nor will my body for that matter.
Today is Parker's birthday. What better way to mark the anniversary of the birth of your children than by reminiscing about how ridiculously awful their entrance into this world was. Wait- am I the only one who does that? Surely not. I have always heard people say that you forget all about the pain once you lay eyes on those little blessings. I call bullshit. Was it worth it? Of course. Do I remember every minute of the hellish 17 hours of labor? Nope, but neither have I forgotten the pain!
Way back when I was just a child of 19 and preparing to give birth to Will, the hospital where I would be delivering required you to pay for your epidural in advance. Feeling very much like, 'this is what my body was created for', I opted against one. Right before I went into labor, I remember telling my mom that since she had five kids, I knew childbirth couldn't be that bad. Her response? "Oh honey, I was knocked out when you were born. The whole family knew what you were before I even woke up." Yikes. This did NOT sound promising, but again, I fully believed in my ability to give birth without an epidural- and I did. I did have a couple shots of stadol. I'm not sure in what dimension that is supposed to block the pain of your uterus turning inside out, but whatever.... Mostly they just made me see double. At any rate, I not only survived labor and delivery without an epidural, but it wasn't anything that I felt like I couldn't handle. I only lost my cool once- when I overheard my grandmother telling someone, "They might send her home." This was after they'd broken my water and inserted internal monitors. The mere mention of going home without a baby turned me into the exorcist. Sooo things I remember about the day Will was born:
1. Trying to stay focused on my 'focal point' while remembering to breathe. During much of this my sister was standing right in front of me with a sympathetic look on her face while she bobbed up in down in front of what I was trying to focus on. On second thought, she might have gotten snapped at too.
2. My mother repeatedly looking at the blood pressure monitor and then taking off running for the nurses. I had mild pre-ecclampsia. Let's just say, Mom didn't help my blood pressure.
3. Being hungry. Very hungry.
4. Finally having the baby and looking at Will for the first time. I was instantly hit with the feeling that he was his own person. My entire pregnancy I'd thought of him as an extension of me. Seeing him and realizing he was more than just my extension was amazing and oh so scary.
5. Begging for a cheeseburger, which I can be seen eating in the videos Vanessa shot. It was a long day for her too ;) But yes, most of the film from after Will's birth is people passing him around while oohing and aahing, and me sitting in bed shoving a burger and fries in my face while looking like a deer in headlights.
6. And finally, Will being taken to the nursery for the night and me being taken to a room to get some blissful sleep. Instead I stayed up all night waiting to lay eyes on my boy again.... Becoming a mother was sobering and scary, but the single, best moment of my life. It was love at first sight...
Fast forward a few years, and I'm expecting Parker. I'll never forget telling Will he was going to be a big brother, and more importantly his reply: You need to get fixed or something. You know like when we took the dog to the vet? Sadly our dog passed away while being spayed. I'm just going to assume Will wasn't thinking about that when he suggested that I go. I'd like to think that he changed his mind when he first held his baby sister, but I think I'd be fooling myself. Just a couple months ago he said, "When it was just me, I got 100% of your attention. Then you had Parker and I was down to 50%. When Jace came along I got 33.333333333% (I'm pretty sure that's the number he used,) of your attention, so it's a good thing you can't have any more or I'd be knocked down to 25%." That's my Willio... always thinking of others hahaha.
Anyway, while pregnant with Parker, I obviously had no intentions of having an epidural because labor and delivery with Will was fine. Throughout the years, I'd even scoffed at friends that had epi's because I thought they were weenies. It's probably occurred to you by this point that Karma would be biting me in the ass at any moment, and yes she did.
Labor with Will and Parker was remarkably similar. With both I started contracting at around 3-3:30 in the morning. Both were born within minutes of each other that evening. One at 7:39 pm, and one at 7:41. (Don't ask me which was which. These are the things I forget.) With both they had to break my water, and with both I was given pitocin to speed things up. Here is where things start to change- With Will I was ok with no epidural. With Parker, I would have traded her for anything that might possibly numb me. I didn't just think that, I actually said it at some point. Thank goodness no one took me up on the offer. I declined stadol because it didn't work with Will and just made things fuzzy. In the end, I went from 7 to 10 in a matter of minutes. Literally, 5-10 minutes. At some point in there they gave me a shot of something. When Parker came out I was pretty much high and afraid to hold her. I had to put a hand over one eye to try to see just one of her. It was bad business. This is where I start to forget, because I don't have a clue what happened for the next few hours, other than the only thing that was truly important to me was that Will be the first person to see her.
Sooooo after the horror of Parker's childbirth, I was NOT going to rule out an epidural when Jace came along. I hadn't firmly decided one way or the other, but it was definitely staying on the table. With Jace I had pre-e again, only this time worse. I started losing part of my field of vision, and so they admitted and induced me at 37 weeks, 5 days. At some point I did get an epidural, for two reasons- 1. Thomas talked me into it, probably so I'd stop yelling at him for just sitting in a chair eating anything he could find in a vending machine while playing on his iPhone, and 2. Because a lot of what happened after Parker was born was a blur, and I kept hearing these stories about women who had epidurals and had glorious, pain free deliveries and actually knew what the hell was going on. Even with Will, the end was just a blur of pain and 'Please God make it end', so I wanted to see what was different.
First off let me say that so far I universally hate military hospitals. There may come a time when I feel differently, but I wouldn't put money on it. With Jace, first of all no one knew how to hook up the internal monitors. Because I was on pitocin and magnesium for my bp, it was important to be able to monitor him... I don't remember how many people were crouched down there trying to hook it up, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out they were bringing in the cleaning ladies to 'have a go at it'. Then came the epidural man. I had been assured that he was the best in the hospital and I was soooo lucky that he was working. Well I'm not so sure, because it took him two tries to get my epidural in the proper place. He then started accusing me of my spine being strange, because clearly he couldn't have just made an error... I don't know if it is or not, but I do know that you don't accuse a woman in labor of anything if you want to keep breathing. Finally with monitors and epi in place, I drifted off to lala land, and I liked it. I can remember as I was drifting off to sleep thinking, "Why didn't I do this with the first two?!" Famous last words.
At some point they came in to wake me up and check me. I had completely stopped dilating after getting the epi. I'd been at 4 when I went to sleep and now 5 hours later, I was still at 4. They bumped up the pitocin, and that's when things started getting crazy. First the internal monitor started going crazy. I think it beeped for at least five minutes before I noticed because the epi had worn off... Oh yes.... Pain, like a mind-numbing, primal, someone put me out of my misery pain, took over my entire body. At this point they are trying everything to get Jace where he can breathe. I spent what seemed like forever on my hands and knees while they tried to reposition him. I'm positive everyone in the hospital was in my room. There were at least 10 people at this point. The horror of all horrors was the fact that my cervix started swelling, and so instead of dilating I actually went from 8 back to 7. I vaguely remember someone giving me a shot in my arm to stop my contractions because Jace couldn't handle them... All this time the monitors were still going crazy, and when I could think, it was, "Why aren't they just getting this baby out?!" Apparently that's because none of the doctors in the hospital at that time were OBs. Yeah... It was a couple family practice doctors. When the OB finally showed up all I can remember thinking was "Praise Jesus, Hallelujah". I think I kissed the anesthesiologist. By the time I hit the OR, everything happened so fast that Thomas walked in right as they were pulling him out. He was completely purple. Thank God he started screaming and turning pink immediately, but to this day I think, 'What if the OB had been any later?!"
