When I was younger (relatively speaking of course), I had a love - hate relationship with Valentine's Day. It was simple really. When I was in a dating relationship, I loved Valentine's Day. It came resplendent with flowers and homemade coupon books (you know the kind, this card entitles you to one homemade dinner, etc. etc.). When I was not in a dating relationship, I espoused the wanton abuses of consumerism and how all of these companies were making a fortune off of poor teenage boys that would no doubt be crucified if they didn't show up to their girlfriend's door with a bouquet of flowers and a Hallmark card.
Now, I see it for what it really is; a form of medieval torture for parents of pre-school and elementary age children. Have YOU recently sat down with a three, soon to be four year old and tried to get them to write their name on 20 different cards? It's great, no really, it's AWESOME. I highly suggest you try it. Especially when you have two three, soon to be four year olds. Just be forewarned, things go much better when accompanied by a glass of Cabernet.
It looked a little something like this:
Twin 1: Mommy, I want the Phineas and Ferb valentines.
Me: No, they're are your older brothers.
Twin 1: Mommy, then can I have the Toy Story 3 valentines?
Me: No, they're your other brothers.
Twin 1: Mommy, why do I have to have brothers?
Me: So you can shell out a ridiculous amount of money when you're older on some serious therapy.
Twin 1: What mommy?
Me: Nothing, just use your Spiderman valentines.
Repeat that same conversation from the opposite twin brother and you have our introduction to Valentine's Day. Then came the actual writing of their names. Or should I say attempted writing of their names. First of all, I don't know any BOYS that can write their names with any accuracy at that age. Girls is another story. After observing my neices and friend's daughters, I am now convinced that girls come out of the womb able to write, draw and speak in long coherent sentences.
We all sat down at the table with each of their Valentines cards, pens and accompanying character tattoos to affix to their finished cards. At first go round, the twin's names looked like something akin to Egyptian hieroglyphics on steroids. My older son, being closer to age seven, whipped through his and was ready to move on to something more interesting than filling out Valentines. I quickly realized that this was going to take awhile as there was no way anyone was going to be able to figure out who these cards were from, much less what gender they were.
Why don't we try writing the first letter of your name? I'll show you how to make the letter and you can copy me. O.K? Both twins solemnly nodded their heads in approval of this obviously excellent solution. Moving slowly, I carefully wrote each letter for them, making sure to explain how I was moving my pen from the top to the bottom to start and then circling around to complete the last part of the letter, per the instructions from their pre-school that was helpfully stapled to the month's newsletter. O.K., now you try. Both boys bent their heads in obvious concentration and happily showed me their finished products. Hieroglyphics again: Minus the steroids, so I guess you can count that as improvement.
Great job guys! Let's try it another way. This time I used little dots to write the letters of their names and had them trace over the dots. That seemed to work, so I alternated between doing the dots for 5 or so cards each and then having them try it on their own. All was going wonderfully according to plan until Twin 2 asked to go to the bathroom.
Sure, no problem.
We finished up the last of the cards, 36 for the twins because even though there were only 16 kids in their class, each boy needed to write his own, plus make some for their teachers. I then reached for the tattoos to put into the cards. Where were the tattoos?
Me: Twin 1, where are the tattoos? I said in a barely contained tone of mounting panic.
Twin 1: I don't know.
Me: Twin 2, Twin 2, what are you doing in the bathroom????
Twin 2: A short pause, nothing.
Me: Get out here NOW!
And behold, there you have it, as Twin 2 rounded the corner out of the bathroom and into our kitchen, he was covered head to toe with Phineas and Ferb tattoos. Yes everyone, that's right, he can't write his name, but he can take toilet paper, wet it and place it on top of a tattoo that he had to peel the covering off of and mark himself with enough tattoos to land himself in some sort of male piercing/tattoo parlor that even Jesse James would be proud of (and I'm NOT talking about the gunslinging bank robber either).
However, the best part of all of this was... they were his older brother's tattoos, not his or his twins. But the best part? Having his older brother discover what happened, because I was surely not going to tell him. Follow that up with bath time and you have one heck of a Valentine's Day memory.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Potty Parties
Probably the biggest highlight from this past year was the success of potty training with the twins. They have both been potty trained since last year and it has definitely made life a lot easier. What we were unprepared for was the regularity of the parties that we would now be invited to participate in on a daily basis in our bathrooms. These parties did not require the customary hats, balloons and invitees bearing gifts, but rather a quick look into the bottom of the toilet bowl to determine what animal, letter, shape du jour our boys poop looked like to them at that moment.
Any family member would regularly get summoned to the bathroom upon hearing, "Mommmmmyyyyyyyy, come look at my pppoooooopppppppppyyyyyyyyyyyy!" Upon said request, we would then be required to look into the toilet bowl and hear our twins interpretion of what their excrement reminded them of. Now that could change any given day based upon their current interest in pop culture. For example, we went through the letters of the alphabet phase. "Look mommy, it's a letter C!" My personal favorite was the highly successful letter S. That one was a real feat to be proud of.
Just to update you, we categorically went through the Cars movie stage, "Mater," was a popular one for awhile. Then we transitioned into carrots, the ever popular "boat, " and of course, lest we forget the "worm." That one was always a crowd pleaser. Perhaps the most original, shall we say "creation" and I use that term loosely, was the stinkbug attacking a "whale." That was a fun day.
Yes everyone, we are absolutely proud of our twins for their accomplishment and even more grateful for the diaper raise (that's what we like to refer to potty training success) but looking into a toilet bowl 2-3 times a day per child can get a little overwhelming, especially after a summer meal of hot dogs and yes, i am definitely going there, CORN.
