It's been awhile. Isn't that a line from a song? It is, and if you don't automatically hear it, get off this blog now. I've decided to resume this business, years after the fact, because I'm pretending to have time. These days in training for a half marathon (because who ISN'T?!? And pinterest said I could...) So tonight isn't really a good time to talk simply for the fact that A) wine..... B) longboarding lessons from 4/6 of my children.....and do you really NEED C?!
It was almost a year ago that I flipped, turned upside down our little tribe's world and moved them across the country for my dream role. Bear with me the next few posts, as there will most certainly be nostalgia and wistfullness. I can't help it. These woo-woos have gotten to me ;) Or perhaps it's just all the additional oxygen from the TREES...........
The point here: I intend on blogging again. The experience soothes me. I enjoy sharing our adventures.
But truthfully I have to interrupt myself. I've taken a naughty day off training to drink wine and play with our kids.....and now they are in bed.....and I have reached for the empty wine glass 3 times during this writing. No.....there was 4. And 5..... let's just call it a night. Be prepared for more :)
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Thursday, May 2, 2013
That's what she said....
It has been a year in the ICU now, Little Ones. I can almost hear the sound of applause and cheers inside my head-or perhaps it's the rustling noise of the bags of tomatoes opening and preparing to be thrown? In all honesty I'm kidding (maybe?). I feel that a year in the Posh, Palatial, Patient Care Zone has grown me, has educated me, and has brought me yet three steps backwards and 3.5 steps forward in understanding myself and my views on the world in general.
It is also this week that I finish semester TWO of my Super Master's in Nursing Program (*TM, of course). I have evolved my dabbling in nursing theory and ethics into a full-fledged desire to remain wholly, yet logically, idealistic and now have the Alan Watts books to prove it.
Judgment free zone does not just apply to Planet Fitness, friends, yet we are all guilty of appraising a situation and making assumptions, whether it be of ourselves or others. I am not innocent of this and do not wish anyone to think that I am. I do not know what I want to be when I grow up. I do not know if I am always doing the right thing, saying the right thing, acting in the appropriate way. What I do know is that I am satisfied in knowing that I can admit this openly. I am satisfied in knowing that I do my absolute best at each specific moment. I can testify that Starbuck's Double Shots may have an effect on my performance.....and may also induce 0230 runs through the PPPCZ stairwells and into hallways that I have never ventured to before in my night-shift-induced bear-in-hibernation phase.
I feel I have done well. I feel that I have made an impact in many lives. I feel satisfied in my life and that I can appreciate the little things-like the fact that I discovered this morning....my children's favorite things about one another all center around the general concept of sharing (with a pinch of love here and there).
I feel proud. I feel proud of myself for what I have done, as irrelevant in the grand scheme that it is. I feel proud of my husband, who allows myself and my children to pursue our oddities to their fullest, and who is wise and giving beyond any other that I know.
I am mostly thankful that #3 has finally lost her tone-deafness and CAN actually carry a tune- in a bucket or thrown over her shoulder.....
Such random thoughts with one thought in mind....I appreciate the sharing, and I share what I appreciate. So what if it's vulgar, inappropriate, off-topic, overly-idealistic, off-the-wall, or-even-overly-hyphenated? It's who I am and who I will continue to be. And THAT, is what she said.....
It is also this week that I finish semester TWO of my Super Master's in Nursing Program (*TM, of course). I have evolved my dabbling in nursing theory and ethics into a full-fledged desire to remain wholly, yet logically, idealistic and now have the Alan Watts books to prove it.
Judgment free zone does not just apply to Planet Fitness, friends, yet we are all guilty of appraising a situation and making assumptions, whether it be of ourselves or others. I am not innocent of this and do not wish anyone to think that I am. I do not know what I want to be when I grow up. I do not know if I am always doing the right thing, saying the right thing, acting in the appropriate way. What I do know is that I am satisfied in knowing that I can admit this openly. I am satisfied in knowing that I do my absolute best at each specific moment. I can testify that Starbuck's Double Shots may have an effect on my performance.....and may also induce 0230 runs through the PPPCZ stairwells and into hallways that I have never ventured to before in my night-shift-induced bear-in-hibernation phase.
