tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72767974722268335842024-02-06T21:29:53.623-05:00Naptime Is The New Happy HourTragically true tales of my life with two toddlersmama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-4509962399309483102012-09-06T20:02:00.000-04:002012-09-06T20:02:18.128-04:00It Happened<div align="left" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
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I have now started this post 5 different times, and I've realized that there is just no clever or witty way to say it. Yesterday, I had to do the hardest parenting thing yet. I had to send my baby boy, my handsome guy, my pride and joy, to KINDERGARTEN. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All I wanted to do was take his picture a million times.<br />
All he wanted me to do was stop taking his picture so <br />
he could finish watching his show. <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I have been thinking about and dreading this day for the past five years, and I absolutely cannot believe it's here. How the freak is it possible that<strike> I am old enough to have</strike> he is old enough to be a kindergartner?!?! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Wasn't it just last week that I brought him home from the hospital? And wasn't it just yesterday that I was chasing him around the house with his frog potty reminding him to sit and try? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And all I could do yesterda</span>y <span style="font-size: small;">was stand back and watch him walk away from me. Down the hall and in to an entirely new phase of his wonderful life.</span> </div>
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And all I could do was hope that all of his time with his friends at preschool would give him the confidence he needs to make new friends. Hope that the reading and drawing we did this summer would give him the skills he needs to keep up with the academic demands. Hope that the schedule we've had him on since birth would provide him with the security he needs to persevere through the long days, knowing that I'll be right there waiting for him the second he gets out every afternoon. </div>
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So I took a million pictures (much to his dismay), asked the hubs a million questions (much to his dismay), and started bawling the second I walked out of his brand new world (much to my dismay). </div>
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He didn't cry. Not a tear. </div>
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<em>No problem</em>, I thought. <em>Everyone thinks school is fun the first day. I'll bet he'll miss me and be excited to see me tomorrow. Plus, he'll definitely be exhausted.</em> Um, yeah. Wrong again. Today, Day Two, I picked him up (7 HOURS after he got dropped off) and you wanna know what he said? </div>
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<strong>"School went by too quick. I wasn't ready for you to come pick me up yet."</strong> </div>
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Well, I guess I did do my job after all. And now I have it in writing. I'm totally showing this to him when he's a miserable 10th grader. </div>
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And now, I think, is a very appropriate time to retire this wonderful little blog. I no longer have "tragically true tales of my life with two toddlers" to pass along. I have two glorious little men running <strike>around </strike>my house- making me laugh, making me proud, and mostly making me crazy. </div>
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I hope you'll join me over at my new blog, <a href="http://www.mamasgettinghealthy.blogspot.com/">Healthy...With a Side of Ranch,</a> where I chronicle their insanity, along with every other detail of my ever-enthralling life. And just as a sidenote: I don't broadcast those posts on Facebook, so if you want to keep up (and why wouldn't you?), please make sure you hit the "follow me" button over there (on the right hand side), AND the "subscribe by email" button (on the left). I truly hope I'll hear from you. </div>
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mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-77689923237216673392012-07-12T14:30:00.003-04:002012-07-12T14:30:29.171-04:00My First Giveaway!!I'm pretty sure I've mentioned once or twice (or five hundred times) in the past that I am a total sugar freak when it comes to the foods I feed my kids. When they were younger, it was super easy- they didn't even know what they were missing out on. But know that they're older, they're on to my game. They totally have it all figured out. They know that granola bars and candy bars are in fact NOT the same things. They know that smoothies are in fact NOT milkshakes, and that chips at a cookout are more fun to eat than apples. <br />
<br />
Well, I was SUPER excited to get a giant package of Funky Monkey Fruit Snacks in the mail the other day. They are little pieces of freeze dried fruit. They crunch like chips, but have no added sugar or other flavorings. Just fruit. I love that, and so did my kids! They are perfect for any diet you or your kids follow- vegan, gluten-free, organic, nut-free (did I miss any?) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIXJj-7KxIh0xSxuraYSA6-23TfX6oArgMe72h1BDjAIwOtkZ4OOzP_JqcANaTdFQmwSSzKefwnaQXPqDZiRammqfLszpUSMjF2D8lksDom2JGH2DPu77U_42OrQbB7xLzo8NjoVmEMBz/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIXJj-7KxIh0xSxuraYSA6-23TfX6oArgMe72h1BDjAIwOtkZ4OOzP_JqcANaTdFQmwSSzKefwnaQXPqDZiRammqfLszpUSMjF2D8lksDom2JGH2DPu77U_42OrQbB7xLzo8NjoVmEMBz/s400/003.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I know you hoarders care less about the prize, and more about claiming your free goods, so here's the deal: you gotta go check out my post on <a href="http://skinnymom.com./">skinnymom.com.</a> Follow the instructions over there, and GOOD LUCK! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://skinnymom.com/2012/07/12/funky-monkey-snacks-review-and-giveaway/">Here's the direct link to the post</a>, just cuz I love ya so much and I wanna make this as easy as possible for you.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-33394053972768072422012-06-22T16:06:00.004-04:002012-06-22T16:44:30.429-04:00This Girl's Going Pro<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8521005730309569284" itemprop="articleBody">
<strong><span style="font-size: medium;">Big news, Friends.
Big, big news.</span> </strong><br />
<br />
Ok, well, maybe it's not as big to you
as is to me. So just indulge me for a couple of minutes, will ya?<br />
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Should
I start at the beginning, or should I just jump right in and tell you what I'm
up to? Ok, sounds good. The beginning it is. <br />
<br />
Some people document
their babies' lives by creating beautiful scrapbooks, others write things down
in neat little baby books. I am neither organized nor crafty. I don't have the
time, energy, or desire to maintain scrapbooks or baby books. Hell, I can't
even remember to take the pictures off of my camera and stick a few in frames.
But what I do have is a degree in English. And as my kids started doing
memorable things, I started thinking, "I should really tell people these
things". And as they became older and funnier, and I became even crazier, I
thought, "There is NO SHOT I am the only mom going through this". And that is
how <a href="http://naptimeisthenewhappyhour.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #bf7341;">Naptime is the New
Happy Hour</span></a> was born. <br />
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<td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, CJ, you cannot paddle this
fake boat. That is my job. <br />
Now stop being mad. You're ruining the photo
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<br />
And much to my surprise, not only did people
read it, but they liked it. And I thought, "Wow. I really like blogging. I
wonder what else people might like hearing about?"<br />
<br />
I mean, my kids are
cute and funny and all. But my life (much to some people's surprise) is about
more than just them. I actually do other stuff besides attempt to maintain my
sanity as a mother. I am a wife, a teacher, and a fitness instructor. I
strive to learn as much about nutrition as I can so I can be healthy and fit.
And that is how <a href="http://www.mamasgettinghealthy.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #bf7341;">Healthy...With a Side of
Ranch</span></a> was born. <br />
<br />
And again people read it. And (I think) they like
it. And now here's where the big news comes in. <br />
<br />
As I've started to
navigate this whole blogosphere, I've become <strike>pretty obsessed
with</strike> interested in other people's blogs. And along the way, I stumbled
upon a pretty cool site called<a href="http://www.skinnymom.com/"><span style="color: #bf7341;">
skinnymom.com.</span></a> It's a compilation of blog posts written by moms all over the
country. Food, fashion, fitness, family... it's all there. <br />
<br />
<img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="139" data-width="362" height="139" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTEtKVQRPtKP-guEzYWnnGKLjep-VCBiz9E0i2qHmytQwaVzHzDXQ" style="height: 139px; width: 362px;" width="362" /><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: medium;">And</span></strong>... drum roll
please...<strong> <span style="font-size: medium;">I get to be a part of
it!</span> </strong><br />
<br />
Yes, that's right, starting next week, I will be a
regular (twice a week) contributer to <a href="http://www.skinnymom.com/"><span style="color: #bf7341;">Skinny
Mom!!</span></a><br />
<br />
So make sure that you check it out. And don't stop
there- "like" the posts, leave me comments, share them, tweet them, email them,
shout about them out of your office window. <br />
<br />
Oh, and one more thing- my
name over there is <strong>Hot-Mess Mama</strong>... for obvious reasons.