Any family member would regularly get summoned to the bathroom upon hearing, "Mommmmmyyyyyyyy, come look at my pppoooooopppppppppyyyyyyyyyyyy!" Upon said request, we would then be required to look into the toilet bowl and hear our twins interpretion of what their excrement reminded them of. Now that could change any given day based upon their current interest in pop culture. For example, we went through the letters of the alphabet phase. "Look mommy, it's a letter C!" My personal favorite was the highly successful letter S. That one was a real feat to be proud of.
Just to update you, we categorically went through the Cars movie stage, "Mater," was a popular one for awhile. Then we transitioned into carrots, the ever popular "boat, " and of course, lest we forget the "worm." That one was always a crowd pleaser. Perhaps the most original, shall we say "creation" and I use that term loosely, was the stinkbug attacking a "whale." That was a fun day.
Yes everyone, we are absolutely proud of our twins for their accomplishment and even more grateful for the diaper raise (that's what we like to refer to potty training success) but looking into a toilet bowl 2-3 times a day per child can get a little overwhelming, especially after a summer meal of hot dogs and yes, i am definitely going there, CORN.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Nuggets or Wine?
So, it's been awhile since I've posted an entry. I guess that's what happens when one goes back to work and life goes out of control for a little while until the universe rights itself again. In the meantime, our family chugs along surviving on more nuggets and pizza nights than I would typically like to allow, albeit, my wine intake also tends to increase, so you know, hey what's worse in the grand scheme of life? More nuggets or more wine? Both in small doses, healthy. Large doses? Lots of sleep and fun phone calls.
Anyway, I have found looking over my last few entries, that most of my musings tend to revolve around my two youngest children and sadly, I have left my oldest out of the realm of the blogoshpere. Though secretly, I will probably save more money in future therapy bills by not including him in these little writings. Once they all grow up and realize what I was really writing about on the computer, I could see those bills starting to add up. I doubt one will enjoy finding out that their mom shared stories about public urination to the entire blogosophere world. However, I only have four followers, so I'm not too worried. By the way, "holla" to Natalie, Shani, Brian and Liz. Thanks for reading:)
Which brings me back to my oldest. One of the perks of working part time is that I am regularly able to volunteer in my oldest son's school classroom. I have found this to be quite the eye opening experience and completely reinforces my decision not to be an elementary school teacher. I have the utmost respect, admiration and sympathy for all of you that have chosen that particular career choice, because I know in the depths of my soul that all of you are better people than I am. You have infinitely more patience, kindness and strength than I could ever possess in dealing with the "little people.'
For example, I signed up to be a "station mom" for my son's Halloween activity day. I was very excited to help out and happily accepted the post of creating smiley faced jack o' lanterns using the assorted shapes given to me. On a side note, did everyone already know that the "diamond" shape is no longer used in the elementary classroom. It's now a "rhombus." Yeah, found out that little tidbit when I asked the students to glue the diamond onto the round, orange pumpkin face and they all politely and very graciously informed me that, "that's a rhombus, Mrs. W., not a diamond." Heck, I had t0 harken back to my 9th grade geometry class and try to pull that one up out of the archives of mathland to even remember what it was. And by the way, we're talking Kindergarten here. So not only did I completely insult the intelligence of the aforementioned Kindergarten students, but I have now pretty much insured that my son will be known as the one whose mom didn't know what a rhombus was. Perhaps I should get rid of my college savings account and replace it with the previosly mentioned therapy fund.
All that to say, I was innocently aiding each group of students as they came through my station and trying to engage them in typical Kindergarten conversation to try and erase the memory in their heads of being the "dummy mom."
"So, what are you going to be for Halloween this year? Oh, Tinkerbell, I bet you have a beautiful costume! "
"What's your favorite candy? Me too, I love that one!"
You get the picture. Costumes and candy, what two better topics to be discussing as I happily give each child their rhombus shapes. Which leads me to my second to last group of students...there I was feeling like super mom, I had conveniently compartmentalized the shape incident into the area I like to refer to as, silly mistakes that really don't prove anything section of my brain and was looking forward to spending some quality time with my son. Plus, I'm sure I was scoring some major brownie points with his teacher and showing other moms, how "in touch" I am with my children when a group of four students approached my station.
"How are you all doing today? Are you ready to learn about shapes and make some scary jack o' lantern faces?"
As I am finishing up my question, this tiny, cute, five year old girl looks up at me with these huge, innocent brown eyes surrounded by thick, black lashes and says in a quiet, demure little voice, "I know who you are. You're the mommy of the boy who wants to marry me!"
Yep, nuggets or wine? Went with the wine that night. Good thing too, because later in the week when I was at his soccer party, I discovered that he is also known as the kissing monster on his soccer team because apparently, he likes to go around kissing all of the girls on his team. Yeah, found that out from one of the other "soccer moms" as he tried to kiss her daugher at the pizza table.
What do you think, Merlot or Pinot?
Anyway, I have found looking over my last few entries, that most of my musings tend to revolve around my two youngest children and sadly, I have left my oldest out of the realm of the blogoshpere. Though secretly, I will probably save more money in future therapy bills by not including him in these little writings. Once they all grow up and realize what I was really writing about on the computer, I could see those bills starting to add up. I doubt one will enjoy finding out that their mom shared stories about public urination to the entire blogosophere world. However, I only have four followers, so I'm not too worried. By the way, "holla" to Natalie, Shani, Brian and Liz. Thanks for reading:)
Which brings me back to my oldest. One of the perks of working part time is that I am regularly able to volunteer in my oldest son's school classroom. I have found this to be quite the eye opening experience and completely reinforces my decision not to be an elementary school teacher. I have the utmost respect, admiration and sympathy for all of you that have chosen that particular career choice, because I know in the depths of my soul that all of you are better people than I am. You have infinitely more patience, kindness and strength than I could ever possess in dealing with the "little people.'