I feel I have done well. I feel that I have made an impact in many lives. I feel satisfied in my life and that I can appreciate the little things-like the fact that I discovered this morning....my children's favorite things about one another all center around the general concept of sharing (with a pinch of love here and there).
I feel proud. I feel proud of myself for what I have done, as irrelevant in the grand scheme that it is. I feel proud of my husband, who allows myself and my children to pursue our oddities to their fullest, and who is wise and giving beyond any other that I know.
I am mostly thankful that #3 has finally lost her tone-deafness and CAN actually carry a tune- in a bucket or thrown over her shoulder.....
Such random thoughts with one thought in mind....I appreciate the sharing, and I share what I appreciate. So what if it's vulgar, inappropriate, off-topic, overly-idealistic, off-the-wall, or-even-overly-hyphenated? It's who I am and who I will continue to be. And THAT, is what she said.....
Saturday, December 8, 2012
From Circle Mentality to Circus in a Nightmare...You Have All Grown Me
To those who have taught me....I thank you. To those who have stood beside me amidst bodily fluids that are not our own....to those who have ever straddled a hypoxic patient with me, who have handed me an IV gtt across a bed and told me the rate, those of you who have laughed at me for my naivete, who have offered me a suggestion, a hope, a hand, or your thoughts.....to the man who puts up with my internal struggle of idealism......I thank you. My first 8 months in the ICU and the first semester of of my masters degree have humbled me. But they have strengthened me. I have become empowered to believe that my idealism is catchy....much like the respiratory crud that passes through the region and is dumped upon the ICU at holiday time. But I am not your senile grandmother who is easily dismissed with an ICU admission and a "mandatory" phone call right at shift change.
I am a force to be reckoned with. I have overcome illness. I have been supportive. I am educated. I am willing. I learn from you all. My own actions are not perfect, far from it. I like my wine. I love my children. I am faithful to my husband, my children, my employer, my patients, my profession, and myself.
I've been told I'm Buddhist. Perhaps I believe this? The ole Dalai Lama makes some sense, no? We must each find enlightenment in our own way. Can you fall asleep honest each night? Do you even try?
Most importantly, are you honest to yourself? Life is a circus in a nightmare sometimes....chaos reigns when reason is the opponent. Idealism is easily crushed when faced with Big System, Inc. I say stand strong, Little Ones. Learn and understand. If you cannot, watch from afar. We are all together in the ethical battles of daily life. We are all afraid to let our little voices be heard over the ringleader's holler....
Keep whispering, Little Ones.... And someday, your voice may be the one that is heard.
I am a force to be reckoned with. I have overcome illness. I have been supportive. I am educated. I am willing. I learn from you all. My own actions are not perfect, far from it. I like my wine. I love my children. I am faithful to my husband, my children, my employer, my patients, my profession, and myself.
I've been told I'm Buddhist. Perhaps I believe this? The ole Dalai Lama makes some sense, no? We must each find enlightenment in our own way. Can you fall asleep honest each night? Do you even try?
Most importantly, are you honest to yourself? Life is a circus in a nightmare sometimes....chaos reigns when reason is the opponent. Idealism is easily crushed when faced with Big System, Inc. I say stand strong, Little Ones. Learn and understand. If you cannot, watch from afar. We are all together in the ethical battles of daily life. We are all afraid to let our little voices be heard over the ringleader's holler....
Keep whispering, Little Ones.... And someday, your voice may be the one that is heard.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
It's No Wonder NOC = Early Demise
I am a night shift nurse. No, scratch that. I am night shift. I've often said that working NOC, being an N+ on a piece of paper is not a shift but a lifestyle. It's very true and hard to explain. I cannot fathom waking at 0500, showering, brewing coffee and bustling off into rush-hour traffic to be on the floor at 0645. It's just not who I am.
The good...
I prefer to observe the crazy 8-1630'ers in their cars, frantically making phone calls, guzzling coffee, applying mascara, etc... and chuckle maniacally at them all as they whiz past me (never mind that I'm doing 45 in a 60---what?! I don't have anywhere to be!) And as you deal with your day jobs I am tucked peacefully into my cozy bed where I will stay until I wake up, because I don't use an alarm clock HA-HA!!!!
