Bad Mommy

Jackson dropped the F-bomb today. I am 100% certain I did not misunderstand him. I wish I could say that he learned it from his father, but that’s only partially true. I could tell you that I try not to curse much, but that would also be only partially true.

The truth is, I think about cursing less. I censor myself in front of most people. But, I curse. A lot.

Apparently within earshot of the 4-year-olds. Excellent.

I could also tell you that other than the occasional curse word, I was an excellent mom today. But, it would not be true. I should have known it was going to be a bad day when my alarm went off at 5:30 and I turned it off and went back to sleep.

For two more hours.

The plan was to get up at 5:30 so Taryn and I could go on a long bike ride before the twinkies woke up. That way John would only have to make sure the house did not burn down, instead of doing actual childcare.

Instead I got up at 7:30, got dressed, and woke Taryn and John. The twinkies woke up before Taryn and I left, which made me feel guilty for messing up the original plan. So, I poured their cereal, laid out a blanket in the living room, and turned on Cars. I told them they were having a “BREAKFAST INDOOR PICNIC!!” They were very excited. I’m pretty sure John slept on the couch the whole time we were gone.

Whatever.

After the bike ride I took the twinkies to the indoor playground. Because they needed to burn some energy and it was cold and damp stupid Alaska summer day. On the way home Taryn and I planned to stop at the grocery store and Costco.

Reese had other ideas.

Before leaving we made a potty break. He peed all over his pants. I think he did it on purpose. I could have driven home and gotten him a clean pair of pants. I could have skipped the shopping. I did neither of those things. I soaked up as much of the pee as I could with the bathroom paper towels and drove on.

I forgot all about the pee until Reese climbed on Dallas’ lap at dinner. Woops.

At the grocery store Reese stole a piece of candy. You know those big, stupid bins of bulk candy? I hate those. Anyway, he stole a Werther’s. I didn’t realize it until we were half way to Costco. Actually, I did not realize at all, Taryn did. She’s a way better parent than I am.

I should have turned the car around and made him take the wrapper back and apologize, like any good sitcom mom. I did not. I scolded him and drove on. (A Werther’s? Yuck. At least he could have stolen a good candy.)

Then Jackson said the F-word. I scolded him. He looked at me like he wanted to kill me. Seriously, what business do I have yelling at him when I probably said the word 3 times today? (By 3 I mean 30)

Later, when the stupid dog barked to come in, Jackson said, “Oh man, you freaking dog!”

At least he said freaking. He’s learning not to copy verbatim. Maybe I’m not such a bad mommy after all…

Rockin’ The Baby Bump

Not anymore. Not now. Don’t be crazy. I’m closed for business.

However, there is a new photo link-up from Shell at Things I Can’t Say for pregnancy photos. Why not? It can’t be worse than showing you my not-so-fabulous high school days right?

I don’t have digital photos of my first pregnancy with the twins. Because I am really old. I’m also really lazy so I’m not going to scan them. You’ll have to survive with just pics of  the twinkies in the oven.

Brace yourself, I was scary.

This first one is not too bad, I was only about 15 weeks in. Still so small that we went backpacking with the twins. The dog had to pull me up the hills.

I cropped it so you would not have to witness the cankles. You’re welcome.

I think the next one was taken in July which would have made me about 7 months along. Or something, I don’t know… I blocked it out.

I don’t know why I was smiling. Probably because I knew that in just a couple of months I could start drinking again.

Now for the scariest of all. This is not photo shopped. I’m 34 weeks here, the twinkies were born 2 weeks later.

When you grow out of your maternity bathing suit it’s time to stop swimming. Just an FYI.

Four babies, two giant stomachs.

Worth every stretch mark.

The World According To Jackson

Four-year-olds live in another dimension. Most of the time I wish I lived in their world instead of the real one. This is Jackson’s take on life.

