Babes in the 'Burb

The Best Worst Mother Ever…

2011-05-20T00:35:00.001-05:00

Well, my daily trip to the grocery store is about to change locales. Oh I'll still be single-handedly paying the light bill of my local grocery store, its just going to have to be a different grocery store than my usual haunt. Why? Because of today's "incident". It was an early release day, which means once a month, I get my elementary kids 4 ½ hours sooner than usual…which means, I had 2 extra sets of "helping" hands…not to mention, two more sets of lips flapping in my ear. And that's besides the 2 sets I already carry around that are attached to the baby and the pre-schooler. Needless to say, I had a lot of extra "help" today, and a whole lot of flappage. Our first stop, a deli where I could eat a great salad, kid #3 could get a pickle, kid #1 could order off the adult menu and waste it and kid #4 could run around like a monkey on meth. Seems a lot of other people with their extra "hands" and "flappers" had the same idea, so I said, "Hey I know! Lets go somewhere that'll make me wish I could gouge my own eyes with a plastic spoon. I know! Walmart!"…ok, that's not true. Well, the Walmart part is true. For a place that I find so loathsome, I sure do manage to darken their doorways enough. Sometimes, its just a necessary evil…where else can you find flea collars, pomegranate seeds, custom-mixed paint, diapers and Paula "the bombdotcom" Deen baked goods? So, today, it was all about finding a bow tie so that kid #2 could portray Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar in his school's version of a living history museum. Now would be a good time to point out my bitterness that my child did not get assigned someone easy-peasy (Buddy Holly, Tom Landry, Walker Texas Ranger, et al) but instead someone with exactly ONE picture to model an outfit after…then again, the kiddo was first assigned Governor Ann Richards before he traded someone for Lamar. For that I am thankful…where on earth would I find a white leather jumpsuit for the boy in Houston this time of year? I kid, I kid, so off we go in search of a tie. Why on God's green earth is buying a bow tie akin to find the proverbial needle in a haystack? Have we become so casual that a tie is obsolete? I would have to answer that with an affirmative nod. At least in Walmart. We found plenty of other things though…fit-throwing-worthy things…"Can I have this?"…"no"…"This?
"…"no"…"This?"…"Negatory, good buddy"…"This?"…"No"…"What about this?"…"A plunger? No"…this went on through the store. Is this where the ubiquitous fit was thrown? No. We did raise some eyebrows, of course, but at this point, it was still pretty smooth sailing. The darling child in front of us flying solo with her mom peeked around the cart and counted all my children with her little pointer finger. By the time she mouthed the word "four", her little eyes were wide and she looked at me like "are you nuts?". I wanted to say "oh there's another one in middle school. If you think these kids are rowdy, you should see the mouth on that one"…but my mother always told me not to talk to strange little girls who point so I kept my lips zipped. Oh, if only my offspring had that same ability. Trent said he had to go to the bathroom and no, it couldn't wait, so even though it goes against every fiber of my being, I let him go to the bathroom that was located directly in front of us, with the warning that if any weirdos talked to him, to scream…and that if he didn't come right back, I'd go in for him. Thankfully, that's a threat I didn't have to make good on, as Walmart scars my psyche enough without having to view the inside of the mens' room. Then, because its contagious, kids #3 and 4 had to go too and whined about it at decibels only dogs can hear. After the escape from the unhappiest place on earth…with no tie…I broke my own cardinal rule. I. Took. Four. Kids. Into. Goodwill. Oh the things I will do for the sake of Texas history. Goodwill had ties. They also had costume jewelry, much "loved" toys, and much to kid #3's delight, pompoms. The resulting cheer upon making the discovery of said treasure? "MOOOOOOOM Please Please Pretty Pretty PLEASE! I'll NEVER ask for anything again if you'll buy me this one thing. Ohhhhhhhh, its alllllll Ive ever wanted PLEASE"…"no". Repeat that last exchange about 400 times and you've got the soundtrack of my trip through thrift shop hell. Two ties and $3 later, both kids #2 and #4 had ties. Now, kid #2 needed the tie to replicate a real Texas icon, what about the tie on kid #4? Oh, he just digs 'em. He, I am totally convinced, could be my very own Alex P. Keaton. Not only did he wear his tie all day long but he's been needling me to buy him a "hoot"…because he needs a "hoot" really bad, and for those of you without mad translating skills, that's a suit. After breaking the spirit of my aspiring cheerleader, I suggested lunch. So off we go to another place I can get a salad fix. Of course, my children acted like "The Boxcar Children" searching for bread. After ordering for the littlest kids and myself, kid #2 orders off the adult menu, even though he qualifies for the much cheaper kids' fare. Fine. Whatever. Id agree to surf n' turf at this point if it meant we got to choose a table and sit without creating a further spectacle. Wouldn't you know? Turns out he doesn't like adult food. One bite. $8. Wrangled kid #5 into his seat, fed him with one hand while shoveling salad into my face at warp-speed. Almost made it before kid #3's ants in her pants reared their little heads, forcing her to belt out a Lady Gaga song while singing into her yogurt tube like a microphone. Did I mention the couple next to us moved their lunch to a table outside? Of course, I just shrugged that off, consoling myself by rationalizing that the man had probably had an affair with a much-younger-than-she hottie and she couldn't bear to sit in such close proximity to me. They were probably on the patio hashing out their marital issues, had nothing to do with the tableful of hooligans I found myself dining with inches away from their former seats. Now, the next two stops I'm just going to glaze over because they were fairly benign and also because this tale is almost longer than the day was itself. So, an hour away from picking up kid #1 at the middle school, I went to the grocery store. You know those blinders horses wear so that they can't get all side-tracked and lose their way? That was me at the start of grocery shopping…blinders on, tentative mental-list-checking going on, "no" being shot out in rapid-fire succession to their pleas for this snack or that ice cream or that blahblahblah…I heard lots of "youre mean"s and "we don't like you"s and the occasional "I want Daddy". Rolled off my back like a duck. UNTIL kid #4 spotted a package of paddle ball party favors. I said "no way Jose". He chose to hear "Hey, OK!" I pulled them out of his fingers that were white-knuckling the package. He rag-doll-flopped on the floor. Of the store. With me in the checkout line. With people around me hissing "what did she do to him?"! I should have hissed back "she said NO. How dare she!" Get over it, people. Five year old throwing a tantrum in a grocery store…move along, nothing to see. Except they made me feel horrible. Staring, judging, sneering, probably counting all my kids with their pointer fingers and when they got to "four" their jaws dropped. You know what? That's fine. Because there's one more, and if you think these kids are mouthy, you should see the mouth on that one! And I take care of them every day. Every single day. And you may see a woman whose unruly children are foaming at the mouth over a package of party favors and dancing in the aisles and telling her how mean she is…but she knows the truth: she's not perfect, but she's exactly who God chose to be raising five people and she finds her strength in small victories (helllooooo bubble bath) and great faith and with His favor, shes found her purpose. And, now, if you'll excuse her, she's going to burn her sleeveless pink Lacoste polo dress so that she is she not recognized as the mom of the fit throwers and she may start shopping temporarily across the street, until its forgotten that kid #3 gave kid #5 her lemonberry slush to hold so #3 could work out some impromptu dance moves and it accidentally spilled…yes, perhaps a little time out while they forget about the worst mother in the world…

It's the Circle of Life, Baby...

2010-10-08T22:12:00.003-05:00

Well, first of all I really need to work on making blogging more of a habit or its going to become like that scrapbook I started for Allie back in 1999...and someday I will finally get it out and glue in the pictures from Christmas...of 1999...someday. Hey, at least she's got one, the other kids are like "where's mine"...umm, probably still at Hallmark in the box. Someday.

Anyway, I believe I left off with the unexpected passing of my mom and then I got all caught up in the unexpected delivery of my fifth and final installment of "All My Children". Let's see, it went something like this. Friday, I went to the dr and he-not my usual, but a substitute- said something about "eh, maybe a couple of weeks". So I waddled back home and my family took me out to eat. We went to a Mexican restaurant because I was in full-throttle let's get this baby here faster mode and that's supposed to help. Well, it gave me heartburn, but then again, so does air when youre 9 months pregnant. So I went home and thought to myself "I could climb stairs or walk around the block, but that sounds like a lot of work, perhaps I'll just go to sleep instead"...like 10 hours later, I awoke with the horrid feeling that only someone who's slept entirely too well could know. The baby hadnt woken me up at all. At All. No kicks in the rib, no punch in the kidney, no bathroom trips every 10 minutes, no aching back, no nothing...nothing. And then I tried to get him to move. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And this was at the point that I could poke him with a finger and he would poke me right back with a fist or a foot. Nothing. So I immediately thought the worst of course. I woke Tommy and told him and just for good measure, started to cry so he'd be reaallly freaked out. Then I announced I would be driving myself to the hospital because I was the Queen of Good Decisions at that point. Luckily, one of us was thinking straight enough to get me to sit on the couch while he called for an ambulance. He had to stay with the kids, we really had no choice about that, this was not in the plan. The baby was supposed to come when my dad and my sister could be there to help. And that wasnt for at least another week. So the ambulance shows up and I can see the red and blue lights bouncing off my walls and this whole time Ive been lying on the couch, waiting for the baby to move. Nothing. Ambulance guys come in with a gurney, lift me up-all 900 lbs of me, God love 'em- and I grab my cell phone as Im whizzed out the door, past my family and into the back of the surreal nightmare that my morning was becoming. Once inside, those guys did not waste time, they drew blood, they opened an iv line, they hooked me up to sensors via velcro tabs on all my limbs, they took vitals, they called ahead to the ER and let them know a 37 yr old was coming in...and that the baby had been 37 weeks. And the way they said "had been" made my heart feel funny. It already hurt, but that broke it. Im pretty sure I wasnt supposed to hear that and Im also sure the emt never meant for it to come out that way, but it did. So, Im lying there on the gurney and we take off toward the ER in the next town and really, at that point, I was kind of just hoping I wasnt the grossest creature they'd ever seen. I was in my jammies, no make up, no nothing...just me and my cellphone and my pj bottoms that kept slididng down, I just knew I was flashing "plumber butt"...these things should not have mattered, but they definitely did cross my mind. As we were speeding down Kingwood Drive, hitting every pothole, not only did I wonder if the driver was once employed by Tijuana Taxis, but I also thought "geez, if anything was going to wake this kid up, this would surely be it." And nothing. So I kind of laid back and all I could see past my oxygen mask were treetops out the ambulance windows and they were speeding by and Im there stuck to this gurney, and for a brief moment I did think "Im changing my name to Job. Just buried my mom. Now Im going to have to bury this baby. Why? Why? Why?"...and then I felt a moment of absolute surrender. I realized, Im not in control of one thing. I cant control whats happening to my baby, I cant get up and move, I cant even sit up right now...every single thing is out of my hands, they've even got a tube up my nose breathing for me. God, it's Yours. Thy will be done. I just kept repeating it over and over and over in my head. The more I said it, the more I realized, the control was always an illusion, I never ever had it. And something about that just calmed me right down. They got me in the ER and the ER said I was so far along I had to go to labor and delivery so they wheeled me up there, stuck me in a triage room. A nurse came by, attached the monitors and boom, baby heartbeat...big breath of relief, still no movement, but I had a heartbeat. They asked me some routine questions, came and went, and then finally the most wonderful nurse came in and she was talking so calmly and sweetly...and she said "do you feel like killing yourself?"...WHAT?! Well, they noted on your chart that you are feeling impending doom & usually that means someone needs a psych consult, she explained. Um no, there must be some mistake...Im here for lack of movement not suicidal ideations. I had to assure her she had the wrong girl...it was then I decided this was just not my day. Anyway, long story short, my new doctor at the new hospital decided I was going to have that baby asap. So they cranked up the pitocin until I screamed and then I got the most marvelous epidural in the entire state of Texas...it was easy peasy after that. Anyone who tries to talk you out of drugs has clearly not arrived in an unfamiliar hospital via speeding ambulance with a nurse who's not sure whether to give you ice chips or a straightjacket. I called my dad and he just couldnt make it til the next day and my sister couldnt get a flight out of San Angelo, so Tommy had to stay with the other 4 in the waiting room. So I was alone in labor...unbelievable...it was so not supposed to happen like this. I remember tilting my head back and closing my eyes and the thought "is she here?" popped into my mind. I opened my eyes and to my right was a window and there was a bright orange butterfly flitting right in the middle of it, like it was looking in. It was like she was saying "Im here, Little Girl, I wouldnt miss this for the world". Is my mother borrowing the shape of a butterfly to come & check on me? That I dont know, but I do believe God wanted me to know that she was ok and she wanted me to be ok too. And I do know, if there was any possible way she couldve been there, she would. I also know that in the months since her passing, Ive been positively chased by orange butterflies...its either her or they just dig me all of a sudden. But I digress. So, it wasnt the easiest birth, but it wasnt the hardest either. They let me cut the cord, after they removed from around his neck, that is. Apparently, that was the reason for all the non-movement. He didnt cry after he was born and he had to be intubated and I could see him in his little isolette and the nurses were rubbing his little arms and legs and saying "come on, baby, breathe, breathe"...not what you want to hear, but the calm I got in the ambulance was still very much with me in that delivery room. And I'm happy to report as I sit here and type this, he is perfect and beautiful...and he definitely learned how to cry. The doctors, much to Tommy's dismay, decided to keep me an extra day & I was alright with that...because,I'm a mom of 5, and that can make an extra night in the hospital sound appealing. You'll bring me drugs and food and all I have to do is lay here? Yes, please!