The bad...
But it's unfortunate on nights that I do not work. I am awake at 0100 knowing that I have to get up in five and a half hours to put four children on the bus and feed the other two breakfast. And of course I won't get a nap before I punch my N+ ticket that night, because who can nap when they slept the previous night?
I originally thought that working nights would be the ticket for those of us with children. They sleep, we work. They go to school, we sleep. In all honesty it still sounds good in theory. But it's not a good thing.
I'm wore out, folks. I'm overwhelmed at times. No longer do my precious children sleep through every noise that I can create with a vacuum in the middle of the night, and they have yet to get themselves ready and on the bus without parental assistance.
I try...
On the Sleepy Tap in this house we have SleepyTime Extra tea (with valerian), and Nyquil, and have tried tylenol PM. But there is only so much medicating one can do before feeling like a junkie for sleep. So we switch to alternatives. Angry birds is good for falling asleep. Crocheting works. Television doesn't cut it simply for the fact that you're entertaining yourself. Books don't work because it's too easy to become involved. So those of us who label ourselves N+ end up not sleeping.
Well I could always switch!
But I do not like people. Rather, I do not like people who get in the way of me doing my job. I prefer finding out what I need to know, searching for problems and solving them on my own, documenting all of it and going home. Your clicky shoes and smiley meetings and cheerleading for the team do not interest me in the least. N+ are a breed of their own. We are blunt, we are hard-working, we are vampires?
The ugly truth I am beginning to realize...
I will have to change. I love my breed, my people, my co-N+...but I am not healthy in this capacity. I already feel old, most likely due to the six sleepingdemons angels in the back of the house. Or I'm tired quite possibly because no one ever thinks to brew a darn pot of coffee at 1845 before I come in... Is that just not normal? I long for normal, but without all the fuss. I am a rule-breaker, a rule-maker, a well-informed decision maker...a picker, a grinner, a lover, and a sinner, even! A joker! A smoker! But sooner than later...
I cannot be the midnight toker...
And thus, higher-HIGHER education. Which will equal more sleepless nights and wholly stressful days, but with the benefit of knowing that eventually I can wear my own clicky shoes and call the shots. There will be no more dinners that end with me leaving the house for the night. I will hopefully not find myself awake at 0100 in front of my blogger screen waiting for the SleepyTime Extra to kick in.
To thine own self be true...
If the future brings me rounds at a facility, I shall visit my people. I am awful fond of the N+ crews everywhere I have worked and I couldn't imagine not having their biting sarcasm in my life in some way. I will dance to Saturday Night Fever songs with the sleep-deprived N+ folk who babble incoherently at 0430 about the things that really matter...like alligator hats, glove placement as a housekeeping check, IV pole dancing, and chair-chart cart choo-choos. I will REMAIN POSITIVE!!! as I correct the misspellings on all of the memos on the board, because that is what I do.
I am N+, how 'bout you?
The good...
I prefer to observe the crazy 8-1630'ers in their cars, frantically making phone calls, guzzling coffee, applying mascara, etc... and chuckle maniacally at them all as they whiz past me (never mind that I'm doing 45 in a 60---what?! I don't have anywhere to be!) And as you deal with your day jobs I am tucked peacefully into my cozy bed where I will stay until I wake up, because I don't use an alarm clock HA-HA!!!!
The bad...
But it's unfortunate on nights that I do not work. I am awake at 0100 knowing that I have to get up in five and a half hours to put four children on the bus and feed the other two breakfast. And of course I won't get a nap before I punch my N+ ticket that night, because who can nap when they slept the previous night?
I originally thought that working nights would be the ticket for those of us with children. They sleep, we work. They go to school, we sleep. In all honesty it still sounds good in theory. But it's not a good thing.
I'm wore out, folks. I'm overwhelmed at times. No longer do my precious children sleep through every noise that I can create with a vacuum in the middle of the night, and they have yet to get themselves ready and on the bus without parental assistance.
I try...
On the Sleepy Tap in this house we have SleepyTime Extra tea (with valerian), and Nyquil, and have tried tylenol PM. But there is only so much medicating one can do before feeling like a junkie for sleep. So we switch to alternatives. Angry birds is good for falling asleep. Crocheting works. Television doesn't cut it simply for the fact that you're entertaining yourself. Books don't work because it's too easy to become involved. So those of us who label ourselves N+ end up not sleeping.