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<span class="post-location"></span></div>mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-15165157940388977352012-05-08T22:58:00.000-04:002012-05-08T22:58:01.628-04:00Stay At Home DAD<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few months back, Jerry became unemployed. I was just about to start a brand new job. CJ was just about to start going back to school, and Ty... well, Ty was still ready as ever to raise as much hell as possible. As luck should have it, our nanny found out that she had to get very unexpected surgery and was going to need some time off to recover. Enter Jerry as STAY AT HOME DAD!!<br />
<br />
In his defense, this guy made every single effort possible to embrace his new role whole heartedly. He got the beds made and the boys dressed. He handed out high fives to his new friends- the other preschool moms. The toys were picked up by the time I got home, the laundry was folded, and food was out for dinner. <em>(WAIT... was he better at this job than I was????)</em> <br />
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I came home one day and instead of hearing how everyone was in a great mood all day, how there was time to play baseball <em>and</em> vacuum the entire house, or how I needed to be quiet because they were on hour 4 of their nap; I heard about their trip to the mall. Yes, Super Dad decided to pack everyone up and venture to... <em>*gasp*...</em> a PUBLIC PLACE. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, sure, we're cute. But innocent? No way. <br />
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Apparently, they got to the mall and were walking around when Ty (in his typical fashion) decided he had to go to the bathroom. And this, Friends, was Dad's biggest feat yet: taking the two boys in and out of a public bathroom at the same time. Instead of insisting that everyone pack in to the handicapped stall to prevent an abduction, he brought only the potty user in the stall with him and shut the door. Realizing at that point that by doing that he might lose a son, he turned to open the stall door. (Oopsie, Dada, Ty is now screaming because you just let go of him and he needs help sitting up there.) So with one hand opening the door, the other hand reaching towards Ty and his face looking at CJ and yelling at him to get up off the bathroom floor, Ty starts to fall in. I'm not 100 percent positive, but I'm fairly certain that Dada broke into a sweat at this point and vowed never to attempt the mall alone with both of them again. <em>Hahahaha. ROOKIE</em>. <br />
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I'm not even gonna lie- I loved that freaking story. But what I loved more than anything was the moment my husband looked at me and said, "I will never again question what you do all day. I give you a lot of credit for doing this day in and day out". <strong>THANK YOU!!!</strong> (Now get a job- I'm way too much of a control freak for you to be all up in my territory like this...)<br />
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PS- Luckily, Jerry's stint of unemployment was short. And even though the whole lack-of-paycheck thing was stressful for a minute, the total role reversal was great for all of us in so many ways. <br />
mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-79563545924469543672012-03-10T14:51:00.000-05:002012-03-10T14:51:52.901-05:00Dude ClubDude Club (def): That blissful time during the week when all of the dudes in the house hang out, and there are "no mamas allowed". AKA: Mama's favorite time of the week. <br />
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Dude Club was founded about 3 years ago- as soon as CJ was old enough to put a hat on backwards, and get outside to "help Dada work". <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiyY2EqepqpYnukEroJViogFE-hlGcRL3Oe8Zpz_x5dHXJSrl0m0uwmLN3kVZ6QsPzXurUxu2nSacsFbIDp6G_fSWhpAlmKRbG9U_tcYTTWPzHG2Z2-5DGBrhUHKO_jR234FUsMZXUBU/s1600/232323232%257Ffp536_7_nu%253D3269_343_782_WSNRCG%253D32%253B%253B_435_532_nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiyY2EqepqpYnukEroJViogFE-hlGcRL3Oe8Zpz_x5dHXJSrl0m0uwmLN3kVZ6QsPzXurUxu2nSacsFbIDp6G_fSWhpAlmKRbG9U_tcYTTWPzHG2Z2-5DGBrhUHKO_jR234FUsMZXUBU/s320/232323232%257Ffp536_7_nu%253D3269_343_782_WSNRCG%253D32%253B%253B_435_532_nu0mrj.jpg" /></a></div> <br />
And soon enough, there were three members instead of two:<br />
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It has quickly evolved in to the time of week when things like this happen in the living room, and Mama isn't home to say anything: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTlSIqyM5H7cda8vhNqBx4dx5w-ukG8nJdLKhHQAiwTIl0anG8WifIGMqpY_HhZAzDSn9HjwhuIZQfBguRWjUFgCC5b2yMmkHmZJL_0hSpgfMntfy0FNSQLTOv6OImVEtqbX5YES5TtI/s1600/232323232%257Ffp63635_nu%253D3754_2%253B6_2%253B__28452%253B63_%253B239ot1lsi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTlSIqyM5H7cda8vhNqBx4dx5w-ukG8nJdLKhHQAiwTIl0anG8WifIGMqpY_HhZAzDSn9HjwhuIZQfBguRWjUFgCC5b2yMmkHmZJL_0hSpgfMntfy0FNSQLTOv6OImVEtqbX5YES5TtI/s320/232323232%257Ffp63635_nu%253D3754_2%253B6_2%253B__28452%253B63_%253B239ot1lsi.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The time of week when everyone celebrates Mama being out of the house so they can start being way too rough with each other and listen to music with lyrics that are completely inappropriate for 3 and 4 year olds to memorize. <br />
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So how do I even know what goes on during Dude Club? Well truthfully, I probably would have no idea; and ignorance could truly be bliss... <i>Except</i> for the fact that Ty has now had a gray tooth ever since it slammed in to CJ's head while "wrestling" about a month ago. Or for the fact that Ty woke up singing to himself. Lyrics of choice? "Dey know, dey know, dey know..." Or my favorite: Ty's go-to line whenever he now hears any sort of hip-hop song: "Wait! I think this is Cwis Bweezy." Ah yes, thank you, Dude Club. <br />
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But guess what? I literally do not care. Because Dude Club time means that I get to leave. Alone. (And hope that I remember to change the music before 10 minutes goes by and I'm now belting out the third Laurie Berkner song in a row. That only happened once by the way. Fine, maybe twice.) <br />
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Ok, ok, so maybe I baby these guys a little too much. Maybe it doesn't have to be all kids' stuff, all the time. But you know what? All too soon, Mama's cool ideas will be corny. So I'm hanging on to them for as long as I possibly can. (And that way, DAD can be the one responsible for all of the injuries.) <br />
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Long live Dude Club. <br />
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PS- On a totally different note, I know I've been MIA lately. And a lot of the reason is because I've been working really hard on a brand new blog! Have you seen it? It's called <a href="http://mamasgettinghealthy.blogspot.com">Healthy...With a side of ranch</a>, and it's all about my journey towards total health and happiness(Yes! I do more with my life than let two crazy kids run me ragged!) I'm telling you, not only because I'm desperate for people to read it (even though I am), but because maybe you'll be able to relate to some of it, or even walk away with a new tip or trick to add to your arsenal. I'd LOVE to hear your comments on it!mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-89420540299279221362012-02-06T14:20:00.000-05:002012-02-06T14:20:09.074-05:00Just another random dayHow was my day? I'm so glad you asked! <br />
<br />
By 7:20 in the morning I had already told the boys about 12 times that NO, they couldn't watch their Superhero movie yet, that they should eat first; only to be received with, "last night when you were gone, Dada said that you are weird. That we are boys and we like watching Superheroes all the time, so you need to let us watch them." <br />
<br />
By 7:30, now 10 minutes in to the movie, the little one picks up the Wii remote like a phone and says in to it, "Hello? Yeah, my Mama's in a very bad mood this morning." Click. <br />
<br />
7:45- My hair is still unpresentable for work, and oh great, today isn't only show-and-tell day at school, it's also our day to bring snack. Ugh, I was going to be Supermom and make homemade granola bars for the kids. I probably shouldn't have watched 3 back-to-back episodes of Weeds on Netflix. Oops. There must be an unopened bag of pretzels around here somewhere. <br />
<br />
8:15- Of course I can't find matching socks for anyone. <br />
<br />
8:17- Of course there are dishes left in the sink from last night. <br />
<br />
8:20- Of course no one is listening to me as I'm yelling for the 50th time to hurry up and get dressed. <br />
<br />
8:30- The babysitter shows up and I get to leave. Thank God. Mama needs a break. <br />
<br />
At work, I only get cursed at about 5 times, told this work is whack about 4, and my boss only rolls his eyes once and stands idly by as I try to enforce some sort of rules. One student learns how to pick all of the locks on the floor- with, guess what, his high school ID card. How appropriate. <br />
<br />
As I walk back in the front door, the little voices make me happy again. My artistic genius made something fabulous at school, and the little one was the fastest runner in his sports class. All is well in my world once more. <br />
<br />
Nap time comes, and 5 loads of laundry howl dauntingly at me from the dark confines of the basement. 3 more episodes of Weeds are so much more appetizing. Yet I only make it through one and a half. Nap time ended early today. <br />
<br />
I stab myself in the thumb and start bleeding everywhere as I'm cleaning up from another dinner that no one ate. But the boys are actually playing nicely upstairs, so it doesn't even bother me. I sit down for a second for some dinner and adult conversation. Ahh yes, it's almost over. <br />
<br />
