This Full House Archive

Author: Liz@ThisFullHouse

Hump Day Diddy Dumbs – In praise of a middle child, sort of…

When Thing One was born, my husband and I couldn’t wait to bring her
home and welcomed our new roles, as mother and father to our brand new
baby daughter, celebrating each milestone of "firsts" with equal
amounts of enthusiasm and trepidation.

Then, I became pregnant with Thing Two and – though, I couldn’t wait and called my husband…at work…and
gave him the results of the pregnancy test…while in the middle of a
meeting with a client…because, I am all about informality – I was
surprised to feel a bit worried about whether or not I was ready to
separate myself from being the world to Thing One and not knowing
exactly how I was going to manage sharing, well, pretty much everything
else with TWO babies!?!

Then Thing Two was born and…WHAM!…things like colic, irritable
bowel and projectile vomiting became standards in our vocabulary, as we
spent the next 8 months sleepwalking and it was obvious, right from the
start, that there was no comparison.

"I can’t seem to be able to make her happy and I’m afraid that this child will grow up to hate me!"

I cried – along with Thing Two – nearly every night and tried
everything that any doctor, lawyer, Indian chief and even my MIL
suggested that I simply strap the child into the stroller, or car seat
and just go with it.

I did and it worked.

Soon, she (and I) grew used to needing very little sleep and spent
the next couple of months, together – watching Barney, Pooh Bear, or
any blessed video that would give us, along the rest of the house, a
little peace – and sort of getting reacquainted, with each other.

Then, Little Man came along and Thing Two adored her new baby
brother and I was surprised at how quickly she adjusted to her new role
as "big sister."

Middle child, not so much.

"I can’t seem to be able to make her happy and I’m afraid that this child will grow up to hate me!"

After all, at 2 1/2 years old, she wasn’t even out of diapers yet and I cried on her first day of nursery school – she did NOT.

"Gotta kiss for Momma?"

She ran right for the play kitchen set, and started pushing a
shopping cart, and I just shook my head and waved, as her teacher tried
to coax her back.

"That’s okay – she knows Momma’s busy with the baby
and her big sister is just down the hall, too – have fun and I love
you, baby!"

She did.

I remember rushing around and barely making it to her preschool
graduation, because the next day, her baby sister (child #4) was
scheduled to arrive – though, at this point, she and I had learned to
pretty much go with the flow – Thing Two would always be the middle
girl.

"I can’t seem to be able to stop thinking about when you were little and how much you’ve grown!"

Thing Two – my middle girl – is graduating 5th grade, today.

"I can’t believe you’re going to middle school, already."

She’s smart, confident, beautiful and has a wicked sense of humor –
especially, when things around here can get a little, you know, sticky
– we’ve grown to refer to Thing Two as our family’s little peacemaker.

"It’s okay – Thing One told me a lot of stuff and
showed me around, already – now, you’ll have two of us to worry about
and I’m sure I will have fun getting into lots of trouble and making
YOU mad."

[snort]

"Am I really that terrible of a mother?"

She shook her head and sort of, smiled.

"Nah, you’re kind of somewhere, you know, in between."

I love you too, baby.

June 13, 2007
Parenting Tip #22,915,002: Never underestimate the power of sustainable housekeeping!

Years ago – before kids and killer dust bunnies took over my brain –
my husband and I had dinners and entertained a lot (with real food!)
and for the "entertainment" portion of the evening, he used to love to
play dirty little housekeeping tricks on me.

"Watch this!"

[places wine glass on cocktail table]

"7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2…"

[places coaster under wine glass and wipes table]

"Can I get anyone, anything?"

[lots of giggling]

"She’s nuts, I tell ya’!"

Okay, so maybe I used to be a little overzealous about the cleaning
– a domesticated freak show, apparently – but, after years of trying
to keep up with four kids – not to mention, their laundry – I’ve since
removed the Swiffer from out of my butt and adopted my own Full House philosophy in house cleaning.

