Psyches and Cement

I just read another mom's blog. It was well-written and I enjoyed it, but as she editorialized her struggle to not be "that mom" and yell at her kids against her angst over teaching them how to deal with anger, I was mostly just left with the question "So when did we all start thinking of our children as quick-drying cement?" One small, inadvertent impression and 5 minutes later, it's indelibly become a part of our child's psyche forever? Who can live with that kind of pressure? I think back to the early days of my first child and remember agonizing over whether to Ferberize her, when to wean, if she should have a pacifier, when to take said pacifier, etc...I thought my head would explode as I envisioned every decision rippling into the future, branching out into a thousand different psychological scars that she would one day discuss with her therapist. And one day as I looked at our sleeping toddler and asked my husband how we would survive all this he gave me the perfect advice: we'll love her and keep our sense of humor. And with that, the burden of perfection was gone.

Somewhere out there are children starving, being beaten and abused and abandoned. Mine are throwing temper tantrums over not getting Goldfish crackers for breakfast and calling me "mean" when I make them say "please." But at some point, parents have caved in to all the books and lectures and pamphlets that insist we should agonize over their psyches, their emotional expressions, their rights to privacy and their manufactured rights to be sheltered from ever experiencing unpleasantness in the form of competition or rejection. At some point a swat on the rear-end became physical abuse and losing your temper became emotional abuse. We have been told that we should distract not thwart; discuss not inform; cajole not demand. And that places an immense burden on us as parents. It makes us feel that any mistake we make is set in stone forever. So we freak when we lose our temper and yell, we agonize over whether we have been consistent enough, we blame ourselves when these wonderful, uncivilized little savages we gave birth to act in accordance with their nature and bite the kid next door. Teaching takes time and patience and we are dealing with living souls, not quick-dry cement. Have you ever noticed how unconcerned grandparents are? It's because they know the secret; love and a sense of humor go much farther than you realize.

Stephen King Must Be A Dad

Since I had children, I don't watch horror movies anymore. This has nothing to do with their tender sensibilities- it's because my kids can scare the bejesus out of me, no special effects or creepy theme music required. I swear, sometimes I think all I need is Alex talking to his finger and saying "redrum" to ensure I never sleep again. My kids always wake me around 3 am. I'll be catapulted out of deepest sleep either by bloodcurdling screams from their bedroom, or worse, a motionless shadow standing next to me silently breathing in my face. Either way, my heart does some seriously unhealthy acrobatics. And then there are those really creepy comments they have a knack for making- made all the worse by their sweet sing-song voices. Like the night I was putting Alex to bed and he was saying "night night" to everything in his room......."Nigh, nigh truck...nigh, nigh light...nigh, nigh girl..."......WTF!!!!! Night night girl? What girl!? Does he see some girl!? I calmly asked him about this girl (all the while imagining cold spots and preparing to douse the room in holy water), but he was only 2 and never elaborated further. Or the time my 11 month old daughter woke screaming bloody murder. I went tearing in there expecting pins in the pjs or something. Instead, she screamed hysterical, high pitched screams for a 1/2 hr. despite stripping her naked, rediapering, dressing, singing, bottle offers and changing the crib sheets....then abruptly stopped and just fell asleep in the space of 5 seconds. Or the night my husband was out of town and my 4 month old son stared and cooed at a dark, totally empty corner of the bedroom for about 15 minutes- I never did figure out what he was looking at. Then there's always the bad dreams, where they wake up (see "bloodcurdling screams" above) and proceed to tell you incoherent stories about the man that was in the room just a second ago who must now be under the bed or in the closet (or escaped from the local mental hospital with a hook for a hand maybe?). Or perhaps they merely try to sneak into bed with you-- via lifting up the covers at the foot of the bed and crawling in like a reject from some Japanese horror flick (I always end up like that cartoon cat, clinging to the ceiling by its fingernails). So you see, the sleepless nights of parenthood aren't always about midnight feedings or nighttime coughs. Sometimes it's screams, creepy comments and unexpected visitors that keep you up...so I don't need any extra help from Hollywood, thank you very much.

