Copy Cats!

This morning, the three kids happily munched their breakfast while I unloaded the dishwasher. Well, they were happy until the middle child decided it would be funny to imitate her older sister.

(Since Lex was the one to introduce this maddening habit to her siblings, I don't feel entirely sympathetic. Well, Lex and her FATHER).

Anyway, Lex said something to me and Caly immediately imitated her.

Not entirely fazed, Lex sassily turned to her sister and said, "Stop being such a COPY CAT!"

Caly yelled indignantly, "Lexi! I am not!!"

Annoyed, her sister replied, "You are. You are being a copy cat!"

And of course, not to be outdone, Caly shrieked, "LEXI!  I am NOT! I AM NOT A COFFEE CUP!"

Indeed she's not. But breakfast around here is certainly not for the sleepy.

Silly girl.

(I may dub that obnoxious mimicking practice "Coffee Cupping."  At the very least, it'll make me smile while they're driving me nuts.

Quirks

So, I've been mentally collecting these little things about me that are kind of... weird. Well, I don't think they're weird. But other people do. So I'm going to do what any good blogger would do and let you guys decide.

1. I stir my coffee with a butter knife. I'm guessing this is an odd thing. But I have an excellent reason! Since there's a Spoon Monster that has made off with the vast majority of my teaspoons, I hesitate to use them unless absolutely necessary. But with four small children who don't regularly need to cut their lunch, we always have knives. Hence, my solution!  Heck, whatever actually stirs the cream into my caffeine.

2. I sleep with a quilt, even in the summer. I have to. It's the weight. In fact, I love winter because I can pile on more blankets. I think I'd be completely happy taking a nap under a mound of sand. Apparently, they make weighted blankets. This has been on my wishlist for a long, long time.

3. When Shaun travels, I have to open the shower curtain before I go to bed. I know that the nation's serial killers aren't going to take refuge in my tiny bathroom, but I still can't sleep unless I do this.

4. When I drive alone, the car can not be silent or I get that creepy feeling that someone is in my back seat. If there's music on, I totally don't feel this way. Apparently, I firmly believe that my taste in music drives the criminals away.

5. I really, REALLY like rainy days. I liked them even more before I had kids when I could sit in my pajamas and curl up with a good book. Yeah, so I still sit around in my PJ's. And it doesn't have to be rainy.

OK, some of those are decidedly odder than others. And really?  I don't think any are that weird. So, what's your weird quirk?

Junk In Your Trunk?

Right now, my car is clean. This is not notoriously the case. Usually, when I open the doors to my vehicle to let my children out, the kids are often followed by an avalanche of discarded toys, sippy cups, story books, and half-eaten granola bars.

I *TRY* to keep it clean but these kids have this habit of taking half of their possessions into the car whenever we go anywhere. Oddly, those MUST HAVE possessions that they can't live without for even a hair of a minute are tossed aside and forgotten the moment we pull into our driveway. It's another of those weird constants of parenting. Like, "Your kid will fall asleep for 11 seconds when you pull in your driveway and NEVER NAP AGAIN."

(And yes, I've limited how many they can bring or thought about banning outside toys but HEY! Look at that! THEY'RE HAPPY! While I drive! I will sacrifice much to bring about The Happy when within the car).

Anyway, my car is currently clean. And I'm aiming to keep it that way.

Now, way back when I started driving, my car stayed relatively clean. I'd pile it high with my soccer gear, backpack, and various CD cases. And my parents would periodically peer in the windows and suggest I clean my car.  So I would.  Begrudgingly, because really, what if I NEEDED one of the things I carted around?

But one day I discovered why.

I hung out at a friend's house one fall evening and we ate pizza and drank way too much soda and generally had a good time.  Soda was not an item that usually showed up in my house, so I took a can of Coke so that I'd have one for school the following week when I'd inevitably stay up way too late the night before.  Before I pulled out of my friend's driveway, I put the can in the rear seat cup holder.

And I promptly forgot all about it. For three months.

I was driving down the major road in our area on a cold January afternoon.  The truck in front of me had a bunch of crap that looked to be going to the dump and none of it was tied down particularly well.  Suddenly, a box dropped off of the back of their truck and to avoid running it over, I quickly swerved into the exit lane and headed off of the highway.

At the same time, I heard a loud "POP" come from the back seat followed by the weirdest, "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" sound I'd ever heard. Then it started raining.

IN my car.

 It appeared to be raining... Coke?

As soon as I realized what was happening, I blindly threw my hand around the back seat, searching for the possessed can. Unable to catch it, I searched for a place to pull over. Ahead, a red light waited. I pulled up, slammed my car in park, and practically dove over the seat to grab the can. The can that, at this point, was spinning in rapid circles as it sprayed Coke from the windows to the roof to the floor.  I grabbed it, noticed the light was green, and panicked.  WHAT TO DO WITH THE CAN! THE CAN THAT WAS SOAKING EVERYTHING IN ITS PATH WITH A SHEEN OF HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP AND CARAMEL COLORING!?