Well I could always switch!
But I do not like people. Rather, I do not like people who get in the way of me doing my job. I prefer finding out what I need to know, searching for problems and solving them on my own, documenting all of it and going home. Your clicky shoes and smiley meetings and cheerleading for the team do not interest me in the least. N+ are a breed of their own. We are blunt, we are hard-working, we are vampires?
The ugly truth I am beginning to realize...
I will have to change. I love my breed, my people, my co-N+...but I am not healthy in this capacity. I already feel old, most likely due to the six sleeping
I cannot be the midnight toker...
And thus, higher-HIGHER education. Which will equal more sleepless nights and wholly stressful days, but with the benefit of knowing that eventually I can wear my own clicky shoes and call the shots. There will be no more dinners that end with me leaving the house for the night. I will hopefully not find myself awake at 0100 in front of my blogger screen waiting for the SleepyTime Extra to kick in.
To thine own self be true...
If the future brings me rounds at a facility, I shall visit my people. I am awful fond of the N+ crews everywhere I have worked and I couldn't imagine not having their biting sarcasm in my life in some way. I will dance to Saturday Night Fever songs with the sleep-deprived N+ folk who babble incoherently at 0430 about the things that really matter...like alligator hats, glove placement as a housekeeping check, IV pole dancing, and chair-chart cart choo-choos. I will REMAIN POSITIVE!!! as I correct the misspellings on all of the memos on the board, because that is what I do.
I am N+, how 'bout you?
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Extra-Special Dirty: The Real Reason Mommies Don't Cry
After my last blog, a mommy I know commented that she would have been in tears if she still cried. I know exactly how she feels. Mommies don't cry. We don't. It's not what mommies do. We are the seamstresses of our families; we mend the broken and we reconstruct destruction. Mommies are the CEOs, the CFOs, the Engineers, the Chefs, the Chauffers, the Electricians, the Plumbers, the Maids, the Dictators, the Farmers, the Personal Shoppers, the Therapists, the Pillars of our families. We are powerful just for the simple fact that we exist. Without Mom, the home kindgom will fall. Of course there's Dad, but it's Mothers Day...Fathers Day is another day, another blog. And speaking of Dad, Mommy takes care of him too. We primp and fluff, and make ourselves pretty. We hug and love and support. Powerful, ever-strong, ever-lasting, always there Mom. She has no time for tears. She is our fearless leader.
Bill Gates doesn't cry. The president doesn't cry. The director of nursing doesn't cry. Your boss at work doesn't cry. Leaders don't cry. They have too much responsibility to cry. They are evil, they are mean, they know exactly what to do in times of crisis. Steadfast rocks who are incapable of tears, aren't they?
Perhaps. Or perhaps not. These people have many of the things that others want. Money, power, endless whatnots and who-zits to keep them happy. Sure mommies may not have money or endless whatnots and who-zits that are worth anything to anyone other than the person whose pants' pocket they came from, but they have love.
Boundless, energetic, fearless, overwhelmingly fierce love coming at them from every direction. From the Extra-Special dirty that her children make her house on a daily basis to the Extra-Special snail house with a custom built swimming pool that her child made as a pet "Just For Her" TM. The Extra-Special love that an adult daughter will give her father in the hospital will darn near annoy the hell out of any nurse on the Earth, believe me, I know. The fistful of beautiful flowers handed to you straight out of your carefully cultivated garden is Extra-Special...never mind that there are none left in the yard. The Extra-Special $350.00 that you wire that child whose lights are out, car needs fixed, is going hungry trying to feed his or her own children. Extra-Special Love, from Your Child, TM. Made exclusively by YOU, for YOU. No substitutions, exclusions, limit as many as your uterus can handle before falling out every time you sneeze.