My grandmother passed away, suddenly, but not unexpectedly at the age of 93 about a month and a half later. This year has certainly brought sadness, but its also brought promise. I was thinking earlier that it was a bad year, but, really, I think its just been a full one. Its stripped me down and added to me the things that God intended for me. Its making who Im supposed to be, and I know that He never wastes a teardrop, He uses them for His purpose, the tears of sorrow and the tears of joy. And Ive certainly had both this year. I have a picture that I took in ICU of my hand holding my mother's hand and its probably my favorite because its so precious, I'll never ever get to hold her hand in this life again. But I have another favorite, and its a picture of my newborn baby's little pink fingers wrapped around mine. It was also taken in a hospital room and its precious too, because it reminds me that one dances out and another dances in, its the circle of life, there is no end...

I do not have time for therapy...

2010-04-18T23:57:00.002-05:00

Much less for the nervous breakdown I sometimes feel I so richly deserve. Therefore, I blog. Not that much different really. Ive been through therapy and you sit in a room in a comfy chair across from a very kind stranger who alternates between handing you kleenex and scribbling things about how whackadoo you are on a yellow legal pad. Actually, he could be scribbling his grocery list, I never got to see the yellow legal pad, I'm just assuming it probably had all the details of my being cookoo for cocoapuffs, since he really seemed on the ball every week and knew exactly where to pick up from where we'd left off. Soooo, if I could afford the luxury of one hour a week for myself and if my therapist was not in Midland, Texas helping other bored housewives figure out the ins and outs of their hardwiring, I'd probably ask him this: why the heck does my mother come to me night after night in my dreams? Its not comforting, like a "visit" from Heaven. It's frustrating and I am so sure that Freud would have something to say about it. In the dreams, she's alive: walking, talking, coherent, normal-but dying...and we both know it and I must save her, but I can't...night after frickin' night. What's the message here, what am I supposed to glean from that? That's not helping me at all, it's brutal, because I get her back only to lose her all over again. I think my therapist would say that it stems from my guilt over moving across the state. Mom told me she couldn't make it without me, and she only made it for one year, almost exactly. If I had never left Odessa, I wouldve been there...I couldve gotten her to the hospital in time. She had the absolute worst physician that she possibly could have and I begged her, just literally begged, to go to another doctor. If I had never left, maybe I could've convinced her of that. There are so many "what if's" and "man, I should have's" that I cant even keep track. But then, I ask myself...where is your faith...dont you believe that God knows the number of our days. Are you second-guessing Him, especially after you submitted to His will. And then I say to myself that He moved me here for a reason. And Im thankful for it, many good things have come out of it. Every door opened so smoothly, we just knew it was His will for us to be here. If He hadnt moved us a year ago, would we have moved at all? No, I wouldnt have left my dad in Odessa by himself, so the answer is no, I wouldve stayed and missed out on all the opportunities I have been given here. I can see the pieces of the puzzle and how they fit together so seamlessly after God places them down. At first, it makes no sense to me, so I just trust in His will, but then I can look back and say "ah, He is so wise and He has held me all along". I cant tell you how many times the Lord has done that very thing for me...so where do I get the audacity to question if I could be powerful enough to have bent the will of God? Its obviously something my mind plays over in an endless loop night after night. I was just thinking tonight "if I have to relive it, I'd just rather not sleep", so I got the idea to go to therapy...and then reality said "oh sure, Cash will behave for that". So, the next best thing...pouring my heart into words to try to make sense of it all. And I get it, I really do. Sometimes, it just takes time to get your mind fully wrapped around it. I bet if I'd had a blog years ago, I couldve saved myself tons of money in therapy...

Amazing Grace, Big Regrets & Baby Steps...

2010-04-16T23:41:00.005-05:00

Wow, its been months since I've updated. I knew it had been awhile. Let's see...the afternoon of February 16, I went to pick my daughter up at dance and got a 2 word text from my sister: "call me". So I did. Her first words, coupled with the shakiness in her voice, brought me to my knees: "Now dont get upset...", she went on to tell me that my dad had come home that afternoon to find my mom unresponsive, had given her CPR, and now she was at the hospital. Things didnt look good. Daddy didnt want to upset me until they knew more. My sister was on her way. The drive home was a blur. My husband was outside working on our backgate and I walked up to him and almost collapsed. Then I got back in my car and started texting everyone I could think of to start praying immediately. My husband wanted to put me on a plane that night. I stood in my bedroom like my feet were made of concrete. I was sick. I was absolutely nauseous. Everytime the phone would ring, my heart would crack open. I didnt want news. I didnt want to be there. I didnt want to accept it. I thought maybe if I stayed in Houston, it could not be real. The more hours that drug by, the more it was apparent that I needed to be home and my husband and my children drove with me the next morning. Straight to the hospital where I walked into the double doors of the ICU and it all changed forever. There was no denying, it was real. There lay my mother. Tubes, monitors, warming blankets, and silence. I think my gut told me when I walked in that she wasnt there, that only her body was. But when I walked out and saw my daddy, so devastated, so pained...a switch flipped in my brain and I went into a little stage I will refer to as "My Miracle Mission". I decided that my mom was going to live. Because I was praying for it. And I believed. And thats what Jesus said in the Bible to do. I put her on every prayer list I could find, I begged all of facebook to intercede on her behalf, every person that walked into ICU that looked like they might be a member of the clergy got pulled into room 20 and they got to pray with us. I spoke scriptures over her. I cast out and bound anything that might be keeping her in that bed. I played "Mighty To Save" and every song that I found inspirational. I held her head and rebuked their diagnoses. I refused to have people in her room that were negative, you had to speak life or you couldnt come in...not on my watch. I turned the TV on for her so she could listen to her favorite shows. And I begged "just open your eyes, please please just open your eyes". Doctor after doctor gave us the same bleak prognosis. I shut down when they came around. I couldnt hear them. No man was going to tell me what my God could do. When my family started to waiver, I just tuned them out too. I slightly remeber eating, I think I got a little sleep. Im not really sure. It all passed by so fast. I liked being at the hospital though, as long as I could be there, as long as that machine was making her chest move up and down, I could hope. And hope was all I had, so I clung to it. My husband picked me up one night at the hospital and we had a talk as we drove around our hometown. He apparently was thinking I was having a slight break with reality. I told him I wasnt, I just hadnt heard from God yet. When God had the final say, I would accept it, but it hadnt happened yet. So, unmoving in my belief that all I had to do was pray hard enough to save my mother, I went back to the hospital the next day...I decided to spend every minute I could with her. And as each clergy person would come by to check on the nutty pregnant girl in room 20, I would desperately beg them for a miracle...or at least to tell me why I couldnt have one. Thank You God for finally sending someone who got through to me...my aunt Denise. She stood over my mother's bed with me and she said "I dont want you to have any regrets, so if there's anything you'd like to ask for, anything like you'd to cast out, I'll pray in agreement with you"...and so we did. And then she told me about the night my uncle Charlie died and how he kept looking up at the ceiling and she believed he saw the angels coming for him and he was not afraid to go, he wanted to go. That made me hopeful that my mom had had the same comforting presence at the end. And then my aunt asked me "why do you want to call your mom back from Paradise?"...and it dawned on me, that my desire to keep her earthbound was selfish, and maybe a little out of guilt, wanting to apologize for every mean, smart ass thing I had done, for all the things I didnt do...but in truth I knew that she had dealt with her demons for a long time and if this is how God wanted it to be, I needed to let it be. My sister and I made a decision that night to go to our dad and tell him it was a time. Her body was rapidly deteriorating. She was starting to have sores on her skin and simple things, like baths were becoming impossible without bottoming out her blood pressure. And so we did. We returned to the hospital that night as a family and stood around her. Played Elvis' version of "Amazing Grace" on an iPhone and prayed and waited. I held her hand as her breathing slowed & then stopped. And then as her heartbeats faded. When her heartbeats dropped to around 40, my dad had taken all he could and he kissed her goodbye and walked out of her room. Her heart dropped 20 beats right then and there. We said "she knows he left" and it wasnt but a few minutes later that her heart just stopped. I looked up at the ceiling and said "Thy will be done" & "Thank You for taking her peacefully".

Now, it would appear that my prayers were not answered. But let me tell you without a hint of doubt in my heart, I know that they were. I prayed fervently to see His hand, working and healing and touching us...and He has shown me nothing but in the weeks since. He has shown me that it was His plan all along for things that I questioned, things that I didnt understand as they were unfolding. Now I look back and say "oh, I get it." His wisdom and His love for us is so deep that He set plans into motion years ago that have brought me to where I am today. I can accept that it was my mother's time. I believe that it was. I made my peace with her during those bedside vigils in room 20, I told her everything I needed to say. As a mother myself though, I know that she already knew. God put some amazing people in my life that helped me so much through my grief. There's no doubt in my mind that I have been blessed. A few weeks ago, I was driving somewhere and God just spoke straight to my heart through a song on the radio. It was "Held" by Natalie Grant and basically she wants to know why werent my prayers answered, why did I have to go through this hurt. Im your child, why did this happen to me...the answer is "when the sacred is torn and you survive, that is what it means to be held. The promise was when everything fell, you would be held". Well, if thats not the truth. Talk about a lightbulb moment...my mom died, but I'm dealing with it, I'm working through it and I am HELD. What I once thought of as an unthinkable tragedy, to lose my mom, is hard, it hurts, but Im pushing through it. I'm HELD. There's my miracle right there. The one I prayed for. It was her time to go, and it still stings and I still want to call her everyday...but the miracle is I AM HELD.

Now, lest you think, this was a humorless affair...you would be wrong. I have never laughed so hard while being so sad in my entire life. Delirious? Perhaps. But my mom had a sense of humor and I dont think she wouldve been at all offended...in fact, I kind of like to think that in between chasing Elvis and visiting her daddy, she was looking down on us and laughing too. Case in point: The day after she died, my sister and I (The Steel Magnolias) and my husband (the honorary one) made ALLLLL the arrangements. I emphasize the word all because there is a heck of a lot of stuff to do and you get to do it in an absolute state of shock and numbness less than 24 hours after your mother has died. Which makes for an interesting day. Ok, this blog is turning into a novel, so let me sum it up, we went through her closet, got her "funeral suit", toyed with the idea of burying her in her trademark heels (didnt, because really, who wants to wear heels for eternity? I dont like 'em for 5 minutes), had a meeting at the funeral home where we picked songs, arranged speakers, brought in the obituary that I wrote at 2 am and left all kinds of people out of, brought in pictures for the slideshow, took a trip through the casket room, went to the flower shop, picked the casket spray, the kids bouquet, an arrangement from my dad, bought a teddy bear to bury her with (kind of a private joke), THEN we got to go to the cemetary, pick the actual piece of dirt my mother would spend eternity in, design a headstone and then you get to pay for it all right then and there. I had my dad's checks, thank the Lord because I shudder to think what her accomodations wouldve been if we'd been footing the bill. Anyway, then we go home for literally 5 minutes, then back to the funeral home, where my mom has been prepped (with some lovely so-not-her-shade lipstick) and we get to see her. Of course, she doesnt look like her. That was probably helpful, but we couldnt help but notice how flat chested she looked. It was then we realized we shouldve grabbed a wonderbra that morning while digging through her things for the suit. I swear, she's going to meet us at the pearly gates with a list of things that we did that she really wishes we didnt, and leaving the wonderbra out is going to be at the top. She was a prideful woman and really wouldve rather had a closed casket than have people see her without boobies. So we're standing around her casket in her very quiet room and its me and my husband and my kids and Im explaining to the kids why she doesnt really look like herself...and then I swear this is true, my 9 yr old pulls 2 quarters out of his pocket and attempts to place them on her eyes. Thank God I caught him before some of the more sensitive family members saw her. Yeah, I dont really know what kind of Westerns that boy's been watching...but something about that struck me as so funny that I laughed until I cried. Then we watched our slideshow. That was a weepy moment because we put so many pictures in, it was rather hard to get through. So after that, and realizing we hadnt really eaten, we went to Taco Villa. I swear, I was so exhausted, I was just barely functional. So Im placing my entire family's order and the girl is just not getting it right. I know that I asked her a couple of times to read it back to me and still it wasnt right. So how it happened, Im not entirely sure...but my husband came up to me and said "did I just see you walk behind the counter and start punching on that girl's computer?"...to which I said "hmmm, yeah, I think I did"..."Lori, you made her cry". Im sorry, Taco Villa girl. I'm equally sorry for screaming when my nachos arrived without the added scoop of guacamole...I'm not a horrible person, it had just been the longest of days and I was running on fumes.

So, probably the hardest part for me is that in about 7 weeks, Im having a baby. A baby that she was so looking forward to. I have to tell you, when I found out I was pregnant, I was ummm, unthrilled? Probably the best way to describe it. Here I am almost 40 and I just couldnt figure out how this was going to work. Now I get it. God knew. He knew one member of our family was dancing out and one was dancing in...its the circle of life. Still, her favorite thing was to be at the hospital and see the newest addition and now she wont be there. She told me about a week before she died, "Lori, you're so lucky, I wish I was starting all over again"...I hope in between chasing Elvis and visiting with her daddy, she'll look down on me and this new baby and smile.