Then my kids got older and they all sort of started needing stuff –
like clothes, shoes and lunch bags – to be, you know, clean and…cough-cough…organized, just to get them to school.

This time of year, I’m pretty much done with that, too!

"I need something to make a dessert for a project for my Italian class!"

Watch this.

"When do you need it?"

[biting lip]

"Um…tomorrow!?!"

[looks at clock]

"It’s 8 o’clock on a Sunday night."

7,6,5,4,3,2…

"Are you nuts…nope, I’m not doin’ this…not this time…I am SO done!!!"

Thing One (a.k.a. Last minute Annie) and her projects have caused
more stress on her father and I than, well, all the craft projects
we’ve had to put-together, the last minute, for any one of our
children, for the passed month, at least!

"Nope, I am NOT saving your butt, not again!"

So, we’re on our way back from Stop and Shop – what? – because,
well, I am a DORK and there wasn’t any sugar in the house – what, NO
SUGAR!?! – wait, I’ll let that settle in, for a minute….YES, I take
sugar in my coffee, thank you…okay, and I’m pretty proud of myself
for not, you know, flipping out.

"Just melt the chocolate chips for about 30 seconds and dip the Stella D’oros in and…"

Watch this.

"Oh, CRAP!"

[grabs forehead as Thing One ducks for cover]

"I totally forgot Little Man’s diorama is due, tomorrow!"

7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2…

SNAP!

Now, a few years ago, the much younger, yet freakish me would have
taken Little Man to the Hobby Shop, gathered all of the materials,
necessary to create the perfect ocean environment and even have him
pick out the sea life for his aquatic diorama.

"This is what we’ve got and we’ll make it work!"

Never underestimating the power of collecting and saving an abundant
supply of what seems to be useless crud – not to mention, never having
thrown anything away since 1993 – see, I knew this crap would come in
handy, some day!

Meet Humpty, the humpback whale – he’s a handsome-looking mammal
(though, it’s hard for you to see his fins fashioned from black
construction paper) happily blowing his bubbles (saved from a broken
strand of Christmas beads) swimming in a sea of blue sidewalk chalk and
hiding amongst the crepe paper sea weed.

Humpty was most recently moved from Cape May, NJ…

…and – though, I’ve been teased and chastised for cleaning my house in heels
– ever the shoe box Diva, Little Man had his pick and Humpty gots
himself a suburban house of pumps; a real fixer upper, go figure!

Mission accomplished – Humpty’s diorama is TIGHT – and on time; we
actually had fun and no animals (or, children) were harmed in the
making of yet another gosh-darned school project!

Let that be a lesson to us all!

[ring-ring]

"Hello, Mom…um…it’s me, Little Man…I forgot my
project on the kitchen table, this morning…and could you bring it in
the next 10 minutes…or, the teacher’s gonna give me a zero!?!"

SNAP!

[Next week: How to alienate yourself from your child’s teacher, and cursing in two different languages, in three easy lessons…or less!]

June 11, 2007
Mini-Me loves chocolate, Mommy don’t…

Actually, I have a terrible crush on anything flavored, dusted
and/or dipped in "dark chocolate," unlike that of my children’s desires
for milk chocolate, plain and don’t even think about trying to serve
them anything – like, brownies, ice cream and chocolate chip cookies –
with nuts!

"I told-did teacher you would bwing bwoo-bewy muffins!"

Huh?

"I thought you didn’t like blueberries and when do I need to bring these muffins in, btw!?!"

Yesterday, of course.

"Today, when you come in, wee-membuh?"

Of course – having suffered from a selective memory since, well,
having children – it’s been a little crazy here, lately, and – though I
did remember to invite my MIL and FIL to the Author’s Tea with
at least, you know, one day’s notice – I totally forgot about baking
the stupid muffins!

