right?

Perhaps no one shared their experiences because they, too, had no idea what to do. Well I am here to tell you that once I have figured out how to handle the situation, I will let you know. I am breaking this code of silence!

An evening cut short

To celebrate my husband's birthday and father's day, we went out on a much needed date at a fabulous restaurant in town. The plan was to eat, drink and be merry, then meet up with some friends later to see a band. At the end of the meal, our sitter called me. BIG red flag. She never calls. The conversation went as follows:

Liz: We have a problem.
Me: What kind of problem?
Liz: Maura said the f-word so I sent her to her room.
Me: Ok.
Liz: There's more. She then cut off her hair while I was down stairs with the other two.
Me: Did she cut a lot off?
Liz: Ummm...yeah. Like her whole head.
Me: Oh my. I am so sorry. We will be right home.

I am afraid to say that Liz was right. Liz found a trail of hair from my office to my son's room. The scissors she used were kids' craft scissors - the only ones within reach in an effort to avoid this kind of scenario. Apparently, I was outsmarted by a 4-year old - again.

Maura is now sporting a pixie cut with whispy side burns, a tail perfectly centered in the back of her head and chunks of hair missing over her ears. It is quite a stunning masterpiece. No worries. I took plenty of pictures to torture her with when she is older. I cannot wait.

What you can learn from being silent

People that know me know that I am not one to sit silent for long. I have a lot to say, even about things I may not know about. It doesn't matter. If it's a topic, I have an opinion. Regardless, as I age (I sound so mature, don't I?) I am learning there is much value in listening and allowing a conversation to unfold without my interjection. I know, it's taken me a long time to figure this one out. The important thing is I AM figuring it out.

Case in point. Today was a very busy day. I felt like a chauffeur, schlepping my kids to their different camps on the opposite side of the state (so it seemed). By the time I had picked up the last kid, I was worn out and the idea of conversing with three children for the 40 minute ride home was less than appealing. So I listened to their day, what they accomplished and who was there, etc.

This is what I learned in those 40 minutes. My son overcame his fear of heights as he climbed a 35 foot rope - because "that is really high, mom." He did cry for me at one point, but he overcome that, too. Whew. All of a sudden he transformed into this mature little dude. Could it be? Then it was confirmed...Maura and Gage engaged in a conversation atypical of a 4 1/2-year old and 9-year old, I think.

Maura (in a nails-down-a-chalkboard whiny voice): Mom, Shayna is 5 and she has a TV in her room. Why can't I have a TV in my room?

Gage: Maura, we don't judge people by what they have. We judge them by who they are.

Maura: I wasn't talking to you, Gage. And I am not judging her! She is judging me because I don't have a TV in my room!!!!

I drove in silence and disbelief. I learned so many things in that brief interaction. Now I know how to motivate Maura into listening to me.....(insert evil laugh)....hahahahaha.

Money

I believe it is important to teach children the value of money, how hard it is to earn it and how easy it is to spend it. Part of that lesson includes the importance of saving. Our kids have been begging - and I mean truly begging - to go to Disney World. I hear at least every other day, "Mommy, when can we go to Disney?" Ugh. So, my response has been, "As soon as we save enough money." I think this may be in the process of backfiring.

My children are now obsessed with money. Truly. If they see any coin in any place - dirty or not, they will lunge for it, knocking things and people over just to have that penny, nickle or dime. It can be quite embarrassing when this mad dash occurs in public. They are not grasping the concept that all of our money is shared and that it doesn't matter who gets the coin or dollar. Nor are they grasping the fact that when this happens in public, people look at us with shock and pity in their eyes. Ok...maybe I am being dramatic. But you get the point.

And due to my 'lesson' on how to value money, I have created money hungry monsters. Recently when watching Spongebob Squarepants that featured the greedy Mr. Crab, Maura was watching with intensity. She then looked up from the television, pondered for about 2 seconds and then admitted, "Mom, I like money as much as Mr. Crab." GREAT.

So, when you see my kids' faces on the front page of the Wall Street Journal for working in cahoots with Bernie Madoff, you can blame me and my bright idea.

Look Ma, No Hands!

The recent legislation to ban hand held cell phones while operating a motor vehicle has got me thinking. I know...look out. Those who are lobbying heavily for this law to go into effect, must not spend much time behind the wheel when multiple children are in the car. Now this is pure speculation but my assumption is based on the fact that most legislators are men and I am thinking that these same men rarely shuttle little ones everywhere.