So while Jace was off being weighed and measured and all that good stuff, I was left with the doctors who were trying to repair the fact that they cut through my cervix when the made the incision. Oh, and btw I could also feel them sewing me up. Not like, "OMG I have a knife tearing into my abdomen pain!" But I could feel stinging every time they stuck the needle in and I was petrified it would suddenly get worse. The anesthesiologist insisted that I could not be feeling pain.... Since I begged to differ, his answer was to shoot me up with some versed so I'd shut up and go to sleep. Worked for me. We'll skim over the fact that I was severely anemic in the hospital and yet no one checked my blood again before discharging me. That trip back to the hospital a couple days later to be offered a transfusion so that I could walk up my stairs without feeling like I was having a heart attack was fun. You know in movies when someone is bleeding to death and they say, "It's so cold..." Yes, it is.
Soooo how does all this relate to today, Parker's 11th birthday? Because despite ridiculous pain, having total strangers up in your hoo-ha, stretch marks, ever present maternal guilt, and saggy boobs seems like a hefty price to pay, but it's not. I would have given more. I still would. Each of my children is the best part of me and the best thing I ever did. I would die for them. I will love them forever, without fail. I will immediately think of them any time I count my blessings. They are my everything, and the fact that I have given them life, feels like nothing compared to everything they've given me. No matter how many mistakes I've made, no matter whether I deserve them or not, God has given me these babies and they are amazing and the most perfect children for me. They are funny, smart, and perfectly imperfect, and I could not ask for more.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Long time no blog....
Hola Amigos! This is my first blog from Texas and I'm still not sure that I'm ready... No matter how batty my kids drive me, since they are pretty much the only thing I blog and/or talk about, you've probably noticed that they are not only vital to my life, but also my identification in general. Moving to Texas without one of them basically makes it hard to breathe. Something about blogging about my life when part of it is missing is just harder than I can explain. The good news is, no matter how many miles are between us, Will still gives me material :)
The good news, and the bad news:
The good news is, technology makes it easier than ever to feel close to someone no matter how far away they are.
The bad news is, technology makes it easier to only call your mom when you want her to transfer money onto your debit card.
Honestly, even though I joke about it, I'll take what I can get. Whether I'm putting money on Will's card or sending him the code to an X-Box card that I just bought, it makes me feel like I'm still vital in his life even though I'm days (and by all appearances,) light years from home.
Speaking of light years, Welcome to Texas! Now that I've been here a few weeks, I have some observations to make. Actually the first observation came about while we were still traveling....
1. Texas is huge. Of the 1200 miles we traveled to get here, most of them were in Texas. I left Kentucky, and passed through Tennessee and Arkansas while it was still daylight. The rest of that glorious trip, (and by glorious I mean me, two kids, and a cat in a vehicle that was so packed I couldn't see out the windows,) was spent in Texas. Which brings me to my next observation.
2. For years I've been reading about how everything is bigger in Texas. Much has been made of it's size... I learned from my friend Jen that you can actually fit Texas into Alaska not once, but twice. You don't hear as much about that though, do ya? Wanna know why? Because much of Alaska is still in it's natural state and Alaska knows that you don't brag about the size of something unless you plan to use it. Which brings me to number 3.
3. The entire second day of our trip here was spent in a barren wasteland. As far as I can tell, once you get past Abilene-ish, it's mostly tumbleweeds, and final resting places of big, rusty, metal things. Honestly, I was ridiculously excited by the first tumbleweed I saw. I suddenly identified with Snoopy's brother Whatshisname who was besties with a cactus. When you've spent countless hours looking at nothing but dirt and wind turbines, a tumbleweed passing in front of your car is not unlike seeing the last inhabitant of a ghost town...
4. At some point I realized that I could probably ignore the speed limit and just drive as fast as I wanted. I came to this realization when I realized that there wasn't even a gas station for at least a hundred miles. Which begs the question- Hey Texas! Did you ever consider the thought of posting some sort of warning?! Something along the lines of "Get gas now, or you're about to be shit outta luck"? If you lack proper signage, you could spray it on the side of one of those big, rusty, metal things. I say without a trace of humor that God had to have gotten us to a gas station because my gas light was on for ummmmm an hour? Yeah. I can't remember what astronomical amount I paid for gas there, but I would have paid double. Seriously.
5. By the end of Day 2 two things happened. 1. We were home. Praise God. and 2. I was pretty sure I would never get in my car again.
6. El Paso is huge and I need to learn Spanish. Like yesterday. I practically had to do charades at Wal-Mart one day in order to find out that the checker was ready to close their lane. No amount of smiling and nodding fixes the fact that the checker is telling you they are closed and you are still unloading your cart...
Please excuse me while I go and downgrade my phone to one that doesn't have apps. Jace has been shoving my phone in my face and whining about race cars for the last 8 minutes....
The good news, and the bad news:
The good news is, technology makes it easier than ever to feel close to someone no matter how far away they are.
The bad news is, technology makes it easier to only call your mom when you want her to transfer money onto your debit card.
Honestly, even though I joke about it, I'll take what I can get. Whether I'm putting money on Will's card or sending him the code to an X-Box card that I just bought, it makes me feel like I'm still vital in his life even though I'm days (and by all appearances,) light years from home.
Speaking of light years, Welcome to Texas! Now that I've been here a few weeks, I have some observations to make. Actually the first observation came about while we were still traveling....
1. Texas is huge. Of the 1200 miles we traveled to get here, most of them were in Texas. I left Kentucky, and passed through Tennessee and Arkansas while it was still daylight. The rest of that glorious trip, (and by glorious I mean me, two kids, and a cat in a vehicle that was so packed I couldn't see out the windows,) was spent in Texas. Which brings me to my next observation.
2. For years I've been reading about how everything is bigger in Texas. Much has been made of it's size... I learned from my friend Jen that you can actually fit Texas into Alaska not once, but twice. You don't hear as much about that though, do ya? Wanna know why? Because much of Alaska is still in it's natural state and Alaska knows that you don't brag about the size of something unless you plan to use it. Which brings me to number 3.
3. The entire second day of our trip here was spent in a barren wasteland. As far as I can tell, once you get past Abilene-ish, it's mostly tumbleweeds, and final resting places of big, rusty, metal things. Honestly, I was ridiculously excited by the first tumbleweed I saw. I suddenly identified with Snoopy's brother Whatshisname who was besties with a cactus. When you've spent countless hours looking at nothing but dirt and wind turbines, a tumbleweed passing in front of your car is not unlike seeing the last inhabitant of a ghost town...
4. At some point I realized that I could probably ignore the speed limit and just drive as fast as I wanted. I came to this realization when I realized that there wasn't even a gas station for at least a hundred miles. Which begs the question- Hey Texas! Did you ever consider the thought of posting some sort of warning?! Something along the lines of "Get gas now, or you're about to be shit outta luck"? If you lack proper signage, you could spray it on the side of one of those big, rusty, metal things. I say without a trace of humor that God had to have gotten us to a gas station because my gas light was on for ummmmm an hour? Yeah. I can't remember what astronomical amount I paid for gas there, but I would have paid double. Seriously.
5. By the end of Day 2 two things happened. 1. We were home. Praise God. and 2. I was pretty sure I would never get in my car again.
6. El Paso is huge and I need to learn Spanish. Like yesterday. I practically had to do charades at Wal-Mart one day in order to find out that the checker was ready to close their lane. No amount of smiling and nodding fixes the fact that the checker is telling you they are closed and you are still unloading your cart...
Please excuse me while I go and downgrade my phone to one that doesn't have apps. Jace has been shoving my phone in my face and whining about race cars for the last 8 minutes....
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Just in case you're thinking
where in the world did LA get the title for her blog?? Remember this song?
There's a line in it that says, "Here's your life, welcome to it." For some reason, every time things get especially crazy, that line goes through my head. So now you know, and no more sleepless nights for you :) Now you'll also be able to envision me humming this song on a regular basis. The people around me are so fortunate.