But not yet. With fork in hand, I am stopped dead in my tracks. It's 7:45 PM. "Mom, you need to come up here right away. Ty just pooped on his carpet".mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-54409199119604883852011-12-27T23:14:00.000-05:002011-12-27T23:14:07.129-05:00cookie disasterbecause i truly embrace the definition of "hot mess" in all aspects of my life, i often (and by often i mean always) wait until the last possible second to start major projects, make an inappropriately large mess in the process, mess it up (because let's be honest, i don't usually know what i'm doing), and then complain about what a shit show i've just been the star of. making christmas cookies is no exception to this general rule. <br />
<br />
for some reason, i pleasantly agreed to be a part of the first annual neighborhood cookie exchange. with high hopes of creating some intensely creative concoction from Pinterest, i reasonably settled on some no-bake peanut butter balls that i've made every single year. (or maybe i've just made them one other time, i can't really remember now). so i of course waited until way past my bedtime the night before the party to try to dip about 50 thousand crumbly balls of peanut butter into a saucepan of chocolate that wasn't really melting right. so i added some milk. (i thought i remembered reading that somewhere...) and i ended up with an even bigger mess. so i started over. and of course i have zero counter space in my kitchen, so i was balancing the over-sized tray on the 4 inch lip of the sink. and just as i started the last row of actually reasonable looking treats, the entire thing tipped on to the floor. i'm pretty sure i said every single curse word i've ever heard. and then, in true hot-mess fashion, i put them right back on the tray and served them with a smile the following night. just kidding, i made new ones. (no i didn't). yes, yes i did. (ha- you'll never know now, will you??)<br />
<br />
the green "grinch" cookies for the preschool christmas party didn't go much smoother. after the first batch came out ready to chip any 4-year-old's tooth with swirls of green mixed in with semi-burnt brown, (ugh! why do they never look like the ones that the ultra-creative mom made and then posted to her ultra-cool blog?!) i once again started over. and yes, the second batch was both all green and edible. so of course, the following morning we were rushing to get out of the house on time and i allowed (demanded?) my preschooler to carry the plate and help his mama. it should be neither shocking nor surprising that the entire plate fell and green cookies went flying. no problem though. we picked them up, ate the broken pieces, dried some tears and- you know it... served 'em with a smile. (whatever. i followed the rule precisely- all cookies were off the floor within 10 seconds. or wait, is it supposed to be a 5-second rule?)<br />
<br />
and there's no way christmas can come and go without some cut-outs with frosting, right? i actually DO know how to make these. and frost them. it's amazing. but let's not get too excited. in a moment of panic, i ripped my cupboards apart looking for some appropriate cookie cutters (where did i put them last year???) only to realize that oh yeah, I DON'T OWN ANY!! and not only that, i'm all out of red food coloring. so yes, hot-mess mama strikes again. but i must admit, my kids' jerseys, footballs, and rocket-ships that i so creatively yet not creatively enough tried to turn in to christmas trees turned out great!! never mind that they are frosted in hot pink and decorated with orange and black sprinkles. hey, we're making memories here people, not opening a bakery.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-9392792256355871562011-12-11T22:41:00.000-05:002011-12-11T22:41:16.648-05:00holiday threatsThere are a few things I LOVE about this time of year. the way my decorations hide all of the finger prints and crayon marks on the walls. the way it's perfectly acceptable to overindulge on all things artery clogging. watching my bank account bleed to death. you know, normal things. but the one thing I'm loving most this year is the amount fear that one little statement can instill in a pair of young people. <br />
<br />
It's actually phenomenal, and I'll be sad when Christmas is over. It put an instant stop to the running around and grabbing random drinks out of the cooler at the bagel shop last weekend. It gets the toys cleaned up before bed time, it gets the carrots eaten at dinner. It's the ultimate go-to threat, and not one ounce of me is afraid to use it. Telling me you'll never get dressed? That your dinner looks gross? That your brother hit you in the face? Ok. That's fine. Cuz we all know what's about to happen. I'M CALLING SANTA. and wanna knows what he brings boys who do bad listening? nothing but clothes. bwahahahaahaha.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-73647277350224203842011-11-16T18:33:00.000-05:002011-11-16T18:33:56.311-05:00Ego boostersJust the other day, CJ got so mad at me. I can't remember what for, but I have a feeling I did something super irritating like not letting him watch 5 straight hours of the Batman movie I inappropriately and mistakenly bought for him in an attempt to be a cool, fun mom. For the first time in his life, he screamed that he didn't love me, stomped up the stairs and slammed his door. I'm not exactly sure when exactly he turned in to a 13-year-old girl, but I do know that my feelings were hurt ALMOST as much as the day in the mall bathroom stall when he loudly asked why mamas have such big booties, and then kindly suggested that maybe mine was so big because the Hulk stepped on and smooshed it. I'm almost positive that there were other people in the bathroom with us. And they were most likely skinny. <br />
<br />
And as I sit here typing this, the boys just brought me a "birthday cake" made of a pile of plastic toys in a bucket. I just opened my gift of a silly band wrapped in a post-it note. They sang and cheered and I exclaimed how excited I was to have such thoughtful boys. And THEN CJ clapped and announced, "yayyyy, Mama. Now you're 67 today!!" <br />
<br />
So I can't always count on them to pick up their toys when it's bedtime, to wash their hands after they use the bathroom, or to eat their dinner, but there is one thing I CAN always count on. Brutal honesty. And you better believe that I'm headed to the gym now. And then on to make an appointment for some Botox.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-53024583787470000122011-10-25T19:31:00.000-04:002011-10-25T19:31:27.748-04:00R.I.P Dorothyi spent $17 on medicine for the goldfish. yes, the 89 cent goldfish from walmart. the fish we didn't ask for, the fish we usually forgot to feed, and the fish who got cleaned only when we actually remembered we owned a fish. his (her?) belly got so fat that swimming around upside down was the only option. swimming vigorously to the front of the bowl whenever someone turned on the kitchen light became more and more delayed. there was no shot i was letting this little goldfish die. <br />
<br />
why was the notion of this fate so sad to me? watching this little fish float slowly around, sinking every once in a while to the bottom was painful. i started googling how to save a goldfish. giving her daily salt baths and treats of cucumber. dorothy came to us before Ty could even talk. when throwing balls and cheerios in her bowl was funny. when dorothy and elmo were cool.when we had to put her bowl in the center of the kitchen table as a way to keep the boys sitting in their seats long enough to finish eating dinner. yes indeed, we were about to say goodbye to so much more than an 89 cent fish from walmart. <br />
<br />
and the boys had never experienced any sort of death before. what did we say? do fish go to heaven? do we just say nothing and hope they don't ask? do we all flush her together? sad sad sad. <br />
<br />
well, we didn't flush her together. in fact, i couldn't even look at her. i made jerry give her a private farewell flush, and promptly hide the bowl. my eyes may have welled up with tears. the next morning, he woke me up to tell me that we needed to break the news together. after all, there was no telling how they would react. <br />
<br />
"hey guys, we have some sad news. dorothy got very sick and isn't here with us anymore. she died and went to heaven". (so apparently, fish do go to heaven.)<br />
<br />
"oh. can we get some turtles now?"mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-77539691894228882622011-09-17T14:46:00.000-04:002011-09-17T14:46:43.404-04:00Soccer mom? Not so much.Every mom likes to think that their toddler is talented, but the difference between them and me is that mine actually are. seriously. they can run for days, kick the heck out of a ball, and bench press their own weight. (ok, so i've never actually tried the last one. but i'm willing to bet i'm right.) so naturally, we decided to sign our naturally talented kids up for soccer. <br />
<br />
well, one of our kids will literally try every single activity that is ever offered to him. he'll say "sure" to everything, and will most definitely have fun doing it. he loves his life, is way too young to even think about being self-conscious, and has not a care in the world about what people around him are doing. he loved every second of soccer. <br />
<br />
our other one (the whole reason we even considered soccer in the first place) also loves all sports. little did we know that this only applies to those sports played in the confines of our yard with people whom he knows he can beat. he's older, more introspective, and more cautious than his brother. when he first walked in to the sports arena, he took one look around and said, "wow. i never wanna leave this place". here we go, i thought with an eye roll. i am officially an SUV-driving, (soon-to-be) suburban-living soccer mom. you have got to be kidding me. <br />
<br />
not so fast. as these soccer-whiz-kids dribbled the balls up and down the field, my kid stood on the turf and wildly kicked the ball toward the goal. it didn't go in, and he got pissed. he left the first class saying he was never going back. but he did. the running games were fine. the obstacle course was fine. picking a snack out of the vending machine at the end was fine. but anything involving a ball was a problem. finally, by the end of the session he had had enough.(well, who are we kidding? he was done half way through the first week.)he spent more time on the sideline watching and not listening to us try to talk him in to trying it again than he did running around. but when he ran out on to the turf, we thought maybe we had turned a corner. and he did run for a minute.and then he kicked the ball and missed the goal again. this time he stood still in the middle of the field and yelled at the top of his lungs, "I HAAATTTTE SOCCCCCER!!!" <br />