What does one have to do with the other? Well, if you are a parent of children and spend a good portion of your life in the car as I do, you recognize that there are times (more often than you care to admit) you don't have two hands on the wheel, much less one. Not only am I a wife and mother, I am a chauffeur, stewardess, tour guide, the cleaning crew and referee. And I could be ALL in just a short 10 minutes ride. Frightening.

Case-in-point: On my commute to the gym yesterday, my daughters must have asked me 20 questions in succession. I had little time to focus on anything else but answering them. Because if I didn't answer, their pitch would have gotten higher, the volume louder and the questions repeated 1 million times, or so it seems. (On a side note, I think my daughter may have a career as an auctioneer.) Then to throw in a little action, Maura started arguing with me on which way I should turn to get there. She wanted to change it up a bit and take a different route. SHE IS FOUR!

Then I had to calm the natives because their juice boxes were empty and they were DYING of thirst. Following that, my 2-year old dropped her baby and was shrieking until I reached behind the seat to get it for her. Super safe, I am sure. Maura somehow found a pen and was about to doodle on my leather car door. I slammed on the breaks to get her attention since she did not answer my repeated requests to hand me the pen. Slamming DID in fact work, by the way.

My 2-year old wanted the music louder so she could hear it. My 4-year old wanted their favorite song on (So What, by Pink - or as they lovingly call it - the Nanna song or the Rock Star song). My 2-year old wanted the pen that I took from the 4-year old. The 4-year old wanted the heat on because she was cold. "Or a blanket will do." Ummm...okay, your highness.

Needless to say, I could argue that this ride was much more dangerous than if I was on my cell phone. At least then I would have only had two things to concentrate on - the road and the call.

Potty Talk

Yesterday my 4-year-old daughter, Maura, tried to convince me that potty talk is funny. She spent a good 10 minutes bestowing the many virtues of potty talk - how it sounds funny, how the topic itself is hilarious, etc. Her father would be so proud. After hearing her arguments, Judge mommy ruled that while Maura may find potty talk to be funny, it is an inappropriate topic to discuss in public. Court adjourned.

Fast forward to this morning. What a horrible morning. My son, Gage, was in a foul mood and decided I was a great target for his hostility. He didn't wish to cooperate with me on anything - from finishing his homework, to getting dressed and brushing his teeth. We ultimately had it out to the point that many parents reach. The point when you have an out-of-body experience, look down on the situation and realize that you have officially lost your shit. At that point, I immediately stopped and simply walked away quietly.

So you are probably wondering what this has to do with Potty Talk. Well, as we are driving to school (yes, he missed the bus because of the heated battle) I calmly said to Gage, "Buddy, we need to figure out a better way to handle your homework, and the way we communicate. This just isn't working. What do you think?" He replied, "I agree, Mom. I have an idea on how to make it better." Okay...progress. He went on to describe how we could make things better.

I gingerly continued, "I don't want to yell. I don't want to fight. It makes me feel like poop. It make you feel like poop. Who wants to feel like poop?" As this was a rhetorical question, I certainly did not expect the following. 2-year-old Lyla joyfully exclaims, "I do!!" Well, Gage and I had a good laugh - a much needed comic relief.

Moments pass until I hear Maura say in a knowing voice, "See, Mom? I told you potty talk is funny." Always has to have the last word.

Mornings

When I worked outside of the home, my mornings consisted of 60 minutes of torture to get the kids dressed, fed and out the door followed by my commute to work. While those 60 minutes were sometime hellish, I knew that my time was soon coming so I suffered through with little complaint. I savored my morning commute. It was 30 minutes of me time. Time to reflect, time to recharge, time to jam out, time to enjoy the silence, time to not have to talk or deal with anyone. Now don't get me wrong, I genuinely like people and my children. I think I just would prefer them in smaller doses.

My mornings now consist of the same 60 tortuous minutes filled with different battles. Me battling to wake up as I stay up way too late so I can have some time to look for work, read to keep my mind sharp, watch television shows that aren't cartoons are feature some furry animal. It also includes the battle of waking my son who seems to whine more and more these days. Once he does rise from his slumber, he is grumpy, non cooperative and moves slower than any human being I know. I wonder if he does it intentionally knowing it drives me crazy. I like to move fast. He will drop to the ground in a fit of whiny convulsions if I even mention the words, 'hurry up.'