There's a WHAT in there?!

2010-01-30T19:13:00.007-06:00

So I had my BIG ultrasound last week. I went in there feeling pretty smug, thinking to myself I'm such a veteran that I can probably read the doppler better than the chick who went to school for it. I am a pro. I had several with my first and each pregnancy since then, three or four, which puts me at around 20. So there's nothing this is going to tell me that I wont already know. I meet the husband at the office, hand over the toddler and proceed to change into a gown worn by many many many more people than I care to think about. Im guessing the ultrasound tech would have appreciated it had I waited for her to stop talking to me and leave the room before I started to disrobe, but that is yet another side effect of multiple pregnancies: modesty went out the window alooooong time ago...or maybe thats what happens when you have an audience of 4 everytime you take a bath. Either way, the point is, Im not shy. So I plop myself in the gown meant for an enormous person on the ultrasound table and wait for the show to begin. I had had a dr pepper with my egg mcmuffin that morning, so I was expecting an active baby. I was not expecting a high-wire circus act, but apparently baby "Cinco" is an active one. The little legs were moving so fast, it was more of a blur than an actual picture. Whats weird is I couldnt feel a thing. The kid, roughly the size of my liver at this point, is flipping upside down and around and punching at the air and riding an imaginary bicycle...and I was totally unaware. You'd think if your liver was flipping around, you'd know it. So I asked the tech could the placenta be in the front, and thus insulating all this movement, so thats why I dont feel it and Ms Personality said to me "Im only allowed by law to confirm your baby's gender"...well, dont you have ALL the power. "Do you want to know your baby's gender" she asked...well, if I dont, I guess we wont have much to say to each other, will we? No, I didnt say that, but I thought about it...I said sure, even though I already knew it was a girl, because I am a veteran, afterall. I have had 2 of each and I know the difference. This baby has made me gain weight in all the places my girls did, when my boys were generally stomach-only babies. This kid damn near killed me last fall, as did my girls the first trimesters that they were in my life, my boys-barely knew I was pregnant. So when she was measuring the little legs and said "oh its a boy", I said "NUH-UH". And she said "yes" and I looked at my husband who nodded and said "its a boy". And then the rest of its a blur...I could not have been more shocked if she had said "oh its a monkey". I had a name picked...Chloe. I had a room painted...pink. I had the cutest summer wardrobe ready to go...for a girl. This was insane. And at that point, I do recall staring at the screen as if it were the first ultrasound I had ever seen. I felt like Amy Pohler's character in "Baby Mama": "How in the hell did that get in there?!"...it was all starting to feel very surreal. After the ultrasound, I attempted to go shopping. I drove to Target. I put my toddler in the cart and pushed it around the perimeter of the store, not really sure what to buy. I think I finally ended up with some poptarts and capri suns. Then I went to get some gas. I sat in my car while it was pumping and when I got out to put the pump back in place, I realized, I had never turned it on. Oh this was messing with my mind. I was flustered. I went to pick up the kids at school. Trent was thrilled, Allie was shocked and Hadley cried...pretty much summed up how I'd felt all afternoon, well not the sad part, but the thrilling, shocked, dont even know what to do with my emotions part. I called my parents. My dad said "dont name it anything weird"...Moi? Would I do that...well, I might. And thats where I am at right now. Picking a not "very weird" name for a baby that has been surprising in more ways than one.

Hollywood and their teeny tiny baby bumps can suck it...

2010-01-11T17:12:00.004-06:00

Sounds harsh, I know. You know what else is harsh? Looking 8 months pregnant at 4...and running across a magazine of Nicole Richie's anorexic self with child about to pop at 98 pounds. Thats just wrong on so many levels. Do these girls not eat? Do they not eat big macs every other day? Dont they know that they are depriving their precious babies of all that is right in this world...or at the very least, they are depriving themselves of the only time in your life when a grown woman can guilt-free eat whatever she can get her hands on? Ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner? Why yes, its calcium! Sure, sometimes, we make excuses for ourselves...like dr pepper helps settle the queasies. You know what, its true, and if you can't trust a mother of 5 to tell you the truth about morning sickness, then you're just clearly in denial. Oh sure, I start every pregnancy saying "Im not going to eat crap, I'm going to eat healthy and leave the hospital wearing size 4 jeans"...as if. I'm actually a tad more realistic this time around..."I'm going to eat crap, I accept it, I know the guy at McDonald's first name and he knows to give me extra ketchup. I might occasionally eat healthy, but I'll probably drown it in blue cheese dressing, so it's a wash. And I will never leave the hospital wearing size 4 jeans following the delivery of a baby. I may never see size 4 again. I would, however, like to see a size 6-8 because I have some really cute shorts I never got to wear." Other than the fact that they are bad for my self-esteem, I actually feel sorry for the skinny little waifs in Hollywood with their tiny little bumps...sure, they'll look awesome in their clothes and no one will ever barge in on them in the tub and say the following meanest words on earth: Oh Mommy, will I be fat like you too someday...but those little starlets dont know what it is truly like to eat with abandon, to follow your instincts (reese's cups were probably invented by a pregnant chick-chocolate AND peanut butter-pure genius), and glory in waist free clothing. I, for one, could not be more thrilled with the popularity of the maxi-dress...oh the things I will be able to hide with those tents of fabric! We all know those chicks get lipo and a tummy tuck in the delivery room anyway, might as well eat Taco Bell at midnight while you can...

Auld Lang Syne...

2009-12-29T14:57:00.003-06:00

Time to think about my resolutions for the coming year. I was thinking about really simple things, that Im sure to accomplish, like give birth, or really obvious things I'm sure to stay away from like no drinking for the first 6 months of 2010, or just chuck it altogether...but really, I am a listmaking machine and something about having a plan just makes me feel better, so here goes...

Lori's Resolutions for 2010, in no particular order

1. I'm going to stop having a stroke at the grocery store every time someone stops their cart in the middle of the aisle. I will no longer mentally plan my parking lot assault on these people who obviously have their heads up their patooties. And you know, age is really no excuse. I dont care if you are 88, you made it into the store...game on. Just get your things and move along. Well thats how I have felt until now. Now I am going to be ohsomuch nicer. I doubt that I'll be chatting up my fellow patrons over the merits of this product or that-that would require a serious uppage in the dosage of my meds-but I am going to sincerely try not to raise my blood pressure planning anyone's demise in the middle of the meat section anymore...I may occassionally give someone the stinkeye in frozen foods, but seriously, some people just have it coming...

2. This will be easy-peasy...I shall not get pregnant in 2010. I can guaran-damn-tee this one because I will already be pregnant for the 1st 6 months and after that, I am, as my brother so eloquently puts it, "taking myself out of the gene pool". That will be bittersweet, but I think I can finally handle it. I never wanted to admit I might be done, but this past trimester has taught me: I am done. Really really really done. And now that some of my peers have started announcing their grandchildren, I'm thinking, wow I AM going to be the oldest mom in the PTA someday...

3. I am going to start keeping the house cleaner. It bears noting that this is a weekly resolution with me, but since baby #5 has decided to kill me and housekeeping has fallen off the backburner and onto the floor...I really feel like its time to start taking this a tad more seriously. My husband was raised in a household that employed up to 3 maids at a time, to say he's a little shell-shocked with the mess of 4 children and 3 cats is an understatement...lets just say that a clean house would do more for keeping my marriage happy than a week of Bahamanian couples therapy at one of those swanky retreats.

4. This issue gets its own separate #, even though I can see how one would assume it would fall under #3. Clean out junk drawers. I have only lived in this house since February, but if you were to take a gander at my junk drawers, one might assume that I had lived here all my life. Apparently I have issues with throwing things away, but all thats about to stop. I may still keep a junk drawer (or two) but no longer 20.

And so far, thats it...there may be more later, but those junk drawers will probably keep me busy til at least August...

Tis the Season...

2009-12-22T12:49:00.003-06:00

To understand why some people smoke crack...not really, calm down. I'm not smoking crack or anything else for that matter. Just sayin'...I am starting to understand the plight of the desperate, the downtrodden, the depressed...because I am en route to spend Christmas at my parents. My parents. I would like to say we put the fun in dysfunctional but that would be so misleading because there is very little about going to the house where time stands still that is indeed FUN. First of all, my mom's circulation is apparently that of an eel because the temp in that house hovers at around 108 degrees and I am not kidding. Secondly, sometime in the years between me leaving home and now, they became "cat people". Lots and lots of cats, cats that hiss, cats that shed, cats that pee on strangers' things. Cats that think I am in THEIR room even though its been MY room since my brother left home in 1984. Another fun fact about casa de padres is that they have become a little bit hearing impaired and appear to be suffering from insomnia, which means, depending on which parent's TV room (yes, they watch TV in separate rooms) you are near, you might be listening to BLARING cagefights or Lifetime movies. All. Night. Long. And those Lifetime movies my mom always finds a way to relate to me...dont go out shopping while you're pregnant, someone will kidnap and kill you for the baby. Well, mom, I explain, I have spent most of my adult life pregnant and we like to eat so I'm just gonna have to take my chances in the parking lot of HEB. Such is life. She also likes to tell me what fast food workers do to my food, which is really a buzzkill when I'm digging into my 5th burrito from Taco Villa. There is nothing to eat there besides drive thru food, you would think they would have food, but you would be wrong. I know, think of grandparents and visions of baked goodies and all that just pop right into your head. Unless your parents have been harboring eating disorders since the late 70's, in which case...think granola, raw walnuts and frozen lean cuisines...and those frickin' Marie Callender's pot pies. Marie Callender, you have sustained my father for well over a decade. Needless to say, when I think of home-cookin', it usually involves tearing into a paper sack. And since my parents are so damn skinny, and I am perpetually pregnant, they think I'm fat...which leads to multiple FUN conversations that involve scrutinizing every calorie I intake. But you know what, I dont care...because I'm almost 40, with almost 5 kids and I've done alright so far...no I can no longer fit in my junior high jeans. But my mom can and I know that for a fact because my closets are still full of "Lori's Clothing Through the Decades". Yeah, Im serious. Two huge walk-in closets packed full of the archives of my fashion exploits. Some are just hideous, but By God we still have them. And I do mean FULL...I'm afraid if I walk all the way to the back of one, I will find myself in Narnia. So think of me, these next few days, I'll be wearing a Spuds Mackenzie tank top from 8th grade while sweating under the never ending onslaught from the heating ducts (I cannot even imagine what their energy bills are like) and trying to block out the sounds of cagefighting and the latest Tori Spelling movie of the week while eating 15000 calories in shame...Merry Christmas! :)

There's a reason Martha Stewart only has 1 child...

2009-12-07T14:27:00.003-06:00

I do believe that the number of children you have corresponds to the level of organization you like to have in your life. When people tell me they want a bunch of kids, I usually ask them "how important is cleanliness to you"...because after the 2nd kid...forgetaboutit! I dont care how much of a neat-freak you are or if you hire a maid or if you have the most helpful husband on earth...unless you can go through HEB with a jelly handprint on your butt & not bat an eye...you're just not cut out for mulitiple children. See, I know from experience that once you start adding more kids to the mix, the older ones will do things you never thought possible from rational human beings...sticking chewed gum up their noses (waaaay up their noses), taking doors off hinges, breaking windows and blaming it on the new kitten, microwaving metal, microwaving marshmallows just to watch them explode, microwaving crayolas and glitter ("its so pretty")...in fact, microwaves are pretty much instruments of the devil in the hands of a child. They slide down bannisters head first. They autograph the walls with sharpie. They do various things to their window blinds...to the point that the blind cutter at Lowe's asks "how many windows do you have in your house" and its easier just to answer "oh...a LOT" than to say "oh the last 30 blinds have been for the same window". And quiet. Is quiet important to you? If the answer is anything close to yes, you're way better off sticking to one kid. That would be much easier to silence than a chorus of little voices screaming over the last exploding marshmallow coming out the microwave. Blown up pool toys in Mommy's big bathtub...with bubbles...a lot of bubbles from the entire bottle of shampoo...whats wrong with that? Putting the kitten-the long suffering kitten-on the blown up pool toy to go for a boat ride...you think I'm kidding...and we havent even hit the teen years yet. See, thats why Martha only has one and Racheal Ray has none and Paula Deen didnt become a cooking dynamo til her boys were grown...because its difficult to make a masterpiece when you have to scrape the dried playdoh out of your pyrex dish. Luckily, my highest aspiration these days is getting laundry mountain dwindled down to a hill. And to always make sure I have dark pants to wear out of the house because jelly doesnt show up nearly as bad when smeared across the butt...

The Adventures of Cinco-Mom...

