Mom Smells Like A Monkey

Yesterday was my birthday; my 35th birthday, which means I can now round to 40! OMG am I really that old?

My day started out with poopy diapers, whining kids and a sleepless night. I would like to say it got better, but there was just more dirty diapers, fighting kids and mouths to be fed.

What happened in between was nothing notable, so I'll tell you about it. My husband forgot it was my birthday and when I dropped hints at him, he just thought it was an invitation for sex. My oldest sang the only birthday song I heard all day and in it I smelled like a monkey. My middle child complained frequently about being soooo tired even though he got a full night's sleep. And my youngest got a cold and sneezed giant green boogers all over my shirt.

I did receive many Happy Birthday wishes via FB. As nice as they were, they also added to the torture by reminding me that today should be my day off and that I should enjoy at least one margarita, both of which are a fantasy so far removed that I can hardly imagine them.

No presents, no special drawings for me to hang on the wall, no cake... Just another day being Mom. Being Mom, hun? I guess that's a pretty grand birthday present. I do love my kids and my husband beyond the moon and the stars. So even if there was no fanfare or shopping sprees, I couldn't ask for better presents...

At least not this year, but next year my family better not expect the sentimental crap to be sufficient - they already played that card!

The Margarita at the End of the Tunnel

Sometimes life actually goes your way: you win the Mrs. America Pageant, you don't get ID'ed at the grocery store and the hottie at the gas station pays your tab because he's never seen such a fine specimen.

Well, life has not been so sweet this week... In the last five days I have cleaned up more throw up and diarrhea than I thought was possible from five people. Some of which was my own, but most of which came from people who haven't perfected their aim.

So this morning, I raised the white flag and sought advice from our pediatrician. After evaluating our parched 11 month old he prescribed... wait for it... smoothies!

Now, that was a $70 visit worth it's weight in gold. The only thing that would have been better is if he prescribed margaritas, but I think they would pull his license for that one.

So thank you Dr. Labrum for putting a near-margarita at the end of this tunnel. Off to Jamba Juice we go. Parenting has never been so yummy!

Update: Have smoothies and they are working.

BTW: yes, the throw up did begin while we were on vacation.

Spring Break: Off Like A Herd Of Turtles

Back when I was young, all we had to entertain us during long road trips were billboards and license plates. We sang songs, enjoyed the scenery and bickered until my dad was forced to "pull the car over."

Now there's tvs, portable game systems, iPods and ereaders (just to name a few). All of which need to be charged, updated and new files downloaded before the trip begins. Then you have to make sure you packed the right cables to keep it charged while on the go and can hook it up to the car's entertainment system... So everyone else is the car can enjoy your success on Mario.

Today, my husband and I were so proud when we were all seat belted in and pulling out of the driveway only five minutes after our hoped for departure time. That's when we had a major technology meltdown...we couldn't get the iPod with all of our new movies to play over the truck's tv.

Turn off the truck. Turn off the iPod. Plug the AV cable into the truck. Plug the iPod into the cable. Turn on the iPod. Turn on the truck. Should work. We even googled the instructions. What we didn't google was how to keep your kids from yelling, "Not working!" in the backseat every thirty seconds.

Forty five minutes, three stops and only two miles later, we finally figured out that in order to watch a movie you had to in fact start a movie... I guess we should have googled The Dummies version of the instructions.

I have not desired a margarita this badly in at least two days. Luckily, my husband had a jamocha shake (stop number two) that I gladly shared with him. It kind of helped... Until we hit rush hour traffic and someone had to pee.

Welcome to our Spring Break!

10 Things I Have To Teach My Kids, Again

I knew when I became a mom one of my main responsibilities would be teaching my children. What I didn't know was that I would have to teach many concepts multiple/a million times to the same child. Here is a list of 10 things I have taught more times than I thought I would have to:

1) How to sleep through the night. Just when we get one kid sleeping through the night, one of the others decides it's their turn to wake mom and dad at some ungodly hour. Three months later, that kid all of a sudden starts sleeping through the night, but now his little sister gets hungry at 3 AM. The cycle is infinite.

2) How to ride a bike. Whoever said you never forget how to ride a bike hasn't met my children. I think a chunk of every spring will be spent with me flabbergasted that I have to put training wheels back on the bike that went miles last summer on two wheels.

3) How to go poop and pee in the potty. One day it is all glory the next all gory! Enough said.

4) What the results will be if you hit your brother in the face with a stick.

5) What will happen if you tease your brother... See #4.

6) How to take your clothes off. A two year old can strip off his clothes as fast as lightning if there are guests over, but all of a sudden can't get a single sock off if it is bath time.

7) What the purpose of eating is. Babies instinctually know what to do when they are hungry: scream and then devour whatever they can suck on. But a toddler sees no purpose in eating anything other than a hotdog or mac and cheese.

8) What happens when you piss mom off. The saying is: if mom ain't happy, no one is happy. So why do they keep doing it?

9) You have to go to bed every night. Bed time is 8 PM, so why is there alway shock and disbelief along with whining and bartering at 8:01 PM? Kids must be in bed early enough so mom can fantasize about her margaritas before her bedtime at 10 PM.