This week a woman at work lost her two-year-old nephew to a drowning accident. Yesterday, a day before Mothers Day, that child's mother buried her baby. Buried her heart, her very being, her muddy floors and empty food wrappers, her crayon-covered walls, her fingerprinted furniture. And most certainly she unearthed her tears. I could not cry when my co-worker told me about the incident, I cannot imagine the loss. I do not want to imagine the loss. "I am sorry," I said. It was not awkward. It was simple and we both understood why. He was not ours and we had no tears as I gave her a hug. When a child is born, a Mommy is born, and with that we bury our tears.
Tearless Mommies be brave and true to your children. They love you from the bottom of their muddy toesies to the top of their jelly-smeared headsies. From them you earn your superpowers, the unsurpassed strength that makes you pick up that mop, wash those same clothes you just washed yesterday, cook sloppy joes the same day you put a fresh tablecloth on, and do third grade math even though you don't want to-or even remember how! The ability to trade high heels for flip-flops, wear smudged nail polish constantly, put your hair up instead of curling it just so, these too stem from motherhood. Sure you're stretch-marked, a bit chubby around the middle, exhausted and it shows, but you are home. You are the beautiful princess in your children's drawings-and look at how SKINNY they made you! Your hair is flowing and that dress looks fabulous on you! And just LOOK at how happy you are! Now granted you may not be made of purple crayon or have green apple colored curls, but when you hear "That's YOU, Mommy!" you believe it.
Mommies, you are the steadfast pillars of your home. You are the best that your family could ask for. So hold your arms open to your Little Muddies and welcome them to you. Be glad today and every day that you have buried your tears and that your world has become Extra-Special Dirty.
Bill Gates doesn't cry. The president doesn't cry. The director of nursing doesn't cry. Your boss at work doesn't cry. Leaders don't cry. They have too much responsibility to cry. They are evil, they are mean, they know exactly what to do in times of crisis. Steadfast rocks who are incapable of tears, aren't they?
Perhaps. Or perhaps not. These people have many of the things that others want. Money, power, endless whatnots and who-zits to keep them happy. Sure mommies may not have money or endless whatnots and who-zits that are worth anything to anyone other than the person whose pants' pocket they came from, but they have love.
Boundless, energetic, fearless, overwhelmingly fierce love coming at them from every direction. From the Extra-Special dirty that her children make her house on a daily basis to the Extra-Special snail house with a custom built swimming pool that her child made as a pet "Just For Her" TM. The Extra-Special love that an adult daughter will give her father in the hospital will darn near annoy the hell out of any nurse on the Earth, believe me, I know. The fistful of beautiful flowers handed to you straight out of your carefully cultivated garden is Extra-Special...never mind that there are none left in the yard. The Extra-Special $350.00 that you wire that child whose lights are out, car needs fixed, is going hungry trying to feed his or her own children. Extra-Special Love, from Your Child, TM. Made exclusively by YOU, for YOU. No substitutions, exclusions, limit as many as your uterus can handle before falling out every time you sneeze.
This week a woman at work lost her two-year-old nephew to a drowning accident. Yesterday, a day before Mothers Day, that child's mother buried her baby. Buried her heart, her very being, her muddy floors and empty food wrappers, her crayon-covered walls, her fingerprinted furniture. And most certainly she unearthed her tears. I could not cry when my co-worker told me about the incident, I cannot imagine the loss. I do not want to imagine the loss. "I am sorry," I said. It was not awkward. It was simple and we both understood why. He was not ours and we had no tears as I gave her a hug. When a child is born, a Mommy is born, and with that we bury our tears.
Tearless Mommies be brave and true to your children. They love you from the bottom of their muddy toesies to the top of their jelly-smeared headsies. From them you earn your superpowers, the unsurpassed strength that makes you pick up that mop, wash those same clothes you just washed yesterday, cook sloppy joes the same day you put a fresh tablecloth on, and do third grade math even though you don't want to-or even remember how! The ability to trade high heels for flip-flops, wear smudged nail polish constantly, put your hair up instead of curling it just so, these too stem from motherhood. Sure you're stretch-marked, a bit chubby around the middle, exhausted and it shows, but you are home. You are the beautiful princess in your children's drawings-and look at how SKINNY they made you! Your hair is flowing and that dress looks fabulous on you! And just LOOK at how happy you are! Now granted you may not be made of purple crayon or have green apple colored curls, but when you hear "That's YOU, Mommy!" you believe it.