Household Tips For Staying Sane

Ok. I have gotten several emails now asking how I am sane with four children....I drink heavily.....just kidding! (my mother-in-law probably just read that and is hyperventilating into a paper bag as we speak). Anyway, at the risk of sounding like some kind of Super Mommy (I am sooooo not even close), I will pass on a few things that keep me sane. Maybe they will help you too.

1. Get a shower every day- even if it's after your hubby gets home. Follow this up with a little face powder, eyebrow pencil and lip gloss and splash on a little body spray. After this, I feel much more put together- even though I am only wearing sweats and baby urp.

2. Leave it til later. Housekeeping is a full-time, never ending marathon of a job. If you get a few minutes of down time- rest!!! Go somewhere quiet (this is key..tv is really not that restful) and stare out the window, have a cup of coffee, read a book for 5 minutes....whatever. Just get in a couple minutes of alone time. All the housework, laundry and childcare will still be there and anyone who thinks your house should be perfect is obviously childless or affluent enough for a maid.

3. Housework ends all squabbles. In our house, the kids have some basic chores that they have to do "because it's part of being in this family", but when they all start fighting, squabbling and tattling- I put them to work. I tell them if they have so much extra energy, it should be put to better use. It's a win-win situation. They are learning how to problem-solve and I haven't had to dust in 2 years :)

4. Organize, organize, organize!!! There is no way around this one. I work my rear end off on this one. The house may be a wreck, but my closets, drawers and cabinets are organized and labeled. You can pretty much walk in off the street and find clean sheets, Tylenol or school records without any trouble. In this one area I am the she-bitch-with-laser-eyes if things don't get put back properly. When you are keeping up with stuff for 6 people you have to know where it all belongs or you will go nuts. I also have 3 separate calendars. A monthly one I write stuff on, one on my phone I program in as I need and one in the kitchen showing everyone's schedules for the current week. I sync them all up every Sunday.

5. Less is less. Duh, right? But seriously, everyone's stuff can easily take over a house. So a couple times a year we go through it all and purge outgrown clothes, toys and junk we don't need anymore. I also cut down on the basics. Each child has 2 towels in their personal color, a cubby that gets cleaned out when full and no more that 10 outfits. Each bed has 2 sets of sheets and a winter and summer blanket, and each closet has a plastic tub for outgrown clothes.

So that's it. It all sounds pretty good on paper, but in reality, I am as nuts as every other mom out there. I drink too much coffee, never get enough sleep and am always behind on the laundry. I lose my temper, yell at my kids, am chronically late to preschool and despite my three calendars, I still forget stuff. But I am dressed, my closets are neat and my children are clean, fed and clothed so I can live with it.

The Lottery

Yesterday I won the lottery.....nooooo, not the one with all the money- the other kind, the PRESCHOOL LOTTERY. I say that in all caps because it apparently inspires fear and awe in the hearts of mothers everywhere. You see, after a preschool signs up all the returning students, siblings and children of church members, the remaining slots are open to the general public via lottery system. For those of you who haven't experienced this little peephole into hell, I will explain. Picture a large room full of folding chairs, screaming toddlers, roped off aisles and registration tables manned by sweet (if somewhat harried) grandmotherly ladies.....now amp up the stress level to about that of those "naked in school" dreams. There are different procedures, but in my case I arrived early to be issued a number....and then to sit there for an hour while the room filled with 100 or more people, all of whom were competing for the 23 remaining spots. When the cutoff time arrived we all sat tensely in a now-quiet room as numbers were called at random and those lucky moms stepped up to be issued a different number and instructed to get in line at the appropriate table and find their place in THAT line based on numerical order. It may sound innocuous, but you cannot imagine the stress of sitting there while everyone around you is called up and the lines at each table get longer and longer. Then waiting in line as others (called after you I might add) get to cut in front of you because their number comes before yours. While I waited in my seat, I heard tales from anxious moms about this being their fourth or fifth lottery attempt, some even camping out at 5am to receive a number at first light. I swear I haven't seen this much anxiety since my best friend in high school missed her period. I had originally intended to just relax about the process, but I found this impossible sitting there with horror stories whispered against the background of pure stress as lady luck ran the show. In the end, I was the next to the last number called and nabbed the very last "boy" spot in the class I wanted. I walked out of there feeling like the luckiest person on the planet....maybe I'll even buy a lottery ticket on the way home.