There's a line in it that says, "Here's your life, welcome to it." For some reason, every time things get especially crazy, that line goes through my head. So now you know, and no more sleepless nights for you :) Now you'll also be able to envision me humming this song on a regular basis. The people around me are so fortunate.
Hold tight people! I'm about to make a shocking announcement!
What I'm about to tell you has never been said before. Some of you will have trouble believing it- and trust me, I feel you, but it has to be said. **sigh** Here it goes:
Moms are people too.
Yep, I said it. Moms are people, and in prehistoric times they even had their own hobbies and interests... They were able to pursue those hobbies by simply sending the kids out to play fetch with the dinosaurs. Naturally you can't do that today because A) There are no dinosaurs, and B) Someone would surely call social services on you. While the rest of mankind has evolved, moms have devolved. No longer do we include basket weaving and animal skinning in our past times- now it's huddling in cold, miserable rain watching one of our kids sit on the bench, or something like "cooking" which is really just a fancy way of tricking yourself into believing you are pursuing your own happiness, but really you're just feeding people. (Disclaimer: There is no place I'd rather be than watching Will play soccer and I really do love to cook. Coincidence? I think not.)
Ok, so I know some of you are skeptical. I was too. Why just this morning I went out in 26 degree weather to scrape ice off my son's windshield so he wouldn't have to before school. Did I get thanks for this? No. Instead I got that look that only teenage children can give their aging, be-dumb-ified mothers, because of my choice of ice scraper. His deodorant. What? I thought it was ingenious! I couldn't find the ice scraper- there was his deodorant on the seat of his truck, which btw what's that about??! It's not like I had it opened or something and it worked like a charm. I also turned his truck on so it would be warm and toasty for him on the way to school. All that elicited was a complaint about the gas I used. Mmmhmmm. This from the same kid that you might remember wanted me to follow his bus 40 miles with a pair of shorts so he didn't have to tell his coach he forgot them. Not to mention that I give him a small fortune in gas money myself! I said all that to say this: Moments like this make it very hard to believe that mothers are indeed people... It's still true though.
Some of you are not skeptics... You have been saying from the beginning 'of course mothers are people. That's not breaking news!' For you, I offer up more proof that mothers are ranked just above sweat shop workers in third world countries, and that is only because we have better accommodations. It is widely believed that:
1. Mothers' phones charge themselves. That or we don't need phones to begin with. I think it's the former though because how else would they call us 5 minutes before lunch to say, "I don't have any lunch money!!!"? Yes, I know that sounds crazy, but judging from the fact that I have never plugged my phone in and found it still charging when I came back, I can only deduce that that is the belief. Even if my battery is completely dead and someone else's is half charged, they still take precedence. I think the only solution is to get rid of anything in the house that requires my charger with the exception of my phone. Bye-Bye iPhones and iPods! It's a rotary dialer for you until you learn to keep your own charger handy!
2. Mothers don't have to pee when they wake up. True story. Therefore if your current abode only has one bathroom it is perfectly acceptable to lock yourself in there while you spend 12 minutes trying to push down the same piece of hair. If your mom asks you to remove your booty from the bathroom long enough for her to use it, this is the proper response: Why do you always have to pee when you wake up?! **sigh** I don't know, I suppose I'm a freak of nature.... I'm afraid moms are going to continue to devolve 'til the point where they send us out with the dog in the morning. Won't that be pretty?
3. Moms know everything, or they know nothing. It depends on the child. According to the 3 year old, I should be a walking Wikipedia. Which I am of course. We all know anyone can say whatever they want on Wikipedia which means that the crazy answers I give Jace are completely acceptable. Why don't birds hit their heads on airplanes? Invisible force fields. What? It works. Alternatively, I'm pretty sure Parker and Will are amazed that I've even survived this long, what with my limited knowledge of... well... everything.
4. Moms don't get cold. Or if they do, they shouldn't humiliate their children by wearing anything that keeps you warm, yet might be uncool. The other day I made a comment about trying not to embarrass Parker when I dropped her off in the mornings- vague, but you'll get more of the story with number 5- to which Parker replied, "Well I was completely embarrassed when you wore that weird, sweat band thing on your head...." It was one of those knit things that keeps your ears warm. Sue me for having cold ears.
5. It doesn't matter what moms look like. Alternatively, it totally matters what moms look like because the things they wear are always able to make or break the social status of tweens and teens. When I made the comment about trying not to embarrass Parker when I dropped her off in the morning, it was in response to Will's wonderment that I actually want to see myself in the mirror for 20 seconds in the morning before I leave the house. The nerve of some mothers... thinking that they have to see themselves before they leave the house. It's no wonder kids today are so crappy- it's all these selfish moms...
and 6. Moms don't have feelings. If Mom comes home with new hair, clothing, shoes, or make-up, it's a green light for blatant honestly regardless of whether or not Mom asks... Now Parker frequently asks me how she looks- if I say anything other than, "Great!" she's pissed. No matter how nicely I try to say that just because the Disney kids get away with wearing polka dots, stripes and plaid all at the same time, it doesn't translate so well in real life, she is highly offended. I have yet to figure out why she even asks me... At any rate, anytime I get a haircut I feel all cute and awesome right up until I pick Parker up from where ever she might be. Instantly I get 'the look'. You know- the one with the wrinkled nose that either means 1) You stepped in dog poo or 2) You've once again managed to make yourself look like a clown in front of the entire world. Yeah, that look. It's always followed by:
P: (eyebrows raised, disdain impossible to not read) Did you get your haircut?
Me: No, terrible mishap involving a goat.... Ok, I really don't say that. Most of the time. I usually say, Yes, you don't like it?
P: (looking the other way as eye contact will burn her retinas) Ummm... I just have to get used to it.
Translation: Please don't get out of the car for at least two weeks.
I haven't done a very good job of making my case about moms being people, have I? Maybe it's just wishful thinking... Either way, I'm about to let every child in this house know it's true :)
Moms are people too.
Yep, I said it. Moms are people, and in prehistoric times they even had their own hobbies and interests... They were able to pursue those hobbies by simply sending the kids out to play fetch with the dinosaurs. Naturally you can't do that today because A) There are no dinosaurs, and B) Someone would surely call social services on you. While the rest of mankind has evolved, moms have devolved. No longer do we include basket weaving and animal skinning in our past times- now it's huddling in cold, miserable rain watching one of our kids sit on the bench, or something like "cooking" which is really just a fancy way of tricking yourself into believing you are pursuing your own happiness, but really you're just feeding people. (Disclaimer: There is no place I'd rather be than watching Will play soccer and I really do love to cook. Coincidence? I think not.)
Ok, so I know some of you are skeptical. I was too. Why just this morning I went out in 26 degree weather to scrape ice off my son's windshield so he wouldn't have to before school. Did I get thanks for this? No. Instead I got that look that only teenage children can give their aging, be-dumb-ified mothers, because of my choice of ice scraper. His deodorant. What? I thought it was ingenious! I couldn't find the ice scraper- there was his deodorant on the seat of his truck, which btw what's that about??! It's not like I had it opened or something and it worked like a charm. I also turned his truck on so it would be warm and toasty for him on the way to school. All that elicited was a complaint about the gas I used. Mmmhmmm. This from the same kid that you might remember wanted me to follow his bus 40 miles with a pair of shorts so he didn't have to tell his coach he forgot them. Not to mention that I give him a small fortune in gas money myself! I said all that to say this: Moments like this make it very hard to believe that mothers are indeed people... It's still true though.