On Waking Up

According to Jackson the appropriate way to wake your mother is to enter her room as quietly as possible. It is imperative that you not make enough noise to startle her awake until you are next to the bed. Then, stand with your face 6 inches from hers and say, as loud as humanly possible, “IT’S GOOD MORNING!!!”

On Going To The Bathroom

Stand near the toilet. Not close enough for all of your pee to go in the bowl, that would be crazy. Pee for a few seconds on the shower curtain, the bathroom rug, and the toilet paper. Continue peeing into the bowl while moving around enough that it splatters everywhere. Let the stream fizzle out on your pants and the floor. Do not flush. Do not wash your hands. Change into an outfit that makes you look homeless.

On Playing With The Stupid Dog

Ride her like a horse. Examine her teeth by putting your hands all the way into her mouth while she is sleeping. Feed her treats by pegging them directly at her eyeballs. Pull her tail repeatedly. If she so much as wimpers in pain scream, “SHUT UP SADIE!”

On Playing Video Games

Never share with your brother. Ever. If he tries to play a game, turn off the TV. Restart the game whenever you are losing. If you still lose after restarting the game ten times throw the controller down the stairs. It’s all the controllers fault anyway.

On Eating

Beg for snacks constantly. Get into the refrigerator when no one is looking and take bites out of apples, cheese, butter, and strawberries. Eat yogurt with only your fingers. At meal time, eat nothing. NOT. ONE. BITE. Tell everyone who will listen that your food is “dEsgusting.” Ask for dessert. Ask again. Ask at least 37 times every meal.

On Showering

Showering is a time for screaming and making noise. It is also a great time to pee. On your brother. Move around constantly so that it is nearly impossible to wash your hair or your body. If even one drop of water gets in your eyes scream as if acid has been poured on your face. After the shower refuse to wear anything but the Buzz Lightyear or Spiderman pajamas.

On Going To Sleep

Screw you mom.

Words With Kids

The kids are my main source of entertainment. I know that sounds lame, but for real, you can’t make up some of the stuff they say.

Case in point:

Yesterday we took the stupid dog to the dog park. On the way out another dog tried to get in our car. Not a big deal. The owner and I chatted about dogs while the twinkies got in their car seats. (Big milestone: They can snap themselves into the seats all by themselves. This makes my life about 25% more bearable.) When I got in the car Jackson and I had the following conversation.

“Mommy where does she live?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know her, I just talked to her for a minute.”

“Well, we can follow her and then we will know where she lives.”

*I’ll let you know if he exhibits any other weird, stalker behaviors.

The twins have been on an Alaska train adventure with their grandparents. The twinkies miss them a lot. (I do too, but they hate it when I say that out loud) This afternoon I had this conversation with both Reese and Jackson.

“Mommy when will Sissy and John be home?”

“They come back tonight.”

“How many more sleeps?”

“None.”

“One?”

“No, none.”

“Nine?”

“No, none.”

“TEN? Jackson! Ten more sleeps until Sissy and John come home!”

“No, not ten, none. NONE. No more sleeps”

“Eleven?”

That’s when I decided to just have beer for dinner.

Later in the evening after the twins and the grandparents were home we chatted about their trip. To say that my Dad is frugal about certain things is a gross understatement. When I was a kid we got charged for waste if we left food on our plate or left a light on.

I’m not making that up.

Anyway, I asked Taryn if she had spent all of her babysitting money on the trip. This is the conversation that followed.

“No, Mom (rolling eyes) I still have plenty left. I can tell you exactly what I bought.”

“Oh, yeah Bridget she bought these really fancy candies with gold wrappers, I couldn’t believe it!”

“They were chocolate coins and they were fifty cents Grandpa.”

I love that kid.

 

 

Chatting With Grandpa

My Dad and his wife are visiting this week. It is always great having them around. They spoil the little guys with loads of junk food. They equally ply the older kids with soda, candy, and late night games of Euchre. They all love them.

Dallas and I get a little time off. So we love them too.

It’s interesting to watch them interact with the kids. This time around my Dad has learned to text, so he is texting with the twins. Usually while sitting across from them at the table.

