Hurry up and wait!

I love my kids.  I love going on vacation.

I do not love my kids while ON vacation.  And I do not love taking a vacation WITH my kids.

They go into what I like to call: DFM.  Delerious Fucktard Mode.

Seriously.  It's like they are inhabited by aliens who suddenly want to back-sass me, stay up all hours of the night, embarrass the hell out of me in public (worse than under normal circumstances, anyway), and bitch and complain about everything.

I love the idea of my 6 year old going to school.  I observe countdown the days until this treasured event takes place.

Then, as I walk him through the front doors, watch him walk down the hall on his way to his very first day of FIRST grade, I become a blubbering moron.

I miss him.  I worry about him.  I hope that he's making new friends.  Likes his teacher.  Eats all of his lunch.

I countdown await the moment he returns home again.  Ready to hear all about his day.

Until the first half hour sets in.  We're back to DFM state.  I'm anxiously anticipating the moment I can pop open that bottle of wine.

Will I ever be content *in the moment* ??

 

Are you there, Skinny?? It's me, Fatty.

I live a life of gluttony.  I own this fact.  I'm not in
denial.  It is all my own doing.  I love carbohydrates,
cheese of any kind, and wine of any color.

I have gained 9 pounds since the summer began.

My goal was to lose 20 lbs. by June (clearly that didn't happen).  I had found a walking buddy in my neighborhood, and we actually had quite a routine down.  I started cooking straight out of Weight Watchers cookbooks.  I was taking supplements.  I was drinking lots of water.

Then I tore my ACL.  Figures.

I gain weight just by being in the same room as anything with calories.  I have no self-control.  No will power. 
I used to.  Until I had children.  Then I went into survival mode.

My "fat" clothes are getting too tight.  It's pathetic.  I'm completely disgusted with myself.  I might as well move into a barn, grow utters and start making milk.

So, what do I do to make myself feel better??

Eat.  And drink wine.  I'm awesome.

I'm giving myself one more week of free-for-all-trough-feeding, and then buckling down.  Seriously.  I'm putting this into cyber-space to keep myself accountable.  Must turn this jello into muscle by Christmas.

Wish me luck!  (personally, I give it two weeks)  But, I WILL look like this again:

(even if it requires rehab, starvation and plastic surgery)

My Reality

It's rather depressing to find a picture of yourself  (circa. pre-kids, pre-cellulite, pre-sleep deprivation, pre-bat wings, pre-an ass that could qualify for it's own zip code) and barely recognize that it's you.

It's even more depressing to know that under no circumstances, will you ever look that good again.

But, just to add salt to the open wound....you end up having this conversation with your just-turned-6 year old:

Little Man:  "mom, who's that?"

Me:  "that's me".

Little Man:  "really?  it doesn't look like you"

Me:  "well, I was younger.  And much thinner then."

Little Man:  "oh, so like a hundred years ago".

Thank you, sweet, little angel of mine.

Where is the Calgon?!?

I am blessed in many ways.  Too many to count.
One of the reasons I am such a lucky girl, is the fact that I have a hard-working husband, which allows me the opportunity to stay at home with my children (which is easiest job in the whole world....GAG!).

My *BFF*,  *bestie*,  *practical sister*, lives in the midwest with her husband and 2 sons.   They have a vacation home at the beach, 3 hours from our house.  Since their kids are on a traditional school calendar, they are able to spend the summer on the coast.  Which, in turn, gives me a great place to escape the mundane, when I'm ready to crucify my children.  And also allows us to spend time together (and drink together), and the kids to bond and create memories (and come up with new ways to drive us over the edge).

So, here we are, for the third week this month.  No hubbies.  Just us moms, and 4 kids.  Psychotic, over-tired, over-stimulated, sassy, attention-seeking, over-sunned kids.  Under the age of 7.  We are completely out-numbered.  And severely alcohol-deprived.  (And that's mostly because there is barely enough time to take a breath, or a pee, let alone pop the cork on a wine bottle)

Anyway, yesterday we decide to venture to the beach.  With a heat index of 110.  Two adults, four kids.  A beach cart with 300 lbs. of paraphernalia attached to it.  And a pop-up-tent (which it turns out was missing KEY PIECES OF EQUIPMENT in order to actually function.  However, I'm sure the two of us doing our best to set it up anyway, all while screaming at children to stay the hell out of the ocean, provided comical relief to everyone.  You're welcome).

So, how did the day proceed??  Completely sober, somewhat-medicated mommies, attempting to set up a tent with only 3 functioning legs, on a busy beach, after dragging all necessary supplies 1 mile through the hot sand until we actually found  enough space to set up camp.  Lots of profanity.  Lots of whining (by ALL involved).

It ended quite similarly, except THIS time, all four miniature humans were crying.  And tired.  And hot.  Mommies were dripping in sweat.  And highly irritated.  Strangers stared as 'Baby Girl' refused to walk, but mommy couldn't pick her up because she was too busy dragging the monstrosity of beach crap on a 2-wheeler.

Nobody wanted to shower off the sand from their sunburned bodies.  Nobody wanted to assist by carrying even a flippin' towel!  We were all almost backed over/into by some jackass in an F150  (whom I'm certain was NOT sober).......

You'd think after a few days of all this activity, my children would at least sleep well through the night.

HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!


Excuse me while I vomit in my mouth for a minute.  These are MY kids we're talking about.  They were born immune to sleep.


But....we'll be back next week to do it  ALL.  OVER.  AGAIN.


Somebody please smack me upside the head.

Fight Club

OK....I admit, I've got sort of a "temperamental" emotional status when it comes to my children.  Most of the time, I want to fight them...... when I'm not praying that the looney bin arrives to cart me off in a straight jacket, lock me in a padded cell and administer heavy sedatives to me intravenously.