The Lighter Side of Motherhood

Today I liked my children. Don't freak out. Every day I love my children with a passion and intensity that can only come with motherhood, but not every day is one where I enjoy their company. Let's be honest, there are plenty of days when it's 2pm and you have dealt with spilled juice, leaking bottles, 15 temper tantrums, 6 sibling fights (with injury), 4 arguments over which cartoon to watch , 2 fights over the volume of the cartoon in question and an incredible amount of poop either in diapers or worse, all over the bathroom floor....all this and you are still unshowered and reheating the same 1/2 cup of coffee you've been trying to drink since 6am.
But not today! Today the gods of harried mothers with late-working husbands showed mercy and I had 4 wonderful, well-behaved children that remembered their manners, did their chores without arguing, took naps without tantrums and made it to the potty on time (obviously I am referring to my 3 year old- my 7 and 10 year olds have it down pat, thank you very much). Then as the cherry on the sundae, they all played together happily after dinner. I had the best time sitting at the kitchen island with the baby and watching my other 3 play some strange hybrid game that seemed to mix freeze tag with hide and seek- with new rules involving the "it" having to sit on a toy truck while chasing the others who could only hop on one foot. And apparently if you jumped out and scared the other player into screaming, there was some kind of bonus that included valentine's candy and a flying stuffed hippo....it's all a bit hazy, but I enjoyed it almost as much as my 8 month old son who squealed and bounced every time a sibling went careening past. So tomorrow, I may again be crazed and craving caffeine, but for now life is happy, boisterous and oh so very sweet.

Pena, Pena, Pena

So my 2 year old son has discovered his penis...well, actually he discovered the actual body part a while ago, but recently he is falling victim to that downfall of so many males- penis pride. You mothers of boys know what I'm talking about. He grabs it and dunks it in the bathtub and tries to fit the shampoo cap on the end of it and (this really freaks my hubby out) stretches it waaaay beyond what I would think would be comfortable. He takes off his diaper and runs around the house chanting "pena, pena, pena, pena" and generally thinks his particular member to be the most wonderful body part ever to grace a household. He even went so far as to pity his "poor sissies" who don't have one. As he marches through the house after each bath, stretching it nearly to his chin and admiring his perfection, I sigh and tell my husband I can't wait for this phase to pass. With a huge grin, my husband replies..."Phase? Honey, he's a boy."-- I guess I'd better not hold my breath.

Q-Tip Terrors

My 9 year old daughter is afraid of throat swabs. She has made it through stitches and shots with barely a whimper, but throat swabs strike terror in her soul. Yes, I know, I find this hysterical too. With all the myriad of uncomfortable and painful procedures that one can experience at the doctor's or dentist's offices, what is so terrifying about a little 2 second Q-tip action? Still, we go through the same rigamarole every time, almost like clockwork. First comes the tearful confession- "Mommy, I didn't want to tell you this, but my throat is sore." This is followed by at least 2 hours of reassurance and coaxing until I can finally look in her throat with a flashlight and see if she needs a doctor's visit. Next comes the hysteria (part 1) where she freaks out when I tell her we've got to go to the pediatrician- followed by another 2 hours of reassurance. Next comes denial- "Maybe I don't need a throat swab...it's probaby just sore from coughing/drinking juice/talking/dust,etc." Then comes acceptance- "I'm gonna be brave and just get it over with, I'm not gonna cry." After all this comes the actual visit and hysteria (part 2).
If you have never seen a 9 year old absolutely freaking hysterical over a q-tip, then you have missed it. There she is, panicking, screaming and praying so loud that I can barely hear the doctor talk. I know it sounds cruel to find this funny, but when someone is screaming "Please God, destroy the q-tip" over and over again, it's hard to keep a straight face- and even worse, the doctor can't either. So I am holding her down, the doc is trying to coax her to open up and let us get this over with, she is screaming and fighting to grab the q-tip and the doc and I are trying to calm her down and keep from laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation. Finally after 30 minutes of hysteria, coaxing, soothing and bribes the doc manages to do the 2 second swab and we are mercifully finished. She is ready for a lollipop, the doc is ready for us to find a new pediatrician and I need a good stiff drink. And the thought that keeps running through my head is- what the hell is going to happen when she has her first GYN appt!?

