What was I really thinking? OR I should know by now to lower my expectations! BUT BEING A PARENT IS AWESOME!!!

So, this weekend I was due at Fort Hood in Killeen, Texas for the annual Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors. This is such an amazing organization! They offer support and services for survivors of someone that has served in the armed forces and died. Active duty, vets, suicide, cancer, vehicular accidents, training accidents, whatever – TAPS is there. For the past several years, I have helped guide the adult siblings sharing group. This is the groups of “older” (hate that term) siblings, aged 18 or older, who had a sibling pass.

For those of you that don’t know me well, my brother, SPC Frank Stokes served in the Army from  1998 until 2002. He was a Sapper who endured KFOR in Kosovo, endured Level-Four cancer, surgery, got married to a trollop, suffered from survivor guilt from those lost in the KFOR tour and wasn’t able to be deployed to Iraq because you have to be cancer-free for at least five year before deployment. He had PTSD and TBI from an incident in Kosovo. Ultimately, he suicided on active duty in a total shithole civilian hospital because, at the time, the armed forces didn’t get it. Well, isn’t that a warm and fuzzy introduction. Now let’s send Debbie Downer out of the room and get down to sarcasm.

During the week prior, the two littles did Gamma Camp. The plan was for them to come back Wednesday afternoon so Simon could go to tutoring and a doc’s appointment Thursday morning. Well, unbeknownst to any of us, sister-in-law and her two kiddos decide to join the fun and somehow, my 13 year old nephew winds up staying at our house Wednesday night – it’s all good. Everyone, but me (who is washing clothes and packing), goes back to the Little House in Bear Creek. This is where it takes a turn – make sure your safety bars are ALL the way down…

First, my crew doesn’t get home until after 9:00 p.m. Christopher and Shelby haven’t packed and the littles need to eat, bathe, and get in bed. Of course, as we can all predict, the next morning is a disaster of epic proportions. No one wants to get up. Everyone takes their own sweet time. I am about to either pull out my hair, beat the bejeezers out of all of them, and/or start drinking. Since I am facilitating a sibling share session at 2:30 p.m., I refrain from all three. Stupid me.

As we walk in the door to Gamma Camp to drop everyone off, they receive a call that Shelby’s step-dad’s mother, who recently broke a hip, has taken a turn for the worse and needed to be put on ventilation. Gamma said that the kids could stay, but even I couldn’t be that heartless. So off we all went for a three hour tour, a three hour tour.

So the last time we were at The Great Place, as Fort Hood is lovingly called, dear hubby learned that you can bring guns and shoot at the range. While I was in hari-kari mode that morning, I saw him packing some guns but didn’t really pay attention – until I asked him what he brought when we were about halfway there. By saying he brought a few is an understatement. He brought five – two handguns and three rifles – two of which are high-power, semi-automatic. A little skeptical, after all, it is the base where my friend’s brother died in that massive shootout a few years back, I thought it to be prudent to check the website. G-d bless the internet. Apparently you don’t just drive up to a military installment, guns ablaze, and receive a welcome with open arms. There are forms and serial numbers and enough paperwork to make my income tax return look like a Survey Monkey questionnaire on what toilet paper we prefer. And with each ticking of the clock, my cortisol level inches closer to volcanic proportions. And to make matters worse, dear hubby looks at me and says, “I told you I brought some guns.” Really!?!? You didn’t tell me you had an arsenal that rivaled the Branch Davidians until we were almost there?!?!?

So not only do we have to stop at the visitor’s center to spend 45 minutes declaring the guns, we have to pull over at the main gate for an inspection. This entails something like being pulled over in the dark by a police officer – turn on the dome light, announcing every move, and make sloth-like movements all while holding your hands in the air. Not only did hubby have to take apart every single gun to show that they weren’t loaded and that it was made clear the ammo could NOT be anywhere near the weapon (seriously, we took Shelby’s car – there is no place that it is NOT close. Whatever). Might I also add that since they were packed first, obviously, they are on the bottom so everything has to be unloaded to get to them. It looks like a massive search session so that anyone who drove by instantly got on their smart phone to look and see if we were on America’s Most Wanted. So we eventually pass muster and Christopher and I get dropped off at the seminar at 2:25 p.m. for my 2:30 p.m. session. The other three head to the hotel to check-in and go swimming.