Some of you are not skeptics... You have been saying from the beginning 'of course mothers are people. That's not breaking news!' For you, I offer up more proof that mothers are ranked just above sweat shop workers in third world countries, and that is only because we have better accommodations. It is widely believed that:
1. Mothers' phones charge themselves. That or we don't need phones to begin with. I think it's the former though because how else would they call us 5 minutes before lunch to say, "I don't have any lunch money!!!"? Yes, I know that sounds crazy, but judging from the fact that I have never plugged my phone in and found it still charging when I came back, I can only deduce that that is the belief. Even if my battery is completely dead and someone else's is half charged, they still take precedence. I think the only solution is to get rid of anything in the house that requires my charger with the exception of my phone. Bye-Bye iPhones and iPods! It's a rotary dialer for you until you learn to keep your own charger handy!
2. Mothers don't have to pee when they wake up. True story. Therefore if your current abode only has one bathroom it is perfectly acceptable to lock yourself in there while you spend 12 minutes trying to push down the same piece of hair. If your mom asks you to remove your booty from the bathroom long enough for her to use it, this is the proper response: Why do you always have to pee when you wake up?! **sigh** I don't know, I suppose I'm a freak of nature.... I'm afraid moms are going to continue to devolve 'til the point where they send us out with the dog in the morning. Won't that be pretty?
3. Moms know everything, or they know nothing. It depends on the child. According to the 3 year old, I should be a walking Wikipedia. Which I am of course. We all know anyone can say whatever they want on Wikipedia which means that the crazy answers I give Jace are completely acceptable. Why don't birds hit their heads on airplanes? Invisible force fields. What? It works. Alternatively, I'm pretty sure Parker and Will are amazed that I've even survived this long, what with my limited knowledge of... well... everything.
4. Moms don't get cold. Or if they do, they shouldn't humiliate their children by wearing anything that keeps you warm, yet might be uncool. The other day I made a comment about trying not to embarrass Parker when I dropped her off in the mornings- vague, but you'll get more of the story with number 5- to which Parker replied, "Well I was completely embarrassed when you wore that weird, sweat band thing on your head...." It was one of those knit things that keeps your ears warm. Sue me for having cold ears.
5. It doesn't matter what moms look like. Alternatively, it totally matters what moms look like because the things they wear are always able to make or break the social status of tweens and teens. When I made the comment about trying not to embarrass Parker when I dropped her off in the morning, it was in response to Will's wonderment that I actually want to see myself in the mirror for 20 seconds in the morning before I leave the house. The nerve of some mothers... thinking that they have to see themselves before they leave the house. It's no wonder kids today are so crappy- it's all these selfish moms...
and 6. Moms don't have feelings. If Mom comes home with new hair, clothing, shoes, or make-up, it's a green light for blatant honestly regardless of whether or not Mom asks... Now Parker frequently asks me how she looks- if I say anything other than, "Great!" she's pissed. No matter how nicely I try to say that just because the Disney kids get away with wearing polka dots, stripes and plaid all at the same time, it doesn't translate so well in real life, she is highly offended. I have yet to figure out why she even asks me... At any rate, anytime I get a haircut I feel all cute and awesome right up until I pick Parker up from where ever she might be. Instantly I get 'the look'. You know- the one with the wrinkled nose that either means 1) You stepped in dog poo or 2) You've once again managed to make yourself look like a clown in front of the entire world. Yeah, that look. It's always followed by:
P: (eyebrows raised, disdain impossible to not read) Did you get your haircut?
Me: No, terrible mishap involving a goat.... Ok, I really don't say that. Most of the time. I usually say, Yes, you don't like it?
P: (looking the other way as eye contact will burn her retinas) Ummm... I just have to get used to it.
Translation: Please don't get out of the car for at least two weeks.
I haven't done a very good job of making my case about moms being people, have I? Maybe it's just wishful thinking... Either way, I'm about to let every child in this house know it's true :)
Monday, November 7, 2011
17 years of experience, and yet I still don't know what I'm doing...
Yesterday I had a nervous breakdown. Just a mini one unfortunately. It would be kinda nice to have one of the major ones that would result in a vacation at the local psych ward where I am sure I would find more sanity than my home offers most days.
Most of my life is spent in a "kumbaya" state of mind where I 'don't sweat the small stuff' and all those other cute li'l sayings that make me wanna vomit on the days when my 'attitude of gratitude' is MIA. Why is it that life can being rolling along nicely and then suddenly you are hit with just an overwhelming feeling that the only thing missing in your life is you?! While 99% of the time I am fine with being known as someone's mom, or SFC Hollen's wife, that 1% of the time when I miss just being me can come out of nowhere and hit pretty hard. Yesterday was one of those days. I really, really hate it when those days hit, because I don't believe in living life wishing for anything other than what I have, but there is a little catharsis in being the one crying, "What about meeee????!!!!!" every once in a while :)
I've been a parent for a while now. Over 17 years to be exact. (Hmmm, I guess "over 17 years" isn't what some might call 'exact', but it works for me, and this is my blog gosh darnit.) In any other 'profession' 17+ years of experience would make you an expert at what you do. When it comes to being a mom, not so much. It's all trial and error, and mostly error. I think most of us have a list in our heads of what we will not do as a parent that is based on our experiences growing up. As an adult, that list shrinks because you realize stuff like having to clean your room isn't a form of torture and/or abuse. There is stuff on my list that I still feel is valid though. I just can't seem to find the middle ground between being the type of parent who would do anything for their children, and being the family doormat. In my quest to try to remember what it's like to be their age, and the value in supporting their dreams even if I know the odds are against them, it seems like I've not done a very good job of teaching them that in this family we are all a necessary part of the team, and no- you are not the MVP. Basically this means I have three kids who have no idea that the world does not in fact rotate around them. My life in a nutshell:
If I lie down, someone needs something. If it's Jace, the older two have either A) suddenly become deaf and can't even hear him asking, or B) help him out but make sure to complain loudly because their TV watching, book reading, game playing, etc. has been interrupted. If I start to jump in the shower, Parker was just headed that way. If I have to use the bathroom, someone else needs to more. If the dog needs to go out, it's ok if I have to completely get dressed first, because Heaven knows that expecting one of your kids to do the same is like a fate worse than death.
You know our current living situation is little old lady in the shoe meets any given episode of Hoarders, but Parker refuses to believe that she can in fact get dressed in any room other than the bedroom. She fully expects anyone who's in there to immediately stop what their doing and evacuate so she can get her clothes on. Will on the other hand, will drop his towel no matter where he happens to be and just yell for everyone to avoid that room 'til he's dressed. Both of them seem to believe that taking their clothes to the bathroom with them and getting dressed there after they shower is foolish and emotional abuse. Jace is just Jace. His middle name is after Thomas' great-grandfather who was nicknamed Boss. Had I known that Jace would feel compelled to live up to that reputation, I would have named him something else... Obviously somewhere along the way I have failed them big time as a parent. What else is new?
What does all this have to do with yesterday's breakdown? I'm getting there, I promise. Yesterday was like any other day. Will and Parker were celebrating the life of leisure that they feel is their birthright, (seriously the princes Wm and Harry probably feel less entitled than my kids,) and Jace was being a holy terror. I had mountains of homework, a house that wouldn't let me rest until it was clean, and a flatulent dog with diarrhea. What happens when you mix flatulence with diarrhea, you might ask. One word: Sharting. FML. Add to that the fact that I am so popular in my home that no one can be more than two steps away from me at any given time, and you get a basket case waiting to happen. As I was trying to get ready to go to a movie (Footloose. Funny stuff, though I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be. Angry ballet, anyone?) the dog needed to go out one more time so I asked Will to take her out. Cue scene of dramatic collapse:
Will: Ok, but I'm not going in the yard because I don't want to get my new shoes dirty.
Me: Well you have to go in the yard because she uses the bathroom in the very back.