2009-12-01T14:44:00.002-06:00

like Octo-mom, but only half as crazy. That's the new reality show I'm thinking I should pitch to TLC. Come along as I try to take FIVE children to the grocery store or survive a summer in the Houston heat. Sure we belong to a pool...but getting there will only be part of the fun. You can watch as I attempt to keep my house standing...not clean-that went out the window two kids ago-just standing, I will settle for that. And I dont even pretend to have half the organizational skills of Kate...it'll pretty much be pandemonium...and whats more fun to watch than that?! And unlike Octo-mom, I have a husband to help...see I think thats where she went a little batty. Her support system consists of whatever nannies she manages not to run off and HER MOTHER. Sweet Lord, can you imagine, having your mother and 14 children under the same roof. I would get a part time job at Spec's just to get the discount on liquor. You can watch me dodge well meaning questions that I am sure to be asked twenty times a day: "are you a Mormon?" No..."what about Catholic?" Nope..."are you like those Dugger people?"...I think those people are saints-or nuts-I havent decided yet...my favorite question comes from my 92 year old grandma "what on earth is wrong with you, dont you know about birth control?"...ick, grandma, so not going there with you-or anyone else for that matter. The truth of the matter is...and I was told this by my very wise physician in Odessa when I was expecting #3...when God wants a baby to be born, its gonna happen. And I accept that. Its good enough for me. This is the road God has chosen for me and though I'm not entirely sure why, I have a feeling its always going to be entertaining-or at least never dull-so it would probably make really good TV...until I go all wiggy on my husband, he starts dating tarty co-eds he meets in bars and I get a haircut that looks like a porcupine's butt...

The Cruise that aint happenin' now...(repeat)

2009-11-30T13:35:00.001-06:00

not with the 6 Haddens on board anyway. My kids havent found that out yet. I have a feeling the news will not be well received. We had such grand plans: ziplining through the jungle, riding on ATV's through the forest, trekking through the Mayan ruins...oh and there's a Build-A-Bear on deck, so we were REALLY looking forward to it. I had pencilled us in for Memorial Day weekend. Late enough that we could have enough days at sea without pushing our school attendance requirements over the edge (believe me, we'll be pushing them by Christmastime) but early enough that we miss hurricane at sea season. All night buffets, age appropriate camps, dolphins outside your window, towels folded like animals...it was going to be spectacular. Funny that the hubs would even consider it, he never wanted to take a cruise before, but now, he was on board, so to speak so we dashed plans for Disney or any other fantastic destinations and decided that the Mexican Riviera would be just the place for Haddenfest-oh-10. What's that old Yiddish saying..."if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans"...yeah, seems He has quite the sense of humor...and I'm trying to see the humor in it as well, though I must say at almost 40 years old, I'm not seeing things nearly as funny these days. Remember when I had the swine flu last month? Yeah, well it wasnt...And remember when I bought the house that we would never outgrow? Yeah, well, we're going to...And you know, people always ask me if I'm done having kids? And I answer by saying "are you frickin' kiddin' me? I'm almost 40 years old!" Yeah, well apparently umm thats no excuse. Yeah, Baby Hadden will be here in June, or if its anything like its siblings, more like the end of May...around Memorial Day, when our cruise will be headed towards the ziplining, ATV-fueled, Mayan-ruined adventures in Mexico. Ole.

I took my personality pill...

2009-11-13T20:44:00.004-06:00

I dont know why I still want to slap these people. Usually it makes me an absolute delight, maybe I need to up my dosage because I am no longer walking on sunshine. Paxil has been a lifesaver for me-or rather a lifesaver for those around me, seeing how I haven't killed anyone yet. I have a feeling that if I hadnt gone on it voluntarily, it wouldve been court-ordered sooner or later anyway. Its been a Godsend though, I often say if I had been given a shot of it at birth, I might've been a little more motivated to become something great...or at least less lazy. It really does help you to not strangle people, especially during the holidays, when quite frankly some people are just begging for it. But I needed it for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder...of which I used to suffer. And by that, I mean, I was a little loopy, a little cookoo, a little tightly wound...and I drove everyone around me insane. Like when Tommy would come pick me up for a date, and I would have to check the front door to make sure it was locked. I wasnt really aware of it until one day, many years into the relationship, he said "go do it, jiggle it 3 times and then hit it with your hip"..."huh?"..."thats your thing, Lori, thats what you do, EVERYTIME you leave the house". Well, isnt he observant. But I bet he didnt know the depths of my compulsion...the carrying out of curling irons, blowdryers, and anything that might catch on fire if I accidentally left it in the house while not at home and inadvertantly left it on, which Ive never actually done, but there's always a first and I'm not taking any chances. You could totally gauge the kind of week I was having by the number of small appliances sitting in the front seat of my car. Stressed much? Hello, curling iron, toaster, blowdryer, hotsticks and electric razor (you can never be TOO careful)...care to go for a ride? Oh and if you wanted to make me go completely unhinged, leave a jagged edge on a paper towel, just try...I dare you. I would climb over you to get to that roll of towels and tear it evenly along the perforation because,by God, thats the way its SUPPOSED to be. If you cant tear along the perforations, then just dont touch it. And if I were to visit your house and make a stop in the powder room, I might (definitely) take certain liberties in rearranging a few things that might be out of place: toilet paper rolls always roll from the top, never underneath and towels must be folded so the tags face the same direction. There was once a time that towels were the bane of my existence. I worked in a tanning salon and I had to fold the freshly laundered towels. I have been known to come *thisclose* to convulsing over the way the girl before me left her stack...all willy-nilly, tags askew, no rhyme or reason, some folded with seams in, some folded with seams out...no wonder I drank so much beer in college...those people were pushing me over the edge. Now, my husband makes fun of me, but I happen to know that he has a few quirks of his own...he counts things. If we are ever at a party, museum, whatever and I notice his eyes scanning a wall, I'll ask "how many, weirdo" and he doesnt miss a beat, he just tells me a number because he knows that I know he's counting bricks. Which is cool that we can accept each other's, you know, nuttiness...it also means our kids dont stand a chance. Someone is guaranteed to be on pharmaceuticals sooner or later. And I highly recommend them. Because somewhere along the way, I lost the need to check doorknobs, carry out electrics, or give a damn about folding laundry. Infact, the other day, I left the house with the crockpot on and didnt think twice. Those are good pills, said the hubs. Maybe I just finally figured out that something's are important and for everything else, there's insurance...

Fist City...

2009-11-13T14:23:00.002-06:00

Is where I'm about to take 3 ungrateful balls of fur. Geez. I get it, old geezer cat, you're mad there's a new baby kitten and you're still mad about moving and heaven only knows what else your holding against me that I have done in the last 14 years. I thought we were friends. I let you sleep on my feet at night. Friends do not pee on friends' boots...or behind their leather chairs...or on their leather chairs...or on the bathmat...or on the wood floor...are we noticing a pattern here. Someone is being very spiteful. Where the hell is a cat whisperer when you need one. There's a show on some channel, TLC maybe (they have all kinds of whackadoo crap, so probably so) called "My Monkey Baby" where crazy empty-nesters adopt spider monkeys and dress them up like pageant girls, which is enough to piss the monkeys off royally. And this one monkey got into his "mom's" stash o' pills-I'm sure she had quite the variety, because lets face it, what other kind of woman would have a monkey baby-so to figure it out his "mom" called not the monkey doctor, but the monkey baby psychic, so the monkey baby psychic could ask him telepathically what the deal was. Luckily the psychic said all was well...what a relief, right? So Im thinking to myself...I need a cat psychic. You KNOW they exist, you know they do. I could probably find one on Craigslist, she probably doubles as a hooker-but hey, Im not here to judge, just tell my cat to cool it with the pee, and you can be a circus freak for all I care. Its getting bad, desperately bad. I'm thinking of just putting him outside to live as one with the possums and the raccoons...but he's like 108 in human years. Meanwhile, my house smells like bleach and cinnamon plug-ins. If you come to my house, do not judge...or I'll tell my cat-and that guy can hold quite a grudge.

The cruise that aint happenin' now...

2009-11-13T14:07:00.003-06:00

Where do I go...

2009-11-05T09:05:00.003-06:00

to remove my name from the list of the "Housewife Chore Wars" competitors. I know such a list must exist, even if I never actually volunteered to be on it. I think its covert, we're all competing whether we want to or not, and no one knows how to get off, short of a nervous breakdown. Think about how much simpler our lives would be if we found this list and obliterated it. No more decorating contests, no more not letting people past the front steps when the house isnt perfect, no more killing ourselves to outdo each other. We may not all admit that we do it, but come on...when was the last time you went over to some Martha Stewart's house, took one look around and said "oh this chick is never getting in to see my mess". Wouldnt it be nice if we had the freedom to opt-out of all things domestic, particularly while our kids are young and in Destructo-mode? I have 4, but really, it seems like 12. They are forever finding things to ride down the stairs on despite repeated admonitions not to, there they go...bump bump bump...chipping paint and teeth and laughing all the way. I will never fully excavate their rooms. I try, but each layer uncovers something to be dealt with...carpets full of toothpaste, a stash of candy under the bed, a wayward child feeding cats IN HER CLOSET. Yes, that last one is real. In fact they are all real. I find pieces of toys, furniture, my sanity just lying around everywhere I turn...so if I could get a waiver allowing me to quit this crazy "my home is right out of a magazine" contest, it would make things so much easier. Oh and someone tell my husband he's not allowed to complain about it if he's going to do it while sitting on the couch...

Slacker...

2009-10-28T09:28:00.004-05:00

that's me. Only blogged a couple of times the whole month of October. Let's see if I can recap...hmmm, the first two weeks I was sick and unable to do anything but sleep, so they kinda went by in a blur. Then I spent the next 2 weeks picking up broken spaghetti noodles off the floor and trying to catch up on laundry. Our laundry grows exponentially, as you know. Miss a day and good luck trying to find a towel...miss two days and we're down to wearing Easter clothes with swimsuits underneath. And the spaghetti noodles...someone please explain to me the appeal of playing with dried noodles?? My kids cant keep their hands off of them and as a result, I spend a fair amount of time sweeping them up. Last week was exciting. I was upstairs vacuuming my son's hovel of a room right before school pick up. My 3 yr old came upstairs, didnt say anything, just stuck by me. So I hear the doorbell ring a few minutes later, I grab him by the hand and we walk downstairs...but my door is already open and a rather large man is standing in my doorway. It appears precious angel-baby let him in while I was vacuuming and he hung around until I showed up. His first words to me were "I'm an addict but I'm in rehab"...I wish I'd had the presence of mind to respond "I'm a gunowner, just not a real great shot"...but I was raised to be polite, even to nutty strangers, so I listened to his crap before finally shutting the door and escaping. We have since had long talks about NEVER unlocking the door again. Poor kid probably wouldnt open it now if we bribed him with goldfish and rootbeer. Last weekend was mercifully Trent's last football game of the season. Now I can stop pretending to know which side he's supposed to be running to. It was also Halloween. Not my favorite holiday by any means. My kids dont need any more sugar and I dont need those evil baby-sized heath bars taunting me...nor do I care for the TMJ that results from stealing all the bit-o-honeys out of their stash. Its bad for their teeth I tell them...through mine, which are clenched shut. And now, since apparently we have no teenage pranksters on our block to kick the crap out of our pumpkins, someone is going to have to get out there and deal with their rotting corpses. I dont do too well with anything rotten...maybe if I bribe Trent with a contraband bit-o-honey, he'll do it. Next up, Thanksgiving. I generally love Thanksgiving. No stress, just cook and eat...what can be more fun than that? Umm, hosting Thanksgiving...thats what. Parents are coming for a visit, which means I gotta get busy and finish my projects, otherwise my dad is going to stand around saying things like "my God, have you people ever heard of painter's tape". Oh tis the season...no wonder eggnog is so popular this time of year. I'll have mine extra spiked please.

Gatorade looks an awful lot like antifreeze...

2009-10-19T20:21:00.002-05:00

so the husband recovers from flu week '09, the children recover, everyone is resilient it would seem, except for me. So I asked my husband if he was poisoning me by slipping antifreeze in my gatorade. He said "Lori, if I wanted to kill you I certainly wouldn't drag it out for weeks, I'd pick something quicker". Good to know. Nonetheless, I told him, if I die, they will do an autopsy...and if they find ethylene glycol in my blood, you're going down, buddy. At which point, he said perhaps I should cut back on the Lifetime movies. It wasn't a movie, it was on "Snapped"...this crazy new true-crime show that I've been watching an abundance of in my convalescense. Apparently there are a lot of people in this country who should sleep with one eye open. I'm not one of them...yet. If I ever get sick for 14 days again, I might be. So I did an awful lot of sleeping this past weekend and awoke to find that my house had turned into a den of hell's angels. The sink in the wetbar had been broken so that it now resembles a geyser in Yellowstone Park. All over the black granite-which is a tad slippery when wet-and all over the pictures on black granite wet bar. Not pleased. Made my way upstairs to old friend, computer...have not seen or touched computer in days...was very sad-but not altogether surprised-to find my spacebar broken...so if you see a place that needs a space that doesn't have one: it's all their fault. Went to take bath in beloved bathtub...beloved bathtub had been invaded by interlopers that broke things and splashed with abandon without first removing magazines that are now stuck to marble...dont know if you've ever tried to scrape dried magazine off of marble, but it's not something one can easily do when all she has eaten for 4 days is saltine crackers. I think I blacked out. And I cant even describe the kitchen...suffice it to say, this was one of the happiest Mondays in recent memory: 3 little children off to school and one mom on damage control duty.

Traffic Alert...