She was so nervous, poor thing, and with good reason – especially,
since, you know, she’s got me for a mother – coming up on the last week
of school, not to mention Mini-Me’s birthday (the day before Father’s
Day) and her kindergarten graduation (the day before Thing Two’s 5th
grade graduation) I can’t help but feel as if all h-e-double hockey
sticks is breaking loose and I’m playing goalie!

Especially now, since receiving some more bad news (I’ll save you
the details, you can thank me later) the likes of which can take the
wind out of my sails (which isn’t all that easy to do, quite frankly)
and now I definitely know what it feels like to get punched in the gut,
probably.Seriously, I haven’t felt this bruised in a very, very long
time!

"I should have let the stupid answering machine get it!"

Yes, I talk to myself…often…and decided that I’d better snap out
of it, quick, lest I rain on Mini-Me’s parade and totally wreck the day
for her, too.

She started to read and – though, her grandparents were visibly surprised, "They’re in kindergarten, right?"
and kept giggling at barely being able to see Mini-Me’s face over the
podium – I was amazed at how strong (and loud) her voice was.

She spoke of me, her sisters and all things Corbin Bleu, and a friend of mine (one of the very few mothers who actually knows what I do for a living) glanced back my way and smiled.

"That was a pretty terrific story; she must get it from you!"

Yes, my friend, it was like a slapshot to the groin and this was NOT what I wanted to hear, right now!

"Look, I made Mini-Me’s favorite blueberry muffins!"

[eyes go wide]

"No you didn’t!"

Huh?

"My fav-o-wit is chocwit and you told-did me you buy-did them at Stop and Shop!"

Why, yes – I nearly died and isn’t she just a giggling grab bag of
humor!?! – I am very glad it’s Friday, thank you, and I am reasonably
sure that you’ll excuse me, while I go soak my head and won’t be
answering the phone again, anytime soon!

Blueberry muffin, anyone?

June 8, 2007
Hump Day Diddy Dumbs: I’ve rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.

When my four kids started school in September – one of the
happiest days, in my life – I encouraged each of them to choose at
least one recreational sports program, as well as have them get
involved with an after-school activity, or club.

Now that we are quickly approaching the last day of school – the other happiest day, in my life – it’s like Christmas, all over again and I seriously doubt I’m going to make it to BlogHer, in one piece!

"Stop running up and down the bleachers…stay away
from the parking lot and…NO!…you may NOT invite a friend over,
after the game!"

Seriously, the vibe here – in This Full House of late-night baseball
games, choral arrangements, girl scout bridging(s),
last-minute-projects and Hail Mary passes into the next grade level —
has been extreme, at best, and I do believe that getting through the
rest of the week may very well come close to killing me!

What was I thinking?

For those of you without children, I apologize – it’s not that
bad, really – and if you’re a parent, then surely you’ve come to learn
that (no matter where, when or how many) raising children is a
challenge.

What, with all the time and effort that we each put into our
families, especially when satisfaction is not immediately realized!?!

Okay, so my kids are happy, healthy and living a reasonably
comfortable life – even though they don’t know it, just yet – but, do
NOT think, for a minute, that my husband and I do NOT realize that we
are each going nucking futs.

We are.

But, it comes in waves – there are those days that go
swimmingly well, thank you – and I seem to be spending a whole lot of
them just trying to keep my head above water and barely miss getting
sucked into the undertow.

[throwing up the red flag]

It doesn’t help when other parents, you know, refuse to throw me a line…rope…bone, or something!

[arms waving]

Please understand that I, in no way, mean to insinuate my parenting
skills are any better than, well, the persons sitting behind me at
Thing Two’s spring concert, last night, for instance.

[chatter…chatter…ha-ha-ha…more chatter]

For the love of all things angelic, would it have killed you to tell your middle schoolers to, you know, keep quiet?

How did I know they had kids in middle school?

"Ha…ha…ha…look at her, up there…man, she
seriously does NOT look happy…ha…ha…ha…why do they make these
kids join chorus, anyway?"

Why, Mr. Asshat was even louder than Mrs. Asshat.

