It's Wordless Wednesday right?

Confession: I've been waiting for this since I was 10 years old.




Umm yeah I've never done this before and I am pretty sure by wordless they mean 'no words' but I have to put just three more words up: Awwww yeah baby!

P.S. Thanks Phillies for saving me from having to write a real post today.

Another post where I confess to some stuff...

Confession: My kids are driving me Batshit crazy!

Is there any way that I can pass that off as a blog post? I mean end it right here and call it a night? 'Cause when you get right down to it, that kind of says it all. No funny story. No witty repartee. Just the meat and potatoes. I am too nuts to write. I blame my children. I also blame them at present for my inability to form a cohesive sentence, my pounding headache, my inexplicable desire to spit on my hand and wipe every one's "shmutz" off of their faces, and so much more. And I am willing to talk about it.

I mean let's face it, people don't want to talk about their children's problems. They don't want to bring up all the negative stuff. They sure don't want to blog about just how much they are not liking little so and so right now. No way. It's always "oh my little Amy is so precious, just look at her at her recital. She's the best dancer in the whole group'. But, life isn't always like that folks. Forget my cross dressing son and my suddenly-riddled-with-separation-anxiety at 7 daughter. We know who we have to focus on. It's her again. Someday, many, many years from now, I will let them read these blog posts and one of two things will happen; she will either enroll immediately in a college as far from me as possible and begin a stringent course of psychotherapy, or she will smile and kiss me and thank me for allowing her to make it through her teen years. I am hoping for the latter. This is all of course contingent on the notion that I make it through her teen years, or her pre-teen years, or hell, through her preschool years! Right now, it aint looking too good.

Each and every day we fight. Yes, I fight with a four year old. I try to reason with her. I try to discipline her. I try to reign her in when she is so far gone in to tantrum land that only dogs can hear her. Nothing works. I pull out every trick in my mommy arsenal. I bust out old taped copies of Supernanny and Nanny 911, just hoping something will click. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. And so, generally after giving it a valiant effort, the yelling begins. Some days we can go a long time before the yelling starts. We're talking 5, 6, 7 hours minutes after we get up. It starts with the what to wear argument- one I gave up on long ago. It then spills out into the kitchen with the ever popular "I don't want that for breakfast" argument. It usually escalates with the "I'm not going to school today" argument. And things just get worse from there. I remind you that this girl is four. Four. F. O. U. R. Just old enough to wear me down.

I don't know why I was so pissed at the rude woman at work who told me once that I was "awfully old" to have such small children. Sure, I wanted to shove the coffee cup I was holding down her throat at the time, but she was right. Spot on. I am too old. That is why I have a headache from all of this nonsense. That is why my back hurts from dealing with this junk. That is why by the time my kids go to bed, I am so tired that all I can do is sit at my computer and veg to the point that little puddles of drool sometimes form in the corners of my mouth. Why? Because I am old damn it. I know it. She definitely knows it. I am an old lady with a misbehaving child. She probably acts that way because she knows she can outrun me. Probably figures I'll fall and break a hip if I give chase. This is why I am too tired, too achy, too miserable to write a new blog post. So, all you will get from me is this.

And I will continue to blame my kids (sssh really just one) for the bulk of my woes. While I am at it let's blame global warming and the economy crisis on her too.

That's My Boy

Confession: I don't like that my son doesn't like to play with any boy toys.

Don't get me wrong, I don't really worry about it. I mean, it's not keeping me up nights or anything. I just don't get it. My nephews like cars and trucks and video games. My friend's sons like baseball and football and video games. My boy friends growing up all liked sports and cars and video games. I'm sensing a theme here with the video game thing. My little #3, who is not actually 3 but rather 2, is totally into girl stuff. While I am completely secure that sporting princess slippers and a purse at age 2 is totally natural, I've been there, done that all before.

