Dude Club

Dude 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.

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".

And soon enough, there were three members instead of two:

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:

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.


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... Except 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.

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.)

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.)

Long live Dude Club.

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 Healthy...With a side of ranch, 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!

playgrounds aren't for wimps

if there's one thing my kids hate more than anything, it's trips to the doctor's office. they are fine when we talk about what's about to happen in the car on the way there, they are fine when we walk in and they see the giant fish tank, and they are fine when we get called back in to the room. it gets instantly ugly as soon as the nurse walks in. ty turns in to this koala-esque creature who leads me to believe that he may both strangulate me and cause me to go deaf in the same moment. i spend more time with the doctor saying, "what did you say?" than anything else. he does not stop crying to the point of almost-hyperventilation until we are checking out and he is picking a sticker out of the basket (for good behavior, of course). cj, on the other hand, enjoys reminding me approximately 50 thousand times that "the doctor's not gonna touch me, just ty, right mama?" and then proceeds to stick his thumb in his mouth and pretty much challenge anyone who walks in to a staring contest. it's especially fun when it IS in fact cj's turn to go. he not only refuses to take his thumb out or talk, but he also refuses to stand on the scale. i highly enjoy having to stand on there once by myself and then a second time while i'm holding him so the nurse can figure out how much he weighs. (last time i told her i was positive my clothes weighed at least 10 pounds. she just laughed. i wasn't trying to be funny.) i attribute my kids' fear of the doctor to their outstanding health, (which of course is a result of my outstanding parenting.) so i'm sure you can understand how delighted i was to find out upon walking in the house after work the other day that we were about to have to make an emergency visit. bonus- it was lunch time. which leads directly in to nap time, aka my happy hour. this was undoubtedly going to be an ultimate disaster.

i got a call from the babysitter just as i was packing up to leave that i really shouldn't worry, but just to let me know, ty fell on the playground and is bleeding from the mouth. his teeth are fine but he's crying so much there's no way to tell exactly where the blood is coming from. wishing for a second that i had imagined the whole call, i walked in the house to find a little boy sitting on his babysitter's lap who was covered from head to toe in every liquid possible that the body knows how to produce. surprisingly, i didn't freak out. after all, 90% of the time, the kid walks like he's drunk. he falls constantly, and i just assumed this time was a little harder than usual. but because it was his mouth this time, i decided to take him in to be checked out.

after an intense pep talk that concluded with a promise of chicken nuggets for boys who are good for the doctor, i walked in with two quiet, pleasant children in tow. (side note: yes, i bribe my children with food frequently. it works, and i will continue to do it. even if said food is sodium-laden questionable "chicken" that is cooked in a vat of grease. hey, i never said i was trying to win the mother-of-the-year award.)

the nurse checked him out and decided that since the cut was located right where his lip meets his mouth, she was going to have to have plastics take a look at it. Wha??? all of a sudden i had no idea what was going on. Plastics? as in surgeons who make old women look young again? for a 16-month-old with a tiny cut on his face? o.m.g.

about a half hour later, a doctor came in and poked and prodded at my poor little man's lip, mouth and teeth. surprisingly, ty didn't cry once. i knew though that this was too good to be true. when he decided to have a third person come in and look at it, i knew it was the beginning of the end. and right i was. by the time the second doctor came in and attempted to touch his face, ty pursed his lips together so tightly and began to cry. this happened in conjunction with some serious back arching and random arm flailing. while i was starting to sweat from restraining him, and feeling like i was about to cry as well, they were busy deciding that,after all of that, stitches would end up leaving a bigger scar than just leaving it to heal by itself. they did point out the hole in his mouth where his top tooth went all the way through his bottom lip, and said to call back if any of his teeth started turning black. unsure what to say at this point, i'm pretty sure i uttered something ridiculously intelligent like, "ummmmm, okay" as we started to run out the door towards that sticker basket. 5 minutes later, you'd never even know my man had just endured one of the most traumatic mornings of his life to date. he and his brother were two of the happiest chicken-nugget-eating boys i've ever seen.

(and i needed a drink. was it happy hour yet?) ;)

Honor Thy Mother

the boys are the light of my mother's life. At her house (which is only 15 minutes away), they have their own bedroom and their own toy room. they have their own little seats at the dining room table and little cups with their names on them. it was at her house that they ate peanut butter when they were only 9 months old (WHAT?! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO WAIT TILL THEY'RE ONE!), skipped nap time altogether (he was having too much fun and didn't feel like taking a nap...), and stayed up until 9:00 even though bedtime's at 7 (They just wanted me to sleep with them for a few minutes.) i'm pretty sure she likes them more than she likes us. so in thinking of the perfect gift with which to honor my mother and their "ga", i let cj lead the way. we walked in to the build-a-bear store with the intention of making her a small stuffed bear that she could tuck in to her travel bag. (she travels weekly for work). in my mind it would be soft and smooshy and would play a cute little saying in cj's voice when it's hand got pressed. we left with something just a little different.

the wall was covered with soft smooshy options and as i pointed them out, i said, "cj, pick out one for ga. which one do you think she would love?" he walked up and down the aisle as intensely as an almost-three-year old can in a toy store, and shot down all of my suggestions. "no" he claimed. "ga would love this one". and how could i argue?

after trapping him in the bathroom ("where it's quieter") we practiced recording a message to ga. it only took me about three tries before i finally figured out how to work the friggin' thing, then three more before he actually spoke on cue, and a few more minutes of begging and bribing with ice cream before i put the microphone up to his mouth, which was dangerously close to the bathroom floor at this point since he had decided to lie down, before he said something we were both satisfied with. (i think he really wanted it to say "please save me ga, my mama's a lunatic".)So Mom, if the recording sounds like it's from inside a toilet, well- it kinda actually is. Hey, we have to pick our battles, right?

Ah, mother's day: a day to show our appreciation for all of the mothers in our lives- to spoil them with gifts and meals and flowers. My dad took care of the meal, my brother the gifts and my sister the flowers. so what was left? Well, a fire breathing, 18-inch, bright green DRAGON with huge shiny gold wings and long white claws of course. That, mom, is our way of saying thank you. for your patience and your calmness; for your friendship and your phone calls; for your cooking and your babysitting; for letting them do whatever they want simply because they are at ga's house; and for putting things in perspective when i think i might drive off the nearest bridge. push the hand of your new cuddly friend and hear cj say it all, "Happy Mother's Day, Ga. I love you. Favorite Ga". I couldn't have said it better myself.