Sick Day

I am sick.

Not the knock you out, don't know what day it is sick.  Not the feverish, lose 10 pounds in 2 days sick. (Oh, if only I could catch one of those viruses before bathing suit weather!)  Just sick.  Unfortunately, I am only suffering with a bad cold.

You see, when mom is out of commission with a cold,  no one is sympathetic.  I still have to get up early in the morning and get kids off to school.  I still have to think of things to feed my family for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  I still have to run errands, take kids to doctors appointments, and tutor my needy pupils all the while resembling a sad version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  

I am a wreck.

Days like these, when I could just crawl under my comforter and sleep and sleep and sleep, I am instead, propped up on the couch, tissues wadded up around me, watching "The Incredibles" with kiddies for about the 1000th time and wishing that I was just a little sicker.

Sad, but true.

If I were just a tad bit sicker, I would be the one that people would take care of.  The tables would be turned!  The caregiver would be the caretaker, and I would get to sleep without guilt.

Aaah!  If only I had a touch of bronchitis, a smidge of the stomach flu, then I would get a break.

And, if I were sick enough, I could get a stay in the hospital!  I love the hospital.  Food arrives, and it's hot.  Crying babies are whisked away, and pain pills are brought regularly.  People come to visit you and bring you flowers and balloons.  What's not to love? I'll take an IV any day if it means that I can sleep when someone else is on watch.  If I could sleep without worry of hubby, or babies, or family,  heck, I would probably even endure a catheter.  That is how much I value my rest.

So, alas, there will be no hospital stay during this sickness.  Just lots of tissues, chicken soup, and "Mommy, are you better yet?"

It's terrible to admit that you wish to be sick in order to get a break.

Terrible, but true.

I need to take my own medicine.  I need to "Suck it up!"

Either that or a trip to the day spa.  

Take your pick. 

Lost in Translation

I should put translator on my resume.

Now, I did not take extra language courses in school for translating competency.  In fact, my accent was so horrible in high school that my beautiful teacher, senora from Spain, graded me only on my written exercises. (Thank goodness too!  I probably would have failed miserably.   Me llamo Annie turned into MAY Yam -o Annie.  eek!)  No, I have not been schooled in my translating abilities.  Instead, I have had to learn on the fly as my kiddies ( and sometimes hubby) go through each new and frustrating stage.

Fortunately, Ab, my first, was quite a gifted talker at an early age (I have no idea where she gets that from.)  She did have her moments, however.  When she was about 18 months old, she would point her finger at hubby and me, screw up her little face into a sourpuss pucker, and shout, "Fool."  (Obviously, she was talking about Paul and not me!) After much cajoling and laughter about who actually was the "fool, " one day I watched Ab as I was about to climb up the step ladder to reach my top kitchen shelf.  Instantly,  out came the finger, and the "Fool!" Finally, it dawned on me.  "Fool!"  was really "Careful!" something that I had probably said to her about a gazillion times being that she was the first born.  From that moment on, I have honed my translation skills.

Since then, I have figured out that Ab's "Tinkerella" was really Tinkerbell, and El's "BA!"  is her word for Abbie.  There have also been some tougher word puzzles.  It took me a few days to figure out E's frustrating sentence, "Mommy, that's a hard time."  (And no Paul, he was not referencing his male counter-member.)  Turns out that "Mommy, that's a hard time," translates to . . . "Mommy, that's a long time."  So long becomes hard in E's language.  That's a man for you . . . always confusing long and hard.

Recently my skills were put to the test when Ethan approached hubby and me.  His eyes were clearly watering and his face was a little blotchy too.  As he crawled up into my lap, I asked,

"E, honey?  What's wrong?  Why are you crying?"

Instantly he replied, "I'm not crying mommy.  I had the achoo's.  It's probably just aller-jesus." With that he hopped down and was off to play again.  Achoo's and aller-jesus???  This was a new one.  

Hubby looked at me perplexed.  "WHAT did he just say?"

And without hesitation I answered, "He was sneezing and thinks he has allergies."

"Allergies?  So what was that about Jesus?  How did you figure that one out?"  He looked at me in awe.  

"It's my translating skills.  Ethan has really brought out my gift."  We both chuckled at my obvious bravado, and Ethan's turn of phrase.

So while there are moments every day when I wonder if Jesus is truly in Ethan's heart . . .

at least I know that he is in his nose.

 

On a Wing (and a Prayer)

My hubby can eat chicken wings with one hand.

So what, you say?  Well, apparently, eating chicken wings with one hand constitutes a skill in his estimation.  You know: handy, good with numbers, and eats wings one-handed.  