<br />
ok, so maybe my kid isn't the little athletic prodigy we thought he was. (or maybe he legitimately just hates soccer.) and as for me- well, i may drive an SUV, and i may be moving to the burbs. but it looks like i'll have to wait to call myself a soccer mom. trust me- i'm ok with that.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-44371360021682879392011-08-01T15:03:00.000-04:002011-08-01T15:03:00.040-04:00Potty training is AWESOME!!would anyone like to go toe to toe with me in a potty finding competition? i now know where to find every single public bathroom in the entire city of Rochester. I love my life. <br />
<br />
ok, so maybe "awesome" is a bit aggressive. but as my summer weeks are slipping away, i'm reminding myself to focus on the little victories because the all-too-familiar days of working, rushing around, and dealing with the never ending snow are just around the corner. and so in comparison to what is ahead, potty training is indeed awesome. <br />
<br />
i'm choosing to ignore the small incident when I was interviewing a nanny candidate the other day, and Ty, in an effort to ensure that ALL attention remain on him at all times, decided to just pee on the floor just because. <br />
<br />
i'll also ignore the fact that he is now insistent on dumping his little potty into the big toilet every single time he uses it. i think he's dumped pee on the floor at least 157 times. <br />
<br />
but my favorite PT moment to date happened a couple of weeks ago at Target. i of course did the mandatory "does anyone have to use the bathroom?" check as soon as we walked in, and when everyone assured me that no they didn't, and yes they would keep their pants dry the whole time, we proceeded with our shopping. literally the second we got to the farthest aisle away from the bathroom, Ty announced (to everyone within a half mile radius), "I haffa doe peeee!" and so with no other option, the two boys and i (plus our red cart of course) broke in to a full-on sprint. and Ty, (who refuses to sit in the cart for longer than 10 minutes now)was running alongside of CJ and me while gripping his little wiener. it was an amazing sight i'm sure. but i'll ignore that, and focus instead on the fact that he made it!! just in time and barely, but he made it. and that, in the land of victorious potty training moments, is a win. <br />
<br />
so he waits until it's just about too late every single time, calls his brother in to "see how big my poo-poo is" and fights me at nap time every day when it's time for a diaper. (i'm all about the independence, but only to a point.) but i'll ignore all of that. this guy is almost done potty training, and that is awesome.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-50797654084190060282011-07-06T16:11:00.001-04:002011-07-06T16:11:41.985-04:00Dear Casey Anthony,Let me start by introducing myself. I am the mother of a two-year-old. And I get frustrated. Like when he refuses to pee on the potty, when he pretends he's a snake on the floor at the grocery store, and when he cries and whines for days on end for no reason. I get frustrated when I'm running late and he insists on buckling his seat belt by himself. I get frustrated when I have to watch the same episodes of Max and Ruby or The Wiggles 55 times in a row. And I get frustrated when he spills his cereal on the floor every single morning and refuses to clean it up. You know what I do? I send him to the Time Out chair for a couple of minutes. I walk away for a little while. I tell him he can buckle it himself next time, and I dance and cheer when he uses the potty. You know what I DON'T do? Google things like "breaking necks", "how to make chloroform" and "death". <br />
<br />
What was your two-year-old like, Casey?<br />
<br />
Did she mispronounce words in such a way that made you never want to correct her? Mine does. Did she throw a fit because she couldn't eat "chocolate tookies" for breakfast? Mine does. Did she ever crawl up on to your lap for no reason and say things like, "oooh, bee-u-tee-ful dress, Mama" or "I wuv you, Mama"? (Isn't that the best?!) My two-year-old sings the ABC's to me every night before bed, and always messes up in the same spot. He practices his back float in the tub. He says very funny things every single day. He insists that I "watch dis" all the time, and then always shows me the exact same "tricks". Was Caylee's favorite blanket that Winnie-the-Pooh one? My two-year-old has a favorite blanket, too. His is green. It's dirty and smelly and he calls it Meh. That was nice of you to give it to her when she died. She was probably less scared. <br />
<br />
Guess what, Casey? They get even better as they get older. They become even smarter, less clingy, and more imaginative. They get themselves dressed, and write their own names. And they become even funnier. But you'll never get to see that. <br />
<br />
Caylee's in a better place now. Away from you and your twisted imaginary life. A place where she can eat as many "chocolate tookies" as she wants, and sing the ABC's all day long. She has no duct tape on her face now, Casey. <br />
<br />
Enjoy the rest of your guilt-ridden life, Casey Anthony. May you never bear children again. <br />
<br />
Sincerely, <br />
<br />
A proud Mama who would NEVER hurt her babiesmama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-27221253301775229572011-06-28T21:39:00.000-04:002011-06-28T21:39:09.704-04:00Goals for the SummerI sat with the boys the other night at dinner and the conversation went a little like this: <br />
Me: what did you guys do today?<br />
CJ: played with Julia. Her brothers were there.<br />
Me: Oh yeah? How old are her brothers?<br />
CJ: Old. Like, I think 52. They're in kindergarten. <br />
<br />
Later that night, I went to my school's graduation. My role there allowed me not only to help get the graduates ready backstage, but also to sit with them during the ceremony. As I helped pin flowers on the gowns, I'm pretty sure I got a contact high from one kid. "I hate you right now for smoking before your graduation," I told him. His response? "I know, my mom told me the same thing." And in that single moment, my mind instantly launched ahead about 14 years. <i>Is that a conversation I might have with my son someday??</i> <br />
<br />
We walked down the long aisle at the theater and I watched in admiration as these young adults paraded proudly to their seats. Here it was: the moment they had been waiting for. And again, I looked around and reflected. I was seated amongst KIDS who had been forced to act like adults well before their time. KIDS who were parents, who were caretakers for their own caretakers, who left midterm exams early in order to get to a full-time job on time. KIDS living with life threatening illnesses, and KIDS wondering where they were sleeping that night. KIDS. Robbed of their childhoods. And in that moment, I couldn't have been prouder of them. <br />
<br />
So we hugged, cheered, cried, and parted ways. Them: in to the rest of their lives, and Me: to start preparing my own kids for the rest of theirs. We've got two months together to reach some very serious goals. Yay for summer!<br />
<br />
Goal number four- potty train Ty. Goal number three- find something to do with the mass amount of toys in this house that does not include apologizing to visitors for possibly sitting on, stepping on, or tripping over them. Goal number two- Go to the gym. A lot. <br />
<br />
So far this summer (and it's only been two days) we've picked strawberries, finger painted with shaving cream, played with hoses, colored on the driveway, and visited with friends we haven't seen in a while. Ty's worn diapers both days, I'm pretty sure that Lightening McQueen is shoved between my couch cushions right now, and I'm waiting till tomorrow to start the whole gym routine. Why? Because Goal number one is most important to me- PRESERVE INNOCENCE. (And pray that they'll remember what a glorious childhood I gave them, and decide NOT to show up at graduation high). <br />
<br />
Happy Summer!!mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-37142641966509541732011-06-14T20:41:00.000-04:002011-06-14T20:41:00.231-04:00Plodding Alongwhen i first got challenged to run a 5K back in january, i pretty much laughed out loud. let's be real: running in my world is for special occasions. like being chased by something mean and ferocious. and that is it. yet after some thought and serious consideration, i thought to myself, "why the heck can't i run a 5K? stop making friggin' excuses, and get moving". and so the journey began. <br />
<br />
with my ipod in and my laces tied tight, i set out very early one icy morning with my fingers crossed that this insanity would be my one-way-ticket out of Chubby Land. i returned approximately 17 minutes later, red, sweaty, and thankful that i hadn't broken an ankle on the 15 thousand patches of ice that were lining the winter streets. plus, my lungs literally felt as though they were icing over. i hated running. <br />
<br />
a week (and 3 runs later) i got a little smarter and decided to take my trek indoors, only to discover that running on a treadmill sucks equally as bad (if not worse). now, not only could the entire gym see just how slowly i was moving, but i also had the added bonus of being able to witness first hand exactly how much my chubbiness jiggles when in motion. plus, i literally looked as if i was having a heart attack. and i hadn't lost a single pound. i still hated running. <br />
<br />
fast forward about 2 months now, and give me some credit for not only sticking with a running routine, but also increasing my stamina to be able to make it about 2 and a half miles non-stop. Ok, so maybe the word "running" is a bit aggressive. i mean, speed walkers can move faster than i can. but the point is that i was doing it. something i absolutely have never done once in my life, and guess what? i still haven't lost a pound, but... i no longer hated running!! <br />
<br />