I’m sure they will love it when he gets back to the lower 48 and texts them at 5 AM. Even though we have been here for a year and a half he can’t remember the time difference. It’s four hours. It’s always been four hours. It will always be four hours. That means 9 AM your time is 5 AM my time. No, I don’t want to talk to you (or anyone else) at 5 AM.

I am certain my Dad will never understand this concept.

Reese asked Grandpa if he could play the games on his iPhone. Grandpa told him there were no games on his phone. Then the conversation went like this:

“Grandpa, do you have songs on your phone?”

“Just The Night Chicago Died.”

“Grandpa? Why did it die?”

This reminded me of a similar conversation when the twins were little. My Dad and I were in Florida trying to figure out how to get rid of fire ants.

Anyone who lives in the south is familiar with fire ants. They are the worst insects on the planet. If you step in a fire ant mound you will strip in public to get them off of you. You will also curse. A lot.

Then you will start to devise plans to rid your yard of fire ants.

My Dad and I had heard that the goal of any successful fire ant removal plan was to kill the queen. We talked about shoving a pole down the mound and pouring boiling hot water down it or dousing it with cancer-causing-chemicals.

We kept saying, “you have to kill the queen.”

Finally, little miss Taryn looked at us with sad, puppy dog eyes and said, “Why would you kill a Queen? Queens are pretty and nice.”

Clearly she needs to brush up on her history.

8th Grade Graduation

Tomorrow is the last day of the 8th grade for the twins. This is an exciting time. I’m really looking forward to their farewell dance and graduation ceremony.

Oh wait, they’re not having one.

I’m angry.

Apparently last year some OTHER PARENTS caused a problem, so this year they aren’t having a graduation ceremony. there are a lot of Samoans in Anchorage (maybe I’m supposed to call them Pacific Islanders? I don’t know). One of their traditions is to make leis for special events. They make them out of colored cellophane and candy. They’re kind of pretty, I guess. I don’t think it is a big deal.

Of course, I’m a white chick from Florida, I don’t have any culture.

The story the twins tell me (Which they heard from a friend whose mother went to the school to get the no-graduation low down. We live in the telephone game.) that some of the parents got upset about the leis because they thought it was not fair for the Samoans to wear them when the other kids did not have them.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

It is unbelievable to me that adults still talk in terms of fair. Life is not fair. These kids are going into high school, they should understand that. The days of everyone getting a trophy ‘just for trying’ are over.

It doesn’t get any easier. My sister only got stretch marks on her hips and I got them all the way up to my ribcage. Life’s not fair.

On the other hand I get to sleep with this every night.

I know all my friends are jealous. But hey, life’s not fair.

So, no graduation. John had some thing with his ‘academic team’ at school tonight, but he doesn’t want to go. He’s almost 15, I’m not going to force him. Taryn’s ‘team’ thing is at 7:30 IN THE MORNING tomorrow. That should be a riot.

I keep seeing the pictures of my niece and my friends kids’ on Facebook in their graduation outfits or going to their farewell dances. I’m jealous. I feel robbed of an important event in their lives.

All because some stupid parents decided to behave like 4-year-olds. Scratch that, my 4-year-olds behave better. They would have just wanted some of the candy.

One day left and I will have two children in high school. I’m not even sure I should call them children anymore. I would have liked one more special night with them.

Thanks for nothing other parents.

It all goes by too fast. I don’t know how they went from this…

To this.

It’s not fair.

A Craptastic Day

Ask any parent about bowel movements and you are sure to get lots of stories. I have been pooped on by all of my children. I have cleaned poop out of car seats, off furniture, off the floor, out of beds. I have carried children with poop covered legs through Target, Wal-Mart, and Kroger. I’ve dragged them, pants half down and poop everywhere from the park. I’ve made the mistake of feeding a baby prunes and then sitting him in the exersaucer so that five minutes later he was slipping and sliding in it with glee.