For example, I signed up to be a "station mom" for my son's Halloween activity day. I was very excited to help out and happily accepted the post of creating smiley faced jack o' lanterns using the assorted shapes given to me. On a side note, did everyone already know that the "diamond" shape is no longer used in the elementary classroom. It's now a "rhombus." Yeah, found out that little tidbit when I asked the students to glue the diamond onto the round, orange pumpkin face and they all politely and very graciously informed me that, "that's a rhombus, Mrs. W., not a diamond." Heck, I had t0 harken back to my 9th grade geometry class and try to pull that one up out of the archives of mathland to even remember what it was. And by the way, we're talking Kindergarten here. So not only did I completely insult the intelligence of the aforementioned Kindergarten students, but I have now pretty much insured that my son will be known as the one whose mom didn't know what a rhombus was. Perhaps I should get rid of my college savings account and replace it with the previosly mentioned therapy fund.
All that to say, I was innocently aiding each group of students as they came through my station and trying to engage them in typical Kindergarten conversation to try and erase the memory in their heads of being the "dummy mom."
"So, what are you going to be for Halloween this year? Oh, Tinkerbell, I bet you have a beautiful costume! "
"What's your favorite candy? Me too, I love that one!"
You get the picture. Costumes and candy, what two better topics to be discussing as I happily give each child their rhombus shapes. Which leads me to my second to last group of students...there I was feeling like super mom, I had conveniently compartmentalized the shape incident into the area I like to refer to as, silly mistakes that really don't prove anything section of my brain and was looking forward to spending some quality time with my son. Plus, I'm sure I was scoring some major brownie points with his teacher and showing other moms, how "in touch" I am with my children when a group of four students approached my station.
"How are you all doing today? Are you ready to learn about shapes and make some scary jack o' lantern faces?"
As I am finishing up my question, this tiny, cute, five year old girl looks up at me with these huge, innocent brown eyes surrounded by thick, black lashes and says in a quiet, demure little voice, "I know who you are. You're the mommy of the boy who wants to marry me!"
Yep, nuggets or wine? Went with the wine that night. Good thing too, because later in the week when I was at his soccer party, I discovered that he is also known as the kissing monster on his soccer team because apparently, he likes to go around kissing all of the girls on his team. Yeah, found that out from one of the other "soccer moms" as he tried to kiss her daugher at the pizza table.
What do you think, Merlot or Pinot?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Ode to Crotchety Old Library Man
I guess it must have made you feel good to calmly walk across the carpeted floor of the library, lean down so your face was an inch away from my two year old sons, bring your finger up to your lips and "shhhh" my child as he was crying in his stroller.
I guess it must have made you feel really good to know that while he was in his stroller fussing because he was most likely tired from being carted around all morning by a mom who has no other choice but to run errands with her kids, that he had no idea what you were trying to communicate to him with your old, wrinkly, faded yellow nail, finger.
I guess you feel that a COMMUNITY library is only open to the meek and quiet, unobtrusive children that don't ever fuss or make any kind of noise whatsoever. Apparently the COMMUNITY library is not really a community at all in your mind.
I guess you must have felt some sort of obligation to turn around as you were walking away from my son and put your finger up to your mouth and "shhhh," him again in front of the 25 other people that were researching, reading and talking. All the while this mom was trying to locate a relevant book for my other job, in between loads of laundry, meal time, nap time and diaper changes ,while simultaneously wheeling twins in a stroller and explaining to my five year old that we can look at the DVD section in "just a few minutes."
I guess it must have made you feel really great to have my son start wailing because a strange man walked up to him and wagged his finger in his face, thus accomplishing your goal of having 20 heads turn in my direction as I got up, fighting back tears and left the library with my three kids in tow and my five year old asking, why are we leaving mommy? in a five year old level of voice that has no regard for how loud he is in the midst of a crowd.
And I bet you must have felt AWESOME knowing that you made your life a little easier because now you didn't have to listen to a two year old fuss in a stroller. But instead this mom had to walk out with a now wailing child, as heads turned with each roll of the wheels as we exited out the door, humiliated and so angry that the only option I had was to leave, as I stared down at the blue faded handles of my double wide, garage sale stroller.
But best of all, I'm glad that you now have your peace and quiet as I buckle my kids into the car, with one twin screaming and the other close to wailing and my five year old repeatedly asking me "mommy, why are you crying?" because I can barely see the buckles of the car seat and I am counting the seconds until I can close all the doors and windows and really start sobbing.
So, Crotchety Old Library Man, I have news for you. The library of today is not the library of 30 years ago, where children weren't welcome and silence was golden. The library is called a COMMUNITY library for a reason. So the sooner you stop waving your finger in unassuming children's faces so you can stop releasing into your Depends and finish your Anne Landers advice column the better. Because the last time I checked, I paid my taxes that support our public library and on a side note will cover your butt if it happens to fall over in front of said library and you break a hip that your medicare/medicaid won't cover.
I guess it must have made you feel really good to know that while he was in his stroller fussing because he was most likely tired from being carted around all morning by a mom who has no other choice but to run errands with her kids, that he had no idea what you were trying to communicate to him with your old, wrinkly, faded yellow nail, finger.
I guess you feel that a COMMUNITY library is only open to the meek and quiet, unobtrusive children that don't ever fuss or make any kind of noise whatsoever. Apparently the COMMUNITY library is not really a community at all in your mind.