Now while he is having a devil of a time getting motivated to move faster than a snail in slow motion, the girls are demanding to be fed immediately lest they wither away and die from starvation. After all, it's been 11 hours since they last fed their needy bodies. This is occurring in harmony with the dog who is jumping in circles in the air, crying and running up and down the stairs at mock 10 to get noticed in case I 'forget' to feed her breakfast.

Every step of the way is painful. Each activity - dressing, putting on shoes, brushing teeth - is started with a whimper or whine. It's like finger nails down a chalk board for me. Truly. This morning, Gage was whimpering in the bathroom after I asked him to brush his teeth.

Me: What is wrong, Gage?
Gage: It's just so difficult!
Me (thinking): How can brushing your teeth be difficult?!?!?!
Me (saying): What is so difficult, honey?
Gage: Life.
Me: You have no idea.

And that pretty much sums it up. What an insightful little boy! And to think that whole process was only 30 minutes long! I'll save sharing the next 30 minutes for another time. When I do finally get through that hour of sour, I manage to get the rest of the clan out the door - either to the gym or coffee shop. I pity the fine people at Starbuck's or LA Fitness that see me on occassion after surviving the morning wars. I enter, hair disheveled, crooked smile with god-knows-what kind of outfit on. If they only knew what I endured to get there with no jam session, silence, reflection or recharge. It's a scary sight.

Me and My Shadow

Having a shadow has a whole new meaning for me. Last night I dared to venture outside the home AND be honest about my departure with my children. Two out of three were okay with my temporary absence, however as you may have already guessed, Maura was not at all okay with it. In fact, quite the opposite.

She was sitting eating her dinner with no issue. When I announced that I had to run out for an hour, she evolved into miserable Maura - shrieking, yelling and essentially freaking out. I tried to minimize her tantrum in hopes she would calm down and in hopes my husband didn't go into panic mode because I was leaving. I dashed for the door when I thought I had a few feet of room. She pursued. I shut the garage door. She tried to open it. I held it tight so she couldn't get out. Then, nothing. Whew.

As I walked to my car door, I see Maura climbing into the back seat of my car. How the? What the? The bugger went out the front door and into the garage when I thought she had given up. I should know better!!!

My husband and I then spent the next 10 minutes trying to peel her from the difficult-to-reach third row. She was holding on for dear life. I think the finger dents are still on the cup holders. Once we did get her back into the house, she was inconsolable. I sped out of there faster than any Nascar driver. No chance for another Maura siting. My husband called two times. I finally turned the phone off. I needed a break. I guess he did, too. He sent her upstairs to calm down. So what did she do? I'll give you three guesses. No, she did not fall asleep from exhaustion. No, she did not continue to cry in her room. No, she did not lay in my bed so she could feel close to me. No, not Maura.

She proceeded to find the dullest pair of baby nail scissors (and only pair since I hid the other scissors from her) and proceeded to cut the beautiful braid that lined her angelic face - at an angle, no less. When Jim discovered this, she was so proud of herself. After all, "isn't it beautiful, daddy?"

My shadow is evil. There. I said it.

photo courtesy of www.gr5.org.

Gage-isms

Gage says the funniest things. So I decided to write them down and share them.

1) I am Jewish and Jim is Catholic. We have always explained to our children that they are half of both since that is where they come from. Last week my mother gave Gage a kipah (the beanie that Jews wear on their heads). He loves it and wears it around the house. Last night he said, "Mom and Dad, I can wear the kipah on half of my head since that is the Jewish half."

2) Gage gets very enthusiastic when he plays baseball. He was up to bat and he yelled, "Bring it on!" The pitch ended up hitting him. He shook it off and then yelled even louder, "OK. You're going DOWN!" The pitch hit him again. Hard. He cried and limped off the field. What are the odds? And I couldn't help but laugh.

3) When Gage lost his last tooth, he was distraught because out dog, LuLu, ate the tooth before he could make the exchange with the tooth fairy. But when he woke the next morning to find $2 under his pillow, he said as he shrugged his shoulders, "Well, the tooth fairy must have looked inside my mouth and saw the gap and figured she should leave some money, just in case." His dreams will one day be shattered.