When the twins were babies they slept in the same crib for a long time. One morning I went in to check on them and found them each covered in poop. They had also painted the rails of the crib and the wall next to it. The next night they slept in separate cribs.

On more than one occasion I remember the distinct scent of poop in the car and looking back to find John eating it. Yes, I said eating it. He would stick his little hands in his diaper and then stick those hands in his mouth. He always looked really disgusted, like after you drink sour milk. But, he kept his fingers in his mouth. He was committed.

He also once ate a whole tube of slut-red lipstick. I worked in a physician’s office at the time and had to wear white pants to work. When that lipstick came out the other end it was a disaster. Not only was it bright red, but it was greasy and slimy. Of course, it came out just as I was leaving to drop them at daycare and head to work. I had to strip down to my underwear to clean it up. (The last thing I wanted was to get slut-red lipstick on my white pants.) Imagine if someone had walked in on me right then? In my underwear, cleaning up bloody-looking poop from the floor and from my 2-year-old son. Hello, child protective services we’ve got on for you! (This was the point in my life when I stopped wearing slut-red lipstick. I’ll let you know when I start again, I’m sure it is right around the corner.)

When Jackson and Reese were potty training I got the brilliant idea to let them run around with no pants, to make them aware of their movements. We referred to it as our ‘pants optional’ period. It did not work as I had expected. I thought the boys would feel the poop coming and run to the potty. Instead, they felt it coming and just dropped it off wherever they happened to be at that moment. Including the top of Taryn’s dresser, the living room floor, and in the toy box.

I thought I had seen it all.

Today, I sent Jackson to school. He had not vomited since Saturday and seemed to feel better. He was still a little wimpy, but I figured he just needed to refuel. I big bowl of Life cereal with milk would help that out.

That was probably my first mistake.

I picked them up after school and we decided we would head to the park for the afternoon. We went home to grab a blanket and pack lunch. I told them both to go potty because the park only has a port-a-potty. Port-a-potties are gross.

Jackson said he had to poop.

The smell that wafted out of the bathroom could have killed a cat.

For real.

He has that diarrhea that can only be compared to what happens when you turn on a rusty faucet at full force.

Blech.

I’m the butt wiper around these parts. When the twinkies poop they yell out from the bathroom, “CAN SOMEONE WIPE MY BUTT?!” They yell this even when I am the only other person in the house.

I heard the call, held my breath, and headed into the bathroom. Jackson was standing there with his pants around his ankles.

Like always, I said, “bend over and touch your toes.”

Just as leaned down to wipe him, it happened.

Explosive diarrhea.

Shit happened.

On me.

Excuse me now, I have to go take a Silkwood shower.

5 Stupid Things

Making lists is a blog cop-out.

I’m copping out.

5 Stupid Things Kids Do

5. They skip meals. If I leave the older kids at home over a meal time they will not eat unless I tell them to. Sometimes they’ll call or text me to ask me if they can or should eat lunch/dinner. They’ve been eating 3 meals a day for 14 years, you would think they would figure it out.

4. They don’t ask for replacements. When the twins got their braces on they also got new electric toothbrushes from the orthodontist. Months (literally months) later I noticed how gross and worn out the bristles on them were, they had never been replaced. This is also true for soap, hair brushes, combs, and underwear.

3. They love the stupid dog.

2. They don’t complain about reasonable things. We turned down the heat downstairs while the twins were away last week. Three days later when it was only 62 downstairs they had not said a word. The twinkies don’t complain either, they just curl up into increasingly smaller balls in their beds. They do complain if I won’t let them watch rated R movies or eat jellybeans all day long.

1. When someone on the radio yells, ‘Put your hands in the air!’ They do.

Can I See IT?

Reese asked if he could see my vagina today.

I said no.

Seriously, I think the kid might be a little obsessed. He keeps telling the knock, knock joke that always ends in ‘gina.’ I tried to explain that he should not say that word because it makes people uncomfortable. Even as I was saying it I knew it sounded ridiculous, so there was no chance he was buying it.