I guess you must have felt some sort of obligation to turn around as you were walking away from my son and put your finger up to your mouth and "shhhh," him again in front of the 25 other people that were researching, reading and talking. All the while this mom was trying to locate a relevant book for my other job, in between loads of laundry, meal time, nap time and diaper changes ,while simultaneously wheeling twins in a stroller and explaining to my five year old that we can look at the DVD section in "just a few minutes."
I guess it must have made you feel really great to have my son start wailing because a strange man walked up to him and wagged his finger in his face, thus accomplishing your goal of having 20 heads turn in my direction as I got up, fighting back tears and left the library with my three kids in tow and my five year old asking, why are we leaving mommy? in a five year old level of voice that has no regard for how loud he is in the midst of a crowd.
And I bet you must have felt AWESOME knowing that you made your life a little easier because now you didn't have to listen to a two year old fuss in a stroller. But instead this mom had to walk out with a now wailing child, as heads turned with each roll of the wheels as we exited out the door, humiliated and so angry that the only option I had was to leave, as I stared down at the blue faded handles of my double wide, garage sale stroller.
But best of all, I'm glad that you now have your peace and quiet as I buckle my kids into the car, with one twin screaming and the other close to wailing and my five year old repeatedly asking me "mommy, why are you crying?" because I can barely see the buckles of the car seat and I am counting the seconds until I can close all the doors and windows and really start sobbing.
So, Crotchety Old Library Man, I have news for you. The library of today is not the library of 30 years ago, where children weren't welcome and silence was golden. The library is called a COMMUNITY library for a reason. So the sooner you stop waving your finger in unassuming children's faces so you can stop releasing into your Depends and finish your Anne Landers advice column the better. Because the last time I checked, I paid my taxes that support our public library and on a side note will cover your butt if it happens to fall over in front of said library and you break a hip that your medicare/medicaid won't cover.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Birthday Parties: To do or not to do?
18 kids: 15 boys and 3 girls. This was the number after we significantly paired down the list of invitees. It was my son's 5th birthday party and we had planned an outdoor "extravaganza," complete with a bean bag and balloon toss, topped off with a build your own sundae ending. I was quite sure this birthday would go down as the best party my son had ever had. Of course, every kid's birthday party is never complete without a theme. A theme, you say? Do you really need a theme for a five - year old birthday party????
Oh yes, one must have a theme. Theme - related decorations, party favors, invitations, cake, thank you cards, etc. etc. You get the picture. I had even been to a one - year old birthday party set to the theme of the Wizard of Oz. Both parents were resplendent in their scarecrow and Dorothy costumes and the poor clueless, not -quite toddler looked about as comfortable as an over -stuffed potato, dressed as the "cowardly lion." This themed party left no detail overlooked as they even had their poor dog dressed as "to-to." The animal was even wearing a blanket embroidered with the ever famous dog's name on the side in gold letters, ostensibly to represent following the yellow brick road, I assume. Someone, most likely an overzealous grandmom, had even taken the time to create ruby -colored slippers to put on the birthday boy's feet. The only problem occurred when the dog spent the whole time trying to chew off the baby's feet due to the obvious attraction of sparkly slippers. Never mind the fact that the parent's were definitely going to have to shell out some serious therapy coin in a few years when the kid looks back and wonder's why his parents made him wear sparkly, red slippers to his own party.
Meanwhile the party members kept finding slobber - covered shoes in varied places throughout the house. There's nothing like reaching into your purse for a pair of keys to finally get out of the over-glitzed party and encountering a wet, slobbery mess of ruby - colored slippers with glitter all over the inside of your handbag.
Needless to say, some birthday's can go a little too far in the quest to create a memorable event for our children. Case in point, my own son's birthday.
Now I had done all of the legwork, planning and preparation. I had made my trip to Party City, ordered the cake, created a time-line for where and when to stage each event, and had even come up with an alternative plan in case of rain. What I had not anticipated, was the monsoon that opened up approximately 15 minutes before our party was supposed to begin. As the first guest drove up and shielded her son from the gale force winds and the rain literally blowing sideways, my husband and I looked at each other in complete and utter panic. Both of us were thinking:
18 kids: 15 boys and 3 girls in our house all at the same time. What the heck were we were going to do?
Well, at 2:55, we had finished all of our games and were desparately trying to fill the hour left in the party. So we had our son open his presents, which took us to 3:15. At that point, I got desparate and I'm ashamed to say, totally threw my husband under the bus.
I cornered him in the laundry room and told him we had to take drastic measures.
"Look, I said, I have an idea for a game, but it will require some flexibility on your part." He immediately began to look uncomfortable and I hadn't even told him what the idea was yet.
"We have 45 minutes left and the kids are going crazy in there. Just listen to them! " We could hear the little monkeys jumping off the sofa on to the pillows in the family room and I'm pretty sure all the girls were huddled in a corner holding each other and crying in fear of the garrulousness of 15 unsupervised five - year old boys.
"We've got to act quickly. I'm going to cut a stocking and put it over your head. Then I'm going to wrap your head in duct tape, sticky side out and throw 5o plastic spoons on the carpet in the playroom. While I'm doing this, I'll have my mom pass out some paper and pens and have each kid guess how many spoons you can pick up with your duct tape head. What do you think?"
It was at that point, that I'm pretty sure my husband seriously considered divorce. I could see him turning it over in his head, leave the wife and kids, drive off in a car some where or allow the 15 boys to continue to destroy our house.
"No way, can't we just serve the cake and juice? That should fill the last 45 minutes."