Snow Day

I am a winter person. I love the cold, the icy air that smells so pure, the silence of a cold night and especially snow. Living in TX we didn't see any these past few years so you can imagine our household the other day when we awoke to a NC winter wonderland. Abby came bounding into the bedroom at 6am yelling "It's a miracle!!", trailed by Alex who has never seen snow, never heard of snow, but was determined to be a part of whatever had his beloved sissy in such a state. We all crowded around the windows, ooohing and aahhing over the magical sight of a humdrum backyard transformed by a blanket of snow. That was about where the magic ended. Abby bounced off to suit up for her trek outside while I frantically attempted to help Elisabeth and Alex get dressed before Abby left them behind. I didn't succeed. Which meant that Abby made it out the backdoor (leaving it open) while I was still trying to help Beth find her shoes and socks while she whined every breath about a sore foot, a sore throat, her shoes were too big, the same shoes were too small, it was cold, she was hungry and she didn't like her mittens. This child doesn't often cause any disharmony, but when she does...watch out. Finally after getting her all set, I turned my attentions to Alex.....wait a minute....where is Alex? And there he was, outside in snow up to his knees without coat, hat or even socks, Abby leading him around the backyard. I quickly grabbed his outerwear and headed out, but it was too late. The minute I was spotted, he launched into full blown tears, holding up frozen little hands and wailing "cold, mama!". His 10 minute journey was over and he wanted to go back inside to get warm. This we did, followed for some reason by a 15 minute tantrum because he didn't get to swing. I guess at 2 swinging and cold are mutually exclusive? Later on when the fire was lit and the kids were all warm and glowing from 2 cups of cocoa, my husband came home regretful of missing Alex's first trek into the snow and eager to hear all about it. Unfortunately I had to tell him that I missed it too.

What!!?? Breasts!!???

Over Christmas, my mom happened to point out a horrifying thing...my 9 year-old daughter has little breast buds going on. When this happened exactly, I do not know and I am having a pretty tough time with it. I mean, I always knew this day would come, but since I didn't actually need a bra until sometime in my mid-twenties, I was more prepared to help her deal with the disappointment of being flat-chested through high school. The idea that she might end up a voluptuous early bloomer never even crossed my mind. Looking back, I realize this has been coming. The potent cocktail of prepubescent hormones has been brewing for several months now, but I chalked up the emotional outbursts, desire for privacy and sudden necessity of daily showers and deodorant to the coming tween stage, never expecting it to actually be the start of something more. So here we are, ready or not, and instead of consoling her with trips to Victoria's Secret for padded bras, it looks like we might be looking for ones with actual support. I guess it will be just me looking for those padded push-up ones after all.

Y oh Y

Anyone who thinks that the differences between boys and girls are taught rather than innate obviously has no boys. If you only have girls, you cannot fathom the extreme differences that come with a child sporting the y chromosome. Believe me, I have both and I am a true believer that gender differences are there at birth. My son eats everything, is loud, rambunctious and stubborn as anything. It does not matter one whit what kind of toys he has handy, he will throw it, beat it against something else or attempt to drive it around on the floor. His idea of affection involves full-body contact, rough hugs and full-on slobbery lip-locks. He delights in spitting things out, spitting in general and complete hands-on exploration of all the food groups- just before he throws it on the floor and stomps in it. He prefers male company over female, loud toys over quiet ones and outdoors over indoors every time. To him, grabbing something with both hands and seeing if it can be pulled apart is being gentle. Sharing his food with you means shoving a fist-full of it into the back of your throat and often excitement over something will overcome him and he just can't help, but hit it (much like an overly exuberant pat on the back). He is without a doubt one of the most charming, loving and sweet-natured children I have ever encountered, but you can't take him out in public much until he gets impulse and volume control.