Mommies, you are the steadfast pillars of your home. You are the best that your family could ask for. So hold your arms open to your Little Muddies and welcome them to you. Be glad today and every day that you have buried your tears and that your world has become Extra-Special Dirty.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Kids are like overgrown gardens...Rather than give up, give in, or give them away, grow them with patience
Hmmm...overcrowding, blooms too big for their stalks, out of control weeds, and 'seedling volunteers' everywhere. Things where they don't belong, things getting gross from fungus or bugs, some things are, well, just not right! But it's beautiful to those who don't live it...
Those of you who don't know what it's like to find your silverware in your yard:
....who have never experienced raw egg salad decorating your dining room:
....who have never had to explain to six children why they couldn't go play on their brand new playset on a 70 degree sunny day because of a temporary bee swarm 10 feet away from the monkey bars:
just cannot fathom being a parent of a large family. But when you see all the kiddies with their hair actually brushed and their shoes on the right feet-which believe me is a rare thing, not to mention clothes right-side-out!- you all say "Awwwwwwwww...They're so cute and well-behaved!" To you I raise my eyebrow and choke back a snort. They are evil minion, these children. This house is overcrowded! These behinds are too big for their britches! The attitudes! The language! The defiance! It's almost like they're..........WEEDS!!!!
Wow.
Makes you cock your head to the side and think, at least it does me. Weeds? Kids? Hmph... But I don't have to yell at the garden, you say. I don't have to hand out a whoopin' to those dandelions. And the weeds and plants don't draw on the walls or spill koolaid on the fresh tablecloth or find my keys, sneak into my room and steal the baggie from the hardware store that has cabinet hinges in it!!! Wait....I'm getting side-tracked now, and I believe I am onto something here, so bear with me.
Perhaps we should grow our children as we grow our garden, with patience and with love (sans the Roundup, of course). Maybe we are growing something beautiful and have failed to notice. All the picking, the cleaning, the rearranging, the folding, the transplanting, the mending, the construction, the reconstruction....they have kept us so busy that we have missed the complexity of what is truly happening around us. Sure as I write this there is raw egg on the dining room floor and on the wadded up tablecloth in the hallway hamper....there's a muddy bulldozer in the middle of my living room...but my children went to bed happy and I KNEW ABOUT IT! I really did! I did not yell at them to go to sleep, I hugged each and every one of them and went over highlights of the day with each and every one of them.
And all six smiled. Well, Nathan made a fishy face and kissed me with his boogery little lips, but that's just as good as a smile, right?
The garden will always be here, whether it changes its look makes no difference, it will still be my garden. The children, these half-dozen hoodlums that we have grown will be here as well-though hopefully they will move out and find their own job and apartment when it is time...But as a seedling tree will only become tall and gangly and drop limbs all over your front yard someday, you must still nurture it when it is young. You must water it and feed it and support its awkward, annoying early years. Because as a gardener, that is what you do.
So I will love you, my children...evil, filthy, loud demons that you are. I will forgive you the peanut butter rubbed on the siding and the hamster loose in the kitchen. I will TRY not to yell and make that vein in my head pulse, because it really takes much too much wine now to make all that stop...And I will enjoy you. I will enjoy your everchanging, evergrowing, sometimes challenging little minds. And if you happen to overcrowd me too much with all your shenanigans, I shall warn you that I will be giving you away with the spare iris and daylilies!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Well You're the One Who Wanted Six Kids...
I often hear this admonishment whenever I lament my parenting woes to others. I'm not sure that these folks realize how alienating this truly is. Do they not realize that parents with only two or three children can be just as miserable some days? Do the parents of an only child not have moments that they would love to jump inside the television's Toy Story and zoom to Infinity and Beyond? How is it that having a half-dozen hoodlums makes us deserving of doom and chaos? Could I ask anymore questions? I'm sure that I could, but I'll try to refrain from sounding three.
While we're on the topic of three, let's talk about this morning. I awoke and was informed of something that had been done to Dad's Chair (TM). Dad's Chair (TM) is part of a ridiculously expensive-though quite the deal- sectional/recliner package that we purchased from Sofa Mart. It is microfiber. Microfiber was invented for mothers, I am here to testify of the ease that one can simply clean any stain, be it snot, peanut butter, crayon, Sunny D, pee, or whatever-it-was-that-I-had-in-my-pocket that fell out and got squished. Now on occasion I have taken to using the hair dryer to blow-dry a damp, cleaned section of couch...briefly. Works like a charm.
