Lions and Tigers and Sharts, Oh My! (Part 1)

Subtitled:  Ooops, I thought I just had to fart.

As mothers, we all know that there is nothing worse than a sick kid...  Other than a sick husband, but we will get to that later.  Honestly though, there is nothing worse than seeing your child feel terrible and not be able to make it better.  If we are being truly honest though, and we are, then we have to admit that there are others reasons that it completely sucks to have a sick kid.  Two in fact.  Three if you are married.

The number one reason there is nothing worse than a sick child?  Admit it, at some point in between realizing that Little Johnny is done for the count, and feeling terrible that they are feeling terrible, the realization that you are about to have twice the amount of work and half the amount of sleep for the next few days, is invariably  in the back of your mind.  Girl, you know it's true.

The second reason?  You  also know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are most likely going to be the next victim of whatever is going around the hizzy.  It's basically unavoidable since you will be knee deep in whatever disgusting substance is coming out of whichever contaminated orifice.  Despite this, you will still be responsible for everything you are normally responsible for.  At this point that means, twice the work, half the sleep, and the feeling that you might die, or you just wish you could.

Finally, and this only applies to married moms, there is the possibility that your oldest man child (the one you married) will catch the bug also.  Prepare yourself for the joys that this can hold.  I've had my entire reproductive system removed and still got around better than Thomas with the sniffles :/.  Of course this also means that whatever limited assistance your spouse was able to offer, will cease.  Time now.

Why, am, I such, a, comma, hog?,

Anywho.  Last week RSV, croup, ear infections, and colds in general, hit the Hollen household.  Hard.  I truly did feel terrible for my little man.  He was hacking and coughing, and just generally felt like poo all around.  I really knew he was sick when he didn't want his morning hash brown from McDs.  What?  Yes, he does have a hash brown from Mickey Ds every weekday morning.  Don't judge.  Anyway, he felt terrible, and I did feel terrible for him, but in the back of my mind I was also thinking, "Effffff.... Emmmmmmm.... Ellllllllll".  When Jace gets sick, he coughs.  Any action then triggers that cough.  Running?   Coughing.  Crying?  Coughing.  Sleeping?  Coughing.  What is the end result of all this coughing?  Vomiting.  Despite the fact that he has coughed until he vomits at least 4 bazillion times in his 4 years on this planet, he still hasn't made that connection.  This means that I will be cleaning up vomit ad nauseum.  Pun intended.

Stay tuned for part 2...  And there will be a number (errr part) two.

My life isn't a battle

for politicians to wage- and no one else's should be either.

I'm not a statistic.  I'm not a stereotype.  I'm just a person.  I don't want to get all deep on you, but recent events have made me think more and more about this habit we have of judging books by their cover.  

Anyway... this blog isn't really about any of that.  It's about a teenage girl who got pregnant when she was 18, and thought she'd never be anything more than a statistic in a world where people passed judgment on unwed moms, and where strangers in church would ask if she was a Christian because she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.  It's about being brave when the world thinks you are wrong, and growing up while you are also responsible for someone else who is growing up.  It's about making mistakes left and right, but somehow... somewhere...  doing something right... because above all else, it's about the perfect, perfect boy that was born to that teenager and about how she could never look at him without seeing God's hand, even though she didn't deserve him... or Him.

I used to wonder how in the world I was chosen to be Will's mom, (and then Parker's, and sometimes Jace's haha).  My world was so full of mistakes and yet somehow, I was given the most precious blessings I've ever known.  It's humbling.  It's also enlightening- for me anyway.  Even though I was a sinner, even though the Bible clearly says not to fornicate, I was chosen.  CHOSEN.  That word is huge in every way.  

I just stumbled upon this beginning of a blog tonight.  I originally started it a while back.  I don't know why, or where I was going with it then, but whatever the inspiration behind it was then, I'm inspired all over again now. 