more time goes by, and i'm now 2 weeks away from Race Day! i'm registered, i've admitted to people (and therefore to myself) that i'm committed to doing this, and i've even got a team of people who are doing this with me. i've ordered a team shirt with the name "winner" on the back. (cuz when you hate running as much as i do, then commit to it and actually make it through an entire 3 miles, i'm pretty sure that's what you are...) and then the health problems set in. <br />
<br />
without getting in to drawn out and pretty boring details, i'll just jump ahead to the results of a bunch of tests: i was put on freaking exercise restriction!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!! i started crying right then and there in the doctor's office, not because of the possibility of some looming illness, but because, "you don't understand. this is seriously the worst thing you can be telling me. i have a 5K coming up in 2 weeks!!!!!) whoa. NEVER did i think i'd hear those words come out of my mouth. <br />
<br />
so i didn't get to run. (even though it turns out a lot of my issue was anxiety related, so not exercising was probably the worst thing i could have done.) there are about 500 more 5Ks that i could be signing up for this summer. think i've picked even one yet? nope. (c'mon. i said i no longer hated running. that doesn't mean i exactly LIKE it.) but before the summer is over, i will. and for now, i'll keep running (or jogging, or plodding) along.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-77738185610531395212011-05-17T20:42:00.000-04:002011-05-17T20:42:50.952-04:00total insanityso i'm fairly certain that time-out has lost it's effectiveness in our house. last week, after coming to get the two-year-old out of the chair, i said in my very best supernanny voice, "do you know why you're in time out?" he looked at me and said, "no. can i pote your face?" and then proceeded to tap his chubby little finger on my cheek and say, "haha. pote.pote." "why are you poking my face?" "beee-tuz... it's funny."<br />
<br />
i suppose my first warning sign the other night during their bath should have come when i stopped hearing talking, and heard instead only laughing. like, gut-busting- almost-crying type of laughing. thinking to myself how lucky i was to have two kids who get along so well, i kept taking advantage of the good moods and stayed in the room across the hall putting away the laundry. i suppose my first mistake was to ever leave the room in the first place. and i suppose my children never want to hear their father yell at them like that again. but O.M.G. seriously. i heard the yell and went running in, only to find that the two of them (now yanked out of the tub and in tears) had taken cupfuls of water and thrown them over the edge of the tub, leaving a good inch or two of water ALL over the bathroom floor. the three-year-old couldn't even keep a straight face for the two minutes it took for me to dry him off and dress him. "mama is very upset. i cannot believe you did this" i said, trying to be stern and serious. trying to be serious with me, he said, "ok. i know". and then burst out laughing. great. that was effective.<br />
<br />
and tonight was the best yet. every single night, they get served their dinner at the table and begin eating while i go back in to the kitchen to make my own plate so i can sit and eat with them. this is nothing new. so why then tonight did they absolutely lose their minds? this time i knew better, though. instead of reveling in the moment when i heard nothing but gut-busting laughter, i dropped everything and ran in to see what was going on. little chopped up pieces of saucy spaghetti were EVERYWHERE. the table, the floor, the baseboards over by the window, the cushion of the chair in the corner, their hair, bellies, and faces. not knowing what to do, i sent one to the living room "go sit in time out. no, not there. on the floor. don't get sauce everywhere". the other one got sent to his room. during clean up i said to each one individually, "that was a terrible decision. throwing food everywhere makes mama's house very dirty. do you want to live in a dirty house?" the three-year-old's response: "yes. hahaha. i will put toothpaste on the floor too so you will slip in it". the two-year-old's response: "i say ooh ooh ah ah ooh". <br />
<br />
i have a friend who just found out she's pregnant with her second baby. she told me she's completely freaked out and asked me if i have any pointers. ha. yeah right, my life is total insanity.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-84695857065289171922011-05-03T22:38:00.000-04:002011-05-03T22:38:41.061-04:00no pets allowedSome people are self-proclaimed pet people, and others are not. i am not. i'm actually way too selfish to enjoy the thought of owning a pet. walk it in the rain? no thanks. potty training accidents make me gag enough, so i can't even imagine what bodily fluids from an animal would do to my stomach. letting something that licks it's own booty turn around and then lick your face? are you serious?? and that whole sharing-a-bed-with-a-dog-thing? no way, never happening. <br />
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now don't get me wrong- i'm not an animal hater by any means. (well, except for my sister's cat. i have no love in my heart for that mean cat. and my sister will never admit it, but i'm betting that she wishes that lemon laws applied to more than just cars). i'm not completely heartless. i DO in fact, think they're cute. i grew up with pets, and i know how to take care of them. and yes, at some point (and i cannot believe i'm actually saying this, i'm sure we'll get one for the boys that they'll be excited about for about 3 days and then i'll end up taking care of for the rest of it's life). but until that day comes, we will just enjoy taking care of our friends' pets while they go on vacation. and we got our first shot at that last week. <br />
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so the first day the cat got here it went straight in to hiding. our babysitter, who thought she had officially lost the cat, resorted to walking around the house using some catfinder app on her iphone. yeah, it didn't work. when the cat finally emerged two days later, ty instantly began chasing the poor cat around calling, "here kitty kitty" followed by a few kissy sounds. the only problem is that ty is unable to make the "k" sound, and instead uses the "t" sound. so the poor "kitty" is now unsure whether or not his name has been changed to a crass nickname for a female body part. the cat couldn't figure out whether he hated the boys or loved them, switching between hiding from them and following them around the house. the boys had no confusion when it came to their emotions, however. they knew it was love at first sight. they spent the week searching for him (and irritating him i'm sure), laughing at him, laying on him, and telling their father they wanted a cat. OMG... are my kids pet people???<br />
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so this week we're trying again. my sister in law dropped off her super-cute, totally well behaved little 5-pound lap dog a couple of hours ago. (yes, i like the dog. and no, it will not be licking my face). ty has already adopted a new high-pitched voice to be used while patting her with his chubby hand. cj has already had a partial meltdown when i said that no, she cannot sleep with him in his room; and no, he cannot sleep downstairs with her. they have already argued over who is going to walk her on the leash. OMG... my kids are pet people. <br />
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i on the other hand, have already successfully managed to completely forget to tell the babysitter that the dog is here for a week. i forgot to fill her water bowl until about 5 minutes ago. i forgot to take her outside (thankfully i noticed her sniffing around so i got to avoid bodily fluids on the ground). i forgot the plastic bag when i went out there. i did, however, get elected to be the one to take her for a walk. and good news- it's raining! <br />
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i am so NOT a pet person.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-6175380152554378432011-04-13T20:57:00.000-04:002011-04-13T20:57:01.496-04:00Little Fish in the Big AppleAs a surprise to my wonderful, caring, hardworking and (way) older-than-me husband, i planned a surprise trip to NYC to celebrate his birthday. we would fly down after work, spend the whole next day and night walking aimlessly around the city with cameras in hand, and fly home the next afternoon. easy and fun right? well, let's remember who we're dealing with here. nothing i ever do can be both easy and fun. that would be just way too, well, predictable. and i'm a hot mess at all times, so let's not let a little getaway sans children be any exception.<br />
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the last time we took a little weekend to ourselves was this summer when we went camping ("<a href="http://naptimeisthenewhappyhour.blogspot.com/not-quitecampers">Not- Quite Campers</a>"). remember that whole little bit about paranoid husband making me carry around a pocket knife just in case, i don't know, some bear jumped out at me or something? well, i'm lazy, and that knife was sitting in my weekend bag this whole time under my bed. that is, up until a couple of nights ago. that knife is now sitting at the security checkpoint at the airport. just a reminder, everyone: knives are not allowed on planes. they get kinda freaked out when you claim to have no idea what they are talking about as they pull you aside to dump your whole bag. (and, um, yeah... here's how our weekend began). <br />
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In an effort to both save some money and enhance our true sense of adventure, i pulled out the directions i had scribbled off the internet. google said that it was soooooo easy to get from the airport to our midtown hotel, and if google says it, it must be true, right? to make a very long, irritating story short, let's just say that google lied. after approximately 3 conversations with strangers and 3 different sets of directions, 4 unnecessary train transfers, 100 utterances of "are you serious, jen?", five long manhattan blocks in the rain, and one very lost walk through an empty grand central station in the middle of the night, we finally arrived at our final destination. note to self: subways are for natives, not suburban-like mothers who drive SUVs. us on a subway at night = fail. <br />