I couldn't resist challenging him on this one.

"Paul.  How exactly does using only one hand when eating mean that you are skilled?"  I quipped.

Instantly, he retorted, "Annie."  He was being a bit condescending.   "Can you do it?  Can you eat a wing with only one hand?"

I didn't know how to answer, because honestly, I had never tried.  Why would I?  What would I possibly gain by using one hand instead of the customary two?  So I shot back, "I wouldn't know. "

"Well, try it.  Then we'll see what you think." And the line was drawn.

So, I grabbed a drum wing, and started to nibble.  I was doing quite well, in my estimation.  I had almost finished the wing, had sauce dripping down my arm, and only one spot on my white shirt.  I was pleased with myself until hubby threw in the new rules.

"OK, anyone can do it with a drum.  You need to eat a flapper one handed. "

So, not one to shy away from a dare, I picked up a flapper, but before I could take a bite, Paul's hand shot out,  and stopped me cold.

"Left handed, Annie."

I just looked at him.  Eating a wing with one hand was one thing, but eating a wing with the wrong hand was another.  And for that matter, why was it necessary to eat a wing with your wrong hand? Wanting to find a reason for this new idiocy, I asked, "Paul, you are just making this up as you go along, right?  You don't really want me to eat with my wrong hand, do you?"

"I am completely serious.  The challenge is for your left hand,"  he stated matter of factly.

"You don't use your left hand!"

"Yes I do!"  and with that he promptly devoured that saucy wing, in his left hand, in about 25 seconds.  While I was thoroughly impressed with this feat, I was also pretty disgusted to think that it would only take him about 6 minutes to finish off a dozen (Which also may be a skill in his book, but that's another post).

"Paul, before I eat this wing, I have to know.  Why my wrong hand?  Why not one handed with your correct hand?"

And this is where I knew that I had him.  There could be no reasonable explanation for using his wrong hand, except that he was weird.  Success was mine!  I would be able to prove that he had just one more crazy quirk and win the argument at the same time.  I was golden.

"Simple Annie.  If I eat with one hand, and its my wrong hand, then my correct hand is free to do whatever I need to do.  I can sign a check, shake a hand, or wipe up a baby.  Whatever."  And then he smirked.

I hate that smirk . 

 Even though his initial idea was crazy, his reasoning behind it was actually legitimate, and worse,  it made complete sense.  I had to admit it.  It probably was a skill.

Consequently, not only was my hand wrong, I was wrong, and I hate to be wrong.  

Glaring at him, I ate my wing with two hands.  

After all, . . .

he had at least one hand free. I decided to let him wipe the baby, AND sign the check.

It was only fair.

(El showing she can eat with her wrong hand.  What a Daddy's girl!)

The Van of Milk and Honey

There was a woman that was arrested this week while driving through my area of the country.

Her charge?

Driving while breast feeding.

I kid you not.  Apparently, junior was in the back wailing his head off, and instead of stopping (or my personal choice, letting him cry for a few minutes), she just whipped out her boob and he commenced to suck.  Oh, I forgot to mention, she was also talking on her cell phone.

Now, lest you think that I am anti-breast feeding, let me set you straight.  I am most definitely PRO-nursing.  Yes, I believe that it is best for the baby, and yes, I know that it creates a bond between mommy and infant, but the real reason I am pro-breast is very simple.  I am slack.  So, when I had a screaming newborn in the wee hours of the morning, it was very easy for me to expose my titty, get the squirmy little one latched on, and then, go back to sleep.  I wholeheartedly admit it.  I nursed so that I could sleep more.  During those night of the living dead months, when survival was my first concern, I picked breast feeding because it came easily to me, it let me sleep more, and what else was I supposed to do with those enormous pornographic-like breasts?  I put them to work! (Much to hubby's chagrin.  I suppose he had other ideas for the old girls.)

So, I don't fault the lady for breast feeding her screaming kid, but instead, I am amazed that she could do it while driving.  Now, I don't know about you, but, I would say that I am a fairly good driver.  I obey most signs, and only speed when the occasion is needed ( a sale at the mall, perhaps?).  I am also very accomplished at multi-tasking while driving.  I can pass a chicken McNugget back to the kiddies, while talking on the phone, adjusting my mirror, and driving. I can apply lip gloss, yell at Ethan for wiping boogers on the car window, and change scenes on the kiddie DVD for Ellerie while I am driving.   Not everyone is this skilled mind you.  I have a gift.  But, breast feeding???  Even if I am on my A game for the day (Which is rare.  I am usually on a C+ or B- game on most days.), the thought of driving while a little one is sucking away makes me cringe a little.  And realize that this is coming from a woman who has breast fed her kids in the stands at both basketball games and football games, on airplanes, at the park, and  at various other locales.

