Gobble Gobble

Confession: Things aren't really all that bad.

I spend a lot of time, though not as much as I should, writing this blog. Much of it is dedicated to all of the crazy ups and downs that come with being a parent. I am blessed to have three times the craziness to write about. My life is a complete mess sometimes. My house is a zoo most days. I have vomit and snot stains on more of my clothes than I care to admit. All my underwear have holes in them. I haven't had a decent haircut in 3 years. Sometimes I am so distracted that I wonder if my posts even make any sense. And, as you may have seen in some of my previous posts, I have been known to not so shamelessly leave the house in various stages of disarray. And I freely admit all of these things to you on any given day. And you read about it. And you respond to it. You post comments, and send emails, and you tell me that you understand, that you commiserate, and that you care. I can't tell you what that means to me. I am so grateful to all of you.

It is not easy to put your own shortcomings out for the world to see. To make a joke about the chaos of your life. But I can not tell you how freeing the experience of writing this blog has been for me. Nor can I express how grateful I am to everyone who has taken the time from their own chaos to read about mine. I hope that you will continue to read here, while in typical mommy fashion, I continue to do dumb things everyday and prepare my children for a lifetime of therapy visits.

Hope the dust settles and the smoke clears long enough today for you to see what is most important to you. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

40 Is the New 106!

Confession: Sometimes, I still just can't grasp the fact that I have 3 children.

A very dear friend of mine turned 40 yesterday. When I visited his Facebook page his update said that he felt like "40 was the new 106." I laughed and thought, "well that makes me about 104." Which of course got me thinking about aging. Which of course got me thinking about when I was young. You know, back when you could not even fathom that one day you would turn FORTY! This was a time when I thought that 23 was 'older', and by then I would be married, own a home, and be having children.

At 23 I was still in school, travelling around, goofing off, and doing lots of things that were fun, but I probably should not have been doing. Marriage, and children in particular, were about the farthest thing from my mind. Fast forward to 15 years later. I am married, own my own home, have a college education, and am a mother to 3 children. So, how is it that I am still 23? Forty is the age of the grown up people that you see doing grown up things in grown up places. Teachers are forty. Accountants are forty. Doctors are forty. Parents are forty. And then it struck me. We, my friends and I, have become those things. We've become teachers, and accountants and doctors, and parents. I have become those things. That is the reality.

I see my reality every day. Usually my reality is attached to my leg, coming with me to pee, waking me in the middle of the night, or begging for something. But, I never quite associated the reality of my life, with the reality of my age. It is possible that I can be 23 and have been married for almost a decade, right? I can still be just 23 and have 3 children running around, can't I? Okay, this one is feasibly possible, but not very likely- at least not for me. You see, I just don't feel like a woman approaching 40. I don't think I look like a woman approaching 40. And as I am sure my husband will attest, I don't think I act like a woman approaching 40. So when someone near and dear to me makes this milestone, I am somewhat taken aback. If it's happening to them, soon too it will happen to me. If they are really aging, then so too must I. Right? But when I look around at my friends, even when I see them at their jobs, or with their children, they seem ageless to me. It's as though we all just stopped, frozen in time, ala Walt Disney.

And so when I stop to think that I am the mother to these three little beings inhabiting my home, that they look to me for their entire existence, it is a little overwhelming sometimes. You would think that I would be used to it by now. You would think with every feeble little 'Mommy' cried out in need of a hug or a band-aid, that I'd be aware. You would think that with every joyful "Mom!" cried out with pride and adoration, I would understand that I am a mother now, a parent now. You would think that I would see the aging face in the mirror and know that each day I take one step further away from the girl that I was. That when I see a new gray hair or spot a tiny wrinkle that only I would notice, I would see that I am no longer 23.

And yet it wasn't really clear until my friend posted this news. News that I had already known. News that he was turning forty. I began to squint my eyes. I began to see that much of my life is laid out behind me. I can see the miles of road I have travelled to get first to 23 and now to where I am today. It's a road that was paved with, among other things, whiskey and cigarettes. And I see that there is still much road laid out before me as well. A road no less fun, no less joyful, no less unknown. It's just that this stretch of road is paved with Balmex and peanut butter and jelly. I can't wait to see what's on the road ahead.

And since it wouldn't be me if I didn't share a little 'here I hope you feel better' joy with you... I've been wearing my pants inside out all day. Yep. I noticed on the way to preschool this morning. You'd think I would have turned them right by now, but no.