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We woke up the following morning looking forward to a fresh start. the concierge told us that if we stood in front of the hotel, times square was a couple blocks in front of us, central park was a 5 minute walk to the right, and soho was a quick subway (here we go...) ride to the left. no problem, we thought. we can totally do this. and we won't even look like tourists (cuz, uggghhh, who wants to look like a tourist?!?) so we started walking. stopped to eat, and continued walking. and walking and walking and walking. and nothing looked like anything we had seen in previous trips to the city, and the park (where we were headed) was no where in sight. and oh yeah, it was the only cold and rainy day the city had seen in over a week. 40 minutes later we smartened up, swallowed our pride, and asked some random person where we were. imagine the level of delight we experienced when we found out we had been walking in the WRONG DIRECTION for the entire time. the only thing that was better than the news was the weather- it was now pouring/sleeting, and of course neither one of us had a winter coat on. <br />
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but true adventurers don't let a little weather get them down, and we were determined to make the best of this little mishap. we ducked in to the nearest starbucks so i could let my slicked-back wig-like coif frizz out a little, and devise a plan. after a quick trip to soho (so i could get my picture taken in front of Dash of course- and no, much to husband's dismay, kim wasn't there.) we decided to do what any other smart couples without their children would do- start eating and drinking heavily. and i think husband ended up having a pretty decent birthday. <br />
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and then it was time to go. the sun was shining brightly, people were all over the streets loving their lives, fake purses were being sold at the street corners, and we, of course, had to say farewell to this crazy city. don't worry ny- we'll be back for round two. and we'll probably get insanely lost again. but we'll still love it, as always.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-81730986293995538992011-03-10T20:35:00.000-05:002011-03-10T20:35:37.289-05:00missing princessesi walked in to the bathroom the other day to find my two-year-old scrubbing the floor with my toothbrush. as i sit here and type, the two of them are in the tub together and i'm pretending not to notice that they're spitting water in eachother's faces. (as long as they keep laughing about it, I'll keep ignoring). as we looked out the window the other day longing for summer, i said, "ugh, don't you miss swimming in the pool?" and one of them replied, "Yeah. and don't YOU miss digging for worms?" now, i may be way off here, but i gotta imagine that little girls don't do this stuff. <br />
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when my sister and i were growing up, we scrubbed our TEETH with our toothbrushes, played with My Little Ponies in the bathtub, and were completely grossed out by worms. we were normal. <br />
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we have tried to be as gender neutral as possible in our house, never shying away from certain toys or colors because "they are for girls". in fact, i let them play with my makeup when they are curious, paint their nails (well, a couple of random fingers) when they tell me mine are fancy, and laugh when they try on my heels and parade clumisly around the living room. <br />
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and yet, when perusing through a toy catalog the other day, my three-year-old insisted that we turn the pink pages immediately if not sooner because "that's all the girl stuff". in a room full of all kinds of toys, neither one has ever picked up a baby doll, or something pink to play with for that matter. instead, they are instantly attracted to all things moving, making noise, and destructive. they enjoy superheroes, trucks, and robots. they build towers with the intent to knock them down, and let their race cars go at the top of the railing to see how fast they will crash in to the wall at the bottom of the stairs. <br />
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i always pictured myself as a mother who took her little girl to ballet on saturday mornings, painted her nails on sunday nights, and did her hair before school. i always thought that at this point in my life i would be picking out sparkly party shoes and dresses with matching headbands. i NEVER imagined myself wondering what in the world was just stuffed down the toilet (again), or asking who wants to go watch the diggers at the construction site down the street. and yet, now, i absolutely cannot imagine it any other way. <br />
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i could launch into a diatribe about society's subliminal pressures and gender stereotypes here (and trust me, as a high school teacher for 10 years, i could go on and on), but i won't. instead, i'll just leave it plain and simple: every single day, these boys fascinate, puzzle, amuse, amaze, and educate me. and yes, i'd be lying if i said that i never wonder what i'm missing out on by not having any princesses. but then i snap back to reality: no other girls to mess with my stuff= mama stays the princess of the house. and that i can live with. happily. And GOD, I love my boys!mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-28510233815950364722011-02-24T21:15:00.000-05:002011-02-24T21:15:03.468-05:00February Staycationso here it is- february break in gloomy, snowy upstate new york. the highly anticipated week off chuck full of sledding, playdates, and otherwise fun outings. and all we have done is watch tv. a lot of tv. yo gabba gabba, handy manny, mickey mouse clubhouse, and of course the new favorite- jake and the neverland pirates. ah yes... february break and my kids are sick. not just runny nose and sneezy kind of sick. no way- my kids like to do it big. we're talkin' 103 degree fevers and breathing treatment kind of sick. so instead of sitting here typing furiously away with vents about our plans that went awry, i will instead focus on how big a fan i am of children's tv. <br />
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cj (a well-rounded, smart, social kid btw) watched his first baby einstein video when he was 4 months old. his dad came home with the entire collection as a surprise for him a month later. i know, i know, there are parents everywhere gasping right now- "but kids aren't supposed to watch tv till they're two!!" well, i think that is the sole piece of "expert" advice I didn't pay attention to. and guess what happened? NOTHING!! except that he learned what a "wombat" was before he was two years old, and began pointing to the parrot on his nursery wall and saying "tropical bird". thank you, baby einstein. <br />
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ty, as anyone who knows from either firsthand experience or from reading this blog, knows that he was unlike any kind of baby we ever could have prepared for. when he first came home from the hospital, there were nights when literally the only thing that would stop him from crying was sportscenter. not kidding. and not just any show would do. the only other show he would/will stop dead in his tracks for (which again, everyone knows doesn't happen often with him) is mickey mouse clubhouse. a show full of colors, counting, opposites, shapes, and call-and-response- what's not to love?<br />
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i could seriously go on and on, but neither disney nor nick jr. is paying me nearly enough. let's just say that i owe it to handy manny for teaching my kids spanish, the friends in gabbaland for teaching them life lessons (seriously- do you think they're gonna listen to me when i tell them "keep trying, keep trying, don't give up, never give up" or "don't bite your friends"? yeah right. but if it comes from muno and brobie, it must be truth). oh yeah, and a special thanks to jake and the neverland pirates for babysitting for me while i went upstairs to take a shower by myself. (oh c'mon- don't act like you've never had the tv be your babysitter. you know you'd take the bridge just like the rest of us if it wasn't there to act as your salvation once in a while...)<br />
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i literally almost died the other day when i sat down to do playdoh with them, and cut out a bunch of different shapes. (note: see? i do other things with my kids besides watch tv. we actually read a lot and stuff, too...) "oh cool pattern, mama," cj said. excuse me? cool what? where did you learn that? "blue's clues". so thank you also to blue's clues. <br />
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so we may not be out sledding or catching up with friends this week, but we are still enjoying our QT together on the couch. it's like one long pajama party. well, minus the party part and with the addition of some horrible virus and periodic doctor visits. we may just come back from this illness a little bit smarter.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-38308306834730737642011-02-03T16:45:00.000-05:002011-02-03T16:45:50.473-05:00Life StinksI have come to the realization that my kids will be in diapers until they are ten. Possibly longer. One of them was potty trained at two, only having "accidents" when he was just too busy to be bothered with going to the bathroom. By the time he was two and a half, he was no longer even wetting the bed at night. We were such proud parents and enjoyed bragging about our *obviously* advanced child. <br />
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A couple weeks ago, this same child prodigy did Number Two in his pants at the dinner table just because. I, genius mother that I am, had no idea what happened. I thought nothing of it when he announced out of the blue that he wanted to be "maked" and jumped out of his seat to take his clothes off. (After all, the kid is ALWAYS wanting to be maked). When I followed him in to the bathroom with the intention to get him re-dressed, they were nowhere in sight. He nonchalantly mentioned while climbing back up to finish his dinner that he threw them in the garbage because "they were getting old". He failed to tell me that they were filled with a mess of brown nastiness. <br />