The Allure of Wipes

I have not yet figured out why my girls insist on playing with baby wipes. I mean, don't they know how much they cost? Can't they use a towel, napkin or other object used for wiping? Of course not. That would make my life easier.

I was trying to work in my office which is only five feet from my bedroom door. And by working I mean trying to enjoy stimulating topics on line for me to keep my atrophying mind as sharp as possible. My mind is weakening so that I often forget that when I hear my girls singing a happy tune in harmony or when I simply witness silence, it means that they are creating some kind of destruction.

This day was no different. I was so ecstatic that I was getting 45 minutes of uninterrupted mental stimulation, I mistook their sweet humming for bliss. Actually it was bliss - for them. They had gotten into the box of wipes (with shea butter, no less) and proceeded to help me clean my room. They took to the lamps, the bed, the dresser, the armoire, the mirrors, the TV - you name it, they wiped it. How do I know this? Aside from the film that covered every above-mentioned item, there were about 50 to 60 crumpled up wipes that littered by bedroom floor.

When I walked in on this discovery, my instant reaction was, of course, to yell. As I started to raise my voice, Maura innocently says, "But Mommy, we were just helping."

I stopped yelling and realized once again, I will miss that nomination for the mother of the year award.

Am I Dirty?

The other afternoon, I got a much needed 15 minute reprieve from the kids so that I could take a shower. I even had a chance to shave - a true luxury. I was getting ready for a meeting for a professional women's group that I started. It was our first meeting and I wanted to be there early, be organized, etc.

Now my 4 year-old has been having major separation anxiety. She tells me all of the time that she never wants me to leave her and that I must stay near her at all times. I am not allowed to leave - ever. No pressure, huh? So I have gotten into this terrible habit of lying to her about my plans and leaving when she is not looking. I know, I know...that is the worst thing to do. But at the time it feels sooo liberating. I now know what a jail break feels like.

I digress. So on this particular day I exited the shower to find Maura standing there - arms folded, glaring at me.

I innocently said, "Hi!"

Maura: Where you are going?

Me: Why do you think I am going anywhere?

Maura: Because you got a shower.

Me (thinking): Why do I have to be going somewhere? What are you really saying?????

Me: I am just getting clean and getting dressed.

Maura: OK.

Me (thinking): Crisis averted for now.

But this conversation got me thinking...do my kids think that I only shower when I am going out? And is that reality or opinion? I am sorry to say that after a week of assessment, they are correct. Aside from going to the gym, I only shower when I go out...shameful, but honest.

Then it really hit home that maybe I need a lesson on how to be clean when the following conversation occurred.

Me: Kids! Clean up this darn play room NOW!!!!!

Maura: Why? Because people are coming over?

Me: No...because I want you to clean it up.

Maura: Who's coming over?

Ahhhh!!!! And now you know why I drink. :)

Why the walls?

My children, much like other children, love to draw. They are constantly raiding my stash of printer paper to color a picture. I am not sure why since they have their own colorful stash of construction paper, many coloring books and activity books. When they are not raiding my not-so-well-hidden paper, they apparently get bored.

I get that kids need to be doing something during their waking hours. I have come to terms with that painful truth. What I don't get it why they must translate that boredom into doodling on my walls. Thankfully, Gage never had an interest in creating masterpieces on my walls. My girls, however, are an entirely different story.

The girls share a room and their walls look like the cave paintings found in The Cave of Lascaux in France. (Finally an Art History class paid off!) Anyway, the wall art in their room covers 1/3 of the wall space in the room. It's insane. What's more insane is that they are now taking it to the hallway. Until yesterday, I would find little markings here and there. Then, it got bad. Really bad.

While Jim and I were out at a fundraising event for 3 hours, our generous friend, Alison, watched the kids. This is no easy feat for any pro. While we were gone, our little Lyla - you know, the cute one - took the permanent marker to the outside of Gage's bedroom door. When I asked who had done it, the budding artist proclaimed that she was the creator. She was so proud and smiley. After all, who wouldn't want her art work on their door?

When I asked Gage why she did it, he responded, "Mom. I have no idea. She is just as crazy as Maura." So now I have begun the removal of ALL markers, pens and any other writing instrument that can cause harm. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my day.

