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.