They've Got You by the (Christmas) Balls

Confession: I do things I always said I wouldn't do when I became a parent because it makes my life easier..

I know that I've written about the value of Sponge Bob as the babysitter before. But, with the holidays approaching, and the barrage of toy related commercials on television, there is a pretty easy way to determine if you are overdoing the t.v. with your kids.

Generally speaking, if your children are frequently using phrases like 'batteries not included' or 'some assembly required', you may be walking a fine line. If your four year old is like mine, and her new favorite saying is 'each sold separately' this could also be a clue that things are out of hand. And if your child can no longer differentiate between the commercials for the things geared for her, and the things geared for you, this is a definite red flag. We were pretty clear on this one when after immediately running up and pleading for the wares displayed on a record 6 toy commercials in a row, my child asked me if she could please have "an LG steam washer". I knew an intervention was needed. It wasn't easy for me to admit, and I am sure it won't be for you either, but it may be time to turn off the tube and actually do some parenting. What does that mean? Your guess is as good as mine, but I am sure we can figure it out together. I think there me be flashcards or something involved.

I remember a time, a very long time ago, when I said cute little things like "my kids are not going to watch any t.v. except maybe the occasional educational program" and "my house will never be overrun with all that cheap plastic crap that they toy companies brain wash people into buying for their kids". Yeah, I actually said this stuff. Now my child wants a Hanna Montana styling head for a gift. And I am probably going to get it for her. Nothing says four years old like a life-like human head that you can decorate to look like a common streetwalker (that's a hooker if ya didn't know). Oh, the things we'll do to avoid tantrums for the love of our children.

So, when you convince yourself that buying the Bratz cut out dance party paper dolls book is just like buying a 'real' book. Don't fret. I am right there with you. Take it easy on yourself when you opt for the realistic alien maker with real oozing slime over the set of ethnically diverse yarn dolls. I am again with you. Ashamed, but with you. And please don't feel too bad when you are loading up your shopping cart with $100 cheap plastic crap that was most likely made in a sweatshop for $2.50. I am with you. Broke, but with you.

Oh, the joys of the holiday season are under way. Happy Holidays to you and yours.

Take a Bow...

Confession: I don't want to toot my horn or anything but...

Toot Toot. Tooty-toot-toot. It may be no big deal at all to most of you but to me it was.

You guys know kirtsy right? No? Are you kidding? Well if you don't, let's get this out of the way right now so that we can move on. Blog readers meet kirtsy, kirtsy, blog readers. There. Now that we're all old friends I just have to tell you something that I am super proud of. So proud in fact that I used the word super. A litte while back (not saying they took a long time to decide or anything, ahem) kirtsy decided they were going to create a book. Yep, a kirtsy book. I know. And the coolest thing is that they decided to let the readers name it. So, they created a little contest. Check it out. And they got lots and lots and lots, and yes lots of awesome suggestions to name the new book. When the dust had settled and the girls had a few cocktails and picked a winner from a hat excitedly mulled over the options, they came up with a name... and a winner. Me!

Okay, so it was not just me. It seems as though there were so many good choices the ladies could only narrow it down to three. And so they took the name that I had suggested, melded it with the name that doahleigh picked, and paired it up with the name that genny chose, and voila! a new book name. Wanna know what it is? Do ya? Okay I'll tell you. It's Kirtsy Takes A Bow: A Celebration of Women’s Favorites Online. Pretty good huh? Now here's the really cool part. Yes, it gets better. Hard to believe I know. Part of the benefit to winning this baby, aside from the glory and recognition for my awesomeness, is that kirsty will be putting one of my blog entries into their book. They are nice like that. Did I mention that you should check them out? And so this is where I call on you. Always here for me, I trust that you will help me make the difficult decision as to which entry I shall post for the world (or at least anyone who buys the book) to see. Tough decision isn't it? So please, please, please, peruse my archives, recall your favorites, try and remember which posts didn't make you want to throw up, and then please comment here with your choices.

What's in it for you? Well, my undying love and adoration for one. Not good enough? Okay how about the recognition as being the one who named the post for the one who named the book? Still not good enough? Well how about a copy of the actual book itself once it comes out? Better? I thought so. I'll pick a winner at random from all the commenters. The winner will get a copy of the kirtsy book when it hits the stores. Be patient. Those ladies have a lot to do.