For years before 3 came along, I was up to my eyeballs in Hannah Montana and High School Musical. Swimming in a sea of princesses and pink stuff. Believe me I was more than ready to say adios to Dora the Explorer. Is it to much to ask that I get a turn with Matchbox and monster trucks? Please tell me that my time is coming!? I wanna play with some boy stuff! I want to release my inner tomboy. I drink beer because I like the taste. I like hockey. I like baseball. And Lord help you if you stand in front of the t.v while I am watching the football game! I finally got my boy, my son, my little man. The problem is my little man is running in front of my football game with Hello Kitty undies and carrying Malibu Barbie in his hand.

I have no concerns about him being 'normal' or that his toy choices will effect his future in any way. My son is my son and whether he plays with pick up trucks or ponies, or wants to wear t-shirts or tutus, I will love him unconditionally. I just want my turn to raise a little boy. Hey, if my girls would've liked to play race cars and make mud pies, I'd be fine with that too. But, for the most part, I have girls. Real true girls. I guess I'll just have to wait it out.

Like I said, I am totally okay with him wearing his sisters red ruby slippers and her light up sparkly tiara, as long as he doesn't ask to wear them to the prom.

Hand me down my Prozac

Confession: My blog has been suffering from depression.

That's the bad news. The good news is, we prescribed the blog an anti-depressant, gave it a good swift kick in the ass, took it out for drinks, and now it's all good again.
In an effort to get all philosophical and talk about my traumatic childhood and paternal abandonment and all that, I seem to have gotten away from what the crux of this blog was all about- me going on and on about how much we all can suck as parents sometimes. Let's face it, it makes me feel better to write it, it makes you feel better to read it, and most of the time, it's downright funny. I mean who can't relate to my laundry woes? And who can't share a laugh at my expense as I screw up my kids fragile little psyches again?

Anyway, enough with all the touchy-feely blah, blah, blah crap. I am going to go guest blog somewhere else to get all that out of my system. Any takers? Over here, it's back to basics. It's you and me and all the suck-ass moments that make me the bad-ass mommy confessor that I am. Tell a friend. Hell, it can only make you feel that much better about yourself.

Pissed

Confession: I am up to my ears in mess!

Despite the title, I'm not really at all angry. I am grossed out on a daily basis though. Remember when I used to post every day? You know, back when my thoughts were not consumed with puppies, and laundry, and falling behind on everything? The good old days. Really not much has changed. The addition of the puppy, my sister-in-laws little spill, and the extra added work of transitioning #1 from kindergarten to grade school. Should be a breeze, dontcha think? Should be.

But lately my life has become a battle against hair and pee. Mostly pee. I gave up the fight to contain the hair situation in our house ages ago. I have long thick hair. My hair gets everywhere. I am forever picking it off of my clothes, my kids, the shower walls. And the dogs, well, I just can't seem to win that battle. Every single day I sweep my stair case and every single day it is covered in hair. How these two are not bald by now is totally beyond my comprehension. And so, I give up. I have resolved myself to a house slightly coated in hair and fur. Maybe it'll keep us warmer in winter.

But the pee is a another story. The pee has become my nemesis. Let's see, I have a 4 year old who likes to pee in the trash can (and she's a girl, so it's probably no easy task) I've got a newly kinda sorta potty training 2 year old who likes to get up on the toilet, sit down for a minute, then say he's done, get up and pee on the floor and yell "TA DA"! And of course the puppy who I will walk outside for 20minutes while he circles and sniffs tree after tree, bush after bush, only to turn up his nose. Then approximately 5 seconds after we walk in, will pee on the floor.

So, right now the P's have it. I don't know how long my life will be filled with the smell of urine, and the daily laundry load filled with wet towels and rags, but for as long as it continues, I fear that I will remain indeed, pissed.

We'll save poop and puke for another post.

Ho Ho Ho

Confession: I wish I still believed in Santa.

The facts don't lie. Every year I have to do Santa's job for him. I buy the gifts. I wrap them up. I put them under the tree. And he takes all the credit. If there really is a Santa, he owes me $6,234.67, and I want it.