However, going to a semi-enclosed public location with them, where other children and their *un-involved* parents will also be (ie.  the Children's Museum), gives me HIVES.  I swear.  I do it for my kids...... and partly to give them something else to climb on besides each other and me (and, honestly, because if we get couped up in the house together, I'll be "self-medicating" by noon).

But, it is AMAZING to me, how many parents completely ignore their children's behavior, when they set them loose in public.  Do people not realize that children are complete imbeciles when they think they can get away with it??  That they purposely do asinine things to GET attention???

I swear I've never wanted to fight so many people under 5 feet tall  IN MY LIFE!!! (other than my own children, of course)  And then I wanted to sucker punch their completely oblivious parents!!!

Two words people:  Parental Supervision.  WATCH YOUR OWN DAMN CHILDREN!!!  Paying a $5 cover charge at the door, does NOT entitle you to immunity from parenting!!!!

If your kids push, knock over, steal from, grab at, yell at, bully, or otherwise look at MY children cock-eyed, while you sit on your ass in the corner checking Facebook on your iPhone, you better believe this "helicopter-mom" is gonna Take. Them. Out.

Just sayin'.

My Week in Recap

I'm going to pretend for just a moment, that 1 or 2 of you are actually wondering why I haven't posted anything in a week.......  (just let me live in my delusional reality for a bit, if you don't mind).

I feel this past week in my life bears to be written (ie. 'complained') about.  And more importantly, justifies my increased consumption of wine.

It all began 1 week ago......my Aunt L came for a visit.  Now, Aunt L, is my mother's sister.  My mother passed away 3 years ago, so Aunt L has taken over position of mother/grandmother.  And GOD BLESS HER for that!  Truly.  However, any outside visitors create a chaotic environment in my household.  That's just how we roll in this house.  "Little Man" tends to turn into a ......PSYCHOTIC LUNATIC....when his routine gets disrupted in any way (I'm not saying he gets this from me, but it's remotely possible).

During this same time, I was in communication with the Principal, Vice Principal, and Curriculum Director of Little Man's elementary school, in order to switch him from one Track to another Track (please refer to earlier posts about the school system here).  My reasoning was to get him in a class with other children closer in age to him (he was the youngest and smallest in his kindergarten class), because I feel it will benefit him socially - now and in the future.  I felt frantic about this situation, because school was due to start THIS Monday.  I'm not usually a procrastinator, but I had a gut feeling about things, and I needed to act on them - FAST.

After some severe GI-stress-related issues, and 2 nights of insomnia, I am happy to say HE GOT SWITCHED.  However, he's home for 3 more weeks.....not so sure I'm mentally prepared for that.

Anyway, during Aunt L's stay, "Baby Girl" developed a high fever (and by "high", I mean 105+).  I gave her some ibuprofen, which she choked on, so I naturally assumed it was strep throat.  After coordinating drop-off of my Little Man to VBS,  I took Baby Girl to the pediatrician.  She began twitching severely, looked up at me, her eyes rolled back, and she seized.  Right there.  In the doctor's office.  In my arms.

I think I actually stopped breathing for a few minutes.

After the entire staff of receptionists and nurses came running out into the waiting area, she came to, and projectile vomited all over us.  So, I spent the next 2 hours, covered in pink vomit, trying to figure out what was wrong with my child.  Her fever was still 105.  They gave her a Tylenol suppository, stuck her with needles & a urinary catheter.  Cultures of all kinds were performed.  Then they gave her a double dose of an antibiotic that is used to treat bacterial meningitis.  Two injections.  One in each thigh.  It took me and 2 nurses to hold her down (this "fight" mentality will definitely be beneficial for her later in life).

I am strongly convinced I now suffer from PTSD.

Aside from an elevated white blood cell count, we still have no idea what was wrong.  Thankfully, her fever came down after 24 hours.

A few days later, with oral antibiotics in tow, we ventured off to the beach, to stay with our dear friends and their 2 young boys.  This trip had been planned for months, and we were intent on celebrating Little Man's 6th birthday.

All went great, and everyone had F.U.N.........

despite the 11pm bedtimes, and 6am wake up calls, the diarrhea caused by antibiotics.....

Oh, and Little Man pissing his pants during the fireworks show, saying "holy $hit" in front of everyone, and Baby Girl getting into the ant spray under the non-childproofed cupboards.  (I've never claimed to be Mother of the Year, people).

Now, please excuse me while I go make myself a stiff drink.

Where have I been for the last 6 years??!

Happy 6th Birthday to my amazing, sensitive, funny, beautiful, incredibly intelligent, outgoing, loving Little Boy.  I can't even begin to tell you how much joy you have brought to my life over the last 6 years.  I have never cried, laughed, drank or had as many anxiety attacks as I have since welcoming you into my arms at 6:12am, July 3rd, 2005.

I haven't had a solid nights sleep since you were born.  I never stop worrying about you.  Never stop wanting to protect you.  I love watching you turn into a young man, with your own opinions and feelings.  I love that you still ask me to cuddle with you on the couch, yet have no problem establishing your independence when there is something you don't want to do.

I love how you treat everyone equally.  You know no evil in the world.  I love how you try to see the best in every situation.  I love how forgiving you are, even to people who may not deserve it (myself included).  I love your fearlessness.  I love to see how easily you make new friends.  I love to see how each new day brings excitement to your eyes.  I love to see your desire to please others.

I am so in love with you, that it almost breaks my heart.  I feel lucky to be your mother.  I am proud to call you my son.

You are truly a miracle.  The world became more blessed the day you arrived in it.

You will hold my heart forever.