Somehow, we made it through the journey, post entry, first day of the seminar, and check-in to the hotel. Oh, and I also located my dad among the over 200 attendees and unknown number of military mentors for the kids. I have to confess that I was concerned. My dad can be somewhat of an introvert if he doesn’t have the by-in for what is going on. Well, not knowing anyone and us being late didn’t help my apprehension for his “enjoyment.” So, I guess, I got into hyperdrive. I posted the plea to help find my dad and help him feel welcomed. I SO should have known better. On Saturday morning, he collared me. Apparently, my mother saw my post and sent out the gendarmes and it got back to my father.  Duly noted. No more public service announcements! J

Anyway, this is a multipart story that can’t be done in the usual length. You still need to hear about the children’s shenanigans, the interesting people we found, and, of course, the gun range. That last item should give you some insight into what is coming next. So until then, I think this what I signed up for but I’ll let you know what I decide soon! ;)

The circus VS a Sea Cadet OR Seriously, I PAID to create this monster?

So, just for the record, I HATE summer. Not only is it really freakin’ hot and the sweat & sunscreen combo make me break out like a 15-year-old on a ProActive commercial, but I don’t have enough resources to keep the offsprings “engaged” for the entire time they are away from their respective educational domains.

So I happened across a coupon for 50% off tickets to the local tour of Ringling Brothers et al. CJ and hubby wanted no part but hubby took one for the Gipper so we could spend time together. Well, let’s just get settled in for an adventure…

To begin with, Alex doesn’t have any suitable foot wear thanks to a growth spurt. After a quick run to Burke’s, lunch, and pleading that equals the Versailles Treaty, we got out the door sans CJ (because he “doesn’t do circuses”). Really? I mean, I hate clowns with a vengeance, but what about the elephants and tigers? Fine, off we go with two ADD kids and a prayer.

For the love of G-d and all things holy, this experience goes on for almost FOUR flippin’ hours? Yes, we were held hostage. Oh, but not before chasing everyone one in different ways. After having cotton candy, AJ needed to wash his hands. I reminded him to use the restroom which was scoffed at since I am an idiot. We got 15 feet from the restroom and hubby ran into a friend. Ergo, Alex needed to pee. Fine. But AJ wants to go in the boy’s room. Well, since I’m not a boy I can’t go in and since he’s a girl he WON’T go in with me. STALEMATE. Eventually it all works out.

So after viewing the animals up close and personal and getting our kajillion dollars’ worth of snacks, we get into our seats. Unfortunately, we are two seats in from the isle. While the kids pick their seats, Shelby somehow gets the seat next to the overflowing person next to him.  Sorry, honey! After about 15 minutes, hubby decides to move us down the aisle. Thankfully, the seats are way better, but the children aren’t. All AJ wants is a smart device to connect to and Simon has decided to be the moral police. He starts to chide AJ for his inappropriate lack of appreciation for what we did by buying tickets and the sheer fact that this is so AWESOME! All along, I had to endure SJ’s commentary for the length of the show. So not what I had anticipated!

Alright, so many of you read the last installment of the CJ-Recruit Training saga. We’re home, somewhat rested, and ready to go. Or so I think. Over the course of the first few days, he is actually MOPEING! At first, I thought he was just tired and needed the extra time to rest and decompress. Thankfully, the battalion commander created a closed Facebook page for parent of the recruits where they posted photos every few days to ensure that they were not beating or eating our youngsters. Well, of course, once home with access to all things electronic and internet, the cadets joined the page and became something of a small crew of few.

Remember, this is the same child that sent his first snail-mail that started out with, “Dear Mom and Dad, First, I want to say I love you. This place is hell. It was a mistake to come here.” Which, of course, sent me into orbit over the whole, “what have I done to my child?!?!?” syndrome. Subsequent letters improved over time and things were fine by the time I finally saw him, two weeks later, at graduation. There were tears from both parents and recruits. It had been a hard two weeks. Check out the photos on my Facebook page to see the “severity.”