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Meanwhile, the little one waits until he gets in the tub to do his thing. The first time he did it, he was less than a year old, and had been in the water less than 5 minutes. I may or may not have scooped it out and continued bathing him. I'll admit that was probably not my hit moment as Mother. When it happened again about 2 weeks ago, I didn't do that. I actually got him out and cleaned the tub. The following night, I didn't have to do anything. And that's because his older brother took care of it for me. I put them in the tub and went in to the room across the hall to put away laundry. (They have about 6 inches of water in the tub and the door stayed open, so don't panic here people). Anyway, when I heard a little voice say, "Mah-ahmmm, Ty poo-pooed in the tub again", I returned to the bathroom to find a little brown log sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Yes, CJ had picked up his brother's "accident" and removed it from the water. <br />
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I felt compelled to share these stories after my entire household was plagued with the stomach bug this week. So, ummmm, yeah. (SO GROSS.) And I've realized now that my one kid is fully back in diapers at bedtime since he has gone back to wetting his bed every single night, and my other kid won't even look at the potty without saying, "No way. Later", that maybe they aren't the prodigies I once thought them to be. (Well, when it comes to bodily functions at least...)<br />
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I love my life. Most of the time. And other times, it... well, just plain stinks.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-66287206671396283042011-01-01T21:56:00.000-05:002011-01-05T21:15:31.667-05:00Dear Ty,As is customary in my family, each person on his or her birthday has to (gets to?) hear from Mom what it was like the day they entered this world. Although all of us (now 31, 28, and 25) could tell our stories in our sleep, our birthday doesn't seem complete until we've heard it one more time. So in keeping with Greeno tradition, I have a little story for my littlest (I mean, youngest) boy:<br /><br />Dear Ty, <br /> I couldn't have asked for a more planned, textbook pregnancy. We decided when CJ was a baby that we wanted him to be a big brother right away, and our wish was granted. (so easily granted, in fact, that I knew for about 3 weeks that you were in there, even though the pregnancy tests and nurses were trying to convince me otherwise). I'm not even gonna mince any words with you- from the very beginning, you were huge. People started asking me if I was pregnant (I hate people) when I was only 8 and a half weeks along. (Just to keep this in perspective, I didn't have to tell anyone with CJ until about 14 weeks.) My favorite comment came from someone at the gym who, after I told her I was about 12 weeks, thought to say, "Damn, girl, whaddya have- 5 in there???" yeah, 5. good one. So anyway, I kept telling the doctors that I thought you were going to be huge, and they kept insisting that i was measuring "right on", that you'd probably be about 7 pounds or so. <br /><br />time went on and your dada decided that he wanted to know whether you were a boy or a girl. even though i dreamed of being a mama to little girls, once i had your brother, i was hoping and praying that you were a boy. how great would it be to be able to give my boy a brother?! well, for some reason, i was convinced during my entire pregnancy (up until about the last month for some reason) that you were a girl. i wanted to stay surprised, but dada found out. he kept a secret for 4 whole months!!! (well, from me at least- just about every other person got told!) but regardless, he couldn't keep a birthday present a secret from me, and i cannot to this day believe that he never told me what you were. he even prepared your nursery all by himself without me finding out!! <br /><br />everything kept progressing as normal, and when i went in to get checked out at 37 weeks, you had moved in to position and i had dilated. you were due on december 30 and we were all hoping you'd be the first baby of the new year. (i mean, c'mon, who wouldn't want a year's supply of diapers plus the added bonus of your face plastered all over the news just seconds after going through labor?!? sign me up!) so our plan was working out nicely, until our appointment the following week. the doctor, at 38 weeks, couldn't find your heartbeat!!! come to find out, she was looking for it in the completely wrong place- you had completely flipped around! your heart was actually way up by my ribcage. not good, ty, not good. little did i know, you were actually doing me a huge favor for which i will forever be grateful. <br /><br />so because of all of the complications i had with CJ, they couldn't risk me going in to labor and possibly having to give me another emergency c-section. instead, they told me to "pick a day", and panicking, all i could think to say was "not Christmas". <br /><br />And so somewhere around 9 in the morning of the 26th, i hopped up (well, kinda heaved my gigantic belly up) on the operating table, and started talking to my doctor about our Christmases through a blue sheet as she pulled and pried you out. (and destroyed every ounce of ab muscle that i had, after saying they were the strongest ones she'd ever felt. they'll never be the same. so thank you for that, too.) now, i promise to never tell you a lie, and i'll start now: when you came out, yes, i was elated to hear that you were a boy, BUT, your dad and i looked at each other and kinda wanted to put you back in. you just weren't cute, Baby. (But dont' worry- you've since made up for it!) you were nothing but fat (reeeaaaallllyyyy fat) cheeks, a loud cry, and pointed head from where my ribs were squeezing the heck out of you. i almost died yet wasn't really surprised when they told me that you were 8 pounds and 14 ounces. (I'll choose not pushing out a 9-pound load of child over some free diapers any day.) we expected you to look like another little CJ, and i guess we were just surprised when you didn't. In fact, you two looked and still look nothing alike. weird. your dada said he wanted a paternity test. i told him to go ahead and call maury. <br /><br />starting that night in the nursery, you were a crybaby. i stayed by myself so that dada could take care of cj at home. even though they tell you not to, i let you lay in the hospital bed with me during the day and let the nurses take you with them at night. they never had to wake me up when you wanted to eat because i could hear your cry as they pushed you down the hall. i wonder when you're going to stop crying...<br /><br />from that day on, besides the whole crying all the time thing, well... and the non-sleeping thing, oh yeah, and the acid reflux thing that happened when we got home, you were a good baby. you and your brother have extremely similar personalities, except that you are a little more carefree. you are very funny and love making people laugh. you finally started walking when you were 14 months old and still spend a lot of your time walking like you're drunk. (why can we so easily picture you as a frat boy smashing beer cans on your forehead?!) you love sports. in fact, watching sportscenter with your dad was literally the only thing that would calm you down in the middle of the night for a while. you are SO smart, and LOVE to be held. you are very in tune with people's feelings. we are so blessed to have such happy, healthy boys who are already best friends. <br /><br />i can't believe that you are two years old already, ty jonathan. i love your laugh, your crazy curly hair, your big blue eyes, and your fatter-than-fat cheeks. thank you for completing our family. you'll always be my baby. <br /><br />Love, <br />Mamamama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-63895266746208246552010-12-02T20:46:00.000-05:002010-12-15T20:31:00.248-05:00'Tis the seasonThere are two things in particular that I am loving about this holiday season so far: the threats to call Santa; and the ridiculously large, delicious meals (and the bottomless drinks) that seem to be everywhere I look. Ah yes, this really is the most wonderful time of the year. <br /><br />I have been waiting for the day when I could say "You better behave yourself or I'm calling Santa", or "Hmmmm, I don't think Santa would like that", or "Do that one more time and I'm telling Santa to take back all of your presents". Well, that day has come, and Yes, I have officially become THAT mom. And you know what? I'm not apologizing for it. It is unbelievable how well it works. <br /><br />I'm not sure what family meals are like for the average person out there, but all of this eating has had me thinking about the average family meal for me. One of the most recent gatherings at my parents' house went something like this:<br /><br />My brother stopped at the gas station on his way over, and walked in as he was cracking open the can of Ridiculousness that he had just purchased (It's approximately 40% alcohol, 40% caffeine, and 20% sugar). Appalled not at the fact that he was about to give himself a heart attack, but rather at the fact that he was drinking out of a can at her dining room table, my mother poured about 2 shots worth of his drink in to a wine glass with ice and poured the rest down the drain. Then overcome with guilt, she slipped him a 5 dollar bill so he could stop and get another one on the way home. (Um, who drinks a $3 can of alcohol out of a wine glass, btw?) <br /><br />Just as everyone took their seats, Ty began smearing yogurt in (great-great) Aunt Jane's hair. CJ, refusing to even LOOK at the piece of chicken on his plate, promptly picked it up as he yelled, "I will NEVER eat chicken!!!" and whipped it across the table, nearly knocking over the lit candlesticks. That was approximately 17 seconds before my sister yelled at me (yes, she actually did