I guess I feel like my van is the one place where those thirsty little milk suckers couldn't get to me.  Once they were strapped in and harnessed down, I knew it was break time.  The girls could relax,  I could sip a latte, and  we both could relish in their non working status, if only for a moment.  I could remember them as fun breasts instead of worker breasts, (a happy memory) and with kids straight jacketed into seats, I could have a few moments to apply mascara without little hands jarring me into making black caterpillar like markings on my eyelids.  Basically, once strapped in, my motto to the kiddies is, "Suck it up!"  (Not breast milk . . .  just the situation.) 

So, it was not me that was ticketed for driving while breast feeding, but someday if you read, "Woman arrested for applying make-up while driving with her knee"  be suspicious.  

I've probably been caught.

Help!

Hey y'all!

I am new to this blogging stuff, and I am trying to gather more readers. So, if you like what you read, would you consider following my blog and spreading the insanity to your friends?   It doesn't cost you any money, and if you are anything like me, and a bit of a techno-phobe, by following my blog, you should be able to bookmark the page pretty easily, and therefore save yourself at least 20 keystrokes a visit. 

Happy reading, and thanks!

Annie

My favorite things . . .

My favorite things . . .

a partial list of things that make my life joyful . . . in no particular order

1.  Bacon.  In all its forms, it is nothing but pure salty, fatty goodness.  It will most assuredly cure even the most foul mood with the first bite.  (Except for hangover bad moods . . . just trust me.  It doesn't work for them, and it isn't pretty.  Enough said. ) It goes well with veggies (think salads), sandwiches (BLT's - one of my favorite pregnancy cravings), and sweets (If you have never had brown sugared bacon stop right now, google the recipe, and eat yourself happy.)

2.  A clean house.  I'm not talking about just a straightened house.  (Although that is also fabulous, there is a marked difference between clean and straightened).  I am talking about a CLEAN house.  A house with windows open, fresh air pouring through, floors swept and polished, and dust non existent.  A house that exudes the pleasant aroma of fabric softener sheets and the hum of a working dryer.   A house with beds made, clothes put away, and bathroom seats down and sans pee droppings from the male household members. Aaaah.  Bliss.

3.  75 degree, blue sky, no humidity days.  Just perfection.  Days where you can wear shorts, but not get a chill.  Days where you can spend the whole day outside without wondering if you need to reapply your deodorant.  Days where you can lay on your back in the grass, look at the white clouds, and imagine with your kids that those white puffballs are more than just condensed water droplets.  That they are princesses, or castles, or even Darth Vader.  Days like these are few and far between in my area of the country, so when they arrive, I herald them as a blessing, drop everything and just appreciate their goodness.

4.  Snuggling with my kiddies before they go to sleep. Whether it is the smell of their freshly shampooed hair nuzzling under my chin, or their goofy nightly prayers (Dear God . . . I am thankful for . . . cake!  Cake???  How about mom???), there is just something about little hands and feet pushing into and under you to get warm, that makes you smile.  It is almost as if that time of the day makes up for the pukes, poops, cries, whines and general craziness of the rest of the day.

5.  Chocolate.  Not the low grade fakey type of chocolate.  The really good, expensive chocolate that you think that you are crazy for spending the money to purchase, but after the first bite, you instantly know that it is and was worth every penny.  Good chocolate should be like a daily vitamin - a necessary part of every person's daily diet.  USDA take note.

6.  Sleep.  During those walking dead days when hubby and I had infants around, I would crave sleep like a person craves a hot fudge sundae.  I would literally catch myself daydreaming about curling up under my afghan and sleeping until I woke up, not until someone else woke me.  These days I am getting more sleep, but I still love a good Sunday afternoon nap.  I always feel like a million bucks afterwards.  It too should be a daily requirement (especially for my little one!).  Maybe the siesta is why Mexico is such a laid back country.  . . something to think about.

7.  Playing games with hubby and the kids.  Not mess with your mind games, but good old fashioned competition inspiring games.  Whether it is scrabble (Hubby is a math teacher and purposely figures out mathematically where to place each of his valuable letters for the most points.  Ultimately frustrating!), or poker (My two oldest have been weaned on hold-em.  Ethan could say "All in!" when he was two.), a little family challenge always leaves us in a good mood. And, when its outside weather friendly, I love a family game of golf or tag in the yard.  Nothing beats the giggles you get when you are playing and being silly.  