2009-10-14T23:24:00.005-05:00

Only 9 more years til Hadley can drive. Start preparing yourselves now. I recommend welding a bumper car device around your vehicles. Its what my insurance guy threatened to do to me during my "driving like a bat out of hell" teen years. Ok, so he's still suggesting it to this day. I swear, drive through a front yard and land on the porch ONE TIME and it haunts you forever. But we're not talking about me today. Yes, in 9 short years, which I have a feeling will be fleeting, Hadley will be taking her driving test. And I assume that she'll pass, even if like some people (her mother), it takes an extra try or two. Which means that I only have 9 years to sleep with both eyes shut. I just have a feeling that letting that one loose in the forest with 2 tons of steel is going to take some effort, some strength that I may or may not possess without the aid of pharmaceuticals. See, she is my wild child, she is my rebel...she is my "Lori"...and like my mama always said "girl, you're gonna pay for your raisin' with that one", which is so true. And since I remember me, I'm scared. I am fairly certain that I'm going to have to get a lo-jack installed on her diva-mobile...and believe me, whatever car she drives will be just that. My beloved first car, my baby, the car I still dream of and the car that I would still own if my husband was a mechanic instead of a businessman was a white Toyota MR2. About as big as a matchbox car. Like driving a go-cart. Every old fart with clouded vision plowed right into me, but we kept on going, me and my little tank. Could not have been a bigger piece of poop if it had literally been made of poop. Luckily my uncle is the Redneck MacGuyver (and thats a compliment) and he can fix anything with a plug of chewing tobacco and a wire coat hanger, and we "fixed" that car on a daily basis. I think he was happier than anyone when I finally got a new one. Well, almost anyone, my husband-who was my boyfriend at the time-was pretty thrilled too,because as a 6'3" man it is difficult to sit in an MR2 without first contorting oneself into the fetal position. I didnt care though. I loved that car. I felt that the car and I had a symbiotic relationship; we were both misunderstood, in need of fine tuning but a hell of a lot of fun! That was a hard car to part with...but part you must when you forget to change the oil and next thing you know there's a rod through your crankshaft. I learned a lot about cars with that one. I can pretty much diagnose car "issues", especially those born of owner-neglect, in a matter of minutes. Did you know that you can break an axle just driving down the street? And did you know when that happens, various strange men will stop and offer you rides? Lets just say that thanks to all the crazy stunts I pulled in that car, you can believe that in 9 years I will be following Miss Hadley at a pace of 3 carlengths away with my lo-jack monitoring device on the dashboard.

And this little piggy...

2009-10-10T20:28:00.005-05:00

kicked my booty. I had the flu. All. Week. Long. I dont know if it was the swine flu because I would have to go to the doctor's office for that and since that's were all the germ-infested sneezy snot machines are, I decided to stay home. But the nurse at my kids' school assured me its the only thing going around so if it was flu-like, thats what it was. Hubs also had it as well. Do you understand the implications of two parents being sick the same week? Pande-freakin-monium. My house is so falling apart right now. If you want a spoon you will have to wait for me to wash you one by hand. If you want a bath towel, you may be out of luck until the dryer stops again, unless you're ok with damp. If you need help finding something, I dont know...PRAY-because I sure dont know where anything is. I do know that the people at La Madeleine's make very fine potato soup and that it has sustained us for the last 7 days, with us alternating which one would make the .8 mile trek to get it. Usually it was me...the people at La Mad's are wondering if I've ever heard of a food processor...you can see it in their eyes every day when I walk in and say "2 large potato soups please". But thank God for them, even if I can add them to the growing list of people who think I'm nuts, because without them we might've starved. It was the only thing that sounded even halfway decent to my "oh-God-help-me-the room-is spinning" stomach. I watched an exorbitant amount of crappy TV. I'm usually home or in and out of the house all day but never really parked in front of the TV til this last week. For heaven's sake...Jerry Springer is still on, did you know that? And its just as horrific as it ever was, but it did temporarily make me feel better to know that regardless of how "gum-stuck-to-the-bottom-of-a-truckstop-table" awful I felt, at least I've never considered running off with my brother. Oh. God. No. Then Oprah showed me people who make my sloppiness look like amateur hour because they are "hoarders" of the extreme variety and then Oprah proceeded to delve into their pasts so they made for certain to place the blame squarely where it belongs-their parents. Hey, I've been through therapy, I know the drill: If its not one thing, its your mother. I learned that my mother really screwed me up and one day my kids will pay $65 an hour for the same revelation about me...except it wont be true because the only thing I'm guilty of is spoiling them ROTTEN, but I digress. And because I despise all things political, I had to avoid the news channels like the plague. I do love me some Nancy Grace though...I mean, I dont ever want to talk to her...but I love it when she tells people to "shut your piehole"...she is a girl after my own heart. Mainly I just slept. I slept so much that my back would just ache and then I would climb into my big bathtub and read a gossip magazine because Jon Gosselin's not gonna hate himself-thats MY job. And thats basically how my week went: eat soup from people who think I cant cook, watch TV about lowlifes, read about celebrity lowlifes from the comfort of my bathtub and sleep...I know, I make it sound so glamourous but believe me when I say I am glad to be well. Particularly when I waded through the kids' den today and found a salad bowl full of oreos with all the middles licked out...someone enjoyed Mommy's sick days a little too much.

Ok, so La Madeleine's is out...

2009-09-30T19:57:00.003-05:00

at least for the time being. I'm also avoiding brats at the park. Not my own brats...I cant avoid them and I CAN tell them to zip it...I'm avoiding other people's brats. Just got home from football practice-where I was spending my time walking-when Hadley Kate said "Mommy! Are you pregnant?"...Ummm, excuse me? Are you aware those are fighting words when spoken to a woman of a certain age and weight? "Why no, precious angel, I am not...why do you ask?", I inquired. Just that sweetly too. Ok, maybe not. They're lucky I answered at all instead of just snapping their little necks. "Oh so and so wanted to know". Really...? Well, so and so is going to remain nameless in my blog so that way when her house gets TP'ed, people wont be pointing fingers at me. Ok, I admit, I have been stopping by La Madeleine's with a little more frequency as of late and my walks have been curtailed by our recent rain...but come on...pregnant? This chick aint seen pregnant, I mean if she thinks this is it...Pffft! When I am pregnant, my legs look like Fred Flintstone's. My face looks upholstered. It appears that I am smuggling smurfs under my clothes. And there is NO doubt in anyone's mind whether I am or I am not. Still, what a rude kid miss so and so has turned out to be and enlisting my own child to publicly broadcast how hugely unattractively fat they obviously think I am. So, no more ice cream, no more symphony bar brownies, no more jars of macadamia nuts...until someone learns to keep their thoughts to themselves. Or until I'm back in my skinny jeans.

Confessions of an Afrin-oholic...

2009-09-29T22:49:00.004-05:00

Worse than crack, no doubt in my mind. Those benign looking little white bottles of nasal spray that you can pick up for around $2 at any grocery store. They're like black tar heroin. For twelve, maybe more, years I had a ferocious little monkey on my back. It would wake me up in the middle of the night with a dream that I was drowning, I'd reach in my pillow case and pull out my little demon, 3 squirts each side...yeah, I know thats a little OCD, isnt it? What can I say, I was consumed. I had one with me at all times. You know when Y2K scares were running amok, guess what I stockpiled? Food, water, chlorine tablets? Nope, in case of apocalyptic ruin, I wanted to be able to breathe free. My biggest fear was being without it. I had them in my desk drawer, my purse, my glovebox. One time we were moving my bed and several-and I do mean SEVERAL- fell out from right behind where I lay my head. I was mortified. When did this happen to me? How did this happen to me? I tried to quit and it was ugly. I would shiver and shake and become irritable and headachey and then I'd go back to my evil master. Man, I loathed nose spray but I had to have it. I had a co-worker one time ask me if I was on drugs. I was fairly new at the job and I was being particularly horrid one day (I know, moi? Its true.), then I went into the bathroom and all she heard was "sniff-sniff-sniff"-snort-"sniff-sniff-sniff"-snort. Attractive, right? Then I come out of the bathroom and I am not only fine as wine but apparently flyin' high, because oxygen, after you've been deprived, will do that to a girl. She actually asked me "ok, what'd you just do"...I hesitated for a second, saw where her assumption was headed and pulled out my dirty little secret. Of course everyone in our maze of cubicles laughed. What a quirky chick that new girl is...who gets addicted to Afrin...hahaha. That was cool with me, because no one would try to stop me...because sometimes well-meaning people would try to intervene and let me just tell ya-there was a time I could've cut someone over a bottle of nose spray. The silent addiction. Went to a very well respected doctor in Highland Park, he tried to scare me straight...pointed out the proximity between the nasal passages and the brain, said I could get an acute infection and die. Hmm, I thought to myself...if I cant breathe, I think I'd rather be dead. Fast forward several years, I have grown to despise the taste of Afrin going down the back of my throat. I hate being dependent on something so ridiculous, I begin to reach out. I learn that others have suffered, including my own grandmother. People told me wretched stories of veins busting loose in the middle of the night and other inopportune times, they thought they might bleed to death. Had to go to the emergency room and have a red-hot poker shoved up their noses to cauterize the bleeding vein. Hmmm, that would suck, I would think...and then file that info in the back of my brain in the "things to be dealt with another day" file and have another snort. Other people told me of surgeries to re-line their nasal passages so that they could live like normal human beings. I thought that I would probably go that route someday. Then one day about 2 years ago, I came down with the worst most awful hellacious sickness I could ever imagine. It settled in my sinuses. It felt like all my teeth were going to fall out and if that wouldve helped the pain I wouldve been okay with it...ok, not really, Ive kinda got a hang up about my teeth, but it was bad, just trust me. It felt like my cheek had been broken with a hammer and no matter how much nasal spray I used, it was to no avail. So somehow, in my sick, delusional mind, I came up with the idea that if it wasnt going to do me any good then I wasnt going to use it and I would just take copiuos amounts of tylenol pm and that cough syrup that knocks you out and I would sleep with my mouth open. I hate doing that, but I felt like 9 kinds of hell anyway, so really-what difference was it going to make. Four of the longest days of my life later, I emerged from my Afrin cocoon...I could breathe free and easy and unmedicated for the first time in years. And that is the story of how I kicked that little monkey's ass right off my back... :)

Open letter to Jon Gosselin...

2009-09-29T14:14:00.003-05:00

Duuuuude. Are you as stunned as I am by the turn of events? I mean, could you have ever imagined in your wildest dreams that you would get not one, but THREE, women besides Kate who is willing to spend time with you. I heard you just got your marching orders from TLC. You know thats the same network that employs people who can no longer leave their house without the aid of a forklift and a flat bed truck and people who hoard newspapers and magazines as far as the eye can see and get a little batty when someone tries to "clean". And lets not forget the women who pop out a perfectly healthy 8 pound baby and they didnt even know they were pregnant. These people have managed to stay employed with TLC but YOU have been asked to vacate the premises...you must've screwed up royally. I read that you bought the youngest of your harem a Porsche Cayenne...that must've set you back a few dollars. Something tells me that you might be returning it to the dealership. Wait, doesnt TLC also have a show about repo men? Maybe one of them could come pick it up and then perhaps you'd make a little bank on the royalties of the show. I just dont know what youre gonna do...I think someone should start ebaying his Ed Hardy shirts. And p.s. those Gucci shoes? Not cute. And you can buy them at Marshalls for $99. Kate would've known that, she would've never paid retail. If she were in the market for ugly shoes. Something tells me Kate is going to do just fine. She's already co-hosted on "The View" around the same time that you and your mom threw a pool party at The Hard Rock in Viva Las Vegas. Sure, Kate looked like a big meanie on the show...but now we know why. Someone had to reign in the 9th child. Basically at this point, unless Kate happens to have a circus freak living in her closet-and even then, it might not be a dealbreaker-you are going down. I wonder though, were you always immature and nutty. If the guiding hand of Kate left the back of your head for one second, would you go all crazy haywire...or is this a typical midlife crisis. Because honestly? You threw it all away for no reason. Yes, I get it. Life didnt turn out the way you had planned, you got thrown a few curveballs...but you know, you got very fairly compensated. Still not happy? They make pills for that. See you on TMZ, Jon with your next hoochie-floozy-flavor of the week...

Team Kate Captain
Houston Chapter

Hanging around with a 3 yr old...