Anyway, back at the ranch Christopher has no idea what to do with this unstructured free time without his group of young Seaman Apprentices. While I will say that it was only two weeks, I’m starting to understand my brother a lot better but that’s another story. While trying to find a job, CJ decided that he would form a neighborhood physical training group modeled on what they did at recruit training. Sure, I’ll bite. Well, he was serious. And accommodating. In order for both hubby and me to participate he started two sessions:  5:30 a.m. and another at 6:30 a.m. How I got into the 5:30 session is beyond me but I’m there – ready for week two of TWELVE to start tomorrow. Midweek, he also started another tract at 5:45 p.m. for the working folk who don’t  have some kind of insane need as the rest of us to look at the neighborhood bats in the wee early hours of the day. So far, he’s got about seven participants and a few others are looking to join. Again, not what I anticipated!

And, to think, I literally paid to create this scenario with my hard earned cash! It was rather ironic that I came to the realization a few days ago that it wasn’t much longer when we could take all three to the same event or outing and they would really be into whatever it was we were doing. What it meant was that they were growing up. What I hadn’t realized is, somehow, I blinked and it has already happened. Really, what would any almost 15-year-old find interesting at a circus? Apparently, aside from the eight motorcycles in a round metal cage and a few animals, they aren’t that appealing to the ten and five year old either? Christopher is taller than I am and runs a boot camp complete with data and stats? On his OWN initiative! That one came out of the blue!  He does still call me “mommy” so that is some consolation.

And Simon. My avid video gamer went from things like “Sack Boy” and “Mario Bros.” to skateboarding games and has taken to wearing flip flops since I can no longer make him wear sensible shoes. Alex starts kindergarten this year! Although we’ve finally got him to understand he will be learning instead of viewing the boobtube all day, he still insists that he is not attending an actual brick and mortar school and, instead, I am going to homeschool him.  Let’s all say it together, “Hari Kari!” Not that I don’t love him and would love teaching him, it is difficult to teach a five year old who thinks he knows more than you do. Just sayin’…

I knew this day would come. I just didn’t expect to happen at lightning speed and get sideswiped like a wreck on 610 at rush hour! I am going to try to be more in the moment and not only after I answer that last e-mail. I’m going to giggle with them when I’m trying to explain the correct pronunciation of asphalt (try it and see what I’m talking about!). When CJ want to have friends over to “hang out,” I will appreciate that he still wants to be here even if it is with his friends and not me. I know that I’ll be uber-sensitive to this for a while and slip as time and appointments and karate and Sea Cadets and Scouts start to pull at me again. Hopefully, I’ll have another epiphany like this week and weekend to be reminded about what is truly important and what it is that I really signed up for!

Where did the time go?

While my last post warned that I might be in exile, unfortunately I never made it out. And here I am facing the yearly conundrum that working mothers everywhere loathe:   summer vacation. Oh, a lot has happened since we last chatted. Kids changed schools, kid got kicked out of school, extended family vacation – you name it, with the exception of a limb detachment (phew, phew, throw salt, etc) we’ve had quite the year.

It was this time last year when I left The Shlenker School after 13 years. Wow! I had “grownup” as an adult there. I started with a 12 month old and left with 13, 9, and 4 year olds.  I lost my brother and watched as my mother fight breast cancer and beat it, but watched my husband’s aunt lose the fight to ovarian cancer. I turned 40! There were good times and bad times but at the end of the day, I needed to move on in the world.

So I landed at Neuhaus Education Center. Another, wow! It was a crazy transformation. It’s funny; there is never a universal definition of normal. However, I totally love where I am and am so thankful the muses that helped me find my way.

On another note, does anyone here know how to clean up an Exxon-Valdez-sized spill of liquid laundry detergent on Saltillo tile? While I was out of detergent, darling hubby purchased a brand-new, full-sized bottle that he placed on top of the washer instead of the drawer underneath. While we were without offsprings for a few minutes, we ran to Lowe’s for some fencing materials. Upon returning home, I found that the spin-cycle had nudged the bottle and it was thrown to the hard floor below. The more water I added, the more bubbly and slippery it became. If I tried a dry towel, the towel stuck to the floor. Of course, my darling spouse was trying to capture the BPesque clean up on his phone’s camera.  Any suggestions would be worthy of sainthood at this time. Okay, so I’m not Catholic but I have some pretty influential friends!

Anyway, a lot have things have changed since we last talked. Much to all our surprises the kiddos have gotten older and bigger – I clearly don’t remember that in the contract. Flash back mumble-something years ago (a few times), “Here is your baby, he’s a boy!” Great! That’s amazing! Not one flippin’ person on the planet informed us that they would grow up.