A Girly Girl

As rough and tough as Maura can be, she is a girly girl to the core. She loves jewelry - I have decided to hide my jewelry box because pieces have mysteriously disappeared only later to be discovered under her bed. She loves clothing - she changes outfits two, maybe three times per day, all dresses. She loves shoes - especially the dress up plastic princess shoes that look like they kill your feet. She loves makeup - I have several tubes of flattened lipstick to prove it. And she loves boys, I think.

Right now our Saturday ritual consists of breakfast, followed by a trip to the the gym, followed by swim classes for both girls at the YMCA. This morning, we decided to go to Starbucks as a treat (and I really needed the caffeine jolt). Maura announced as she so routinely does that she has to go potty. We know that no matter where we go, we will most certainly see the inside of the place's bathroom.

I immediately shouted "NOT IT!" before Jim could even blink. Ha! Yeah for me! Anyway, he could have used the women's bathroom - there was no one else there, no one would have cared, blah, blah, blah...But he chose to subject my girly girl to the men's room. And the rest of the story goes like this.

Maura: Gag, gag, gag, gag, gag, gag....

Jim: Why are you gagging? What is wrong with you???

Maura: It stinks in here! It smells like BOY!!!!!! Get me out!!!!

I took pleasure in that.

Sacred Object

My son is an amazing person. He is kind, sensitive, thoughtful. He will make someone very happy one day. He can also be slow at doing things. OK, I'll say it. He is like molasses. Even the process of losing his teeth has been a slow one. Not that he has any control over that, it is just par for the course for him.

Initially I was concerned about the fact that at age 9 (in 2 weeks), he has only lost 4 teeth. I asked the dentist, but he assured me that the order in which he is losing his teeth is more important than the pace in which they are lost. What a relief.

When a tooth IS loose, it is a joyous occasion for the family. Gage knows the tooth fairy will be coming, Maura starts wiggling her teeth so she can get some money from the tooth fairy and Jim and I know that our kid is on his way to having all his adult teeth.

The funny thing is that even though Gage knows that a windfall is coming his way, he does nothing to speed up the loosening process. He is one of those people that doesn't pick. I, on the other hand am a BIG picker. If he has a scab, a nail that is hanging on by a thread or in this case, a loose tooth, he treats them as sacred objects. He will not touch them. It's so bizarre to me.

Yesterday I received a call from the school nurse. We are on a first name basis now as we chat A LOT. She informed me that Gage's loose tooth was bleeding and that maybe it was time to lose it. Really??? Ya' think??? Please empathize. My son will not let me go near his mouth. He is afraid of the pain. Puulease....I birthed 3 children. You don't know pain, kid.

Anyway, I digress. When Gage arrived home, the first thing he reported was that his tooth bled at school. I asked if I could pull it for him and then all this nonsense would be over and he could cash it in. I tried to convince him for 20 minutes before giving up. After dinner, I broached the subject again. This time, I asked if I could just look at it. Shame on him for trusting me. I grabbed it and pulled. He shrieked for a moment and then presto - it was out.

He ran downstairs, proud as could be announcing the tooth was out. He carefully wrapped the tooth in a tissue and left it on the kitchen table to be placed under his pillow later. Apparently, our dog Lulu did not get the memo about the sacred swap with the tooth fairy. She jumped up on the table and ate the precious tooth.

Sorry...but I am still laughing.

And for those of you wondering, the tooth fairy DOES deliver even when the tooth is eaten.

Did that just come out of my mouth?

I'd like to think I am a nice person. I have friends, after 12 years of being together, my husband still likes me and I generally don't make people angry. However, I am beginning to think that maybe I am not so nice after all. I mean, some of the hateful things that my mouth utters to my children shocks even me, at times.

After two months of being a stay-at-home-mom, I am still not used to the relentless bombardment of questions about EVERYTHING and the constant noise. In an effort to achieve moments of peace, tranquility and silence, I have found myself saying things to my girls that are embarrassing to admit. It's a lot easier to admit when typing, however. So here it goes.

I have been asking my 4 year-old to stop asking so many questions. I have asked her to stop talking to me for 5 minutes. I have promised her treats for being quiet. I have given my 2 year-old her binky to keep her quiet. I have told her to zip it. I have told my children to leave the room so I can think. I have asked my children if their story is really that interesting before telling it to me. I have told my daughter she won't have any friends if she doesn't learn how to be nicer. And I know there are more, but I just can't think of them all at the moment.