2009-09-28T14:38:00.012-05:00

is like taking a drunk monkey everywhere you go. You never know what the hell they're going to pull, you just know there will be damage-control involved. Sometimes they see a fresh puddle and lie right down in it. I dont understand that at all, because being wet from head to toe with dirty water sounds like my idea of skeevy, but thats definitely not genetic because my son cant avoid a good puddle. You can try to put your drunk monkey in a grocery cart but if something catches his eye, he'll just stand right up and lunge at it...gravity be damned. You cant take your eye off a drunk monkey for a second or next thing you know he's licking the floor, looking for a place to tinkle or unwrapping something that does not belong to either one of you. Drunk monkeys love to run, with clothes, without clothes, in the street, up the stairs, after a baby kitten, around the coffee table...I like to call it "my aerobic activity for the day". Because generally they are holding something in their little chubby fists that must be extricated before the run can continue peril-free and for that the drunk-monkey-tamer (me) must tackle him. I have gotten so fast I amaze myself. I can actually run without collapsing a lung. This is quite a newsflash for a girl who faked notes from her mom all throughout junior high that said "please excuse Lori from P.E. today, her asthma is acting up"...for the record, I was not asthmathic and I sure wasn't athletic, just a tad too precocious for my own good. Anyway, I'm a running fool now...because I have to be or the drunk monkey will escape and then heaven only knows what I'll have to clean up. Ever taken a drunk monkey out to eat? We attempt at least once a week, but only to establishments with a liquor license-and thats not a coincidence. Taking a drunk monkey out in public-particularly to eat- has got to be the most effective contraceptive in the world. You know those scared straight programs in school that take juvenile delinquents into jail and let them see what their future holds if they dont straighten up? I say send a hormonal high school kid to Chuy's with my family one evening...they will remain chaste til their wedding day and quite possibly beyond. What about giving a drunk monkey a bath, not even close to being as fun as it sounds. I have a big tub. Which must look like an ocean to my particular monkey and he likes to swim back and forth, really fast, til the water spills over and pours down the bathtub steps...did I mention the floor is marble...what genius came up with that combo? Steps attached to a bathtub and a marble floor...let me guess, someone without a drunk monkey! Otherwise it would have come equipped with a grab bar and a flotation device. You know what the sweetest sight to behold is...sleeping drunk monkeys. They're so charming and cute, you actually forget all about your crazy day...til you wake up and start all over...

The pursuit of youth and beauty...

2009-09-28T12:28:00.002-05:00

at Walmart. Ok, I'm lying. I loathe Walmart, it stresses me out and that causes an ugly forehead wrinkle, so it's more like "The pursuit of youth and beauty at Target." You ever just walk through there wondering what little potion or purifying cream or organic product you can get to turn back the hands of time? Well, I do. Mostly I search online because I figure thats where the good stuff is but since life finds me at Target almost every other day, it just makes sense I would buy a fair amount of product there as well. I dont think I'm going to age gracefully. I see me kickin' and screamin' out of my 30's...My mind has a hard time processing that I'm that old. I have always felt somewhere between 16 and 21. Old enough to drive, old enough to drink, old enough for most anything you have in mind-except you know, wrinkles, responsibilty and granny panties. I just dont see me there yet. Last summer at the pool, when the really young lifeguards would blow their whistles and say "adult swim". I felt a compulsion to get out of the water. I still cringe when I answer the phone and it's my dad on the other end, all I can think is "oh crap, what have I done now". I look around when people say "Mrs Hadden", I expect to see one of Tommy's relatives. I mean, I've got 4 kids and I'm pushing 40, but it feels very surreal at times, I must say. So, Ive been trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I'm an adult now. But I'm still not cool with being a wrinkly adult. For what its worth, I have found some awfully awesome products that do seem to deter the aging process. Fiji water, I swear by it. I hear its made in secrecy and that the island is violently opposed to anyone coming over to investigate...yeah, whatever, its got 91 mg of silica per liter. Thats the highest amount of any bottled water you can buy. Google what silica does for your skin...A-mazing. And epsom salt baths. Totally detoxifying. I go through more epsom salts than the entire Cowboys football team. And thats pretty much my secret...take an epsom salt bath while drinking Fiji water and reading the latest Star magazine to keep up with the beautiful people. Less than $10 at Target...purifies your inside and your outside and a little brain candy for your inner spoiled brat.

Somebody stop me...

2009-09-28T12:14:00.002-05:00

if I ever look like I'm going to take baby Cash to Hobby Lobby again. It never goes well. By the time we leave I'm practicing deep breathing and going to my happy place to avoid a full scale breakdown. For one thing there are never enough cashiers in that joint, and I've noticed that this is true at every Hobby Lobby I've ever been to. And then it really never fails that I always have to wait behind someone that contests the price of almost every thing she's piled on the counter while the clerk scans her list of that week's sale items. Here's a clue...if it's not on sale this week, it will be next week, so don't pop a blood vessel in your head getting all worked up over what is basically a plastic by-product from China. And another thing...the displays next to the checkout line could not be more inconvenient for a woman who has already spent the better part of her time in the store restraining a 3 year old from grabbing every thing that is round and proclaiming that it is "MY ball". Those displays are full of candy-and quite frankly, what do you think the candy at the craft store turnover rate is, not good I would imagine, so its not exactly fresh-and bags of balloons, which are such a no-no in our house and various other overpriced crap that my son just screams for. It's an acrobatic feat just to hold him with one arm and swipe and sign with the other. And he's LOUD. I could've sworn that I saw people rolling their eyes like "oh good, they're back" when I walked in this morning. I'm not sure what it is about that store that I'm just drawn to, but from now on, I'm going to have to be drawn to it on the weekends when "someone" is home with Daddy.

I cant wait to be a crazy old lady...

2009-09-24T13:44:00.003-05:00

Just went to eat lunch with my family. It was early release day from school so I had all four kids and a very impatient husband. They were being just rotten and you know it was then that I realized, someday Tommy & I will have so much fun, when the kids are grown, its just the two of us...and we go visit the little brats! I cant wait til they take us out to eat. I'm going to twirl around in my chair, bonus if its got wheels (ours did today) and then I can wheel myself up and down the length of the table saying "wheeeee". Tommy can throw rolls in the air like baseballs, if he catches them great, if not...big whoop, thats even funnier! Then we're both going to order huge plates of food...and when it arrives, we'll push it around on our plates and roll our eyes. And then take turns going to the bathroom. The. Whole. Time. We'll get restless and bored and turn upside down in our chairs. We'll blow bubbles in our drinks with our straws and occasionally at each other. We'll talk in very loud voices and ask if we can have the gum stuck underneath the table. Better yet, maybe I can get Tommy to chew some! We'll interrupt whatever conversation they're trying to have until they lose their patience, stop speaking altogether and begin shoveling in food and signaling for the check. And even though we wont eat our meal, we'll still beg for dessert, which we wont eat either. Oh the fun we will have. The kids will think we've lost our marbles, but we'll look at each other and know, deep down inside we will know...paybacks are sweeeeeet! :)

Ok, Picasso...

2009-09-23T14:49:00.002-05:00

I get it, you're creative. Stop writing on my walls. Me and Mr Clean are tired...well, I'm tired, he's shredded, as those little sponges tend to do after working on one of your masterpieces. And throwing your sister under the bus does no good. I know "LouLou" didnt do it...or she would have made puffy hearts and kitty cats...and it wouldve been in pink...with a glittery lip-print. Its not that I think she's above pencil scribbles...its just not her style. So you've gotten a pass thus far because you're the baby and you're so cute and all that. But I'm done-next time I'm wrapping your little hand around a magical eraser and YOU are cleaning it up and its not nearly as much fun as it sounds. And P.S. I hope you outgrow this phase before you're silly enough to sign your name to your artwork ala Trent...makes it very difficult to shift the blame...

It must be genetic...

2009-09-23T09:24:00.003-05:00

I watched in astonishment as all 4 of my kids slept through the alarm clock this morning. I intentionally set it so they could all hear it and no one even flinched. What a legacy I have passed onto my children. Luckily I was awake and not because of my keen sense of hearing...but because I have baby kitty who thinks he's a vicious tiger and he ate my hand. Oh well, whatever it takes, right?

I also made the observation this morning that my daughter not only packed her own lunch last night but wrote her own love note to tuck inside. Oh yes she did: "I love my Hadley" in bright green marker. I must've taken it out when checking the contents...because really, if I sent the child to school with nothing but honeybuns and poptarts, they would talk about me-and who am I kidding-they already think I'm a nut. Anyway, she discovered that it was missing after she got in the van and sent me back inside for it...nothing like self-affirmations, if everyone was as in love with themselves as Hadley, there would be no need for prozac.

I'm currently obsessed with whether or not my oldest is sitting in class or sitting in the nurse's office and they just haven't called me yet. I keep checking my phone for missed calls. I've thought about calling the office to see if she's been in there-but there's that reputation as a nut that I'm trying to live down, so I'm restraining myself, but its been tough. I made her go to school today because she has already missed 3 days, she has no fever and she is seemingly fine as wine around noonish after a little nap...so I'm not sure if she's sick or sleepy. All I know is she begged to stay home again and I forced her to go anyway...and now I feel so guilty. Of course, I know that if she goes to the office and looks even slightly ill, they will call me because the last thing they want is a potential germ-bomb going off in the 5th grade. Who wants to place bets that I've called by lunchtime to check?

Raid: the forest dweller's best friend...

2009-09-21T00:19:00.002-05:00

I will be making an extra stop tomorrow after taking the kids to school and refueling at Starbuck's...I have to go to Lowe's and buy some heavy duty, no kiddin' around, kill their asses dead, nuclear strength bug spray. I went outside tonight to get something from my car and when I turned to walk back into the house I saw roaches as large as my new kitten scurrying towards the trees. Or maybe they were scurrying from them. Or maybe they were just chillin', waiting for me to let my guard down so they could eat me. I can tell you this: they were not the least bit afraid of me. It was so frightening that after I went back into the house, I vowed never to leave after dark again. And then I remembered I needed something else from the car, but in weighing my options decided that it could be a body part and I still wouldnt go back for it. That. Bad. WORD.

This looked like a lot of fun on "The Brady Bunch"...

2009-09-21T00:08:00.004-05:00

Large families, that is. You never saw Carol Brady flipping out...in fact nothing on her ever flipped with the exception of her hair. I think that was very misleading because I dont even have time to wash my hair much less style it. You never saw Carol open a bottle of wine with a drill put on the reverse speed because "someone" misplaced her corkscrew. You never saw Carol cry at the MTV movie awards because she ran out of paxil, the pharmacy was closed and "The Breakfast Club" got the Lifetime Recognition award. You never saw any of the girls getting lippy with Carol and saying things like "what do you know...you're OLD!". Oh no, none of that nonsense. I never saw the episode where little Bobby took apart his bunkbed with a screwdriver because he felt like it. I never saw Mr Brady go away on business trips for a week at a time, leaving the Mrs with a brood of ingrates. I never saw Carol hang a room full of beautifully matched curtains only to have her children file in one by one and say "EWWWWW". Nope, all that chick did was help the girls brush their hair, looked for Kitty Karryall that time and a whole lotta nothin' else. Of course, they had Alice. Trusty old Alice. Nothing on Alice flipped perkily, you know why...she was the one picking up after the kids, making their dinner and doing their laundry and wearing some awfully frumpy clothes the whole time. It was poor Alice that tripped on their toys and sprained her ankle, poor Alice that they scared half to death with their ghost made of bedsheets, poor Alice who had to figure out which kid owned which socks...think about it-6 sets of similarly sized feet and you have to put them in the right drawers. She had all that gray hair and now I know why...those kids aged her before her time, she was probably only in her 30's-she just looked like hell because thats what happens when 6 fresh-mouthed kids dump their laundry on the bathroom floor, scribble on the walls and fight like wet cats. And you know what...I'm almost certain that Alice did indeed know the "lost-my-corkscrew-gimme-the-drill" trick.

Should I be offended...

2009-09-20T11:25:00.003-05:00

that at least twice a week there is some sort of maid advertisement stuck in my front door or taped to my mailbox or thrown in my yard. Its as if the forces of the universe are telling me: you need a maid. I do admit that four bathrooms are an endless cycle of scrubbing...get one clean and its time to do the others. And the wood floors, while far more functional than the horrid used-to-be-white carpet still get very dirty and I vacuum them a lot more often than I ever did the carpet. So yeah, I can see where having a "helper" would indeed be helpful...but I really dont want a stranger seeing this mess, so I have a feeling I would be cleaning before the maid came and then just give her the superficial jobs that dont matter one iota in the grand scheme of things...so I might as well just do it myself. But back to the offended thing...WHY do I get the constant maid solicitations...has my bad reputation as less-than-Bree Van de Camp proceeded me...or is it my husband dropping not so subtle hints that he would really like to know where his socks are in the morning...Oh if only one could take motivation in pill form, I would be first in line to fill my 'script. Truthfully, I consider the fact that I keep things rolling and no one gets hurt an accomplishment in itself...laundry is just icing on the cake in this stage of the game.

The week according to me...

2009-09-19T14:42:00.002-05:00

Lets see, I started Monday with a dead guinea pig in a capri sun box. Thats always fun. Especially when its your first grader that finds it. Guess who dug a hole big enough to bury our little friend...moi. Guess who found out that when digging a shallow grave in Houston, Texas one should first slather themselves in mosquito repellant...ditto. I look like I have the chicken pox. On Tuesday, I overslept by an hour and the kids got to school late. Again. I spent the rest of my week painting my dining room red and quite frankly, the fun of painting wears off real quick for me. I start getting sloppy and as a result, I'm still picking red paint out of my hair. And off the stone floor. And little bits here and there on the wainscotting. Oh and we got a new kitten, which is driving my old geezer cats insane. New baby kitten is a bit of a troublemaker and I spend most of my waking hours making sure he doesnt escape the confines of the house because he would surely wind up as the dog's new chew toy. And seriously...that would be 3 pets in one week and people would start to talk. The highlight of my week is that my oldest seems to have contracted a bug, we dont know for sure if its piggy flu because we would have to go to the drs office to be swabbed and thats where the sick people are...so the school nurse and I have decided as long as the fever stays low-grade and she stays hydrated and resting, home is probably the safest place to be. Which basically means we are under quaratine on the second floor of my house. That, as you can imagine, is torture to a certain 5th grader who is supposed to be cheering at a football game as I type. This has been an exhausting week, hope that next week is just plain boring...