**I look outside and see Will trying to figure out a way to hovercraft himself to the designated bathroom area. By all appearances he thought he could simply Go Go Gadget the arm holding the leash and Molly would be able to reach the back of the yard. In a move that pretty much sums up my entire parental shortcomings, instead of making him prance his ass out there, I succumbed to my usual, "I'll do it myself!" huff. So now I'm back there trying to get Molly to go to the bathroom- btw, what is up with all the turning and sniffing??!! Anyway, as I'm at the back of the yard with Molly, Jace decides he has to have a ball that is dangerously close to Molly's 'bathroom'.
Me: Jace, don't go back there, you'll step in dog poop.
Jace: I have to get this ball.
Me: No, you don't. We are getting ready to leave. Go back to the house.
Jace: But I 'meed' it.
Molly- turning, sniffing, turning, sniffing, turning, sniffing.....
At this point for some reason I start crying. Not full fledged boo-hooing, that came moments later. I give up on Molly using the bathroom, tell Jace to get in the house, and I sniffle my way across the yard. The only good thing is that even though Jace wouldn't stay away from the ball, he didn't step in poop. The only bad thing? I did. Wth? By this point, I'm on the front porch, where I am full on sobbing, while kicking my shoes off and hurling them across the yard. Parker, Jace and Will are staring at me like I've grown another head. If I could have heard the thoughts going through their minds, I'm sure it would have gone something like this: Ok, is Mom hurt, or is the nervous breakdown she's been threatening for years now? Which totally reminds me of the other day. Apparently anytime my kids are fighting I say either, "I'm running away, or I'm gonna blow my brains out." (Go on, add that to the parental failure list. See if I care.) This particular day, I used the brain blowing threat to which Will replied, "All talk, no action." Ahahaha, yes. Retched little monsters that they are, I love my kids..... At least they "get" me.
Anywho- so while I'm lying in bed sobbing hysterically and saying stuff like, "I can't do it all myself, and I never have a second to myself," Jace is on top of me saying, "Aww Mommy, it's ok." Cute in retrospect. Parker decides that she should get Jace off me and let me have my tantrum in peace. After a minute I pull myself together and start trying to undo the mess caused by my torrential downpour. Like it really matters what I look like. I'm barely even human... I'm the mythical creature known as a mom.... Anyway, I look out the window and there is Jace getting that effing ball that he was after in the first place. In between my first thoughts of "who will watch my kids while I go on an adult's only all inclusive retreat" and my gut impulse to beat my head against the wall I hear this:
Jace: Ewwwwwww!!!!! There is poop on my toes! It's diarrhea!!!
Which brings me to my final parenting bummer. In every other situation in life there is such joy in saying, "I told you so." Not so for a mom. All it means for a mom is that there's another mess to be cleaned....
If only all this had happened after I watched "Footloose". I could have avoided all the tears and just stomped around pulling at my shirt and tossing my hair. Added stress release if you can find a chain hanging from a ceiling somewhere that you can swing yourself around on with lots of smoldering drama.... At least it seemed to work in the movie. **sigh**
Most of my life is spent in a "kumbaya" state of mind where I 'don't sweat the small stuff' and all those other cute li'l sayings that make me wanna vomit on the days when my 'attitude of gratitude' is MIA. Why is it that life can being rolling along nicely and then suddenly you are hit with just an overwhelming feeling that the only thing missing in your life is you?! While 99% of the time I am fine with being known as someone's mom, or SFC Hollen's wife, that 1% of the time when I miss just being me can come out of nowhere and hit pretty hard. Yesterday was one of those days. I really, really hate it when those days hit, because I don't believe in living life wishing for anything other than what I have, but there is a little catharsis in being the one crying, "What about meeee????!!!!!" every once in a while :)
I've been a parent for a while now. Over 17 years to be exact. (Hmmm, I guess "over 17 years" isn't what some might call 'exact', but it works for me, and this is my blog gosh darnit.) In any other 'profession' 17+ years of experience would make you an expert at what you do. When it comes to being a mom, not so much. It's all trial and error, and mostly error. I think most of us have a list in our heads of what we will not do as a parent that is based on our experiences growing up. As an adult, that list shrinks because you realize stuff like having to clean your room isn't a form of torture and/or abuse. There is stuff on my list that I still feel is valid though. I just can't seem to find the middle ground between being the type of parent who would do anything for their children, and being the family doormat. In my quest to try to remember what it's like to be their age, and the value in supporting their dreams even if I know the odds are against them, it seems like I've not done a very good job of teaching them that in this family we are all a necessary part of the team, and no- you are not the MVP. Basically this means I have three kids who have no idea that the world does not in fact rotate around them. My life in a nutshell:
If I lie down, someone needs something. If it's Jace, the older two have either A) suddenly become deaf and can't even hear him asking, or B) help him out but make sure to complain loudly because their TV watching, book reading, game playing, etc. has been interrupted. If I start to jump in the shower, Parker was just headed that way. If I have to use the bathroom, someone else needs to more. If the dog needs to go out, it's ok if I have to completely get dressed first, because Heaven knows that expecting one of your kids to do the same is like a fate worse than death.
You know our current living situation is little old lady in the shoe meets any given episode of Hoarders, but Parker refuses to believe that she can in fact get dressed in any room other than the bedroom. She fully expects anyone who's in there to immediately stop what their doing and evacuate so she can get her clothes on. Will on the other hand, will drop his towel no matter where he happens to be and just yell for everyone to avoid that room 'til he's dressed. Both of them seem to believe that taking their clothes to the bathroom with them and getting dressed there after they shower is foolish and emotional abuse. Jace is just Jace. His middle name is after Thomas' great-grandfather who was nicknamed Boss. Had I known that Jace would feel compelled to live up to that reputation, I would have named him something else... Obviously somewhere along the way I have failed them big time as a parent. What else is new?
What does all this have to do with yesterday's breakdown? I'm getting there, I promise. Yesterday was like any other day. Will and Parker were celebrating the life of leisure that they feel is their birthright, (seriously the princes Wm and Harry probably feel less entitled than my kids,) and Jace was being a holy terror. I had mountains of homework, a house that wouldn't let me rest until it was clean, and a flatulent dog with diarrhea. What happens when you mix flatulence with diarrhea, you might ask. One word: Sharting. FML. Add to that the fact that I am so popular in my home that no one can be more than two steps away from me at any given time, and you get a basket case waiting to happen. As I was trying to get ready to go to a movie (Footloose. Funny stuff, though I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be. Angry ballet, anyone?) the dog needed to go out one more time so I asked Will to take her out. Cue scene of dramatic collapse:
Will: Ok, but I'm not going in the yard because I don't want to get my new shoes dirty.
Me: Well you have to go in the yard because she uses the bathroom in the very back.
**I look outside and see Will trying to figure out a way to hovercraft himself to the designated bathroom area. By all appearances he thought he could simply Go Go Gadget the arm holding the leash and Molly would be able to reach the back of the yard. In a move that pretty much sums up my entire parental shortcomings, instead of making him prance his ass out there, I succumbed to my usual, "I'll do it myself!" huff. So now I'm back there trying to get Molly to go to the bathroom- btw, what is up with all the turning and sniffing??!! Anyway, as I'm at the back of the yard with Molly, Jace decides he has to have a ball that is dangerously close to Molly's 'bathroom'.
Me: Jace, don't go back there, you'll step in dog poop.
Jace: I have to get this ball.
Me: No, you don't. We are getting ready to leave. Go back to the house.
Jace: But I 'meed' it.
Molly- turning, sniffing, turning, sniffing, turning, sniffing.....