On the other hand, my girls were quieter, could touch things gently with one finger and were a delight in public. Aside from a few squabbles and some hair pulling they were kind and gentle with each other and they tended to stay closer, not wander off as much and could be brought to tears with a stern word. My girls were not perfect, but they were much easier toddlers. Of course, I am told that girls are easier toddlers and harder teenagers while boys are just the opposite. I'm not there yet, so I can't really say, but Alex is in the dishwasher at the moment pulling out all the dirty dishes and running from my husband while my daughter is begging him to spit out her sidewalk chalk- so I'm hoping there's truth to it.

Happy Halloween

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. The leaves are changing colors, the air is crisp and the sky is that perfect blue that only autumn brings. Everywhere you look, kids are picking out pumpkins, begging for early candy and shrieking in feigned fear at the spooky decorations. I have an amazing animated Halloween village complete with spooky music and sound effects that my children will spend hours watching as the tiny mummies pop up out of the coffin and the ghosts swirl past miniature lighted windows. They spend days deciding what they want to dress up as and talk at length about how much candy they will collect this year. We decorate the house inside and out, adding freshly carved jack o' lanterns, bat shaped window clings and our enormous fake furry tarantula affectionately known as Hairy. It is truly a time to be a child again and I love to spend October weekends drinking in the Halloween hubbub, touring haunted houses, strolling through the local Halloween festivals and watching late-night slasher movies with my husband. Halloween is a time for the imagination to run wild with every full moon and rustle of leaves. A time for ghosts and goblins to roam the streets and a time for the impossible to come to life safely for one exciting night. So enjoy celebrating your children, enjoy being a kid again and happy Halloween to all!

Pregnancy Hormones Strike Again

I get really angry during early pregnancy. For some reason, the heightened levels of progesterone transform me from a sweet Mrs. Jeckyll to a ready-to-rumble Mrs. Hyde. And I know it's not just in my head because I have had a psycho moment every pregnancy before I got a positive test. And this time was no different. Enter scene on a beautiful autumn afternoon. My husband and I are doing yard work because suddenly the leaves in the yard are making me nuts. Our next door neighbors who are perpetually tidy come over yet again to complain about our tree. It has some branches that hang over into their yard and is "getting leaves all over the yard" ummmm, hello? They call it Fall for a reason... Anyway, my normal handling of the situation would involve something along the lines of apologizing (even though it was here when we moved in) and assuring them that I'd have it taken care of when we had available funds. Instead they got a raving lunatic that loudly commented that they could cut the f&*%ing tree down if they couldn't stand leaves that much and promptly marched across the street to see about borrowing an axe. The guy who lives there took one look at my wild eyes and calmly asked if he could cut whatever it was for me instead. I swear my husband was in the background waving his arms and mouthing "Don't give her an axe!!"...to this day, I'm really not certain just what would have occurred if he had, but either way we'd have a felled tree and possibly a newspaper headline. As it was, we finished the yardwork, left the tree intact to be handled by professionals oddly, my suggestion of burning it down was met with resistance, go figure? and finished off the evening with a major argument about changing the bag in the trashcan. Thank goodness this pregnancy rage only lasts a few days since I soon realize something's really off and end up with a positive pregnancy test. That little diagnostic tool ends up being worth it's weight in gold as it makes me put every future impulse through the "crazy hormones filter" and I tend to take a couple deep breaths and chalk it all up to the hormones. Maybe EPT should come out with a PMS test too? So now our situation stands thus: we still have the freakin' tree until someone returns my calls for an estimate, I am seeing the advantage of privacy fencing and our neighbors are no longer speaking to us. Oh well, at least they won't come complaining about the leaves in their yard anymore.