Mother of the Year...

2009-09-15T10:13:00.004-05:00

I am expecting to be bestowed with this honor just any day now. I over slept AGAIN. Just like last week. This time I either ignored/turned off TWO alarms, which tells me I need to get more sleep, because apparently my sleep-deprived self is INSANE and is capable of all kinds of craziness. I KNOW for certain that the people in the school office think I'm a nut. I am really going to have to do some extra volunteer work so they'll say "yes, she's quirky, but she cuts and sorts like nobody's business", right now I'm pretty sure they're just saying "what a nut". I wonder if they have caller ID on the school phone...if so, they probably look at one another before answering and say "HER again". So all 3 kids pulled the "I'm siiiiiick" routine. I ended up letting Allie stay home because she had a real symptom: chills, and there's sooooo much stuff going around, according to my friends at Facebook, that keeping her home seemed to be the prudent thing to do. A couple of Shipley's doughnuts and she's good as new...these kids "get" me everytime. Just when I think I'm onto them...BAM...fooled again. So we stopped by Shipley's and Starbuck's where I ordered the Lori-carbo-loading combo: a bavarian-creme filled doughnut as big as my face and a venti skinny vanilla latte...I know, absolutely NO logic in that, its like ordering a big mac with a diet coke. I will burn it off though because I have to finish painting the dining room plus it's Tuesday, which is "drive like a bat out of hell to get to dance AND football" day...not to mention I have to clean out the 6 year old's room so we dont lose the baby kitten. Again.

I HEART You Taylor Swift...

2009-09-14T13:15:00.002-05:00

and not because I think you're a musical genius, but because my daughter does and you keep your clothes on. I find myself singing out loud in the car with my 2 girls and sometimes the baby, torturing my older son, and thats not the only reason we do it. Your songs are fun, easy to belt out and nothing skanky comes out of your mouth...and for that I adore you. When Miley Cyrus came out dancing on a pole at the Teen Choice Awards, I cringed, knowing that my Hadley would be asking Santa to bring her one for Christmas. It's bad enough that I have to monitor her wardrobe choices in the first grade, but when Miley wears hotpants, Hadley think she can too. And quite frankly, I dont care much for Miley's fresh mouth on her TV show, I think thats where my girls pick up their lippiness from. But you, Taylor, are just as sweet as can be and thats why you'll always be welcome in my home. My husband thinks you're kind of dorky...as a mother to a tween girl, I can appreciate your dorkiness like the breath of fresh air that it is. Rock on, Taylor! Rock on...

OK, the last thing someone should see on Monday morning...

2009-09-14T08:38:00.004-05:00

is a guinea pig corpse in a capri sun box. Apparently I missed the call from hubs telling me that he had left Mojo on the table. And now I think Hadley might have loads more to tell her future therapist one day, particularly during the session about her inability to open boxes. Yes, another pet has gone to see Jesus. I'm not entirely sure why we lost 2 in one week, all I know is I dont handle it well at all. It sends me screaming up a tree like a spider monkey to see something's head flop from side to side. If one more pet dies, I will likely have a convulsion, especially since all we have left are larger pets, which means more to flop. And before you call the SPCA, I would like to point out that my cats are elderly (14 years old) and my dog is getting there (8), so I dont think its us...although I am suspicious that my cat might be trying to eliminate the competition. We've already started talking about the next pet...and by "we", I mean Hadley and Tommy. She told us she wanted a chihuahua, a girl named Molly and she will have a sparkly diamond collar and matching earrings. Dogs dont have pierced ears, I pointed out. "But mommy has a bedazzler" says smartypants Tommy...Hadley dug that idea. Dont worry, I promise not to bling the pet, maybe its shirt, but not the actual pet...

It's Hadley's World...

2009-09-13T22:31:00.002-05:00

we just live in it. This became crystal clear to me when she told me today that she had our Halloween costumes all figured out. She said "I can be Cinderella and you and Allie can be my ugly step-sisters". Needless to say, Allie and I do not appreciate being volunteered to be the ugly step-anything, but more than that, I thought it was interesting to see how Hadley's little mind works. Apparently she is our queen and we are her little minions. Which is why she has a spiral notebook and she dictates song lyrics for me and I have to write them down as she's singing them because she cant write in cursive yet. She's written quite a few songs that way...and they all go something like this: I am beautiful, everybody loves me, you wish you were me...", and they are quite catchy. She belts them out ala Whitney Houston pre-crack. Her ego is very healthy. I dont have to worry about that one suffering from low self-esteem.I spied on her one day while I was at school for one of the other kid's activities and she was on the playground and didnt know I could see her. She stood on the eagle's nest deciding which of her classmates could join her at the top. All I could think is...I know exactly how they feel...

Had a cold shower lately?

2009-09-11T14:55:00.002-05:00

It is just DEE-LIGHT-FUL. Apparently someone (me) forgot to pay the gas bill and apparently some heartless bastard (the gas man) shut it off on a Friday morning...which I think is about the most mean-spirited thing one human being can do to another. You know I'm going to call as soon as I realize (the moment the shampoo freezes to my head) and pay your exorbitant reconnection fee (robbery) along with every cent I have ever owed you and something called a deposit...which is ludicrous because I already have an account with you. You've got me over a barrel, what else can I do...only to be told, "Oh I'm sorry, we dont do same day service calls and we dont work on the weekends. We'll get to you sometime Monday"...Yeah. That actually happened to me. This morning. After a helluva week, now I have no hot water allllll weekend. I broke the news to my husband in an email, which he still hasnt responded to, he may or may not be speaking to me and who can blame him. Oh well, at least it wasnt the internet. THAT would've been serious.

Why, hello end of my rope, we meet again...

2009-09-09T09:45:00.003-05:00

I'm not 100% sure what woke me up this morning, all I know is that when I did I was holding my cell phone/alarm clock in my hand and it wasnt ringing that annoying little tune. It's quite possible in my sleep induced stupor, I somehow managed to turn it off, or perhaps even slept through it, all I know is that the clock read 8:20 and school started 20 MINUTES AGO! What happened next is a blur. I know I packed 3 lunchboxes, but I can't tell you for certain what's in them, hopefully I didnt put all the capri suns in one...again. And I called the school whose telephone answering chick said very cheerfully "send them in with a note, its fine"...I'm breaking a sweat trying to find my pants, it's not 'fine', lady! I'm pretty sure they think I'm a tad nuts in the school office anyway. One day last year I let Hadley wear a long silky scarf covered in peace signs around her neck. On my way back from Starbuck's that morning, I had a bit of a panic attack: what if she wore it out on the playground and got it wrapped around her neck & a piece of playground equipment. She's only in kindergarten, what was I thinking?! I made a bee-line back to school, raced into the office and said "could you please have Hadley's teacher take her scarf away?"..."What?" they said. "She wore a long silky scarf to school today, I dont know what I was thinking, she's only a kindergartener, much too young for the responsibility of a scarf. Please just have her teacher put it away or I'm not going to be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day"...so after some hesitation and-I believe- eyerolling, they called down and asked Hadley's teacher to please take care of the scarf situation. Hadley's teacher had no clue what was going on because as it turned out, Hadley left her scarf at home that day. Oh yeah, you know when I walked out they were saying to each other "THAT one is a piece of work". But I digress, back to this morning...everyone pulled the "I'm siiiiiick" routine, I stood firm. Heck no, you're fine, go to school. They threw all the papers that needed signatures at me and I filled out a note for the front office. I'm not entirely sure what it said, it was written in such a flurry, for all I know, I couldve written my grocery list. Somehow, I dont think that would come as a great shock to the ladies in the office. I raced them to school, watched them walk in the building and then pointed my car in the direction of Starbuck's...breakfast of champions. If there was ever a morning I needed a caffeine jumpstart, this one more than qualifies .

"Labor" Day revisited...

2009-09-07T12:24:00.004-05:00

Nine years ago, on September 7th at 4 am on a Thursday morning, I waddled down the hall to the kitchen where I stood in front of my fridge and drank directly from the milk carton. Dont judge me, it was my personal milk carton and hugely pregnant people do all kinds of gross things. Then I thought to myself "what on God's green earth was THAT?"...it was, what we in the baby biz like to call "water-breaking". So I called the hospital, told them to clear out a bed, I would be there ASAP and as long as they're waiting, go ahead and get that epidural ready to serve. Hahaha, they said. Hahaha, I am totally not kidding, get that drug guy on stand-by, I am not in the kidding mood. Then I called my parents, said wake up, we're bringing Allie by as we rush to the hospital. Get up and get functional, you've got a 15 month old to watch. Then I packed my bag, which was halfway there anyway, because we were supposed to be inducing on Monday, September 11th; my dr was on a cruise til then but this baby was BIG and we knew he couldnt go much longer without requiring a forklift to get him out. Then I woke Tommy up, and he was FLIPPING OUT. I have never seen a person move so fast. Notice how I calmly called people and packed suitcases and got the baby ready to go...apparently I innately knew what I was doing because once Tommy got on the scene, we were out of there. He took his job of driving to the hospital VERY seriously. It was like in those TV shows where the husband drives off so fast he forgets the wife...I mean it, that was dead-on. We dropped off the baby, made it to the hospital, checked in, asked the whereabouts of the epidural guy...got laughed at...again. Said I'm NOT kidding...again. Got into the room where the miracle of life would take place, got checked out by half a dozen strangers and was told I was at a 4 and could go ahead and have my epidural. Reached over, picked up phone, called witch in front office and said "TOLD YA"...not really, but wanted to. Got epidural and ice chips and all was right with the world. Twelve long hours later with a substitute doctor and seriously, 2 pushes, the world's longest baby was wrapped up in a billion little blankets, topped off a stripey cap and handed to me. And he was mad. Come to think of it, he's been kind of on edge ever since. I guess some people are born that way. When I unwrapped his layers of blanket, I was so surprised to see his feet, they were absolutely huge. Suddenly that broken rib feeling I'd been suffering through made sense. Now we just had to name him. Travis. Yeah, Travis Wesley. Until, the next day when the birth certificate lady called and said "what's your baby's name" and I said "you know what, call me back in 30 minutes". It was at that point, I said to my medicated self "he doesnt look like a Travis, he looks like a Trent" and so, he became Trent Wesley...and then Tommy returned from getting coffee and I said "oh I changed the baby's name". Luckily, Tommy has a good sense of humor, a lot of men might not have appreciated my quirkiness. Especially after they called allllll the friends and relatives and let them know "Travis is here". I swear people were still calling him Travis at Christmas. And that is my version of "labor" day...

Remember when a good time on a Saturday night...

2009-09-05T23:19:00.002-05:00

meant something other than "whew, got the kitchen clean, now I can go watch Geraldo"? When did I turn into such an old lady? Next thing you know, I'll be rockin' the gold genie toe slippers and a muu-muu. What really drives the point home that I am a bit aged is when I am completely exhausted and the clock says 8:50. Luckily, got the kids to keep me jumpin'! Guess what happens when a 3 year old and a can of lemon pledge meet...a VERY shiny wood floor. Which would've been a good thing to know before I went running into the den. Whaddaya know, I can still do the splits! :) Not gracefully-and certainly not on purpose-but splits, all the same. And why was I running across the living room? Why, to save the parakeet of course. The 6 year old keeps forcing the parakeet and the guinea pig into cohabitation...and they do NOT dig it. So the parakeet flees in an effort to not be put in the same wire box with the black furry squealy thing that looks at him like "mmm, dinner". Not that I think the guinea pig would actually eat the parakeet, but the size difference alone is enough to make him wet his little parakeet pants, so he flees. But what can he flee to? Every room has a twirly ceiling fan and you literally hear him bouncing from the blades to the ceiling to the wall to the floor & back into the fan like a ping-pong ball. He is very confused and after the nipple biting incident with the hamster, Tommy not only keeps his shirt on around the pets, he avoids them like the plague. So its up to me, SuperMom, to save the day...or at least to keep the bird from decapitating himself and messing up my freshly painted walls. Easier said than done when you're 37 years old and you've been forced into a position reserved for cheerleaders and circus freaks. Good news though...the bird has been saved, the pledge has been absorbed as much as possible, my floor is as shiny as a new penny and I'm only slightly limping...and only a few minutes til Geraldo. Somewhere, in the city tonight, there's a girl and she's a dancing queen drinking zima (do they still make that?), she doesnt have a care in the world and as she dreams of prince charming and all that life will hold, she has no clue...that being limber will come in really handy someday.

I totally cheat at yoga...

2009-09-03T16:59:00.003-05:00

I saw that magnet today and thought "either someone is reading my mind or I am not alone"...because I TOTALLY cheat at yoga! It's not that I dont want to do yoga correctly, its just that after a certain age and almost half a dozen kids, one loses the ability to imitate a grasshopper and breathe deeply without falling onto your head so hard that it results in a concussion. And that? Is so not zen. So I take poetic license with my yoga moves and I make them my own. I feel totally empowered by that because when I'm doing yoga-Lori-style in my bedroom while watching Nancy Grace, I am silently thinking "damn, I'm good"...I would not, however, want to take an actual class with instructors and methods and rules and all that jazz...they would just "correct" me and kill my buzz. And that? Is so not zen either, for me anyway. I remember once I was working out at the Y and I didnt know how to use the stairmaster, so the Y guy was showing me, and I swear it was almost impossible, we were all about to pee from laughing so hard over my lack of ability to stair-climb...I have got to be the biggest dork on the planet, I have zero coordination. Maybe I should market yoga-Lori-style for uncoordinated dorks world-wide...our motto could be "just try not to kill yourself"...