At this point for some reason I start crying. Not full fledged boo-hooing, that came moments later. I give up on Molly using the bathroom, tell Jace to get in the house, and I sniffle my way across the yard. The only good thing is that even though Jace wouldn't stay away from the ball, he didn't step in poop. The only bad thing? I did. Wth? By this point, I'm on the front porch, where I am full on sobbing, while kicking my shoes off and hurling them across the yard. Parker, Jace and Will are staring at me like I've grown another head. If I could have heard the thoughts going through their minds, I'm sure it would have gone something like this: Ok, is Mom hurt, or is the nervous breakdown she's been threatening for years now? Which totally reminds me of the other day. Apparently anytime my kids are fighting I say either, "I'm running away, or I'm gonna blow my brains out." (Go on, add that to the parental failure list. See if I care.) This particular day, I used the brain blowing threat to which Will replied, "All talk, no action." Ahahaha, yes. Retched little monsters that they are, I love my kids..... At least they "get" me.
Anywho- so while I'm lying in bed sobbing hysterically and saying stuff like, "I can't do it all myself, and I never have a second to myself," Jace is on top of me saying, "Aww Mommy, it's ok." Cute in retrospect. Parker decides that she should get Jace off me and let me have my tantrum in peace. After a minute I pull myself together and start trying to undo the mess caused by my torrential downpour. Like it really matters what I look like. I'm barely even human... I'm the mythical creature known as a mom.... Anyway, I look out the window and there is Jace getting that effing ball that he was after in the first place. In between my first thoughts of "who will watch my kids while I go on an adult's only all inclusive retreat" and my gut impulse to beat my head against the wall I hear this:
Jace: Ewwwwwww!!!!! There is poop on my toes! It's diarrhea!!!
Which brings me to my final parenting bummer. In every other situation in life there is such joy in saying, "I told you so." Not so for a mom. All it means for a mom is that there's another mess to be cleaned....
If only all this had happened after I watched "Footloose". I could have avoided all the tears and just stomped around pulling at my shirt and tossing my hair. Added stress release if you can find a chain hanging from a ceiling somewhere that you can swing yourself around on with lots of smoldering drama.... At least it seemed to work in the movie. **sigh**
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Hey Kid! Yeah, you in the blue- go clean your room!
Growing up with four older siblings, my mom called me a variety of names. The only time I can remember being truly offended is the day she called me "Kevin". I mean, calling me by one of my sister's names was one thing, but my brother's? Not cool. My grandmother Parker was just as bad. I think I briefly thought my name was "Heather Amy Leigh Anne"... Both mix-ups were understandable though. My mom had five kids, and my gramma enjoyed her vodka. These are both handy excuses for being a li'l forgetful.
(I'm fighting my urge to go off on another tangent at this point. I'm really working on my ability to focus on one subject at a time, but I'll just say that if you wanna live to be 95, forget all those vitamins and that healthy living BS. Vodka, Charles Chips and Breyer's Ice Cream is the way to go- at least it worked for Gramma Parker.)
Back on track! So while I know that it can be normal to call your kids by the wrong name from time to time, I really thought I'd be able to bypass that hoopla. I mean I'm sure my kids will have enough material for their therapist someday without having 'Mom used to call me by the cat's name' on the list. Yeah. Here I was offended over being called my brother's name and my kids are lucky if they get called by a human's name instead of an animal's... My personal favorite is when I start to call one of the kids and my mind goes into what I call russian roulette mode. It just keeps spinning and spinning, but unfortunately no bullets are in the chamber. That's when this happens: Hey, um.... Wwwww... uh.... um... huh. Um, Hey kiddo! This is usually followed by a look from the kid that is along the lines of, "WTF?! Did my mom really just forget my name?!" Sad, but true. I blame my self-diagnosed ADD. What, you didn't know I was a doctor? Honey, in the days of google and WebMD, everyone is. Now if only I could write prescriptions...
Now I'm totally thinking about that joke where the woman has a bunch of kids and they all have the same name. When someone asks her what she says when she wants to call a particular kid she says, "Oh I just call them by their last name." Ahahahaha. I so shoulda done that. I mean if you're gonna be dysfunctional, you might as well have fun with it, right?
We did recently add a new family member. Thomas rescued a dog he found on the side of the road, so please welcome Molly Molly Bo Bolly Banana Fana Fo Folly, to the Hollen family. So far she is the most well behaved member we have. I'm considering dropping the kids off in the woods for a couple days to see if they come out with good attitudes too. What? I'll go back for them, jeeze. Some people are so uptight... Anyway, the only issue so far, is that Molly and Harpo like to fight. I have to admit that I laughed hysterically today when I saw Molly walk by the couch and Harpo lean down from where he was sitting on the back of it, to slap her upside the head on her way by. I could just do without the times that I'm trying to concentrate on something and they are stampeding through the house like it's the running of the bulls. I mean, isn't it enough that Will and Parker fight like it's their job?
--another tangent-- would it be shocking if say, a mother were to rip the television of the wall, and throw it out the front door while yelling, "Bet you wish you could have agreed on a show now, don't you?!"? I mean, I don't know anyone who would ever do something like that, I'm just making conversation :) -- end tangent--
Anyway, so remember that I'm currently living in shoe box until we move to Texas in a couple months? Right- so now there are me, Will, Parker, Jace, Harpo and Molly in said shoe box. Last night I actually slept in a full-sized bed with Parker, Jace and Molly. I'm not sure if you've ever attempted to sleep with a paw up your rear, one kid upside down in the bed, and the other with their foot on your face, but let's just say that it's not what I would call a 'restful' sleep. More like one long night of thinking to myself, "is this really happening, or am I getting punk'd?" For reals, I'm going to start wearing make-up to bed, just in case Ashton Kutcher pops out of somewhere... When we get to Texas I'm going to lock myself in my bedroom for at least three days where I will attempt to deprogram myself. Really. It's not natural for a 36 year old woman to believe her favorite shows are "Wizards of Waverly Place" and "Good Luck Charlie". It's like a Stockholm Syndrome type of thing where I've just acknowledged that I will NOT choose what is on the TV as long as we are living here, so I might as well convince myself that I love it.
My eyes are drifting shut as I type, so Peace Out What-cher-names!
(I'm fighting my urge to go off on another tangent at this point. I'm really working on my ability to focus on one subject at a time, but I'll just say that if you wanna live to be 95, forget all those vitamins and that healthy living BS. Vodka, Charles Chips and Breyer's Ice Cream is the way to go- at least it worked for Gramma Parker.)
Back on track! So while I know that it can be normal to call your kids by the wrong name from time to time, I really thought I'd be able to bypass that hoopla. I mean I'm sure my kids will have enough material for their therapist someday without having 'Mom used to call me by the cat's name' on the list. Yeah. Here I was offended over being called my brother's name and my kids are lucky if they get called by a human's name instead of an animal's... My personal favorite is when I start to call one of the kids and my mind goes into what I call russian roulette mode. It just keeps spinning and spinning, but unfortunately no bullets are in the chamber. That's when this happens: Hey, um.... Wwwww... uh.... um... huh. Um, Hey kiddo! This is usually followed by a look from the kid that is along the lines of, "WTF?! Did my mom really just forget my name?!" Sad, but true. I blame my self-diagnosed ADD. What, you didn't know I was a doctor? Honey, in the days of google and WebMD, everyone is. Now if only I could write prescriptions...
Now I'm totally thinking about that joke where the woman has a bunch of kids and they all have the same name. When someone asks her what she says when she wants to call a particular kid she says, "Oh I just call them by their last name." Ahahahaha. I so shoulda done that. I mean if you're gonna be dysfunctional, you might as well have fun with it, right?
We did recently add a new family member. Thomas rescued a dog he found on the side of the road, so please welcome Molly Molly Bo Bolly Banana Fana Fo Folly, to the Hollen family. So far she is the most well behaved member we have. I'm considering dropping the kids off in the woods for a couple days to see if they come out with good attitudes too. What? I'll go back for them, jeeze. Some people are so uptight... Anyway, the only issue so far, is that Molly and Harpo like to fight. I have to admit that I laughed hysterically today when I saw Molly walk by the couch and Harpo lean down from where he was sitting on the back of it, to slap her upside the head on her way by. I could just do without the times that I'm trying to concentrate on something and they are stampeding through the house like it's the running of the bulls. I mean, isn't it enough that Will and Parker fight like it's their job?