Eternity..I mean Maternity Clothes

So now that I'm back in the gestation business I have a whole host of new material. So I think I'll start with maternity clothes. The bad news is that...well...it's maternity clothing. That pretty much isolates you from the latest fashion trends. And though some of you out there probably don't even show until you're 8 months along, only to sport an adorable little barely-there-baby-bump, I was in maternity clothes about 5 minutes after the test came back positive. So no more haute couture for me. My fashion days are over for the next 3 years (yes, it takes me almost 2 years to lose the baby weight despite a normal weight gain- even though I'm sure you left the hospital in your regular jeans that were now too big from all the weight you lost while pregnant). Anyway, cattiness aside, the good news is...everybody else looks pregnant too, hooray! The latest fashion trend seems to be babydoll tops which I would normally avoid like the plague for fear of looking pregnant, but now....if the shoe fits, wear it right? But, more bad news... maternity clothing this year is just the opposite. So while everyone else gets to wear oversized, empire-waisted babydoll tops, us moms-to-be are stuck with spandex camisoles and side-ruched tees complete with spaghetti straps and banded waists. And to think that pregnancy does a number on a woman's body image anyway, what is this!? I mean, who in their right mind wants to wear some skin-tight top that's ruched down the side and leaves nothing to the imagination? Somehow the thought of spandex stretched over a huge belly complete with inside-out navel and lines from the ultra-high waist maternity jeans just doesn't scream high fashion. And apparently I'm not the only one because I noticed that all the normal looking stuff was sold out in my size, leaving only the extra smalls for all you barely-there-baby-bump gals who can wear your regular clothing anyway. And the worst part of it all is I will be in the damn things until eternity- which is how long it will take me to lose the weight after baby #4..... Sorry for the rant folks- and tune in next time for more hormonally hyped up pregnancy rants =)

Birth Control? Yeah, Right...

My life as a woman seems to be based on some crazy hormonal cycle that runs not only month to month, but changes as I age too. Duh! you say, there's that whole biological clock thing.... but I am talking about something else, those pesky reproductive years. Phase I: Remember this? You are in college, unmarried and having fun ( if my daughters are reading this, I did not do any of this, I was a saint until I met your father). So you obsess over every late period and hormonal imbalance, praying that you're not pregnant. You put an amazing amount of effort into worrying that your birth control methods might have failed and wondering how you'd tell your family if it did. Phase II: You are older, married and can't wait for children. Now you obsess over monthly cycles, cervical mucus, body temps and ovulation predictor kits. You soon find out that your health teacher was a complete liar and wonder why you worried so much about birth control when it was obviously not as easy to get knocked up as you were led to believe.You buy pregnancy tests by the truckload and are addicted to peeing on just about any diagnostic strip that will stand still. You pray for a plus sign on every pregnancy test and plan the ways you'll tell husband and family the joyous news....then comes Phase III: You are done. Hooray! No more obsessing, no more hanging on to baby clothes and cribs "just in case" and no more throwing up, heartburn or nursing babies. You can look ahead, concentrate on your family, reconnect with your husband and your sex life has never been better. This is where it ends for most of us. But then there are always those few of us that are casually eating dinner one evening and suddenly realize that you can smell the aftershave of the gentleman 3 tables away....and no one else can. One hour and 3 trips to the pharmacy later, you are staring at 2 plus signs and a double pink line and wondering how the hell you're going to tell your husband that despite your best efforts, one more baby is on the way. It's certainly not the worst thing in the world, but it's enough to throw the best of us. So to all you ladies out there in Phase III....don't get too complacent, life will find a way.

Weapons of Ass Destruction

The other day I saw this cute little story about how Crayola crayons can bring peace to the world. According to said story, all we needed to do was drop "crayon bombs" and the lovely colors would mesmerize everyone into perfect harmony (I thought Coca-Cola had that monopoly?). It was a really cute story, but was apparently written by someone who has no children whatsoever. You see, in our household crayons are weapons of ass destruction- namely my children's. The second the crayon basket hits the kitchen table, all hell breaks loose and my formerly serene and well-mannered children turn into rejects from Lord of the Flies- only no pig's head, just pig-headedness oh, I just kill myself sometimes... Anyway, out comes the crayons and up on the table goes my son. Amid shrieks of "Noooooo Alex!!" and "Mooooom!!" I find my son with fistfuls of crayons, gleefully biting the pointed ends off and throwing them across the room. As I rescue him from the wrath of his sisters, who are doing their best to push him headfirst off the table in the name of freedom of expression, he begins to scream and flail- knocking papers, artwork and the remaining crayons off the table. My girls start wailing in frustration at having to pick up the crayons from the four corners of the kitchen and then start fighting among themselves over who's doing all the work. As I wrangle a toddler who's hell-bent on demolishing the artwork in the other room, I hear my girls continuing their argument- this time over who is hogging the pink, followed by "Don't copy me!", "But I need the blue right nooooow" and other such statements delivered with vehement whining. After about 15 minutes, I have had enough and come hurricane-force into the room telling everyone to stop the nonsense and clean up the crayons and anything-not-picked-up-will-be-thrown-out!!! My daughters burst into tears and begin cleaning up (sobbing all the while) and my son goes back to crying at not being allowed to fling crayons. I generally lock myself into my walk-in closet for 2 minutes of peace. So I guess crayon bombs could be effective, but maybe not so much for world peace.