Ok, kids so here's the deal...

2009-09-01T20:20:00.003-05:00

There are 4 of you and one of me and unless you want to whittle my brain down to nothing, then cool it. Wrangling 3 of you in the dance studio today while Hadley was in jazz was enough to drive the sanest of people over the edge. Following it up with a 2 hr football practice was the icing on the crazy cake. Which is probably why I had no qualms about breaking Subways's no shirt no shoes no service policy...I figured we got half of it right and sometimes close enough is close enough. Funny how I also had no qualms about taking children inside that were carrying roughly half the dirt of the playground with them on their sweaty little legs. Seems to me it wouldn't be an issue if Subway invented a drive thru for mothers who are at their wits end and find themselves with a minivanful of dirty, shoeless, starving children. When Hadley ran out of Subway and started posing on the hood of our vehicle (thank God it was OURS this time), I was rather impressed that I didnt lose my mind right then and there, even though I was still inside placing my order. I was so good at keeping it together when the baby started dropping pennies in my cd player like a little jukebox. I even kind of kept my cool when I unsuccessfully tried prying them out with a butter knife. But this is it...I have reached my limit for shenanigans tonight. Finish your homework, brush your teeth and go to bed...or I'm going to be forced to publish pictures of your dirty rooms on my facebook page. I know, I'm playing hardball. Deal with it. And heaven help your daddy if he ever takes another business trip in the middle of the week again...

Forget Starbuck's...

2009-09-01T08:11:00.004-05:00

I'm not entirely sure why more mothers don't start their day with Jack Daniels. I almost titled this "Oh Dear God, Is It Really Only TUESDAY?!". Tuesday started out with a bang when I realized as I awoke that it sure was light outside, so I grabbed my cell phone/alarm clock and to my horror...IT WAS DEAD! Oh yeah, nothing like a jolt of fear to the cardiac system to get the day going. So, it turned out, we really werent running that late, I was more upset about my inability to press the snooze button seven times. I woke up the angels and told them to hurry, don't want to be late for school. Apparently, they did. I'm basing this on the fact that I had to wake them up for 20 minutes. I'm sure my neighbors were saying "that loud woman is at it again". Given up on breakfast, at this point, I'd settle for brushed teeth and matching socks. Had to convince the 6 year old she is in NO possible way allergic to light. My grandmother moves faster. In fact, she would have run circles around them this morning. At the very least, she would have understood the appeal of "Irish" coffee...and she's a teetotaler. I'm telling you, if I have to referee one more knock down drag out, hair pulling, shoe throwing fight about who sits in the front seat on the way to school, I'm stopping at Spec's on the way home.

I wonder if the produce guy thinks I'm stalking him...

2009-08-31T09:06:00.000-05:00

He looks at me suspiciously, like "you again?" every time I'm at the grocery store. Which is every day. And we eat a lot of fruit, so get over yourself, man...I'm not cruising the fruit aisle, I just happen to be here when you're here. Every. Day.

I was going to be better this week. I was going to just go to the store maybe twice. Big step for me. I went yesterday and I had the girls and the baby along for the ride. The carts shaped like cars were all taken and although I said a silent prayer of thanks, the baby didnt care for it at all. He screamed. And screamed. And screamed. And when someone would pass us in one of those carts, he would turn purplish red and I thought he might actually pass out. Which I think my fellow shoppers would have welcomed. Anyway, between the screaming and the 6 year old doing a Broadway routine (half hanging off the cart, singing dramatically and tap dancing), I was a tad off my game. I guess I forgot to get some things...like dinner, which is highly overrated anyway. Who has the strength to eat when you've wrestled a baby back into a cart for the 50th time. No wonder I hit the snooze button so many times today. Going to the store with children is just exhausting. So when I was packing three lunchboxes this morning, I realized that between what I forgot to buy and what they ate last night, we would indeed be making another trip today. Which is great, because as it turns out, I need to pick up some more magic erasers...

Monday mornings...

2009-08-31T08:43:00.002-05:00

What fun! Not. First of all, I hit the snooze several times, which is never a good start. And the first thing my eyes focus on is a pile of clean, ready to be folded & put away laundry that looks to be every article of clothing we might own...alas, it is not. But, trust me...it LOOKS like it. Then I go wake up the cherubs, explain to them that we are running a tad late and they really need to get up NOW. The 10 year old accuses me of stealing her glasses. She said she fell asleep with them on her face so she'd know exactly where they were. Well, that plan fell through because she awoke and they were gone. Most logical explanation...Mom stole 'em. After the screaming that followed, I thought to myself "if the neighbors are not on the phone to 911, they are clearly not paying attention". Luckily Mom-the-glasses-thief found them and her alternate personality returned. I'm sure she was thinking that I "found" them because I knew where I had hidden them. Then the 8 year old couldn't find his shoes, the only pair that he would even consider wearing to school this morning, so naturally...Mom must've stolen them too. What is wrong with these people...if I was inclined to steal, it would not be purple cat-eyed glasses (that her daddy helped her pick out) and a small boy's shoes...I'd steal something goooood. Sometimes I wonder if they know me at all. He finally located the shoes and when I asked where they were, he eyed me suspiciously and said "ummm, under YOUR bed". Oh of course, you caught me. I spend my days trying to sabotage your morning routine. The 6 year old, unusually good this morning...minimal backtalk, got self dressed, brushed own hair without wailing...what is up with that? BRIBERY. What can I say, I'm not above it. I like to think of it as "mother's little helper". Whatever gets us through the morning and today it was bribery, Starbuck's and not letting the label "thief" get me down.

Dear Mr Clean Magic Eraser Inventor...

2009-08-30T11:51:00.000-05:00

First of all, please accept my deepest gratitude for saving my life, my sanity and my walls. I dont know what your little contraption is made of and quite frankly, dont know that I'd want to...all I know is that it IS indeed magic. I am writing to inquire about the possibility of a larger eraser, say body-sized? It's just that those crumbly little sponges are gone in about 5 minutes and I never seem to have any on hand at crucial moments. What's a crucial moment in house-cleaning you might ask...um, walking up the stairs and realizing that "someone" squirted ketchup packets along the wall. It looks like mafia-style carnage took place in my stairwell. That, my friend, is crucial. Have you ever seen toothpaste on the ceiling? Well, I have. Squirt guns filled with coca-cola and/or blue ocean water? Ditto. Biscuit dough in a slingshot? Oh, I could go on...my children are "gifted". On any given day I awake to find my house looking like a frat party took place in the middle of the night...during rush...when someone might be dared to chase a greased pig or make something explode or any of those other super-secret things frat boys do. On those mornings, I need a very large, never ending, body size sponge. If you and Starbuck's could combine your talent and resources, I'd be glad to pick up a generous sized latte and a dinosaur sized sponge in the morning after I drop my angels off at school.

Sincerest Regards,
Anonyomous Suburban Mom (currently living in filth)

Shopaholics Anonymous? Hello my name is Lori...

2009-08-29T16:22:00.000-05:00

and I need to stage my own intervention. Seriously. How do I know? Well, I'm intoxicated by the smell of Macy's. Everyone is? Does everyone want to live in Macy's linen department? Because I do. I'd also like to run through the shoe department at Nordstrom's like it's a field of wild daisies. I also buy things not because I need them or want them or even like them...but simply because they are 75% off. Because that's a bargain, I don't care who you are. I also have been known to peep through my living room blinds in anticipation of the mailman, because you never know what he might be bringing...a book from Amazon, a shirt from J. Crew, or God forbid, a bill. And if he's bringing a package from eBay, it's like Christmas morning...except its ALL FOR ME. Yes, I know that's selfish and narcissistic, that's why I need help. Do I hide things in my closet from my husband? Oh gosh, 'hide' is such an ugly word, I prefer to think of it as 'short-term storage', that way when he says "is that new?", I can say "what? this? pfft! NO!". My "issue" isn't limited to clothing and housewares...I am also an avid grocery shopper. So much so that when I miss a day, they inquire about my health the next time I'm in. If I ever missed two days, I'm afraid they'd send out a search party. So there you have it, I've indulged in retail therapy so often I've made it a lifestyle. Great, so there is help for me? Wait a minute...without people like me, the American economy will crumble. I'm kind of doing my patriotic duty, right? Yeah, and when you consider that I am really not hurting anyone, it's just a hobby...hobbies are good for people. Especially people who spend their days with small children and a houseful of pets and household chores. My Lord, the amount of square footage in my house that has to be mopped and scrubbed is enough to make someone insane...so maybe shopping is just my way of unwinding. Some people drink wine, some people do yoga, I shop. My husband hunts...at least I'm not shooting anything in the head. So what if I like to caress a cashmere sweater next to my cheek like a newborn kitten or stroke the smooth leather of a fabulous pair of open toe ankle boots, which is sure to be out of style as quickly as the poncho, but meanwhile, I MUST HAVE...I'm not hurting anyone and I think we've established that as long as I dont actually try to sleep in one of Macy's fantastically made beds, no one is going to escort me off the premises. So...never mind. I'm cool. See you at the mall!

If this is how the rest of the school year mornings are going to go...

2009-08-28T08:29:00.000-05:00

Then I quit! Forget reffing for the UFC, I could be a drill sergeant for the Marines! Every single morning, its the same exact thing, waking up three little monsters that hiss at me like wet cats. They scream at me that they're too sick to go to school. "Well, of course you are," I want to say, "that's the evil churning around in there." But I bite my tongue, because I'm a good mother like that. Then I offer them some breakfast, because it is, in fact, in "The Good Mother Rulebook" to do so. Then their precious little heads spin around and they say "I hate breakfast as much as I hate you for making me go to school"...I try not to let this affect me, I simply keep my inner mantra chanting along: In just a minute, they'll be at school...that almost works until I go upstairs to see why its so unusually quiet and find the 10 yr old has gone back to bed and has her covers pulled up over her head. At that point, I start what I'm sure my neighbors think is verbal abuse, but is simply what I like to call my morning motivational speech. It goes something like this: GET OUT OF BED! RIGHT THIS INSTANT YOUNG LADY! DO YOU THINK I WAS PUT ON THIS EARTH TO BEG YOU TO GO TO SCHOOL? DO YOU KNOW WHAT A PRIVILEDGE IT IS TO GO TO SCHOOL? CHILDREN ALL OVER THE WORLD WISH THEY COULD GO TO YOUR SCHOOL! Oh yes, I play the "poor indigent children all over the world" card, because I think it was in the pack of cards they gave me at the hospital after my children were born. What? You didnt get your set? What can I tell you, have more kids...anyway, after I give my speech, usually my head whips around to see where the hell my mother's voice came from and then I realize I am channeling her and I am mortified. And then I understand why my first stop after dropping off the kids at school is Starbuck's for the largest possible latte they have...because turning into your mother is a lot to take in before 7:30 am. So next is my absolute favorite part of the morning...the part where I am surprised no one has called the cops to check out the noise coming from my house. Seriously, the amount of screaming that comes out of my house in direct relation to my next activity should warrant the SWAT team landing on my roof...HAIR BRUSHING. First of all, I dont care how much detangle spray I use on the six yr old after the shower and before bed, it still looks like a pack of rats has made a home on top of her precious little head. Brushing her hair is so painful I have considered a crewcut; I think she's got the face to pull it off. Til we make that decision, I would like to go on record saying that I am NOT beating my child, I am just making sure she is semi well-groomed before leaving the house. The 10 yr old's isnt any better...but since she is usually back under the covers at this point, its close to impossible to get a brush through her hair. Then the 8 yr old suddenly realizes he needed half a dozen papers signed and he cant get out the door without socks...socks that he cant find...socks that are missing thanks to my negligence, he is quick to tell me. "If you are referring to the socks that I washed, dryed, folded and handed to you to put in your top drawer...then yes, I guess its my fault". A quick trip up the stairs confirms that they are indeed missing, all 200 pair I have bought in the last month and it just makes me wonder...DOES HE EAT THEM? Is Trent the "sock monster"? I dont recall my socks missing before he had teeth, so that must be it. Being the good mom that I am, I hand him a pair of mine (its cool, he has big feet) and tell him to get the heck in the car. It is amazing to me the transformation that takes place once we are school-bound. They start putting on their angel halos and happy faces because apparently thats who they morph into as they pass through the school doors. Those are some magic doors...I want a set! Of course, the 6 yr old usually makes a last ditch "I'm siiiiiiiiick" attempt but I think they can tell by the crazed look on my face that they are better off at school. "Oh really?", I say, "would you like to stay home and clean your room with Mommy today". Miraculous recoveries...just play the "clean room" card. And then the glorious moment when we are at the doors, the clouds part and the sun shines down and they file out one by one and say "I love you, Mommy" and although I'm not 100% sure who THOSE angelic kids are, I say "Love you too".