Alex is obsessed with recording videos. Who knew? Such a narcissistic child. Check out his latest YouTube ready video (for the record, he will NOT be uploading anything)! While a number of you think I am a bad parent (sometimes, myself included), he is only FIVE! No way would I let that happen. But I will share it with you.

Simon is obsessed with video games. I know, I know, it’s such a bad thing. But at this point in my life, I’m just too tired to argue. I will, however, claim victory for a small moment. For some reason unknown to my technologically-inhibited brain, the Playstation 3 locked up for good. Dead as a doornail. It has been several months and you would have thought they were either locked in Gitmo or sitting Shiva. The cries, the moans, the wailing, jeez, shut up, already! I’m surprised they haven’t covered the mirrors and wrent their clothing. Anyway, the patient shall prevail. Simon convinced his dad to move the Playstation 2 from Christopher’s room into the living room and, voila, he has become a skater extraordinaire with the Tony Hawk game. When I suggested he actually went outside and try those moves with the ridiculous amount of ramps and table tops we own, he looked at me like I had lost my mind. Oh, wait, forgot – I’m over thirty…

And finally, Christopher. Well, let’s just say he’s a very different kid. Two weeks ago, we put him on an airplane, alone, to Florida to attend two weeks of recruit training for the United States Naval Sea Cadet Corps. He’s been a part of this organization for almost a year now and LOVES it. Just think of it as the Navy Reserves for the under 18 set. Trains one weekend a month and two weeks a year. The only difference is he can’t get paid and he can’t get deployed. While I’m really thrilled about that last part, uhm, not so much on the first. Can I tell you how much I’ve spent in gas alone hauling him out to Ellington each month?

Anyway, I went to pick him up last weekend and we had some time to kill before our return flight. We decided to go to the National Navy SEAL Museum. Since it was about an hour away, I asked for my phone so I could check in with the warden and his two little charges. CJ politely told me no. Come again? Apparently, they had a safety course and I was informed that talking while driving was dangerous. I could pull over or he would call for me. This is seriously where that whole “do as I say not as I do” thing wanted to kick in and pop him in the back of the head. But since he will driving in the next few years, I behaved and modeled the behavior I wanted him to exhibit. Fine, but he crossed the line on the next one.

Now mind you, I got up at 2:45 a.m. to make a 5:00 a.m. flight on Friday. Had his graduation at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday. Flight bound for Atlanta at 6:35 p.m. Saturday evening, a two hour layover with a group of 30 teenagers in the gate area (thank G-d they didn’t get on our flight), and a 10:25 p.m. two hour flight to Houston. Well, I got on the plane, ordered an adult beverage – I deserved it – and settled in with my book. We land, spend 30-40 trying to get his sea bag, can’t find the car, and are finally loading our bags in the back of the Durango and I get this:  “Oh, and I’m not happy with you.” Really? I spent a small fortune on this little adventure and am worn out and HE is not happy with ME? When I inquire as to the reason of his unhappiness, I am told that I should not have had a drink since I knew I was going to be driving home. I was also told I needed to remember there are others in the car. Okay. Has anyone else ever wanted to slap the crap out of someone because they were right? Oxymoron, I know. Again, I modeled the behavior I wanted him to exhibit. Thanks goodness for those years spent in a classroom of two year olds. The restraint certain came in useful.

On Sunday, my in-laws and a couple of CJ's friends came over to bar-b-que and welcome him home. Right before dinner, he asked if he and his friends could walk to one of the other guy's house. I said it was his decision. Dinner was in 30 minutes and reminded him that his grandparents had come to see him. After a while, I walked into the other room and he was sitting there talking to his grandparents. The other two had apparently decided to go on. So dinner starts and Christopher noticed that one of the guys was outside to pickup his skateboard and out he went. He came back in and I asked him if they were going to be joining us for dinner to which he responded no because he didn't want them in his house anymore if that was the kind of friends that bail on him at his own celebration. And since one of his friends who doesn’t have his license stole his mom’s car to bring the other one back, he certainly wanted NO part of anything like that. I couldn’t tell if I was more proud of him or sad for him!