This afternoon we were in the family bathroom at Target. (Sidenote – don’t you love the family bathroom? I love it. Brilliant idea. Getting a double stroller into a standard stall is impossible.) Jackson went potty first, I told him “hold on to your wiener.” That might sound weird, but it is necessary. If I don’t remind them to hold on to it, they won’t. Then they get pee on their pants. They do this a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. They smell like urine 99% of the time.

They’re not very smart. I think they get it from Dallas.

Anyway.

So I said “hold on to your wiener” and Reese said, “you hold on to your wiener too.”

Here we go again.

“I don’t have a wiener, I’m a girl. Girls don’t have wieners.”

“What do you have?”

“Girls have vaginas”

“Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“Your vagina. Can I see your vagina?’

“No”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s hard to see. It doesn’t stick out like a wiener, it’s kind of inside.”

“Like here?” He pointed to his stomach.

“Not really. It’s lower. It’s like, a little bit out and a little bit in. It’s just…it’s just hard to see”

(I realize this isn’t the best explanation. Feel free to let me know if you have a better one.)

“Why?”

Frick on a stick. I backed myself into a corner. My only option now was bribery. I offered them ice cream. They accepted. The rest of our day was vagina free. Well, vagina-talk free, it’s not like I deserted them.

I think I’m going to start calling it a flower or just telling them I have a wiener too. Let their wives explain it.

Teens And Athletics

Sports are important for kids, especially girls. That might sound sexist. However, I was a teenage girl at one time and I know that there are few things that can distract from the near-constant thinking about boys other than sports. That is not to say that I like sports. I really don’t. I’ll watch, but I also don’t mind not watching.

I don’t play sports. I suck at them. I am a fairly competitive person. That’s why I don’t play sports, because I suck at them. I want to win, but I can’t.

My lack of athletic ability traces all the way back to seventh grade. To say that I was an awkward kid is an understatement. I was skinny. Nerdy. I had bad hair. I was terrible at sports. I cried easily. It was a bad scene.

In the seventh grade we moved from Ohio to Florida. I also went from going to a small Catholic school with 13 kids in my class to going to a public middle school with a couple of hundred. It was all rather traumatic. To quell my issues I went out for the volleyball team. I think I played 17th string.

Despite my lack of athletic ability and overall goofyness(or maybe because of it) I tried to be the spirit leader of our little team. We were the Port Charlotte Junior High Terriers. Grrr..bark, bark. Anyway, one game I was in the bleachers cheering when I was brutally assaulted. Her name was Janine and she was the meanest girl at PCJH.

She pulled my hair and told me to shut up. I think I cried.

I’m also pretty sure that my older (and much tougher) sister gave her the what for soon after that.

But it didn’t matter, my volleyball career was over. I spent the rest of my junior high and high school years in the Drama Club. I managed to letter by being a wrestling statistician. Lame.

I’m over all of that now.

Really.

Anyway, I encourage the twins to play sports, regardless of their skills. John plays soccer all year round. He’s pretty good. John is also tall, which pays off in spades for him. He also runs track when he feels like it.

Taryn has played volleyball for a couple of years and runs track. She has more confidence in her little finger than I had back then. Maybe more than I do now. She might not be the best player on the team, but she tries the harder than any kid I know.

Tonight she had a tack meet. She did long jump, high jump, and a relay. I didn’t get there in time to see the jumps but her team came in second in the relay. I told her what a great job she did, it was true.

Then she told me she did not do very well on the long jump. But, she jumped about 4 feet on the high jump. That sounded good to me, so I told her good job. Taryn then told me that she came in 3rd place. Yay! I said, go you! She looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “Mom, there were only four of us in the high jump!”

This is where I put my mothering skills into effect. Sports are important, right?

“Taryn, it doesn’t matter how you do or whether or not you win. The important thing is that you participate and do your best.”

(That sounds good right?)

This was her reply, “Mom…what parenting book did you get that from?”

I told her to shut up. I didn’t pull her hair, but I thought about it.