I am pretty sure there is no Easter Bunny either. Who goes out and buys bags of yummy little chocolate eggs? Me. Who gets up at the crack of dawn and packs jelly beans and little bunny candies into plastic eggs for the egg hunt? Yep, me. And who puts up with the wads of Easter grass that continue to surface around the house until Thanksgiving? Me, that's who. So, Easter Bunny, if you too are out there, you better run, because I'm coming for you and I've got Elmer Fudd with me. Oh, and run the vacuum next time you swing by.

I am just down right positive there's no tooth fairy. Who's kidding who here? If this chick is for real I definitely want a refund of all the singles I have slipped under the pillow. What does she think I am a stripper?

But kids, ahhh kids, they believe. Do they believe because we tell them to? Or is it inherently within them to believe? How nice it must be to be pure enough in mind to believe that anything is possible. Can you even remember when you could believe the existence of a big old fatty cramming gifts into a flaming chimney in the middle of the night? Can you recapture a time when you actually believed that a winged tooth swiper would fly into your room and trade parts extracted from the human mouth for cold hard cash? Ahh the beauty and innocence of youth.

So my question is this: At what point do we pull the rug out from under our kids? When exactly are we supposed to burst their bubble of innocence? You know, when do we tell them that Santa or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy are not real? Now I know a few of you may be scratching your heads, squirming in your chairs, saying "what do you mean the Easter Bunny is not real?", but I am here to tell you if you don't already know, that these things are all just a part of the magic of childhood. And someday, probably through no fault of our own, but rather from some whiny, snot nosed, little spoil sport at school, your kids too will find out that you've been conning them since birth.

So is it best to tell them before that a-hole little Jimmy does? My question remains, when are we "too old" to believe in things like this? At what age is our youthful innocence mistaken for being a "baby"? I ask this only because tonight my oldest, #1, lost another tooth. She is almost 7. I dutifully shoved the money under her pillow after she was sleeping. When I went back to my room I thought "how much longer will this go on?" She seems so excited and elated to think that the tooth fairy would be flying in later that night. I wish that that innocence never had to fade. I wish that I could hold her in that moment forever. I wish that I could count on her not to rat me out to her younger siblings when she finds out the truth. So, how about you? Do you believe?

Huh? What? Are my eyes even open?

Confession: I am totally overwhelmed.

I know it is really hard for most women to admit that sometimes. We will take on more and more until we are nearing our breaking point, and still take on more with a (half-hearted)smile. Every one's breaking point is different. Everyone falls victim to stress in different ways. And the tasks that some might enjoy, are the same tasks that make others want to rip their hair out at the roots. So let me just say that it is a big step for some people to admit that they are overwhelmed. Now mind you, I am overwhelmed in a good and helpful, there's a special place in heaven for you kind of way. Not a put a 12 gauge in your mouth kind of way. But, some people do get to that point, and I am here to tell you that it always feels better to get it out.

I'm sorry I was driving erratically officer, but I have 4 screaming children and a 12 week old puppy in the car sir.

Did you ever just know that you're day would start off this way? No? Well, perhaps you have not had the kind of week that we've had around here. Now granted, the above scenario did not actually happen. Got it hubby? That did not actually happen! But, that is exactly how I was feeling as I shuffled #2 and #3, along with 2 of my nephews off to preschool yesterday. You see, a lot has happened around these parts since last I really blogged. I know you've been waiting for it too. I thought I'd toss you a bone (no pun intended- really) here and there to hold you over, but we both know that you've been waiting for the good stuff.

So, hubster and I went to a wedding last weekend. It was at the Jersey shore. We stayed over. In a hotel. Consumed alcohol. The whole nine yards. (I know those are not real sentences) I think I may have mentioned the whole 'first time away from all three kids for two whole nights' thing. Maybe I didn't, who knows. But, I meant to. Really, I did. So anyway, #'s 1, 2 & 3 were safely tucked away at my mother's house where they were to remain from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. Being the brave souls that they are, my mother and step-father actually volunteered for the job. I am sensing only minor regret in their decision at this point. We'll see what they have to say next time. So, off we went to our good pals beachy wedding. Which, by the way, was lovely and went off without a hitch.