Children of the Corn

Yesterday I thought we'd do something fun and different for our Saturday family outing. Something that required exercise and some time in the beautiful Autumn outdoors. So I scoured the internet until I came across the perfect thing- a corn maze. What could be cooler than the whole family wandering through a 2 1/2 mile maze of corn, complete with checkpoints, our own flag and a nifty little ticket that lets you stamp your progress as you find the stamp boxes hidden in the maze? I envisioned the girls laughing and calling out excitedly as each stamp box was found, my toddler finally free to run pell mell through the paths and my husband and I holding hands and enjoying the outdoors together.....that is not what I got.

Instead, I got Children of the Corn revisited. And let me tell you, if I had suddenly found myself being tied to a cornstalk cross and offered up to "he who walks the rows" I might have had a better time. Our beautiful autumn day turned out to be a late month scorcher. 80 degrees and sheltered by the high stalks of corn, we had no chance of a breeze. My family and I sweated through 2 1/2 miles of corn maze, dragging our flag (wave in case of emergency) behind us and taking turns dragging our toddler through the paths. And though Elisabeth actually got into the spirit of it and delightedly searched every corner for a stamp box, Abby whined because she wanted chicken nuggets and begged to wave our flag so an employee would come lead us out. My husband was just as disgruntled -if not as vocal- as we toted a howling toddler from checkpoint to checkpoint as he struggled to get down. Not to run mind you, but to disappear into the corn or to squat in the path and eat sand by the handfuls....maybe it tasted like corn? An hour later we emerged soaked and wilted, Alex red-faced and screaming, Abby still whining and Elisabeth crying because we were all too tired and hungry to pay another $20 to jump in a moonwalk for 20 minutes. Between all the whining, crying and temper tantrums I began to wonder just why we even do these outings. Then I looked at my daughters, so big already and closer to teenage than I'd like, and at my beautiful curly-haired boy who would not always cling to me so passionately, and finally at my husband who- despite me freezing him in time at 25- is beginning to show gray. And I remembered that anything worthwhile is often difficult. So I will keep dragging us all out every weekend until the kids move out or I am physically unable. We will have family time if it kills us....just maybe no more corn mazes.

Remind Me Again Why You Married Me?

I am a drama queen. Oh yes, I can admit it and laugh about it. Age has matured me, though I will probably never stop speaking in hyperbole. So in light of a recently quiet household (but for how long?) I am delving for material in my past. Here's motherhood in your 20's at it's best....hope you enjoy it.

1. The time I called my husband at work, baby screaming in the background, and informed him that I had had enough and to come home immediately. He told me he'd be there just as soon as he finished up what he was working on. "Fine," I said "Your daughter will be on a blanket on the living room floor, I am leaving now." ...of course I didn't leave the baby, but you know, I had no idea car tires could smoke like that in subzero weather.

2. Angry and pregnant, I had a hormonal temper tantrum and actually kicked my foot through the lower kitchen cabinet in our rented apartment. To top it off, I swore to my husband it was a complete accident and that I'd somehow tripped. But like I said, I was pregnant so he knew better.

3. When I lost my temper over our toddler's screaming temper tantrum and told her "Here's your f*&^ng drink!" This sounds awful, but in fact, she laughed at me and then ran around saying the F word for the next 2 weeks....we swore to everyone else she was trying to say "fork."