I just looked at him. "Are you serious, get them hopped up on more sugar???? They'll be done eating cake in 10 minutes and the sugar will hit their bloodstream in about 5 seconds after that. You know, come to think of it, I saw Jake eyeing up your baseball, you know the one on the shelf?"
And that was all it took, one reference to his prized baseball that he had caught at a Phillies game last year and he was on board.
"Look, I'll do it, but you owe me BIG for this one."
I decided not to contemplate the ramifications of what that statement could possible entail and ran upstairs to cut one of my stockings. I apprised my mom of the situation and with raised eyebrows she herded the kids into the play room.
As I wrapped my husband's head in duct tape, I could hear my mom saying, " Here comes Mr. Duct - tape head...get ready and see how many spoons he can pick up."
"Great," my husband said, "Now I have a name that I can take back to the office with me. Yo, what's up duct -tape head?"
" Just play it up, the kids will LOVE it." I myself could barely keep myself from breaking out in laughter as I looked at the final product.
There he was, my 6' 2"saint of a husband, his head wrapped in duct tape getting ready to make his son's day by humiliating himself for the sake of all things birthday.
"Go, get 'em tiger," I laughed.
As I grabbed the video camera and watched my husband roll around on the floor trying to pick up spoons with his head, with his shirt riding up to expose his belly, I realized what sacrifice truly is in a marriage.
And by the way, it's been one month since his party and I'm still working on the thank you notes...
Oh yes, one must have a theme. Theme - related decorations, party favors, invitations, cake, thank you cards, etc. etc. You get the picture. I had even been to a one - year old birthday party set to the theme of the Wizard of Oz. Both parents were resplendent in their scarecrow and Dorothy costumes and the poor clueless, not -quite toddler looked about as comfortable as an over -stuffed potato, dressed as the "cowardly lion." This themed party left no detail overlooked as they even had their poor dog dressed as "to-to." The animal was even wearing a blanket embroidered with the ever famous dog's name on the side in gold letters, ostensibly to represent following the yellow brick road, I assume. Someone, most likely an overzealous grandmom, had even taken the time to create ruby -colored slippers to put on the birthday boy's feet. The only problem occurred when the dog spent the whole time trying to chew off the baby's feet due to the obvious attraction of sparkly slippers. Never mind the fact that the parent's were definitely going to have to shell out some serious therapy coin in a few years when the kid looks back and wonder's why his parents made him wear sparkly, red slippers to his own party.
Meanwhile the party members kept finding slobber - covered shoes in varied places throughout the house. There's nothing like reaching into your purse for a pair of keys to finally get out of the over-glitzed party and encountering a wet, slobbery mess of ruby - colored slippers with glitter all over the inside of your handbag.
Needless to say, some birthday's can go a little too far in the quest to create a memorable event for our children. Case in point, my own son's birthday.
Now I had done all of the legwork, planning and preparation. I had made my trip to Party City, ordered the cake, created a time-line for where and when to stage each event, and had even come up with an alternative plan in case of rain. What I had not anticipated, was the monsoon that opened up approximately 15 minutes before our party was supposed to begin. As the first guest drove up and shielded her son from the gale force winds and the rain literally blowing sideways, my husband and I looked at each other in complete and utter panic. Both of us were thinking:
18 kids: 15 boys and 3 girls in our house all at the same time. What the heck were we were going to do?
Well, at 2:55, we had finished all of our games and were desparately trying to fill the hour left in the party. So we had our son open his presents, which took us to 3:15. At that point, I got desparate and I'm ashamed to say, totally threw my husband under the bus.
I cornered him in the laundry room and told him we had to take drastic measures.
"Look, I said, I have an idea for a game, but it will require some flexibility on your part." He immediately began to look uncomfortable and I hadn't even told him what the idea was yet.
"We have 45 minutes left and the kids are going crazy in there. Just listen to them! " We could hear the little monkeys jumping off the sofa on to the pillows in the family room and I'm pretty sure all the girls were huddled in a corner holding each other and crying in fear of the garrulousness of 15 unsupervised five - year old boys.
"We've got to act quickly. I'm going to cut a stocking and put it over your head. Then I'm going to wrap your head in duct tape, sticky side out and throw 5o plastic spoons on the carpet in the playroom. While I'm doing this, I'll have my mom pass out some paper and pens and have each kid guess how many spoons you can pick up with your duct tape head. What do you think?"
It was at that point, that I'm pretty sure my husband seriously considered divorce. I could see him turning it over in his head, leave the wife and kids, drive off in a car some where or allow the 15 boys to continue to destroy our house.
"No way, can't we just serve the cake and juice? That should fill the last 45 minutes."
I just looked at him. "Are you serious, get them hopped up on more sugar???? They'll be done eating cake in 10 minutes and the sugar will hit their bloodstream in about 5 seconds after that. You know, come to think of it, I saw Jake eyeing up your baseball, you know the one on the shelf?"
And that was all it took, one reference to his prized baseball that he had caught at a Phillies game last year and he was on board.
"Look, I'll do it, but you owe me BIG for this one."
I decided not to contemplate the ramifications of what that statement could possible entail and ran upstairs to cut one of my stockings. I apprised my mom of the situation and with raised eyebrows she herded the kids into the play room.
As I wrapped my husband's head in duct tape, I could hear my mom saying, " Here comes Mr. Duct - tape head...get ready and see how many spoons he can pick up."
"Great," my husband said, "Now I have a name that I can take back to the office with me. Yo, what's up duct -tape head?"
" Just play it up, the kids will LOVE it." I myself could barely keep myself from breaking out in laughter as I looked at the final product.
There he was, my 6' 2"saint of a husband, his head wrapped in duct tape getting ready to make his son's day by humiliating himself for the sake of all things birthday.