Whew....I feel better now that I have admitted to my horrible mothering tendencies. I never did say I would win mother-of-the-year award. My fate was sealed when I put the dog's ear drops in my son's eye thinking it was his eye drops. But that is a whole other story....

The F-word

We've all said it more than we'd care to admit. Some days I think I say it more than my kids' names. And trust me, I yell their names A LOT. My kids have come to accept that mommy sometimes (or more than I would dare admit to my mother - sorry, mom) says the F-word when she's mad, frustrated, spills something, etc. You get the picture.

My kids also know that they dare not say anything remotely close to the F-word in the event I mistaken that word for the actual F-word. They are no dummies, despite their occasional claims to complete ignorance. So when my son informed me that my 4-year old, Maura, uttered THE word, I immediately went for the sink to get the soap. I never said life was fair. I can say it all day if I so chose. I AM THE MOMMY. So there.

While I was heading to the sink, my husband implored my son to elaborate on the story. What did she say? In what context? Who was she talking to? What was she wearing? He asks for way more details than I care to know.

As I summoned my daughter to the kitchen, Gage reported that Maura had said, "You're a freakin' idiot, Gage." Jim replied, "Are you sure she said freakin'?" Gage stood there in silence as Maura pleaded with her eyes. Time stood still for a moment as I held the soap and all three of us waited for Gage's reply. Finally, he answered. "She said freakin'."

Maura let out a sigh of relief, I placed the soap on the table and Jim chuckled. Never did we address the idiot comment. We were too relieved to have bypassed the cleansing. All the while I am sure Maura was thinking, "Gage, you really are an idiot."

Silence

Ahhhh...the beautiful sounds of silence. When these rare occurances appear, I find myself tiptoeing throughout the house, keeping all noise-making items on low or mute and making sure no one dares ring my doorbell.

After I settle into this state of bliss, I find my mind wondering. I imagine what my life would be like if I had silence like this on a daily basis. I think about the places I'd travel, the different cuisines I'd try, the fabulous shoes I'd own, and so on. I linger here for as long as I can.

I know I should be doing something productive like cleaning, folding laundry, cooking, trying to find work....but sometimes I just can't bring myself to leave this place of serenity. Why? Because these moments are few and far between. Because I know that these moments will appear less and less as time passes and naps disappear. Because ain't nuthin' wrong with daydreaming!

Don't judge me because I am thinking of my escape. I have friends that can relate. It's what no one ever talks about or warns you about when having children. Silence is divine.

Using the Right Words

Today I learned how important it is to teach your children to speak clearly and accurately. For instance, if your child says open make sure they actually mean open and not close. Or if your child says on, make sure they actually mean on and not off.

Why is it so important? (As if I am not going to tell you...) As I was folding the girls' laundry that had been sitting in a basket for over a week, Maura entered her room to tell me that she was washing her hands in my bathroom and could not turn the water ON. I replied, "Just use your bathroom sink since the faucet is new and can turn quite easily." She did and promptly went downstairs.

I continued my folding duties for another 10-15 minutes. I then cocked my head like a dog who has heard a whistle in the distance. Is that water running??? I ran to my bathroom to discover that the sink could not drain the water as fast as it was coming out of the faucet. Water was overflowing on to the floor.

Ahhh....you meant OFF. Crap.

Not laughing at all.

Where's the Remote?

Before having children, I remember thinking that I would never use the television as a form of babysitting. I also remember thinking how awful those parents were that used television in that capacity. I was so naive.

I not only admit to using the TV as a means to entertain the kids so I can focus on whatever it is I need to do, I use it as a means to settle them down. The TV has an effect on my children that puts them into a trance. So when they are loud, jumping on the furniture and tackling one another, the TV serves as a means for me to real them in. That glazed look in their eyes is such a beautiful sight. I know...pathetic. At least I am brave enough to admit this loving addiction I have to the TV. Hopefully that counts for something.

Because of our close relationship with the TV, the remote is a sacred object. When we lose the remote, it is a family emergency. If it didn't sound so outrageous, I'd consider implementing an emergency plan. Life as we know it is paused until we can locate the remote. The power the remote weilds is like a magic wand. It's beautiful. I think there is a tear in my eye.