Now, please go tell all of your blogging buddies to come on by. Blog about it, have them blog about it, twitter it, digg it, do what you have to do, but get me some suggestions. And of course, kirsty it! Quick! I don't want to keep the ladies waiting.

Unusually Sappy For Me

Confession: I think I might be one of those moms.

Am I the only one who watches my kids like a hawk? I mean granted, I am to the point of comfort where if I want to jump online and write a blog post and the kids are in the playroom playing nicely, I am comfortable with that. Sure, like that ever happens. But in theory anyway... I mean the outlets are covered, the door is locked, there's not too much that can happen. At least not as far as their safety is concerned. I can not vouch for the safety of others in their presence however. So, the house is good. Safe and sound.

Still though, I feel as though I am missing something here. A friend of mine was telling me a story the other day about her son. About a minute into the story she got to the part where she came down from her nap to find...whoa... wait a minute... hold the phone...your what? Your NAP? Now I am seasoned mom, but I am in no way savvy enough to figure out how to take a midday nap with my three kids home with me. We're talking a 7, 4, and 2 year old here, and her kids are even younger! And no, no one else was home. I asked. And no, the other kids were not napping too. I asked that too. Nope, apparently her kids entertain themselves very nicely 3 or 4 days a week for a few hours while she takes her afternoon nap. Alrighty then.

And what of another family we know. A very lenient mom lets her 4 and 6 year olds go to the playground on our block unaccompanied. I know the place is less than a block from her house. I know that if she cranes her neck really hard, she can probably see the playground gate from her kitchen window, but still. I mean isn't the playground a haven for kidnappers and pedophiles anyway?

I realize that this is just how these moms grew up. I too grew up in a different time. A safe time. A relaxed time. A time when kids were more self sufficient. When we were kids we had no 'playdates' scheduled. Some random kid would knock at your door and ask to play. We'd play anywhere outside, heeding only the warning to be 'back by dinner time'. We didn't have our moms escort us to, and remain throughout every birthday party that we went to. She'd slow down the car, drop us out front and say 'pick you up right here at 4". And we lived. We survived. We survived riding in the back of pick up trucks, taking candy from strangers, playing games of dodge ball, and having games where there actually was a winner and a loser. We survived. And still I find myself as one of those moms. The mom who stays for the party. The mom who calls to 'inspect' would be play-daters. The mom who won't let her kids go to the playground unattended even though I can very clearly see it from my kitchen window- no neck craning needed. I guess the times have just changed.

The world we grew up in was far from perfect, but it was all that we had. Our parents did the best they knew how to do at the time. And in another 25 years when our kids look back at the way we raised them, and they find fault and flaw with our choices, I will give them a quote from the wonderful Maya Angelou; You did what you knew how to do, and when you knew better, you did better.

Why do they call them wisdom teeth anyway?

Confession: I have lost what little bit of wisdom I had left.

If you don't "follow" me on Twitter, or your not my "friend" on Facebook, you may not know that I had my wisdom teeth out on Friday. Just what I had the time to do, right? So now I am even further behind on, well, everything! I am sure I don't have to tell some of you how easy it is to fall behind on things when any kind of curve ball is thrown at you. And no, I am not making more baseball references just because MY home team won the World Series on Wednesday. I'm just sayin'....

So right now I am a little behind. Easy enough to admit, right? Things just haven't gone quite like they have been planned lately. Not to mention the pain factor. Ouch. Isn't it a cruel enough joke that my wisdom teeth waited to come in all impacted and ouchy until I was almost 38 years old! I mean don't most people get these things when they are like 12? Why didn't anyone tell me that I was going to be in pain and look like a chipmunk for a week?

So, I ask my tens of loyal readers to bear with me at this time. A time where my confessing is limited. A time where I don't have a whole lot to say. And if I did, no one would be able to understand it anyway. And so I welcome all of you to post a confession of your own. Anything you want. Did you forget to pick up your kid at soccer practice? No worries. I've done worse. Did you send your kid to school with no lunch money? Aint no shame or blame in that. I've been there. Maybe you went out of the house with your shirt on backwards? Ha! Child's play! So come on and break out those confessions. It's My Confession Monday anyway. And it's been a while since we did one of these. Come on. Fess up. Do it for me. Because I love you all, and I am in pain. Or not. Whatever. They gave me pain medicine, so it's all good. Now go ahead and confess. Or not. Or let's all have some pudding and watch 90210 reruns. That sounds good too.