"Go, get 'em tiger," I laughed.
As I grabbed the video camera and watched my husband roll around on the floor trying to pick up spoons with his head, with his shirt riding up to expose his belly, I realized what sacrifice truly is in a marriage.
And by the way, it's been one month since his party and I'm still working on the thank you notes...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"
Yes, even Matthew realized circa 70 A.D. that one should really not be judging others when they have a plank the size of Nebraska in their own eye that should be removed. What am I talking about? Something that every parent does when they think they have well - behaved children. I call it comparitive parenting.
What exactly is comparative parenting, you may ask? Let me give you an example. Picture yourself at a department store, any department store really, GAP, Kohls, Macy's, whatever, the name is interchangeable. You could be at Nordstroms and it really doesn't matter. It's the scenario that counts. You are casually shopping with your one child in the stroller. Said child is perfectly content to look through pictures in a book, point out bright colors in the store, etc. etc. All of a sudden you hear a scream, then a "No!" Quickly followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor and shattering into a million little pieces (no reference to James Frey intended).
Suddenly everybodies eyes are on HER. That's right HER. The mom in the store suddenly looking mortified that her child is THE CHILD that is having a complete meltdown in a public setting. Said mom is now capitulating to her child's every demand while looking furtively around to see who is watching. Which, generally speaking, tends to be several blue haired old ladies who definitely "knew better in their day," or other moms that, A. cast a sympathetic eye because they themselves have been there or B. cast a judgmental eye because they have never had the opportunity of parenting a devil child that won't listen to a single word you say no matter how many "time outs" they are given.
Unfortunately, I am ashamed to say, I used to fall under category B. That's right, I would soak up every glorious compliment about how well - behaved my children were and how good they are. Reveling in the pride of having excellent children that I could take out in public and compare to other not nearly as wonderful children. Other children would make scenes, have "melt downs," or just plain not listen to their parents. Of course, I would say how normal it was for these things to happen to their children, but all the while knowing that I would never allow my own children to behave in this manner. After all, I am an excellent parent.
Yes, I admit it, I had a plank the size of Nebraska in my eye that was about to have a tornado rip right through the center of that state. This tornado hit on a beautiful late afternoon at our local middle to upper middle class park where well dressed mom's brought their well dressed children to play while most of us checked our blackberries, cell phones, or gossipped about which pre-school we were most likely going to send our children to in the fall.
I decided to take my three children to the park on a whim on the way home from a play date that my oldest son had been to earlier that day. I happened to run into two co-workers who have one child each and either just had their second or was about to have their second. I struck up a conversation with another mom and watched as I quickly went from category B to HER. I bypassed right through option A, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, just become HER.
We had been at the park for about oh, ten minutes, when my oldest announced that he "had to go potty." Now, there are no potties at this particular park, so I told him to hold it while I continued my conversation with a new mom that I had just met that was pregnant with twins. I, of course was dispensing all sorts of wisdom, as I myself am a mother of two year old twins and a five year old. Who better to give the wisdom of parenting than myself? After all, I am super parent.
Meanwhile, twin #1 had climbed up the slide that was about 15 feet high and was attempting to give it a go all by himself. Twin #2 was attempting to climb monkey bars that looked decidedly too dangerous to be climbing by himself. Oh, and did I mention that my five year old had taken it upon himself to drop his pants and pee all over the tree that was planted in memory of some local beneficiary?
I immediately asked the mom that I was in the midst of dispensing my nuggets of wisdom to, to "excuse me for a minute. "
"Pull up your pants!!!" I said, "pull up your pants! You can't pee wherever you want to!"
My son immediately turns around without pulling his pants up first, so you can imagine what everyone in the park got a huge eyeful of. Then proceeds to say, "But mooommmm, I told you I had to go and YOU wouldn't take me!" with his shorts in a pile at his feet.
At the same time I am struggling to get twin#1 off of the 15 ft. high slide while yelling at twin #2 to "come over here RIGHT NOW!"
At this point my two co-workers are looking at me with the very same look that I used to have when observing other moms in this position. Pity mixed with fear. The fear being that one day, this may be them.
I quickly look back at my children and scream, "We need to go bye bye's now! Pull up your pants, no I don't have any hand sanitizer and we are getting the twins and leaving." I am saying all of this to my oldest while attempting to carry twin #1 and hold/drag twin #2 across the carefully mulched play area to our minivan.
All the while, twin #1 is shouting,"No mommy, NOOOOO!" and twin #2 is attempting to kick twin #1 from his position of power on my hip.
Then twin #1 decides that he is going to refuse to walk any more and if I want him to leave I am going to have to make him. I finally manage to cajole my children into the van and while attempting to wrangle twin #2 into the carseat, twin #1 takes off down the sidewalk back towards the playground. My oldest has pulled his pants up long enough to point out the fact that twin #1 is heading towards the street.
As I chase down my third child and finally get everyone safely loaded into the minivan and we head home for the night, I look over the tornado that just passed through our lives and realize that despite the public humiliation that seems to follow us wherever we travel, my eyes are finally clear.
What exactly is comparative parenting, you may ask? Let me give you an example. Picture yourself at a department store, any department store really, GAP, Kohls, Macy's, whatever, the name is interchangeable. You could be at Nordstroms and it really doesn't matter. It's the scenario that counts. You are casually shopping with your one child in the stroller. Said child is perfectly content to look through pictures in a book, point out bright colors in the store, etc. etc. All of a sudden you hear a scream, then a "No!" Quickly followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor and shattering into a million little pieces (no reference to James Frey intended).