Okay, so he’s right. And they are all alright. What more can a parent want? Well, let me retract that last question. But things could be worse. I just can’t believe where the time has gone. It’s not like they were gone for years at a time but under my nose this whole time! My worst fears are coming true – in the very near future, they may not need me anymore. But my proudest moments are also coming true – in the very near future, they will be responsible, kind, intelligent, independent members of society. And THAT is what I signed up for.

Holidaze

Remember last time I was telling you about how Alex wasn’t feeling well and had become clingy? Well, it’s back BIG time. He’s sick (four days until Christmas) and stuck to my side again complete with “I’m Sexy and I Know It” looping on the iPad. In fact, he just asked me to get his pants off the ceiling (apparently he flung his pants so high this time they got stuck on the ceiling fan). At least it knocked some of the dust bunnies off so I didn’t have to dust. There’s always a flipside to having an obsessive-compulsive miniature stripper…

This time he is joined by middle child Simon. Simon only has a little ear infection and cold but enough for him to also want mommy. So much so that the other night they invaded my room en masse. As some of you may have seen from the photo, not only did they invade, they claimed it as part of the Monkies Empire complete with a flag raising par to Iwo Jima. Long live the kings. Anyway, since they are both congested it sounded like a Darth Vader convention. Hubby Shelby is smart and hightailed it for the big comfy couch. No sleep for me for two nights, great photo for Facebook, two doctor’s visits, three prescriptions filled, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I also have to pause here to also reflect on my loser-parent-moment-of-the-day. While trying to corral my offspring, pay the bill, and get all the paperwork, a charming Asian couple came in with adorable twin daughters, about four years old, in matching party dresses. Not only are the girls polite and well-behaved, the parents are loaded down with a huge tray of gourmet pastries and a ginormous chocolate cake complete with ganache. If I searched hard enough, I might have had a piece of month-old gum in my purse but I don’t think that would have held up in the competition. Next, the violin playing darlings spring forth with “Happy Holidays!” in unison and them proceed to tell the good doctor “I love you!” What I failed to mention was that while they were saying it, they were also signing it. Apparently, sign language as well as violin are electives being taught at their preschool. The mother sees the miniature candy canes the doctor is giving out and asks if she can have two for the girls. The nurse asks if the girls like it to which the mom replies that they have been discussing candy canes are party of Christmas. Okay. Then is comes out that her girls don’t know how to eat candy because they are never given any because it causes cavities. This while I’m giving both my children their SECOND lollipop to keep them quiet. Let’s all say it together – EPIC FAIL!

And of course, we can’t leave my dear teenager out of the spotlight. You know that adage about cleanliness being close to G-dliness? If that statement is true, Christopher must be roommates with Beelzebub. He leaves a trail of food, packaging, clothing, books, etc. that rivals Hansel & Gretel. Not only is he a slob but has become the ring leader of the neighborhood pee-wee gang. While each of the members are relatively polite, moral, and ethical children; put them together and they collectively have the I.Q. of a butter dish. Prime example: at about 5:30 p.m. my neighbor, the mother of a few of the other members, appears at my door wanting “a word with me.” Oh crap! There are few words that strike fear in my hearts but those are at the top of my list – especially knowing my children like I do. Apparently, the lawn guy of another neighbor just finished spiffing up their yard before Christmas and three of the wee gangsters basically decimated the gravel driveway addition and he, rightly so, wanted them to fix it. I assured the good lady that they would be down tout de suite and walked her to the door. It took all I could to keep from wringing their necks ala Homer & Bart Simpson style. Instead I asked them in that whisper yell what in the hell they were thinking? Clearly, they weren’t!

As they scurried off to do the time for their crime, I tried to get Alex to sit tight in the warm house of which he wanted no part. Fine. We high off down to street to assess the damage. Let me just say an IED couldn’t have sprayed these little black granite rocks any further. They were all over the street, covering the concrete driveway, peppered throughout the lawn and flowerbeds – while I know it’s the season, I am truly convinced the miracle this year was that no windows were broken or eyes put out. Or that my two didn’t get potched till they couldn’t sit down! So the accused set out to right their wrong. With a little help from a couple of parental units, everything was righted. Even after their hard time and a good long, painful lecture, they are back at the video games in the comfort of their own living room. Little pishers!