4. And my all time favorite: My hubby and I had a home "date night" planned. I had the kids in bed early, the wine chilling and the back patio set with candles and a romantic dinner for two. When he kept working in the basement, I just stewed upstairs waiting for him to come up. Finally I grabbed my cell phone and took off in the car, fully expecting an apologetic call. It didn't come. I went to see a movie. He didn't call. I drove around at 1:00am and left some tearful message on my best friend's answering machine about how my marriage was over. And he still didn't call.

What I had failed to realize was that the cell phone was new and he didn't know the number. What I also failed to realize was that my best friend also didn't have the number. So while my husband frantically called around looking for me, my best friend was calling my out-of-state mother saying the connection was bad, but she heard me crying and something about it all being over. My mother called my house in hysterics thinking I was suicidal, but only got a busy signal and the whole thing just snowballed from there. It took me a week to calm everyone down and let's just say, I now tell my husband if I'm pissed and need to drive.

The "P" Word

What is it about potty humor? My kids can't seem to get enough of it. Every time a bodily function occurs, they collapse into giggles and spend the next 15 minutes rehashing it from every angle, pointing fingers, telling the whole family about it and sniffing the air so they can shriek about how disgusting it smelled. I'm surprised they don't pick up the phone and call Grandma..."Hey Grandma, guess what? Alex pooted!!!!!!" Even my toddler joins in, and though it looks like he's just laughing and clapping because his sisters are going ape, I know deep down it's inherent in the Y chromosome. Boys never outgrow this. I know this for a fact because my husband still thinks it's funny. Example..the night I went upstairs to say goodnight and found both girls and my husband laughing over the new nicknames he'd given them...Abbitail and Elisabutt. Yeah, well it wasn't quite so funny when my daughter went to her private Christian school the next day and told her teacher that's what she wanted to be called from now on. I don't think potty humor's a sin, but I got a conference request so fast it made my head spin...just to check how she was adjusting to kindergarten, mind you. So now that we've added our son to the family, my husband has a cohort and I have lost all hope of ridding our home of potty humor forever. I know the girls will outgrow it, or at least quell the urge to talk about it in front of boys, but for my boys I suspect it's some sort of male bonding thing. Oh well, at least it makes my job a little easier, I can squash arguments and restore harmony with a single word...poot.

Today is WHAT day?!

So here we are late for school again. This entire week my household has been like some supernatural time sink. With all the minutes that seem to vanish into thin air, we could be an episode of the X-files. I mean, I get up and have coffee at 7:05am....then I look up and it's 8:40am, the kids haven't brushed their teeth, I'm not even dressed and there's still homework to be signed and snacks to pack! My poor children have barely made to school on time all week (our school starts at 9:15am...and yes, I LOVE it). So, late again this morning: I am barking orders like a drill sergeant, Alex has destroyed his diaper in a very odoriferous way, my husband can't find clean socks, my youngest daughter is crying cause she can't find her shoes and my oldest is actually having a tantrum over the fact that her favorite jeans no longer fit (welcome to the rest of your life, honey). Yet despite tears, tantrums and tons of poop, it looks like we might just squeak in under the wire, then....oh hell,I forgot it's picture day.

I look at my children. Elisabeth's super thick hair is wild and woolly, barely contained by her staunch efforts and absolute conviction that 2 teeny fashion barrettes are going to keep it contained- sort of like a wad of chewing gum holding back the hoover dam. Abby didn't shower last night thanks to a family wii tournament that went way past bedtime. Her normally shiny hair is oily and limp, bangs hanging in her face. She picked a black hooded t-shirt to wear today and is currently hiding her entire head under the hood. She looks like a gang member that's been hiding out all night. I look at the clock....if we leave now we'll just make it.... and then tell everyone to head upstairs where I perform some lightning fast makeovers with a curling iron, hair gel, scrunchies and scented body splash. Newly primped, we rush to school- only 10 minutes late, thank you very much. It's then I realize I forgot the prepay forms. So now I have to go into the office unshowered with mismatched sweats, slippers, no makeup and that lovely sex-the-night-before hairdo. I fill out forms with my head down while my son tries his best to follow his sisters to class and every other mom in the school comes in looking thin and fresh with full makeup and matching clothes. Ten mortifying minutes later the task is done and Alex and I head out for home. Tomorrow I'm setting a damned timer.