--another tangent-- would it be shocking if say, a mother were to rip the television of the wall, and throw it out the front door while yelling, "Bet you wish you could have agreed on a show now, don't you?!"? I mean, I don't know anyone who would ever do something like that, I'm just making conversation :) -- end tangent--
Anyway, so remember that I'm currently living in shoe box until we move to Texas in a couple months? Right- so now there are me, Will, Parker, Jace, Harpo and Molly in said shoe box. Last night I actually slept in a full-sized bed with Parker, Jace and Molly. I'm not sure if you've ever attempted to sleep with a paw up your rear, one kid upside down in the bed, and the other with their foot on your face, but let's just say that it's not what I would call a 'restful' sleep. More like one long night of thinking to myself, "is this really happening, or am I getting punk'd?" For reals, I'm going to start wearing make-up to bed, just in case Ashton Kutcher pops out of somewhere... When we get to Texas I'm going to lock myself in my bedroom for at least three days where I will attempt to deprogram myself. Really. It's not natural for a 36 year old woman to believe her favorite shows are "Wizards of Waverly Place" and "Good Luck Charlie". It's like a Stockholm Syndrome type of thing where I've just acknowledged that I will NOT choose what is on the TV as long as we are living here, so I might as well convince myself that I love it.
My eyes are drifting shut as I type, so Peace Out What-cher-names!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Kids. Can't live with 'em...
can't afford to put them in boarding school...
Soo there has been a drought in the Hollen House of Hilarity, (Horrors or Hormones. Pick your own "H", they all apply.) Either my kids haven't been as funny lately, or my sense of humor has been MIA. More than likely it's just me, right? As usual though, when it rains it pours so here is the blog that you've been eagerly waiting for. By you I mean you, Jen ;)
I think a country musician should start singing about parenting. I have a list of possible song titles:
Acorns in My Dryer
There's a Reason You Never Get Those Cute, Li'l Photo Cards From Me at Christmas (Seems long but this is country so it works.)
Why, Why, Why?
There's a Tear in my Yoo-Hoo
What About Me???!!!!!
What Shoes Should I Wear?
You Were Adopted
Don't See Me
and my personal favorite-
You're Mom's Favorite, No You're Mom's Favorite
Now I'm no professional writer, so I don't do lyrics. However, I do have some story line suggestions :)
**Acorns in My Dryer? Naturally this song would be about all the random things you find in the laundry when you have kids. The list should include:
1) Acorns. Especially if your 3 year old has a thing for "nuts". Yeah. Do NOT attempt to empty his pockets with his knowledge. The end result is tears, trauma, and a host of other "T" words like tantrum. **Shudder**
2) iPods. It is important to note however, that if expensive electronic gadgets are found, then this part of the song should include something along the lines of, "Mom is an idiot... She doesn't check my pockets." Alternatively, this song could also be about wives in which case you would substitute, "Mom" with "Wife". At no point however, should you EVER even so much as imply that the individual who put the said object in their own pocket should carry any responsibility. Only Mom/Wife. The chorus should include the phrase, "Quick! Throw it in a bag of rice!" Catchy, isn't it?!
3) Random bits of paper: Extra bonus if any of this paper is later called, "homework".
4) Money. Whatever you do though, do NOT let out the secret that any money found in the laundry belongs to the person washing it. I am slowly building my empire, one load at a time.
**Photo Cards. This song would be about those sweet cards people send you at Christmas featuring their kids and assorted pets all looking at the camera with an aura of love and happiness. Obviously those kids are paid. This is what happens when I try to take pictures of my kids:
Yesterday was a beautiful day, full of sunshine and leaves falling. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to get some pics of the kiddos while enjoying the scenery down at LBL. Fun for all, right?? Wrong. First of all, Parker is the only one who will pose. She'd be happy to be the star and sole occupant of all family photos, but then I feel crappy because the boys are missing. As of now though, I'm over that. Parker is now the "face" of the Hollen family and will be representing us as a whole :) This is what the boys do:
Will: Family pictures? (Said in the same tone you might say, "Worms for dinner?") Why??!!
Me: Because I would like to have pics of my kids. Duh.
Will: Well you're not putting any of them on facebook.
Me: Ok, well A) I'll put whatever I want on my facebook, but I won't tag you, and B) is your family really that humiliating??
I mean really, are we? What is it about having your picture made with your brother and sister that inspires fear of public humiliation? Is Will the only teenager known to man to actually have a family? Is that what it is? Like it's embarrassing for someone to find out you have siblings or **gasp** parents? Gee thanks. I remember being a young mom and thinking that one of the bonuses would be the fact that I would be this young, hip mom that Will would be proud to have. It's obvious now that the fact I even thought the word "hip" eliminated that possibility.
Soo as they say, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Here that translates to, you can force your kid to pose for pics, but you can't make him look normal. 99.9% of all pictures involving Will are one of two things. He's either posing like a pin-up- think hip thrust out with one hand on it, the other hand up by his lips while he makes a kissy face, or he's making some other ridiculous face. Personally, I am no longer going to even attempt to get pictures of him looking normal. I'm going to take what I'm given and then I'm going to put every single one of them on facebook, tag him, make one my profile pic, post on his wall, print out flyers to hang around town, and have announcements made to send to all my friends with small children. "Enjoy them now- soon they'll be teenagers! Blech!"
Then there's Jace. After I'd all but given up my photographic dreams yesterday, I tried to take a picture of Jace from behind. It was completely unposed, he was staring out over the lake and it was precious. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and took off running, yelling, "No!!! Don't take pictures of me!!" Apparently he's Amish and didn't tell anyone. Who knew?
**Why, Why, Why
This is self-explanatory for any parent. If the songwriter could include answers to the 97 bazillion questions that toddlers ask, that song would go platinum immediately.
**There's a Tear in My Yoo-Hoo
Again, self-explanatory. Every event in life does not have to include tears. Not toddler tears, not hormonal tween girl tears.... No tears. Period.
**What About Me???????
What about me... the favored question of siblings everywhere. This song should include something about Christmas cards being sent out with a picture of only one child, while the other two cry, "What about me??" The chorus could be, "Because you wouldn't pose, or I don't love you anymore. Which one is it??!!!" Ahahahaha- sometimes parenting is fun :)
**What Shoes Should I Wear?
This is another favorite question in my house. Actually I'm pretty sure Parker has NEVER gotten dressed one, single time without asking me, "What shoes should I wear?" The funny thing is she generally hates my taste and rejects all my suggestions until I finally list the shoe she wanted to wear all along. I have told her more than once to not ever ask me again so now she does this, "Mom, I know you hate it when I ask, but umm... what shoes should I wear?" Maybe I'll just donate every pair of shoes but one... Sounds like a winner to me!
** You Were Adopted
Will has been trying to convince Parker from birth that she is adopted. I'm not sure what about this is supposed to be an issue, but apparently it is because I can remember my own siblings trying to convince me of the same when I was little. If that's the case, I'm going to start looking for my "birth" parents immediately and pray that they are now filthy rich.
** Don't See Me. This song will be about toddlers who make their parents accompany them to the bathroom, you know to protect them from the "ghosts". These same toddlers don't like to be seen while using the bathroom so they call you in there and then point at a spot right outside the door where they tell you to stand with the instructions, "Don't See Me". It's almost like time-out. My particular station is by the washing machine, so I just look for money in pockets while I wait. I'm getting rich one trip to the bathroom at a time. I'm hoping the follow up tune, "Don't Wipe Me" is coming soon.