If any of you out there are looking for the sentimental ending that I usually apply here, sorry – ain’t happenin’. There is nothing uplifting or endearing about the past few days. As I am writing this my two oldest miscreants are playing “Call of Duty: Black Ops.” The middle is acting as the strategist while the oldest is the implementing soldier and they are eerily on target and accurate. I don’t know if I should be afraid or apply camo face paint, find a strategic vantage point, and reload the Nerf gun. If I survive the invasion of the Monkies Empire over the next few days, I’ll keep you posted. Otherwise, send in the gendarmes and look for the next blog in exile…

Family OR The Ties That Bind

A few weeks ago, youngest Alex felt hot and complained of a sore throat – voila, 102° temperature and red tonsils. Since he was supposed to have his well-child check-up the next day, I decided to use it to see if the doctor thought it was a well-child or sick-child. Regardless, he couldn’t go to school. Fast forward 24 hours later and a diagnosis of a virus that must run its course, we wake up to oldest Christopher’s fever and a recurrence of Alex’s. Oh happy day! For the second day in a row, I go into work for an hour or two and return home to telecommute.

A side story must be injected here for anyone to clearly enjoy the irony in this story. Our babysitter’s first grandchild was born that Monday morning. Unfortunately, the baby was premature and had a few issues that, thankfully, the doctors think will right themselves over time. Of course I told Cecilia to spend the week with her daughter and granddaughter – seriously, what could we possibly need? Here is where I am kicking myself for saying these words. Before noon of the second day of self-imposed incarceration, I was ready to lock my “sick” children outside. While my pediatrician doesn’t even take a fever call until it hits 104, youngest Alex’s school takes this fever thing rather seriously. A fever of ANYTHING over 98.6 (aka 98.7) requires a troop of ubber-cadets like that in the movie “Monsters, Inc.” when there was the smallest exposure between a monster and a human child and they swoop in and decontaminate more than Mr. Clean could even fathom!

Fast forward and, thankfully, everyone is better. Pooh-pooh – not to jinx it, just sayin’. However, even with everyone well, there was a little too much together time for even the Waltons. Ever since his “illness,” Alex has yet to leave my side. He follows me EVERYWHERE! I know I should be thankful for this phase because all too soon he will come to consider me a Neanderthal and only expect food, money, and a ride from me. I haven’t even been able to take a shower without my faithful sidekick. That is until just the other day. We were actually in the shower when I bent over to pick up the dropped soap and I hear him exclaim, “WOW! That’s a big butt!” Lately, he’s been locked on the other side of the bathroom door and his only comment has been, “Mommy, are you coming out?”

So as I start my diet, the holiday season is upon us. Clearly there is irony in my sad state of affairs. While I’m trying to diminish my derriere, I decide it’s time to start decorating. This year for some reason I just want to get everything up so I can relax. Hubby brings down the five thousand tubs of décor and I start to promptly unpack to kick start this endeavor. The next day, Christopher is gone all day to a Bat Mitzvah, Shelby is at work, the younger two are occupied, so I decide to continue the process. Up and down the attic ladder hauling a few loads until I smell something foul. I grabbed the wreath bag and head down only to have the smell follow me. I then discovered that it was from the bag which had urine and small animal droppings. Shelby kept telling me he heard something in the attic at night but I regularly pepper the attic with mothballs to keep attic rodents (a.k.a. squirrels) at bay.

So I get my Clorox wipes and clean it off only to be repelled by an even more intense odor when I opened the bag. Apparently the urine went through the zipper and onto all the wreaths and garlands. For those hunter-gather types that douse themselves in deer urine before climbing into a hunting blind, you know how unique that smell is. Well that may be fine when you are hunting but not for my holiday décor. After taking the bag outside and washing everything down with a liberal application of soap, water, clean wipes, and Lysol, I went in to prepare for war. I grabbed my flashlight and mothballs and headed for the attic – I was going to show them who was queen of the attic.