I swear that can was possessed.

In a moment of brilliance, (panic?), asI drove through the intersection, I tried to drink the soda faster than it was spraying out. It was so cold I thought I'd die of brain freeze.

Thankfully, the can seemed to have exhausted itself and I was only forced to down a mouthful.

I was able to pull over into a gas station parking lot and with the help of MANY paper towels, I got the car clean.

Moral of the story?  Unless you want your headline to read, "Car Crashes Into Ditch After Soda Can Explosion," clean out your car.

Your upholstery will thank me.

A Gift That Needs No Re-Gifting

My 2.5 year old is a super sweet kid. He's the one who will snuggle up to me and say, "Mama?  You're my best fwiend!"

Yeah, he gets whatever he wants when he does that. It's distinctly possible he's working the system but I don't care.

Anyway, while we were in TX last week, Sayer wasn't feeling well and woke up rather crankily one morning WELL before the sun rose. I asked him to come and snuggle next to me so we wouldn't wake everyone up and he obliged.  After a few minutes he told me, "Mama?  I wuv you. You're my best fwiend."

(Here, kid... here are the keys to my car and the deed to the house. Powerless, I tell you).

Then he patted my arm and said, "Mama? I have sumpin for you!"

"Yeah? What is it?" I reached my hand towards his.

He scraped his finger across my palm and proudly said, "It's a BOOGER!"

Gee, thanks kid.

Hey, at least he's generous!

Motherhood: You're Never Truly Alone

I'm something of an introvert and in the past, I generally relished the quiet moments I would get to spend by myself. Before I had children, I had many of these moments. For a time I worked in an office where it was only me and my boss. He would frequently be in court or working with his door closed. I loved it.

Then I had children. And my quiet moments began diminishing. However, nap time usually provided me ample opportunity to recharge and get ready for the rest of the day.

Then? I had two children. The youngest was happiest when velcroed to my body and the oldest stopped napping. To cope, I learned the time-tested method of hiding in the bathroom for a few moments of quiet when I got overwhelmed. Well, sort of quiet. The kids would often sit outside the door and yell at me or push their fingers under the crack. I figured, if I could hear them or see their tiny digits, they weren't getting into mischief.

Then I had three kids... then four.  I love all of my kids, but sometimes, when they're testing my patience, it's safer to retreat somewhere to count to 10 so I don't end up yelling at everyone like a banshee.

So, I've continued my bathroom coping techniques. However, at this point, the oldest has learned to unlock the bathroom door from the outside, and she's been instructed not to enter if it's locked unless there's an emergency.

Unfortunately, we have very different definitions of "Emergency"

I'm in the shower and suddenly a rush of cold air enters the bathroom as my oldest barrels through the door. (I hate that rush of cold air).

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOM! There's a bee in the living room! A BIG BEE!"

(It's January, there's no bee, I can guarantee it).  I question, "Are you sure there's a bee?"

"Well, it COULD be a bee. I mean, we didn't SEE the bee. We just heard a buzz. Maybe it was your phone?"

"Lex, go out and please shut the door and wait. I'll be out in a second."

She does as I request. But I neglect to request that she lock the door.  Seconds later, the third walks in and starts chatting,

"Mama? So, I saw a crayon on the table and so I put it on the floor and so, Zoen ate it." (He likes the word so).  I panic a bit before I remember that Z is not in fact on the floor and realize that Sayer is regaling me with a tale from yesterday. (My kids like to eat crayons, what can I say). Before I can ask him to join his siblings in the living room, I hear a peculiar thunk and realize that in the name of being "helpful," my dear oldest has removed the wee one from his exersaucer and is herding him towards the bathroom. He has just pushed open the door with his head.

"Mom? Zoen wanted you." Lex is standing at the entry of the bathroom with the door wide open. I'm cold.  Zoen crawls to the tub and resumes his favorite pastime of throwing back the shower curtain and tossing random objects into the tub. Caly enters the bathroom and declares she needs to take care of some... business. Sayer pops his head behind the curtain and asks over and over, "Whatchu doing Mama?! Whatchu doing?"

I give up the notion of a relaxing shower and exit. The kids perch onto the edge of the bathtub and provide lively commentary on my getting ready process.

I look over at the four little people hanging out near the bathtub and begin to formulate a plan to retreat to the tool shed to uh, "fix" something. Like my sanity.

(This is a fairly accurate portrayal of my view any time I enter the bathroom. For anything.)

Then again, they're pretty good company. And they give me a great reason to narrate my treks through the grocery store. You should see the looks I get when I go by myself and end up talking to thin air.

See? Even when they're not actually with you, they're still there.