8.  Eating outside.  This one probably comes from my Florida upbringing, where we grilled out and ate on the porch year round.  I always feel so relaxed when we fire up the grill, crack open a beer and sit out on our deck watching the kiddies play while we wait for dinner.  It reminds me that life is good. 

to be continued . . .

What's a Calgon Moment?

I gave the signal.

I raised  my eyebrow and slyly  glanced upwards.  

Hubby winked, nodded silently and gave me a thumbs up.  So, as kiddies were occupied by toys and homework, I sneaked up the stairs to attempt to do the impossible . . . 

bathe by myself.

You would think that this would be an easy task.  You know, just turn on the shower, lock the door, and let the water warm up.  Unfortunately, this scenario never happens.

First and foremost, because we live in an older home, we do not have a lock on the bathroom door.  Every time that we consider the obvious solution, installing a lock on the door, Paul reminds me of the time that Ethan, aged 2, locked himself into our old bathroom.  It took  30 minutes, several hundred curse words, and finally, a running start for hubby to break through the bathroom door, where a completely happy Ethan had stuffed the toilet with tissue.  The best part was when Ab looked at Paul and said with awe, "Daddy, you look just like Mr. Incredible!"  A priceless family memory, yes, but also too recent a memory to consider installing a lock.

Consequently, when I try to shower or relax in the tub, I have to be stealth.  I have to sneak to my bathroom, avoiding creaky stairs and dodging the kid infested areas of the house or the inevitable WILL occur.  They will come.  Just like in Field of Dreams when the little girl says to Kevin Costner with certainty, "People will come." and he instantly knows  that they will.  If I let on that I am venturing into the bathroom, THEY WILL COME.  It is a given.

So, it naturally follows that I have showered in various, albeit, odd situations.  Quite often, my kiddies come in to use the facilities while I am under the spray. I usually only discover this after that all too familiar fragrant aroma reaches my nose.  (That and their stifled giggles are a dead give away.)  It is sooooo nice to shower with such natural aroma therapy.  Yuck!  I have also showered with kiddies that appear naked as if from no where and climb right into the shower with me, all the while asking me thoughtful questions like, "Mom, why is there hair THERE?" and my personal favorite, "Mom. . . (pause) . . . your boobs are so nice and dangly!"  Dangly?!  Now there is a word that should never be used to describe one's breasts!  Earrings, yes.  Boobs, never! Or what about the times when I am asked to help with homework?  There have been more than a few times when Ab will come in, perch herself on the pot, and ask homework questions.  Never mind that hubby is usually right downstairs to help.  Apparently, I am the parent of choice.  Lucky me.

So, it goes without saying that my attempts to be sneaky failed, because shortly after the water started running, I had my first visitor, Ab.  She needed to use the facilities.  So, while I held my nose and attempted to wash my hair at the same time, visitor number two appeared, Ethan.  Before I could say anything, Ab piped in, "E!!!!! Get out!!! I'm pooping.  I need privacy!"  (Funny how they understand the concept of privacy when it applies to them, but not when it applies to dear old mom.)

"Ab!  You didn't use your manners.  You apost to say, 'E, will you please leave?' "

I silently agreed with him, kept washing, and listened for the next quip.  

"Still!"  Ab countered.  Still?!  The girl was going to need to step up her arguments if she was going to win against her smart alecky little brother.

"Still nothing, Ab.  I need mom anyway."

At this point, I was expecting the shower door to slide open so that he could ask me face to my  naked body, but instead I had my next surprise.  

"Honey?!"  It was hubby.  Now there were 4 of us in approximately 40 square feet, and I couldn't help but wonder where, oh where, the baby was during all of this.

As the shower door slid open with, "Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!"  my question was answered as El climbed over the tub edge and jumped into the shower with me, . . . with all of her clothes on!

Realizing that this was a no win situation, I stripped the baby, shot the soggy diaper into the garbage, and barked at Paul, "What?!  What do you need?!"  (I think that I may have been a bit short, but hey, I was now showering and mothering to my whole family at the same time.  This wasn't the relaxing Calgon moment I had hoped for.)

"Oh nothing honey.  Just wanted to tell you that your mom is on your cell phone.  I'll leave it on the counter for you!"

And with that, I started laughing uncontrollably.  Three kids, a hubby, and my mom in my bath. At the same time.  It was too much.

I laughed and laughed.

It was either that, or cry.