As I start slinging mothballs, I noticed a box right next to where the wreath bag had been. As I shined my flashlight into it, I found it was filled with torn plastic and paper. What in the hell was in there? Let me take you back a few years to Hurricane Ike. Remember when the National Guard was handing out ice and MREs? For those of you not familiar with the military and their need to create acronyms for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING (for instance instead of “car” we have a POV which stands for “privately owned vehicle” - see?), an MRE stands for “meals ready to eat” and consist of dehydrated shrink-wrapped courses complete with some type of warming system similar to those things you crack in half and put in your gloves when it’s cold only this version is on steroids. Well, when we were in the ice line, a nice soldier asked if we needed any of these meals to which my Army-obsessed Christopher shouts out a resounding, “Yes!” In goes a case and off we go. We ate a few of them for kicks and grins but after the electricity came back on we abandoned the case until sometime later. In a round of cleaning I was about to toss them, when darling Christopher begs me to put them with the camping gear because they would make such GREAT meals for his scouting excursions. So up in the attic they go. Until today. I can’t wait till he gets home because he gets to get the box out of the attic and clean the area. So if your child ever says “Please, these would be great for camping!” the translation of that phrase is “Mom this would make great attic rodent bait so they can pee and poop on your holiday decorations!” Loosely translated, of course.

Ahhh, the holidays. I’m sure this will be the first of many interesting events as the holiday season continues. However, as I’m going through the photos of the past year trying to put together the holiday card, I am reminded by all these types of incidents that at the time painful, frustrating, aggravating – you fill in the word, but we can later look back and laugh. They’re our memories. Family memories of times that go by way too fast and are often not appreciated until they are long gone. These are the ties that bind us and THIS is what I signed up for.

Happy Thanksgiving OR I live in a frat house!

So this is the last day of our four day Thanksgiving “holiday” and I have never been more thankful for my office. Don’t get me wrong – I am ever so thankful and grateful for my husband and children. Just not in these doses. Hubby Shelby has worked every day but Thanksgiving day. The children, of course, have been delightful. HAH!

Youngest Alexander has become obsessed with the song, “I’m Sexy and I Know It” to the point I walked into the living room while he’s watching the video only to see him throw his pajama bottoms on the floor and sing the chorus at the top of his lungs. To fully appreciate this scenario, I suggest you Google the video if you haven’t seen it already. The band is appropriately named LMFAO. Yes, yet another nomination for my “Mother of the Year” award.

Of course, all of them are sheer models of manners and social etiquette. Just last night Alex and Simon decided to share a bubble bath and fought over the bubbles. REALLY?!?! Bubbles? Sheesh! And just this morning, I learned that Jell-O is an acceptable hors des oeuvres to be eaten with your fingers. Who knew?

So I try to be the good mother and take Alex to see the Polar Express 4D Experience at the zoo. I figure it would be good “Mommy-Alex” time while the two oldest spent the night at the in-laws. That might have been true except for the pouring rain but we decided a little precipitation wouldn’t stop us. As we trod through the zoo in our yellow slickers, Alex found every lake-sized puddle to splash through so by the time we got to the theater, both of our lower extremities were soaked. Not only were we cold and wet but the entire experience freaked out Alex so much that all he wanted was to go home. Here’s that second nomination opportunity.

Let me go ahead and propose a third opportunity: when we got to the car, Alex was so soaked and cold that he really needed another change of clothes. My dearest hubby continually makes fun of my MMEB (Mommy Makeshift Emergency Bag) which contains everything from adult shirts to travel-sized board games to blankets and tissue. So what do we do? He strips down to his underwear and puts on a polo, hops in his car seat, and covers up with the blanket after strapping in and is as happy as a clam. HOWEVER, I desperately need to make a stop for certain female purchases. Alex doesn’t want to go home and leave again so I am forced to take him to the dollar store in his “dress” – yes, this is the third nomination. I’m sure you can form a visual image here

As I’m writing this, everyone under the age of majority is dressed in only their underwear while arguing over who can beat up the others. We have also seen a rather bizarre twist on who is bothering whom when middle child Simon informs oldest Christopher that if he wouldn’t bother him while he plays his video game, he wouldn’t “smack” him. A friend of mine recently reminded me that certain animals eat their young. I’m starting to think that I really need to watch more of the Animal Planet channel, take notes, and implement some strategic plans…

Don’t get me wrong, I am truly thankful for these three heathens. I have a couple of friends that are having a very difficult time trying to have children and another who is trying to cope with the difficulties that come with being a step-parent. While it TOTALLY sends me over the edge to constantly walk through the house picking up wrappers and dishes or to come to terms with the fact that I will never fully appreciate the fine art of burps or farts, I am thankful. I am blessed. While this isn’t what I ever envisioned it to be, it is so much for what I am thankful. I hope you all had a happy and healthy Thanksgiving!