** You're Mom's Favorite, No You're Mom's Favorite.
If your two older children are both convinced that the other is your "precious, little angel", are you doing something really right, or really wrong? I've been pondering this for a while now. Just pondering, I don't intend to change anything. After all, even being seen in public with me is detrimental to their social status after a certain age, so what do I care? I feed, clothe, and steal money from their pockets. Isn't that my job? I tuck them in and kiss them good night, although Will has been air-kissing me for the last few years. He's either adopted some European flair, or thinks I have cooties. Speaking of, I just thought of two final tunes:
Everything I Needed to Know About Life, I Learned While Secretly Reading My Teenager's Text Messages
and
I Didn't Know Butt Dialing Could Get Me Grounded
Yeah. Enjoy those toddlers and don't have me arrested in a few years when Parker is a teenager and I won't let her out of a locked closet. It's for her own good, really!
Soo there has been a drought in the Hollen House of Hilarity, (Horrors or Hormones. Pick your own "H", they all apply.) Either my kids haven't been as funny lately, or my sense of humor has been MIA. More than likely it's just me, right? As usual though, when it rains it pours so here is the blog that you've been eagerly waiting for. By you I mean you, Jen ;)
I think a country musician should start singing about parenting. I have a list of possible song titles:
Acorns in My Dryer
There's a Reason You Never Get Those Cute, Li'l Photo Cards From Me at Christmas (Seems long but this is country so it works.)
Why, Why, Why?
There's a Tear in my Yoo-Hoo
What About Me???!!!!!
What Shoes Should I Wear?
You Were Adopted
Don't See Me
and my personal favorite-
You're Mom's Favorite, No You're Mom's Favorite
Now I'm no professional writer, so I don't do lyrics. However, I do have some story line suggestions :)
**Acorns in My Dryer? Naturally this song would be about all the random things you find in the laundry when you have kids. The list should include:
1) Acorns. Especially if your 3 year old has a thing for "nuts". Yeah. Do NOT attempt to empty his pockets with his knowledge. The end result is tears, trauma, and a host of other "T" words like tantrum. **Shudder**
2) iPods. It is important to note however, that if expensive electronic gadgets are found, then this part of the song should include something along the lines of, "Mom is an idiot... She doesn't check my pockets." Alternatively, this song could also be about wives in which case you would substitute, "Mom" with "Wife". At no point however, should you EVER even so much as imply that the individual who put the said object in their own pocket should carry any responsibility. Only Mom/Wife. The chorus should include the phrase, "Quick! Throw it in a bag of rice!" Catchy, isn't it?!
3) Random bits of paper: Extra bonus if any of this paper is later called, "homework".
4) Money. Whatever you do though, do NOT let out the secret that any money found in the laundry belongs to the person washing it. I am slowly building my empire, one load at a time.
**Photo Cards. This song would be about those sweet cards people send you at Christmas featuring their kids and assorted pets all looking at the camera with an aura of love and happiness. Obviously those kids are paid. This is what happens when I try to take pictures of my kids:
Yesterday was a beautiful day, full of sunshine and leaves falling. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to get some pics of the kiddos while enjoying the scenery down at LBL. Fun for all, right?? Wrong. First of all, Parker is the only one who will pose. She'd be happy to be the star and sole occupant of all family photos, but then I feel crappy because the boys are missing. As of now though, I'm over that. Parker is now the "face" of the Hollen family and will be representing us as a whole :) This is what the boys do:
Will: Family pictures? (Said in the same tone you might say, "Worms for dinner?") Why??!!
Me: Because I would like to have pics of my kids. Duh.
Will: Well you're not putting any of them on facebook.
Me: Ok, well A) I'll put whatever I want on my facebook, but I won't tag you, and B) is your family really that humiliating??
I mean really, are we? What is it about having your picture made with your brother and sister that inspires fear of public humiliation? Is Will the only teenager known to man to actually have a family? Is that what it is? Like it's embarrassing for someone to find out you have siblings or **gasp** parents? Gee thanks. I remember being a young mom and thinking that one of the bonuses would be the fact that I would be this young, hip mom that Will would be proud to have. It's obvious now that the fact I even thought the word "hip" eliminated that possibility.
Soo as they say, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Here that translates to, you can force your kid to pose for pics, but you can't make him look normal. 99.9% of all pictures involving Will are one of two things. He's either posing like a pin-up- think hip thrust out with one hand on it, the other hand up by his lips while he makes a kissy face, or he's making some other ridiculous face. Personally, I am no longer going to even attempt to get pictures of him looking normal. I'm going to take what I'm given and then I'm going to put every single one of them on facebook, tag him, make one my profile pic, post on his wall, print out flyers to hang around town, and have announcements made to send to all my friends with small children. "Enjoy them now- soon they'll be teenagers! Blech!"
Then there's Jace. After I'd all but given up my photographic dreams yesterday, I tried to take a picture of Jace from behind. It was completely unposed, he was staring out over the lake and it was precious. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and took off running, yelling, "No!!! Don't take pictures of me!!" Apparently he's Amish and didn't tell anyone. Who knew?
**Why, Why, Why
This is self-explanatory for any parent. If the songwriter could include answers to the 97 bazillion questions that toddlers ask, that song would go platinum immediately.
**There's a Tear in My Yoo-Hoo
Again, self-explanatory. Every event in life does not have to include tears. Not toddler tears, not hormonal tween girl tears.... No tears. Period.
**What About Me???????
What about me... the favored question of siblings everywhere. This song should include something about Christmas cards being sent out with a picture of only one child, while the other two cry, "What about me??" The chorus could be, "Because you wouldn't pose, or I don't love you anymore. Which one is it??!!!" Ahahahaha- sometimes parenting is fun :)
**What Shoes Should I Wear?
This is another favorite question in my house. Actually I'm pretty sure Parker has NEVER gotten dressed one, single time without asking me, "What shoes should I wear?" The funny thing is she generally hates my taste and rejects all my suggestions until I finally list the shoe she wanted to wear all along. I have told her more than once to not ever ask me again so now she does this, "Mom, I know you hate it when I ask, but umm... what shoes should I wear?" Maybe I'll just donate every pair of shoes but one... Sounds like a winner to me!
** You Were Adopted
Will has been trying to convince Parker from birth that she is adopted. I'm not sure what about this is supposed to be an issue, but apparently it is because I can remember my own siblings trying to convince me of the same when I was little. If that's the case, I'm going to start looking for my "birth" parents immediately and pray that they are now filthy rich.
** Don't See Me. This song will be about toddlers who make their parents accompany them to the bathroom, you know to protect them from the "ghosts". These same toddlers don't like to be seen while using the bathroom so they call you in there and then point at a spot right outside the door where they tell you to stand with the instructions, "Don't See Me". It's almost like time-out. My particular station is by the washing machine, so I just look for money in pockets while I wait. I'm getting rich one trip to the bathroom at a time. I'm hoping the follow up tune, "Don't Wipe Me" is coming soon.
** You're Mom's Favorite, No You're Mom's Favorite.
If your two older children are both convinced that the other is your "precious, little angel", are you doing something really right, or really wrong? I've been pondering this for a while now. Just pondering, I don't intend to change anything. After all, even being seen in public with me is detrimental to their social status after a certain age, so what do I care? I feed, clothe, and steal money from their pockets. Isn't that my job? I tuck them in and kiss them good night, although Will has been air-kissing me for the last few years. He's either adopted some European flair, or thinks I have cooties. Speaking of, I just thought of two final tunes:
Everything I Needed to Know About Life, I Learned While Secretly Reading My Teenager's Text Messages
and
I Didn't Know Butt Dialing Could Get Me Grounded
Yeah. Enjoy those toddlers and don't have me arrested in a few years when Parker is a teenager and I won't let her out of a locked closet. It's for her own good, really!
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