raise her voice) for even thinking about mentioning the New Boyfriend, (who's not-a-boyfriend-so-mind-your-own-business-and-stop-talking-about-it:oh-my-GOD-you-are-SOOOOOOO-annoying). And that fiasco was followed up with my cousin dropping it on me and letting me know that not only is my blog only KINDOF funny <span style="font-style:italic;">sometimes <br /></span>, and really, I come across as one of those crazy housewives who slips Ritalin into her coffee and madly types away at her computer while the kids go crazy in the next room. (OK, so I've contemplated Hydrocodone once or twice- big deal). <br /><br />Yes, this dinner really happened, and yes, it was considered a normal series of events. And luckily, we get to do it about 5 more times before the season is over. I hope all of you are as blessed with family as we are. Happy Holidays!mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-4400400591382069902010-11-15T14:33:00.000-05:002010-11-17T11:44:40.926-05:00The Wheatons do HalloweenI was never a huge Halloween fan. I mean, sure, as a kid I always liked dressing up and getting tons of candy, and as an adult I always liked dressing up and getting drunk, but I never really got in to all of the decorations and scary music and stuff the way some people do. And carving pumpkins? No thank you. Not fun. But Halloween with small kids is so great! Going to Target for the sole purpose of looking at all the "scary stuff", walking through the dark teepees at the pumpkin patch 50 thousand times, and picking out the perfect costumes are things that we are so excited about now! I almost hit the floor when my husband, Captain Businessman (CB)himself, (who I FORCED in to a cheerleading costume while we were dating), actually SUGGESTED that we all dress up as Yo Gabba Gabba this year. I think it might have been the most ingenius idea he's ever had.<br /><br /><div>We decided to make the day the zoo hosted it's trick-or-treating event the day we would debut the outfits. For the two weeks leading up to the day, CJ had changed his mind about 67 times about what he was going to be. First it was Spiderman, then Iron Man, then Buzz Lightyear, then it stayed at Scuba Diver for a solid 4 days (Whatever... he likes to wear his goggles in the bathtub... so what?) But luckily, with some major playing-it-up on our parts, (and the ordering of some pretty legit costumes) he decided that Plex would be a pretty fun option, too. So we dressed up and headed out. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>As soon as we pulled in to the ridiculously crowded parking lot, CB noticed that he was the ONLY father dressed up. "Oh hellllllllllllllllll no" he said to me. "There is no way I'm going in as the only Jack a$$ in a costume. I can't believe you tricked me in to this" (sidenote: I tricked him in to nothing. Every mailing that got sent to our house to promote this event showed entire families in costume. Not my problem that so many other fathers were boring.)</div><br /><br />Yet the second he stepped out of the car, he overcame the intial embarrassment. It started out as cute when kids dressed up as bumblebees, Spiderman, and ladybugs pointed and yelled, "Look! There's Yo Gabba Gabba!" It became funny when mothers of little Buzz Lightyears, Woodys, and other superheroes announced to each other and their kids that, "There goes the Yo Gabba Gabba family". And it became downright crazy when four seperate fathers on four seperate occasions approached us to say, "Wold you mind if my kid gets a picture taken with DJ Lance?" I kid you not. This actually happened. CB, who has never been in the running for Animated Father of the Year was doing Halloween Disney World style- walking around waving, smiling, and posing for pictures with random children. <br /><br />When the zoo staff picked up on the fact that children were stopped frozen in their tracks not because they were mesmerized by the sad animals dreaming of worlds bigger than the confines of their metal bars, but instead by the fact that DJ Lance had somehow jumped out of their tvs and come to the zoo, they too took our picture. "We don't know who you are, but we think it's just great when whole families dress up". (<em>Wait</em>, I thought. <em>How do you not know who we are? Are you trying to imply that there's life outside of Yo Gabba Gabba??? You must be crazy</em>!)<em></em><br /><br />Real Halloween came and went a week later, and was noted with a whopping ten minutes of trick-or-treating that was rudely interrupted by snow, sleet and a high temperature of approximately 15 degrees. Additionally, I learned that my children enjoy carving pumpkins as much as I do. (Yes, I carved both of them by myself while they beat on the side of the bowls with their spoons.) But who cared? Not us. After all, we had just become famous! We made it to the cover of the Zoo Newsletter, and got a spot on the website! Hooray for Halloween!!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApJzolVp6ipQbPHutQ3JeSK0sELYEL0EBlciwQEN2V7fo00zIvTYmaD8SPqCg8aXS9SirRd_RCYaYsmtVZPQh9n_M-cgxNYUGtj43u0IB7qSrvd5sgcPZh1SXUQKQoXjJnctONk4qp-k/s1600/untitled.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 273px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApJzolVp6ipQbPHutQ3JeSK0sELYEL0EBlciwQEN2V7fo00zIvTYmaD8SPqCg8aXS9SirRd_RCYaYsmtVZPQh9n_M-cgxNYUGtj43u0IB7qSrvd5sgcPZh1SXUQKQoXjJnctONk4qp-k/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540560039648704930" /></a>mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7276797472226833584.post-2788631608162640632010-10-15T21:12:00.000-04:002010-10-15T22:31:03.386-04:00Dada's morning offI'm two months in to being back at work, and am still trying to figure out the best way to wake up: do I set the alarm for a crazy early hour which will ensure me plenty of time to get ready in peace (but also taking an enormous gamble, since it's quite possible that the buzzing of the alarm will travel through our paper thin walls and wake the baby dragon in the next room); or do I allow the baby dragon to actually BE my alarm (which ensures that at least HE'S waking up on his own terms, but then I chance him trying to crawl back in to the womb as I scramble to piece together a decent outfit and brush my hair)?<br /><br />My loving husband, who had been letting me get up and get ready at a leisurely pace, finally decided that if I wasn't taking my lazy a** to go work out before work (as had been the original plan), I could start sharing some of the morning duty with him. Begrudgingly, I agreed. I even took it a step farther and told him to sleep in the next day, as I (Supermom) would get both myself AND the boys ready for our days. After all, every morning the boys are so quiet. They just sit there and eat their breakfast and watch their shows. How hard could it be?<br /><br />I will NEVER. OFFER. AGAIN. <br /><br />On this particular day, I opted for Alarm Option #1, but defaulted to Alarm Option #2 when the dragon started breathing fire before the alarm clock had the chance to. Thinking that maybe Sleeping Husband would have some sympathy, I laid still and listened to the rhythmic beating on the side of the crib. When I realized that he was in fact NOT moving, I quickly rehearsed the "no-fail" morning routine that was already being used every other morning, and wished myself luck.<br /> <br />I tip-toed in to get the little one just in time to discover that he had successfully waken up his big brother. Both boys climbed into their little chairs which are placed strategically in front of the TV and waited anxiously for me to turn on Handy Manny. So far, so good. Literally the second I stepped foot on to the cold kitchen floor I heard padded footprints following me. "bup, bup, bup." I looked behind me to find two little outstretched hands reaching up to me. What? Why did he want me to pick him "bup"? Dada never carries him around. "No, go sit and watch your show so I can make your breakfast" was definitely the wrong answer. Drama King instantly started crying (loudly), and out of fear that Husband would wake up and deem me a morning-routine-failure, I picked him up and continued buttering some toast one-handed. <br /><br />If my memory serves correctly, it was approximately at this time that the requests for water, a different show, a quick round of Candy Land, and everything shy of the moon began. I had finally convinced the little one that on-the-floor was cooler than on-the-hip just in time for him to spill his brother's Cheerios all over the floor. As I walked over to politely tell him to stop yelling at his brother because we use nice words in this house, I caught a whiff of something so gross, and yet so familiar. Ah yes, another night-time accident. "Blank" (the inappropriately big security blanket that replaced the little stuffed green elephant that I lost) was saturated, as were the pajamas he was sitting happily in. Oh good, I was hoping I was going to have to do laundry before sunrise. <br /><br />A little while later, the breakfast grabbing and toy snatching seemed to be at a momentarily lull so I decided to sneak upstairs to take a quick shower. Before I even had the chance to lather my hair, I heard a little voice innocently cry out, "Hi Mama! I see your goobies!" Oh well. Showering before work is over-rated anyway. <br /><br />I quickly covered up and walked in to my room, only to find I already had company. "Ba-pup", the little one exclaimed as he held up a tube of my too-expensive makeup. He had the lipstick up as far as it could be out of the tube, and was smearing it on his face. "Preeety." <br /><br />The rest of the morning is a blur. I think I pulled something off of the unmade guest bed and ran an iron over it as the boys thought it was funny to knock every single pair of my shoes off the shoe rack. I managed to remember to change the wet sheets, wash the dishes that were left in the sink from the night before, change two poopy diapers from the same kid, and stumble in to work 20 minutes later than normal. Also known as: a series of events that NEVER happen on Dada's mornings. <br /><br />Why my children save all of their drama and bodily functions for ME and me alone I'll never know. But there is one thing I DO know: I am about to become the morning workout QUEEN.mama2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12928437587924417312noreply@blogger.com1