Suddenly everybodies eyes are on HER. That's right HER. The mom in the store suddenly looking mortified that her child is THE CHILD that is having a complete meltdown in a public setting. Said mom is now capitulating to her child's every demand while looking furtively around to see who is watching. Which, generally speaking, tends to be several blue haired old ladies who definitely "knew better in their day," or other moms that, A. cast a sympathetic eye because they themselves have been there or B. cast a judgmental eye because they have never had the opportunity of parenting a devil child that won't listen to a single word you say no matter how many "time outs" they are given.
Unfortunately, I am ashamed to say, I used to fall under category B. That's right, I would soak up every glorious compliment about how well - behaved my children were and how good they are. Reveling in the pride of having excellent children that I could take out in public and compare to other not nearly as wonderful children. Other children would make scenes, have "melt downs," or just plain not listen to their parents. Of course, I would say how normal it was for these things to happen to their children, but all the while knowing that I would never allow my own children to behave in this manner. After all, I am an excellent parent.
Yes, I admit it, I had a plank the size of Nebraska in my eye that was about to have a tornado rip right through the center of that state. This tornado hit on a beautiful late afternoon at our local middle to upper middle class park where well dressed mom's brought their well dressed children to play while most of us checked our blackberries, cell phones, or gossipped about which pre-school we were most likely going to send our children to in the fall.
I decided to take my three children to the park on a whim on the way home from a play date that my oldest son had been to earlier that day. I happened to run into two co-workers who have one child each and either just had their second or was about to have their second. I struck up a conversation with another mom and watched as I quickly went from category B to HER. I bypassed right through option A, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, just become HER.
We had been at the park for about oh, ten minutes, when my oldest announced that he "had to go potty." Now, there are no potties at this particular park, so I told him to hold it while I continued my conversation with a new mom that I had just met that was pregnant with twins. I, of course was dispensing all sorts of wisdom, as I myself am a mother of two year old twins and a five year old. Who better to give the wisdom of parenting than myself? After all, I am super parent.
Meanwhile, twin #1 had climbed up the slide that was about 15 feet high and was attempting to give it a go all by himself. Twin #2 was attempting to climb monkey bars that looked decidedly too dangerous to be climbing by himself. Oh, and did I mention that my five year old had taken it upon himself to drop his pants and pee all over the tree that was planted in memory of some local beneficiary?
I immediately asked the mom that I was in the midst of dispensing my nuggets of wisdom to, to "excuse me for a minute. "
"Pull up your pants!!!" I said, "pull up your pants! You can't pee wherever you want to!"
My son immediately turns around without pulling his pants up first, so you can imagine what everyone in the park got a huge eyeful of. Then proceeds to say, "But mooommmm, I told you I had to go and YOU wouldn't take me!" with his shorts in a pile at his feet.
At the same time I am struggling to get twin#1 off of the 15 ft. high slide while yelling at twin #2 to "come over here RIGHT NOW!"
At this point my two co-workers are looking at me with the very same look that I used to have when observing other moms in this position. Pity mixed with fear. The fear being that one day, this may be them.
I quickly look back at my children and scream, "We need to go bye bye's now! Pull up your pants, no I don't have any hand sanitizer and we are getting the twins and leaving." I am saying all of this to my oldest while attempting to carry twin #1 and hold/drag twin #2 across the carefully mulched play area to our minivan.
All the while, twin #1 is shouting,"No mommy, NOOOOO!" and twin #2 is attempting to kick twin #1 from his position of power on my hip.
Then twin #1 decides that he is going to refuse to walk any more and if I want him to leave I am going to have to make him. I finally manage to cajole my children into the van and while attempting to wrangle twin #2 into the carseat, twin #1 takes off down the sidewalk back towards the playground. My oldest has pulled his pants up long enough to point out the fact that twin #1 is heading towards the street.
As I chase down my third child and finally get everyone safely loaded into the minivan and we head home for the night, I look over the tornado that just passed through our lives and realize that despite the public humiliation that seems to follow us wherever we travel, my eyes are finally clear.
Monday, June 1, 2009
TDD (Otherwise known as The Diaper Disaster)
You know, being a mother of twins, one has to deal with higher costs than those of singletons. For example, double the cost of formula, diapers, clothes, food, milk, toys, etc. Which is why on the afternoon of May 24th, I was, shall we say it nicely, pretty teed off at my two lovely boys. Not only do mothers of twins have to deal with higher costs, but we have double the tantrums, double the "mine" and "no" (see former blog entry with the same title), and the impossibility of simultaneously capturing and containing two kids that look exactly the same running in two different directions.
Add it all up and you have TDD (The Diaper Disaster). The afternoon of May 24th began like any other day, with the exception that I was cleaning my bathroom and I was trying to get it finished before the twins woke up from their afternoon nap. Now, I did not undertake this process until way too late in the day, which meant that the twins were awake in their crib for about 30 minutes before I was able to get them. Normally, this would be no big deal, again with the exception of the trash can incident (see former blog entry entitled Sharpie: Both Friend and Foe).
By this time I am sure you are wondering, What was she thinking? Doesn't she know her own kids by now? I've only read a few posts and I know that twins + lack of supervision even in the face of containment= disaster. Yes, even the 1948 Marshall Plan's policy of containment would not have helped in this particular scenario, George not withstanding.
What can I tell you, all I wanted to do was clean the freakin' toilet!!!! It wasn't like I was watching Oprah or painting my toenails. Nooooooooo, I was wiping my other son's pee from his absence of aim off of the toilet that my husband and I share. Which is kind of ironic considering what I was about to discover.