As you know (all 12 of you, my followers haha), I have three kids.  Three glorious, hilarious, sarcasticious (what?  I felt compelled to keep with the -ious suffix...) loves of my life.  They make me laugh, cry, beat my head against the wall, and generally pray for (depending on the occasion,) patience, peace and gratitude.  This blog is about my firstborn though.  He's going to be 18 this month.  The same age that I was when I found out I was expecting him, and more than likely the sole reason for every good thing that has ever happened in my life since he came into it.  I was lost for so long- and I won't pretend like I was magically found when I became Will's mom, because honestly that didn't happen for a while, but all of my life for the last 18 years has been measured by whether I was just that girl I used to be, or Will's mom.  The honor has been all mine.

Will has been spending this summer in Fort Leonard Wood, MO, at basic training- learning how to be a soldier first and foremost, but also learning how to be a man.  If your kids are still small, you can't imagine what it's like to see them as an **almost** adult.  When they are born, and someone places them into your arms, your head is filled with what ifs about their future, but ultimately, that life isn't your's to decide.  It's theirs.  A few years ago, when Jace was brand new, I stood at a funeral for a fallen soldier, and I prayed that none of my children would ever serve our country in this way.  At that time, I probably believed that I would do whatever it took to change their minds if they even considered such a route.  Life is full of curve balls though.

I truly believe that being a good parent means that you teach your children what they need to know about life, and then you trust them to make the right decisions.  This belief has caused me a huge amount of heartache, because it's meant that I've had to say goodbye to Will too many times in the last 6.5 years, because he didn't want to be part of this army brat way of life.  It's also brought me peace though, because all I really want in this life is for my kids to have the life they want to live.  I can't lie though, knowing that Will wanted to stay close to home (Kentucky), made it come as something of a shock to me when he started begging us to sign the paper work to let him join the military.  I'm never truly whole without him here.  Now that he wanted to make this move, even though it was with the National Guard, and not Active Duty, meant two things:  1.  My prayer that none of my children would ever join the military wasn't going to come true, and 2.  Now my time with Will would be even more complicated- scheduled around the 'needs of the Army' in every area of my life.  I was a little hurt too.  Why did he want to be a part of this world now, when he didn't want to be part of it living and traveling with me?  Sometimes all you need is to wake up.  Will is going to be 18.  Then 19. Then 20.  Then 30.  and on and on and on.  The time had come to practice what I preached.  His life has never been about me, and truth be told, I wouldn't have it any other way.  As a parent, your first instinct is to protect, protect, protect.  Noble desire for sure, but also a noose in so many ways.  Let up to me, I would just weigh him down.  On his own, he can soar.

So I said ok.  I signed the paperwork allowing my 17 year old to enlist with the Army National Guard.  (It didn't happen quite so abruptly, but I will spare you the 47 phone calls between his father and I, and the 50 conversations I had with Thomas, and the no doubt, 60 convos between Craig and Lorri, and the million convos between any and every combination of us and Will.)  A million times I've signed my name in my lifetime.  Never has my signature held so much weight.  For 18 years, I have tried to do everything in my power to ensure that Will is true to himself.  So far, that's netted me an amazing kid who I can't even believe I'm blessed enough to know, let alone to have given birth to.  He's smart, hilarious, athletic, and good.  Really good.  He's not perfect, but he's mine, and I believe in him.  I have to have trust and faith in him from here on out.  A watched pot never boils, and nothing can truly thrive if it's not given the space to do so.  All of my love, hope, and pride means nothing if I don't shower my children with it.  It's in God's hands now.  He took a leap of faith in me not once, not twice, but three times.  Now I have to have the faith in Him to believe that Will's military career will begin and end and he will have the rest of his life ahead of him for whatever next journey he chooses.  Whatever it is, I will be on the sidelines cheering him on, no matter how near or far we are. 

Life will never be the same...

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.

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....

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.

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 :)

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**