I cleaned the couch yesterday.
I did not put the hair-dryer away.
There is a hair-dryer sized hole melted into Dad's Chair (TM).
"Ali did it!" My darling Three year old who most days only answers by "Princess" and is NOT 'gorgeous,' but rather "BOOOOOTIPUL."
"Oh she did?" Commence rubbing her nose in it and swatting her on the butt, sending her to her room, like a puppy with tail between her legs.
Not even a half hour later, they start sneaking to me in the kitchen, first Jo, then Max, then Ali herself. "Kayleigh really did it, Mom." "Mom, Kayleigh made us say that Ali did it so she wouldn't get the pants beat off of her." And then Ali...Boootipul Princess Ali came to me with her big blue eyeballs and pretty blond hair and says "Mom...I nuh do. Dabin tow Taywee to do it." Gavin and Kayleigh....of course.
I could go on and on about who did or did not do it and how we all decided who did it, and why the hell didn't the younger kids throw Kayleigh under the bus to begin with? She IS the mean biggest sister...Sibling logic is lost on me. Point here being, I was forced to stray from my projects in order to fix Dad's Chair (TM) before dad woke up... Thankfully I found a patch, and did NOT iron it on, thank you, but used some self-adhesive fabric tape-which I also got wrapped around my hands and in the carpet and all over Alison as well. Let's just say, it sticks.
The patch is a peace sign, and while it sickens me to know that I have already had to mend a not even month old piece of furniture, it IS awful cute. Or was..........until Nathan chewed the darn thing off and ran away cackling to climb onto the dining room table where he could stomp and dance and growl at those of us below.
I know, I know...I probably shouldn't be whining about my day to anyone. I'm the one who wanted six kids. But I'm not complaining, I just have to share. It is a rare day that I meet anyone with six children, and if I can spread the word about what happens in our house just think of all the money people will spend on birth control! We're a walking Trojan commercial-Forget her pleasure, what about her sanity?!
And speaking of insane, I took them to the store today. What a wild bunch we must have looked like with me calling out things like "Gavin, Blue Bonnet! Kayleigh, cinnamon rolls! Max, get your hands off that! Jolie do you have to pee?" And our vision could not be complete without Bootipul Princess sitting in the cart on her Mountain Dew Case throne. A young man passed me in the Giant Pickle (TM) aisle and actually backed up to speak to me. His face was drawn into that classic panic of a fresh twenty-something father-his eyes wide and bloodshot, stubble on his cheeks, hair sticking out from his head like he'd been electrocuted, and I noticed different colored socks. "Ma'am? Are all of these children yours?" **EYE ROLL** "Well yes, but I may leave some of them here in the Giant Pickle (TM) aisle if they don't start acting like sweet little human beings instead of Pickle Monsters" I said with a grin. "Well my wife and I just had our first baby, and I don't know how to do it, but you're doing this...wow. You're so blessed...bless you...this is amazing." Now I know that he was delusional from 934 hours without sleep and new baby and blah, blah, blah that any of you who DIDN'T want six kids would try to reduce the compliment with, but there are some of you that know... Words like these make us stop and look at the Bootipul Disasters that we have created, and for approximately 2 nanoseconds we forget that our new couches have melty holes in them, their shoes are on backwards, and that one of them is wearing her clothes inside out because what Princess says GOES...and we say Poop On You, People Who Say 'Well You Wanted All Those Kids!' We are LUCKY enough to have all these kids! You wish that you could have such a glorious bounty of children running amok in your home! You envy my frizzy-up-in-a-clippy hair and my baggy sweatshirt that smells like laundry that sat in the washer too long before it was put in the dryer! Annnnnd then we come back to reality which is, believe it or not, conveniently located in the wine aisle and served best chilled...