"They should spend money on
air-conditioning…WHAT?…I…said…AIR-CONDITIONING…ha…ha…ha…I
mean, do you guys have to sing in the middle school?"

Yes, the 5th graders perform, in both the winter and spring
concerts, as sort of a last hoorah, before moving onto the middle
school, where joining the chorus, as in any after-school activity, is
optional.

"No way…man…choir is for dorks."

Well, thank goodness it’s not for smarmy little Asshats, like
yourself – because then I’d be wasting my time and wouldn’t have to be
here – but, you’d fit right in; wouldn’t you, kitten?

No, I didn’t say it out loud – because, I am a mom and a dork – but,
I’m a firm believer in early education and was desperately trying to
set a good example for my 13-year-old daughter, sitting next to me.

"Why can’t they just watch the dumb concert?"

We looked at each other – with eyes crossed and each making a really
funny face – and we both had a nice giggle, before the chorus teacher
hushed the crowd for Thing Two’s and five other descant singers – which
means small ensemble and I know that because, well, I asked Thing One –
began to sing, like…oh, man…they sounded like little angels.

Until.

[eyes go wide]

Yep, the aforementioned little ass hats started chattering, again
and giggling, along with mom and pop ass hat and what happened next,
well, it wasn’t pretty.

[sounds of neck bones snapping]

Quite Linda Blair-like, if you will.

"Shhhhhhhh…look, I know you guys are just having fun…but, that’s my kid up there and could you just SHHHHHHHH!"

No, it wasn’t one of my best moments – although, I really do
try not to make a habit to reprimand, you know, other people’s kids –
but, it was obvious that my kid wasn’t going to get any consideration
from mom and pop ass hat, either.

[blessed silence]

Although, they did look a bit surprised, at first – yes, I can be loud – many of the other parents looked pretty much, you know, satisfied with my their final performance, as I was. One that I don’t really care to repeat, again. Especially at Thing One’s concert, tonight.

[sound of neck bones cracking]

Little Man has batting practice and I’m taking Mini-Me (if I don’t
wring her little neck, first…stupid bleachers) so, I think it’s best
that everyone takes a moment of silence, as I try to keep my kids in
tow and I remain, you know, invisible!

[silence]

Besides – I won’t be there – my husband’s going with Thing Two and he does NOT like going to these things, either!

June 6, 2007
It’s better to have loved and lost, then I’d never have known such simple pleasures, as hanging the laundry!

I’ve dated a lot of men in my life – some older, some younger and
one…well…I’m still not quite sure what in the world I was thinking
– having been raised strictly with a traditional sense of gender
parity, except when it came to socializing with the opposite sex.

Herein, my twin brother became my constant companion and the one
(and only) time I was "formally" asked out to go anywhere, with another
boy, other than my brother, was when my brother’s friend (Michael)
escorted me to my high school senior prom.

Only after I had refused my brother’s other friend, Woody.

Yes – you see where this is going, don’t you? – it’s tough to be a
diva, especially when one’s popularity depended upon the generosity of
those who one feels no more than…well, one would for her own
brother…ew!

No offense.

But, I’ve broken many hearts – you see, my brother had A LOT of
friends – and only after I was finally able to seriously date, sort of
(I was perhaps the only 24-year-old, in the world, with a curfew) I
quickly lost all sense of time and self-worth.

Long story short (I know, too late) when it came to falling in love, I was an absolute DORK!

Finally, after having made some really bad decisions and having my
heart broken – not to mention, being publicly humiliated – for the last
time (very badly) I’d given up on ever finding someone, anyone who
would ever be happy, or I could make love me, just by being, you know,
me.

Put away the Kleenex – the sob story ends here – suffice it to say,
that accepting an invitation to dinner and a movie, from my friend’s
brother (because, I am such a dating diva!) meeting my husband, with
him shaking my hand and looking even more nervous, than I…well, he
was a breath of fresh air.