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't change a thing.  But if someone offered me a chance to shower in complete silence with no rogue gusts of icy air?  I wouldn't say no.

Motherhood. Where you're never, ever truly alone.

The Dirty Kid In Class? Yeah, He's Mine

So, way back when I only had one kid, my friends, (who generally only had one kid as well), and I used to use the phrase, "Hey, at least she's not the dirty kid in class!" as a joking way to cope with times when we weren't exactly the most stellar of parents.

Baby fell down and busted their lip? Hey, at least she's not the dirty kid in class.

You gave your kid pop rocks for breakfast? Sad, but hey! At least they're not the dirty kid in class!

You get the drift. It was a surefire way to make each other laugh when one was having a rough day.

Fast forward a few kids. Throughout the past 6 years of parenting, I generally have managed to make sure my kids were clean when in public. And by clean, I mean, at least the parts that show... hands, faces, etc.

Sometimes someone would finish their breakfast on the way out the door and need a meeting with a baby wipe to get rid of the milk mustache before we got to our destination.

But generally, I've done quite well at making sure my kids were never the "dirty kid in class."

Until yesterday.

Once a week, I join a bunch of other women for a bible study at our old church. They provide awesome childcare and a homeschool class for Lex. The kids practically dissolve into tears when we have to leave. Good stuff.

Yesterday I got them dressed, brushed the girls' hair, brushed teeth, put shoes on, fed the baby and rushed out the door. I checked them each into their classrooms and settled into my seat and chatted with my group.  About halfway through our session, the child care coordinator slipped into the room and knelt down next to my chair. I glanced at my silent pager, thinking that perhaps it malfunctioned and she was there to tell me that the little one needed me.

But instead she asked, "Did... did Sayer have jelly for breakfast today?"  Puzzled, I told her he hadn't. She continued, "Because he has something on the top of his head that looks like jelly... his teacher wasn't sure if it was jelly or blood and didn't want to wipe it too much in case it was blood and it would dislodge a scab or something." I sat there with  my mouth half open for a few seconds.

And all at once, it hit me. The day before, I had some friends come over with their mostly school-aged munchkins to surprise Lex for an impromptu playdate. (And, not going to lie, some momma hang time). Anyway, someone brought donut holes. Sayer managed to finagle hmself a couple, of course.

Later that night, we were hustling out the door for a birthday dinner and I noticed something red and sticky on the back of Sayer's head. Jelly. I tried to wipe it off as best as I could, but we were in a rush, and it was, you know, jelly. So I left it and told myself that I'd toss him in the tub in the morning before bible study.

Of course, in the morning, Sayer was the last one up. He woke up, I threw clothes on him, and he ate his breakfast on the way. No time for a bath. Admittedly, I didn't even think of it.  

So... I tried to explain, "See... yesterday (wince), he had a jelly donut, and um, it got in his hair? And well, we were on our way out when I noticed... and... um... I was going to give him a bath this morning but... we were running late?"  I stopped because no matter how I explained it... the truth was still there,

I had the dirty kid in class.

So I did what any mother would do in the throes of absolute mortification. I laughed. And laughed and laughed. Because really, he might have been the dirty kid in class, but at least he wasn't the SMELLY kid in class.

For now.

I should probably stop saying that, shouldn't I?

Barnacle Baby

I don't remember which friend coined the term "barnacle baby" (Holly?) but ever since I heard it, it's been my favorite way to describe when the baby is in a phase of DON'T-PUT-ME-DOWN-BECAUSE-I-AM-ALLERGIC-TO-THE-FLOOR/CHAIR/BED!

Today, the baby is stuck to me. Like a barnacle.

So, I'm going to blog. Because I can generally blog while I fend off tiny hands and redirect them into attacking a snack. But loading the dishwasher when the kid is trying to dive bomb into said dishwasher from my arms, (and then crying when I put him down), is near impossible.

And really, the kid LOVES the dishwasher.  Here's photographic evidence taken with  my phone yesterday:

I'm fairly sure the blurry factor is due to a drool film over the lens of my phone. Z manages to get his hands, (and drooly little mouth), all over my phone more often than should be possible. I'm convinced that the big kids think it's funny to hand the phone to him. Either that or he developed go-go-gadget arms. You never know.

When he's not doing dishes, the baby is doing any number of things, most of which involve him getting messy. He loves getting messy.  See?

The kid likes blackberries. Blackberries are not exactly the least messy fruit on earth. But who can deny that face?

Perhaps he's why my kitchen looks like the Keebler elves had a frat party and forgot to clean up.

And the living room...

And... the basement?

Ah, no... can't blame that kid directly... but seriously, when the question is whether to put away the laundry or snuggle that smiley little barnacle baby, I think the right choice is fairly obvious.

(And yes Shaun, I promise I'm really putting the laundry away... eventually)