While we're on the topic of three, let's talk about this morning. I awoke and was informed of something that had been done to Dad's Chair (TM). Dad's Chair (TM) is part of a ridiculously expensive-though quite the deal- sectional/recliner package that we purchased from Sofa Mart. It is microfiber. Microfiber was invented for mothers, I am here to testify of the ease that one can simply clean any stain, be it snot, peanut butter, crayon, Sunny D, pee, or whatever-it-was-that-I-had-in-my-pocket that fell out and got squished. Now on occasion I have taken to using the hair dryer to blow-dry a damp, cleaned section of couch...briefly. Works like a charm.
I cleaned the couch yesterday.
I did not put the hair-dryer away.
There is a hair-dryer sized hole melted into Dad's Chair (TM).
"Ali did it!" My darling Three year old who most days only answers by "Princess" and is NOT 'gorgeous,' but rather "BOOOOOTIPUL."
"Oh she did?" Commence rubbing her nose in it and swatting her on the butt, sending her to her room, like a puppy with tail between her legs.
Not even a half hour later, they start sneaking to me in the kitchen, first Jo, then Max, then Ali herself. "Kayleigh really did it, Mom." "Mom, Kayleigh made us say that Ali did it so she wouldn't get the pants beat off of her." And then Ali...Boootipul Princess Ali came to me with her big blue eyeballs and pretty blond hair and says "Mom...I nuh do. Dabin tow Taywee to do it." Gavin and Kayleigh....of course.
I could go on and on about who did or did not do it and how we all decided who did it, and why the hell didn't the younger kids throw Kayleigh under the bus to begin with? She IS the mean biggest sister...Sibling logic is lost on me. Point here being, I was forced to stray from my projects in order to fix Dad's Chair (TM) before dad woke up... Thankfully I found a patch, and did NOT iron it on, thank you, but used some self-adhesive fabric tape-which I also got wrapped around my hands and in the carpet and all over Alison as well. Let's just say, it sticks.
The patch is a peace sign, and while it sickens me to know that I have already had to mend a not even month old piece of furniture, it IS awful cute. Or was..........until Nathan chewed the darn thing off and ran away cackling to climb onto the dining room table where he could stomp and dance and growl at those of us below.
I know, I know...I probably shouldn't be whining about my day to anyone. I'm the one who wanted six kids. But I'm not complaining, I just have to share. It is a rare day that I meet anyone with six children, and if I can spread the word about what happens in our house just think of all the money people will spend on birth control! We're a walking Trojan commercial-Forget her pleasure, what about her sanity?!
And speaking of insane, I took them to the store today. What a wild bunch we must have looked like with me calling out things like "Gavin, Blue Bonnet! Kayleigh, cinnamon rolls! Max, get your hands off that! Jolie do you have to pee?" And our vision could not be complete without Bootipul Princess sitting in the cart on her Mountain Dew Case throne. A young man passed me in the Giant Pickle (TM) aisle and actually backed up to speak to me. His face was drawn into that classic panic of a fresh twenty-something father-his eyes wide and bloodshot, stubble on his cheeks, hair sticking out from his head like he'd been electrocuted, and I noticed different colored socks. "Ma'am? Are all of these children yours?" **EYE ROLL** "Well yes, but I may leave some of them here in the Giant Pickle (TM) aisle if they don't start acting like sweet little human beings instead of Pickle Monsters" I said with a grin. "Well my wife and I just had our first baby, and I don't know how to do it, but you're doing this...wow. You're so blessed...bless you...this is amazing." Now I know that he was delusional from 934 hours without sleep and new baby and blah, blah, blah that any of you who DIDN'T want six kids would try to reduce the compliment with, but there are some of you that know... Words like these make us stop and look at the Bootipul Disasters that we have created, and for approximately 2 nanoseconds we forget that our new couches have melty holes in them, their shoes are on backwards, and that one of them is wearing her clothes inside out because what Princess says GOES...and we say Poop On You, People Who Say 'Well You Wanted All Those Kids!' We are LUCKY enough to have all these kids! You wish that you could have such a glorious bounty of children running amok in your home! You envy my frizzy-up-in-a-clippy hair and my baggy sweatshirt that smells like laundry that sat in the washer too long before it was put in the dryer! Annnnnd then we come back to reality which is, believe it or not, conveniently located in the wine aisle and served best chilled...
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