Rain, rain, go away OR The Electronic Ties That Bind

Today, it is pouring down rain and I escaped to write – yeah for me! Honestly, that in and of itself says something – I haven’t written since it last rained in Houston, like, what, four months ago?!?! This fact, and a few more interesting/mundane things depending on how you look at it left me with a few epiphanies.

First, I, like most parents, really need to carve out more “me” time. I really do enjoy writing but I’m usually so exhausted at the end of the day I can’t get more than a few words out, let alone something witty. I also need to exercise more as clearly pointed out by my offspring. During this rain-enforced house arrest, I was telling the kiddos to do something for the umpteenth-thousand time. One of them made some wisecrack and I retorted something along the lines of “Yeah, my big fat touche!” Oldest Christopher, who is a little more savvy in the ways of making points, was quick to defend my derriere by saying that is was neither big nor fat. Middle Simon, on the other hand, jumped in with his opinion, “Mommy, it’s just small and chubby.” Thank you, I think…

Apparently, the solid day of rain has caused all parents and children to develop a case of cabin fever. When I was doing my best to corral my bunch into watching a movie, the doorbell rang. Apparently, some of our good neighbor friends had had enough and ordered everyone to do something. I’m sure the children asked what in the world were they supposed to do, after all, like all our children, they have what costs, way more terms of toys, games, videos, etc., than the GNP of any third world country. To which, the parents said, “I don’t know? Go play in the rain!” Which is exactly what they did and exactly how my darlings decided to follow suit. Fine, until the thunder and lightening. While most of you know I am an extremely laid back parent, bordering on what some would consider apathetic, thunder and lightening deems a calling home. Maybe it is from my days as a life-guard, but I don’t mess around with G-d’s light show. Soooo, warm bubble baths for everyone. At this point it is only a little after 2:00 p.m. Silly me, and I’d planned on a nap.

Then all hell broke loose. First, Simon apparently swallowed a rather great deal of bubbles and proceeded to gag and throw up IN the bath. Alex had to go pee and flushed the toilet which proceeded to overflow. While trying to get Simon out of the tub, we noticed that the water wasn’t draining. Meanwhile back at the ranch, I had to use the restroom and, upon flushing, the toilet in MY bathroom overflowed. At this point, I have to fill you in on the story-before-the-story. About a week ago, Youngest Alexander decided that he wasn’t getting enough attention and “pretended” to poop in his pants. Once we stopped whatever we were doing to acknowledge him, we found that he had actually stuck something in his underwear for the pretend poop. He then ran as fast as he could into my bathroom, threw whatever it was into the toilet and flushed it. Thus, the plumbing issues that ensued.

After removing the toilet from its place in the bathroom and rotor-routing from the hole in the floor AND the overflow outside in the pouring rain, whatever it was must have gotten flushed out to the sea. After all, as we learned in “Finding Nemo”, all drains lead to the ocean. While Hubby Shelby ran to Lowe’s to get the new seal to re-install the toilet, I came across a copy of my latest and greatest fav from the Border’s liquidation sale – “Sh*t My Kids Ruined” by Julie Haas Brophy. Not only did reading this book make me feel better about my natural inability to parent, I actually felt there was hope! This book has gained such notoriety that there is even a Facebook page were people can contribute their own stories. After reading some of these stories, even the marker on the new leather couch and the penciled-in “Chrisland” on the hallway door don’t make me cringe anymore!

Whew! While I didn’t get a nap, I did get to spend some good quality time with my kids. Alex was on the computer in the boy’s room playing a Dora game, Simon was on his top bunk with the iPad, Christopher was stretched out with me on the bottom bunk with his iPod, and I typed away on the laptop. While I am not normally a fan of the electronic gadgets that pull my children into an alternative universe of which I am not a part, today we were all in the same room, together, enjoying the sound of the rain. Every now and then, someone would need help with their chosen activity to which one of us would good naturedly hop up and help before returning to our own little world. While I would have much rather had everyone together outside at the zoo or the park or whatever, this was good. THIS is what I signed up for!