So, all of this leads to the following scenario. After 30 minutes of being awake in their cribs with no supervision, I finish up the toilet and head in to their room to change their diapers and take them downstairs. As I get closer to their door, I begin to smell something ominous eminating from their bedroom.
Now mind you, I haven't even opened the door yet!
A feeling of dread begins to brew in my stomach and as the door opens, I almost vomit with the stench of excrement.
Yes, you guessed it, poop, lots and lots of poop. Poop on the walls, poop on the crib sheet, poop on the crib. Crap, excrement, Bowel movement, whatever. POOP everywhere.
It was at that particular moment that I longed for the 80's Calgon commercial. Take me away, Calgon, take me far, far away. Preferably in a bubble bath with someone feeding me milk duds. No, forget the duds, they remind me too much of the aforementioned incident. Switch it to a nice glass of pinot grigio.
Anyway, Twin #1 had taken great pleasure in removing his pants, closely followed by a fully loaded poopy diaper. He had also obviously had just as much fun smearing said diaper deposits all over the wall, crib sheets, crib and I'll save the best for last, himself. My one saving grace was that Twin #2 had begun to mimic the actions of his brother but had only gotten as far as removing half of his fully loaded diaper. His onesie was partially removed, but he appeared to have encountered technical difficulties while trying to get it off of his arms after he had pulled it up and over his head. So it looked as if he was wearing it behind his neck, yet still worn over his arms and shoulders.
Both boys were obviously very proud of their efforts as evidenced by their huge grins as I walked in.
" Mommy, poopy, bachy, bachy poopy." Now, for my PA Dutch followers, you will appreciate the use of the term bachy. Yes, my speech delayed twins regularly substitute PA Dutch words into their somewhat limited vocabulary.
Bachy- def. A word regularly used in the PA Dutch vernaculuar, i.e. dirty, messy, yucky. Quite the understatement given the situation.
However, the icing on the cake, the cherry on the sundae, the "ah ha" moment, if you will, occured when I went to pick twin #1 out of his crib. As I stepped forward to lift my adorable little child out of his crib, my stocking foot was met with the sudden feeling of moisture soaking into the polycotton blend.
Yes, again you probably realize what was happening before I did. The little stinker had chosen to pee out of his crib all over the nicely carpeted floor.
So basically, my day consisted of cleaning up bathrooms, designated or otherwise.
Add it all up and you have TDD (The Diaper Disaster). The afternoon of May 24th began like any other day, with the exception that I was cleaning my bathroom and I was trying to get it finished before the twins woke up from their afternoon nap. Now, I did not undertake this process until way too late in the day, which meant that the twins were awake in their crib for about 30 minutes before I was able to get them. Normally, this would be no big deal, again with the exception of the trash can incident (see former blog entry entitled Sharpie: Both Friend and Foe).
By this time I am sure you are wondering, What was she thinking? Doesn't she know her own kids by now? I've only read a few posts and I know that twins + lack of supervision even in the face of containment= disaster. Yes, even the 1948 Marshall Plan's policy of containment would not have helped in this particular scenario, George not withstanding.
What can I tell you, all I wanted to do was clean the freakin' toilet!!!! It wasn't like I was watching Oprah or painting my toenails. Nooooooooo, I was wiping my other son's pee from his absence of aim off of the toilet that my husband and I share. Which is kind of ironic considering what I was about to discover.
So, all of this leads to the following scenario. After 30 minutes of being awake in their cribs with no supervision, I finish up the toilet and head in to their room to change their diapers and take them downstairs. As I get closer to their door, I begin to smell something ominous eminating from their bedroom.
Now mind you, I haven't even opened the door yet!
A feeling of dread begins to brew in my stomach and as the door opens, I almost vomit with the stench of excrement.
Yes, you guessed it, poop, lots and lots of poop. Poop on the walls, poop on the crib sheet, poop on the crib. Crap, excrement, Bowel movement, whatever. POOP everywhere.
It was at that particular moment that I longed for the 80's Calgon commercial. Take me away, Calgon, take me far, far away. Preferably in a bubble bath with someone feeding me milk duds. No, forget the duds, they remind me too much of the aforementioned incident. Switch it to a nice glass of pinot grigio.
Anyway, Twin #1 had taken great pleasure in removing his pants, closely followed by a fully loaded poopy diaper. He had also obviously had just as much fun smearing said diaper deposits all over the wall, crib sheets, crib and I'll save the best for last, himself. My one saving grace was that Twin #2 had begun to mimic the actions of his brother but had only gotten as far as removing half of his fully loaded diaper. His onesie was partially removed, but he appeared to have encountered technical difficulties while trying to get it off of his arms after he had pulled it up and over his head. So it looked as if he was wearing it behind his neck, yet still worn over his arms and shoulders.
Both boys were obviously very proud of their efforts as evidenced by their huge grins as I walked in.
" Mommy, poopy, bachy, bachy poopy." Now, for my PA Dutch followers, you will appreciate the use of the term bachy. Yes, my speech delayed twins regularly substitute PA Dutch words into their somewhat limited vocabulary.
Bachy- def. A word regularly used in the PA Dutch vernaculuar, i.e. dirty, messy, yucky. Quite the understatement given the situation.
However, the icing on the cake, the cherry on the sundae, the "ah ha" moment, if you will, occured when I went to pick twin #1 out of his crib. As I stepped forward to lift my adorable little child out of his crib, my stocking foot was met with the sudden feeling of moisture soaking into the polycotton blend.
Yes, again you probably realize what was happening before I did. The little stinker had chosen to pee out of his crib all over the nicely carpeted floor.
So basically, my day consisted of cleaning up bathrooms, designated or otherwise.
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