Now the dilemna is that the TV in our family room is dying a slow and painful death. It's so bad that the kids are trained to hit the TV everytime the picture goes out. We don't even have to ask them to do it anymore. We are trying to be frugal, but we really need a TV that works - for the kids, for me, for my sanity.

So if you have any suggestions on TVs, I am open!

The mind of a 9 year-old

The mind of my nine year-old boy never ceases to amaze me. A quick funny story...we're riding in the car to the gym and the following conversation transpires:

Gage: Mom, what if I farted so much it propelled me all the way up to heaven?

Me: Hmm...well, what you do in heaven?

Gage: I'd visit Mr. Rucker (our deceased neighbor), god, jesus - you know...everyone that's up there.

Me: Boy are they gonna' love you at hebrew school next Fall.

Do you think I can wear earmuffs year-round?

Why is it that when children are asking a question, want something or sharing information, they must repeat it - oh 6 to 7 thousand times? And why is it that after the first 2 thousand times, the volume starts to increase to the point that glass could shatter?

I know...I am exaggerating. But let me tell you, when it is happening that is exactly how it feels. In their tiny precious minds, do they really think the more they ask to do something, the better chance they have of me saying yes? Or do they think that if they ask a bazillion times, it will make me move faster to get that 4th cup of juice? I really wonder about these things. I mean, everything happens for a reason, right? That is today's mantra.

So..back to why? Why do they do this? Call me vain, but I think it is to torture me. I think that all the bad stuff I did as a kid is coming back to bite me in the ass. Call it karma, call it what you wish. Whatever...it sucks.

So, do you think I can wear earmuffs year-round? It certainly would be a good conversation starter. Maybe I could meet some new friends.

I need a black hole

This past weekend, my family and I went to the museum and learned about space and black holes. From what I gathered from the presentation beautifully narrated by Tom Hanks, black holes are believed to be shortcuts from one area of space to another.

Wouldn't that be great??? Because I could sure use a black hole from 1pm until 6pm. During those hours, my usually positive, funny and cute daughters turn into creatures that I could easily leave on someone else's doorstep with a pinned note reading "Homeless". What is it with children that become little monsters in the afternoon? Is that why most pre-schools are in the morning? They recognize that they are more accommodating in the morning?

Everyday it seems that at 1pm, girls formerly known as Maura and Lyla appear (not like Prince). They are short-tempered, bossy, refuse to listen, spontaneously fall to the ground and weigh 20 lbs heavier that I struggle to pick them up...it's truly amazing. And it gets better when my son, Gage, gets home from school. He instantly feeds off this bad juju and becomes a candidate for world wrestling entertainment. He performs wrestling moves on the girls, throws pillows around and basically drives me to the brink.

The girls then morph into super princesses, heroines that perform flying leaps off the furniture, hit people and things with their magic wands - all while singing a happy tune. It's pretty frightening.

So...someone, find me a black hole. I'll gladly give up the afternoon and go from eating lunch to eating dinner...

Crying then, trying to laugh now.

Monday Ambitions

When I worked outside of the home, I had a routine, a schedule. I had to get my son on the bus at 8:15. I had to get the girls to daycare immediately after as I had to be at work between 8:45 and 9am. I loved that.

I have been trying to create a routine for myself and the girls without great success. On Sunday night, I make a list of that I wish to accomplish and a timeline. I like to include a trip to the gym. It makes me feel good, there is a child care there and I can have some me time. The key is that the child care is only open from 8am-noon and 4pm-8pm. That means that I have to be at the gym by 10am if I really wish to maximize my visit there.

Well, it is now 10:15am and here I am typing. Maura did not wish to cooperate this morning. In fact, I really haven't accomplished a thing yet. So much for an ambitious Monday.

If anyone has any suggestions, I am open.

Maura

To understand Maura is to recognize that while only four, she is a very complex person. There are many layers to this onion. And what an onion she is. She can be so sweet, but in an instant can make you cry. She is a free spirit, highly energetic, very opinionated and remembers EVERYTHING.

So you get a better idea of her, here are some Maura stories.

At age 1, she repeatedly dialed 911 and hung up without my knowledge. When the 911 operator called back, I explained that my child had dialed and apologized for the confusion. 10 minutes later the police arrived. We had to present the child to the kind officers so that they understood who did the calling and that, in fact, we were all okay.