That's because all of the hitches were going on at home. (What exactly is a hitch anyway?) While we were gone, #2 got a hold of some scissors and cut off much of her hair. You're not surprised by this? Nah, neither was I. And that was the easiest news I got by phone that day. Really. Seems as though Hubby's sister who was our weekend puppy sitter (you remember the puppy, right) took a little fall down the steps whilst caring for the little dear. Yep. Broken foot on one leg. And that's the good side. The other leg has some kind of ripped, torn, mangled, frazzled something-or-other. Bottom line- she can't walk. At. All. Punch line: she has four kids of her own. I really think that it is a bad idea for us to leave town, like, ever.
So, why does this have me confessing to you my overwhelmedness? (Don't you love when I make up new words for you guys to use later?) Well, we are a family. And families help one another. And so I, along with the rest of the family, friends, neighbors, teachers, etc., are all helping out with my sister-in-law and the kids. It's going well. We've got all of the bases covered. But man am I tired. It's not so much the running around all day or the working late nights. It's not the carting everyone back and forth to school. It's not that caring for 2 or 4 or 7 extra kids is any harder than caring for the ones I already have. It's just that when I come home and look around at my disaster of a house, I feel like I need to get something done. The piles of laundry. The dog hair covered floors. The sticky table. The mountain of mail. But when all is said and done, I just want to curl up on the bed and watch a little T.V until I pass out. And when I wake up, maybe it will all magically be gone?!

Oh and when you read this oh sister-in-law of mine, do not feel the least bit guilty or try to lighten my load. You know I am happy to do it all. After all, it was my puppy that maimed you. But you know me, I need to capitalize on any material I can for the blog, and this was surely a good one!

Yeah, I have time for this.

If you've been wondering about 'Ask Mommy' (I am sure it is keeping you up at night), I thought I'd give a quick update. So, in getting ready for the whole launch of an 'advice columny' site, I realized that I have not one single iota of free time at the moment. Really, not one. As a matter-of-fact, there are probably little innocent kittens being slaughtered somewhere because I am on here blogging right now.
Anyway, as I was saying, what started out as a September 2008 launch of a new blog was rapidly becoming the bain of my existence. It was becoming so anxiety provoking that quitting blogging altogether became a momentary possibility. But gladly all that is over and done with for the moment.
The planned 'Ask Mommy' blog has been temporarily reduced to a lovely little sidebar item right here on Mommy Confessions. Questions can still be submitted any time via email. And I'm getting around to answering them slowly but surely. So you can click on 'Ask Mommy' over there <-------- any time beginning next week to find out what inquiring minds want to know.
At first I didn't think I'd be any good at the whole advice column thing. I am not even sure why I thought it would be a good idea to start a blog where people ask me for advice, when clearly I have no idea what the hell I am doing like 99% of the time. When I got my first question, I was shocked anyone would trust me to give advice I had to do some major thinking (which is never a good thing) in order to help this reader out. But all in all I think it went well. Okay, maybe 'well' isn't the right word. It went okay. Alright, 'okay' might not be the best way to describe it either. But, I am working on my answering skills. It wasn't that bad. Okay, maybe it was that bad. But at least the woman has stopped the legal precedings now. Anyway, the process has clearly gotten better. I mean we started off with stuff like this:
Dear Mommy, My children are adorable, just adorable. Sometimes though, I have a tad bit of trouble getting them to use their 'inside voices' when we are out at the mall. I worry that others may get a headache from listening to them. What do you recommend?
Dear Migraine Momma,
I highly recommend a muzzle. It works great on all of my children, and with the money I've saved on Tylenol alone, it has more than paid for itself. One thing though, some people tend to frown upon their usage, so when in public it's best to only muzzle one at a time and tell people it's some fancy new dental device that your child has to wear to treat their TMJ. Works every time!

From there you'll just have to stay tuned to see what we've graduated to.
I personally didn't think this was so terrible. Maybe one or two people disagreed. Being forever the diplomat, I decided to take a new approach to answering. I am actually going to give people boring serious answers to the questions that they ask. So, stay tuned to the 'Ask Mommy' section. I'll be answering the first several questions we've received over the next few days. Should be riveting.