10) That zombies are not real.

The Margarita Bank

It seems like every time I feel like having a mommy meltdown a fellow mommy tells me her story and makes me put things in perspective.

My four year old, two year old and eleven month old have a long ways to go until I can use the word civilized to describe them, but every day we get one step closer... At least that's what I tell myself.

Their problems are straight forward: needing milk now, calling people names, using inappropriate words and beating the crud out of each other. Here's some milk and be nice covers a lot of it.

Milk and just being nice won't fly when they are teenagers with more complex problems. They will hate me, be selfish, experiment with who knows what and hang out with some scum. And knowing this I would like to introduce the Margarita Bank.

I am going to make a deposit now for each time I have an unconsumed Margarita Moment. Then I can make withdraws during those dark and dreadful teenage years.

I am hoping the interest rate is really good in this Margarita Bank because I hear those teenage years are sure to suck my account dry.

California, the Port-A-Potty State

Why are there so many places in California that do not have public restrooms? Instead they have the wonderful port-a-potty.

If this has anything to do with health and sanitation laws, I would like to inform those that make and support those laws that a mother kneeling on the floor of an unkept port-a-potty trying to hold her terrified four year old so he won't fall in is not my idea of high sanitation standards.

These port-a-potties provided many Margarita Moments during our recent trip.

We have perfection!

Wait! I spoke too soon. We just had child #3 barf up lunch - hotdogs! I sure hope tonight's hotel minibar has something we can mix together for a makeshift margarita.

Vacation Barf Update

Our family has a tradition that we dare not mess with: every vacation we go on is not complete without one or more of us barfing and more often than not the barf lands on mom.

We are less than 24 hours in to our vacation to California and we have already successfully kept with our tradition- twice.

The first happened only a half hour from home when Jovie managed to get car sick on the way to he airport. Luckily when we tore into my sister's house with a barf covered baby she came to the rescue and my other sister provided us with a chunk-free car seat.

The second, I must admit is my fault - any respectable parent should have known that if you put a child in the back of a minivan and drive two hours down the PCH there was bound to be barf... Everett was our lucky winner, the Happy Meal box I tried to catch it in was not.

These Margarita Moments were brought to you by Wine Country. Stay tuned because we still have three more days to add to our tradition.

Mrs. Coburn Is a True Jedi

My son, Everett, is a rambunctious four year old, who only sometimes follows directions and occasionally is polite.  So today when I took him in for his kindergarten evaluation, I was very nervous.  Normally I would have just downed a good margarita to take the edge off, but since schools are drug free zones I thought I better not.  I just knew that when Everett was asked his colors, which he knows, he would wildly yell out, "Chicken butt!" or when asked to spell his name, which he also knows, he would take the pencil and use it as a light saber to slice off the kindergarten teacher's hand.

We walked into the school and were greeted by Mrs. Coburn, the kindergarten teacher.  Mrs. Coburn handed me a stack of papers to fill out and took Everett into a classroom to perform the evaluation.  They were gone five agonizing minutes.  How was he doing?  Was he sitting still and following directions?  Or was he attempting to toot on Mrs. Coburn while dog piling her?

Eventually they emerged.  Mrs. Coburn had no noticeable bruises and her hair was still in perfect form.  She told me we had a character on our hands and he was totally ready for kindergarten.  He knew his colors, his letters, some of his sounds and how to spell his name (although it took an entire 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper to do so).  But one thing he asked her made her giggle she said.  He asked her who the master was.

Luckily for us, Mrs. Coburn was a Star Wars fan and knew exactly who the master was.  She replied, "Mr. Jenkins is the school's master.  We call him the principal."  Everett left the school so excited for fall when he gets to start kindergarten and meet a real life master.

Later that same day, Karcher, my two year old, informed me that I am a monkey and he is Darth Vader.  I am beginning to wonder if we watch too much TV.

Don't Mess With A Good Thing

It has been two days since daylight savings and I have conclude that whoever came up with this plan to screw with time didn't have any small children around. If they did, they would realize a four year old can't tell time and you never mess with a two year old's schedule.

The next couple of days are sure going to be a test to see how strong willed I am.

Irony

Irony is when you wake up to find the last gallon of milk empty on the kitchen counter, but the liqueur cabinet is stocked with Jose Cuervo, margarita mix and salt... there's even a fresh lime in the fridge.

Do cream and sugar go in a margarita?

Tell me this... Is it proper to have a margarita for breakfast? It's been so long I don't remember the etiquette. Well, if it's ok then this morning would have been the morning.

I was awoken at 6:14 AM to Everett yelling, "I hate you! I hate you, Karcher!"

Then I heard the culprit, Karcher, whack his brother with his baby sister's plastic toy chains.

"I hate you!" Everett cried.

Then Dad entered the situation (I remained hidden in my bed). "Karcher, do you need to go potty? Let's change your training pants."

"No!" Karcher yelled. "Mom do it!" Then there was the thudding of footsteps coming down the hall. I knew my hideout was on the verge of discovery.

Two seconds later a grumpy little face appeared two inches in front of mine. "Mom, I go potty," it demanded. In the background, the baby began to cry.

Good morning. Here we go, again.