At age 2, Maura found our lavendar massage oil and because it 'looked so pretty cuz it was purple' she decided to drink 1/2 the bottle. I think we had 4-5 calls to Poison Control that year.

At age 3, I liked to shower with Maura rather than bathe her because frankly, I was lazy. She loved taking showers with me. After some time, she started noticing that my body had these things called breasts, or boodies as she so lovingly called them. One day as we were exiting the shower, I noticed Maura staring at my boodies. She then made eye contact with me and with the most serious hushed voice she asked, " Can I touch 'em?"

In a matter of moments, all these thoughts were rushing through my head...should I let her and then it will be over? No big deal? If I say no, will she become more fascinated? Ahhh!! Where is the handbook when you need it?

I agreed to let her touch 'em. I leaned over expecting a little poke or prod. In stead, what did she do? She tweaked my nipples. I jumped what seemed to be 10 feet high. As I looked at her in disbelief, she says, "I want some."

Late last year, during one of my many hasty mornings trying to get 3 kids to school before managing to get myself to my full-time job a 1/2 hour away from home, I heard a faint panicked sound coming from my room. I was dressing Lyla, the 2-year old. I ran into my room to discover that not only did we own superglue, Maura had managed to glue her hands together.

In an effort to repair a torn book that she had ripped, she found the superglue her father had purchased the night before. I stood there stunned. Now what? All I can say is thank goodness for nail polish remover.

That's just a few of the many Maura stories. I am sure there will be more to come.

Am I Manic?

My days are like intense roller coast rides. This morning is a perfect example. After my usual night of interrupted sleep for someone's trip to the bathroom, I awoke to the sweet sound of my children giggling. I savored that moment for about 10 seconds. It was a glorious 10 seconds. Then came the, "MOM!!!"

I am so used to that alarming roll call that I have learned to tune in out, or chosen to tune it out. Either way, I did nothing while my heart started pounding and my blood pressure started rising. On this occasion, there was no need to flee my warm bed. The alarm was silenced by the next activity to capture their attention.

I would have made all those perfect-looking moms on the Food Network proud with my breakfast today. Pancakes, turkey-bacon, fruit. My middle child, Maura, decided to snatch a piece of bacon off the plate while I was finishing the pancakes. No big deal, right? Well, not two minutes later she is in the kitchen gagging on the bacon. Apparently she doesn't like bacon?

Now for anyone that appreciates that gagging can be contagious for those that have weak stomachs, feel for me. Maura and I spent the next five minutes gagging in harmony. I braced myself. I thought I was going to pass out. I had to force myself to eat that beautiful breakfast. It was horrible.

And to think, it's not even 9am.

Barely laughing...

How did I get here?

In my high school senior year book, there was a page devoted to "Seniors Approach the Year 2000 with Varied Expectations." At the top of the list is a photo of me with the caption "Melissa expects a large family to occupy her time." The story proceeds with my expectation of having at least four or five children. WHAT? I obviously had NO idea how much energy and MONEY kids require.

Funny thing is, I had my first child in 2000. But that didn't stop my ambitions. I continued to work full-time with determined drive and the ridiculous belief that I could manage it all AND have perfect children, house and husband. Again, WHAT?

Looking back, I am really not sure how I got here as I sit in my quiet house with the kids finally in bed. All I know is that one day I was at the 2009 Presidential Inauguration and the next I was being told that my position had been eliminated. And here I sit.

I suppose my prophecy at 17 was correct. My children are occupying my time. Too bad I have no idea what I am doing.

Laughing a crazed, pathetic, maybe-no-one-will-notice laugh...

About Mel

Thanks to the economy, I have recently become a stay-at-home mom after working full-time for many years. I have three children - ages 9, 4 and 2. I will be married 10 years this year and it's a miracle we both survived one another. Alas, we are here. I am here...this is my story.

As a mother of three, one would think I have my act together. And sometimes I can sell that I have my act together. But underneath it all, my spirit is yelling 'help!' The problem is I was raised Jewish. Well, that is not necessarily a problem, but the guilt that goes along with that identification can cut like a knife.

So my struggle is figuring out how to laugh at the absurd, how not to let my children make me cry and to say sane enough that my friends still like me - all without that underlying nagging feeling that I am wronging my children.

I figured I start documenting my tumultuous and entertaining life. At least I find it entertaining. I hope you do, too.