Two months later, we were engaged (I wasn’t going to let this one
go) and three years later, we got pregnant, moved into This Full House
of, well…not so much, yet and the rest…um, it wasn’t always
easy…but, simply being with someone, who happens to love you, even at
your dorkiest, well, it rocks my inner-diva!

Until.

"I got you something!"

I was hot, bothered and sweaty with anticipation!

[blank stare]

Having…just…finished…mowing…the…lawn…wouldn’t you?!?!

"What?"

He reached into his…HOME DEPOT…sack and whipped out the pinkest clothes line…that I’ve ever seen!

It matched the the sweet (but, quite prickly) pink tea roses,
climbing along the lattice that runs along side my three daughters’
bedroom window, that will fill out nicely, by the time my oldest will
be allowed to date…with her little brother in tow – I’m just sayin’!

Thanks, sweetie – it’s the simple little things that make me happy
and love you, even more – who says a tired-old-wigged out mommyblogger,
like me, can’t have a hot pink clothes line, indeed!

[flips hair and puckers lips]

Because, I am SUCH a diva!

June 4, 2007
Picture Perfect Thursday – Dirty Hands, Smart Mouth

I come from a long line of agricultur

ists – my father was a
landscaper, my grandfather and both my great-grandfathers were master
gardeners to noble families in Europe – and I often tell my children
that gardening is in their blood.

"Ewww, get it out!"

My 8-year-old son has this habit of taking things literally, lately.

So, anyway, what I was trying to say is that I grew up surrounded by
flower beds and falling in love with the sweet smell of wet dirt. It’s
intoxicating, really. A lot of people ask me why I put some much time
and effort into gro

wing vegetables, when we are surrounded by farm
markets and super-shop-and-drops, and I smile, nod and just say that it
makes me happy.

[blank stare]

Okay, to make a long story short (I know, too late) our love for
digging in the dirt is infectious – my husband has also developed a
rather green thumb, through osmosis – so, we here at This Full House of
grimy little hands and bare feet spend a lot of our summertime,
outdoors.

"Are there any bees?"

My son is the only one of my four children to have ever been stung by a bee – 5 times!

"Some, but they’re not out to get you, or anything."

I lied.

"Besides, are you going to spend the whole summer in the house?"

He’s thinking about it.

"The bees are busy out back, but – I have to weed a little, out front – why don’t you come outside and shoot a few hoops."

Begrudgingly, he followed me out to the front of the house and, as I
kicked at the last of the sticky balls that were lying about, we both
stopped in front of the weeping cheery tree to admire the transplants
from my MIL’s gard

en.

"Wow, check out your great-grandfather’s iris!"

[eyes go wide]

"Whuh…oh my gosh…WHERE!?!"

My son pulled a 360 and ran back into the house, screaming

"Oh, for the love

of Pete!"

Bees can be scary – heck, I’ve been stung before and I know that it,
you know, hurts! – but, I really believe that my son’s fear of bees was
beginning to get out of hand and really starting to get on my nerves.
Still. I’m a grown up and he is still, you know, little. So, I did what any other anxious parent would do.

I dragged his butt back, outside!

"I know you’re scared, but try and remember that everything in nature serves a purpose – after all, they are very important to our environment – maybe you could, you know, watch them and may

be you’ll learn a little bit from them, too."

He nodded his head and started to cry, a little.

"Okay, but I think you’re being mean!"

[blank stare]

"And totally gross!"

Okay, he lost me…again.

"I mean, my family buries their eyes in the garden, that’s just weird!?!"

Now, I’m laughing.

"No, I meant the flower."

[wiping eyes]

"Why didn’t you just say so!?!?"

I pointed out the fact that the three upright petals and three drooping sepals are symbols for faith, valor, and wisdom.

"Your grandfather always believed that, even though he didn’t speak English very well, everyone spoke flowers."

Wait for it.

"He always said that we could learn a lot from gardening."

Whoops, there it is.

"Well, if it supposed to make you smart, maybe you should plant some more!"

Well, shut my mouth – not only are his eyes blue, but I do believe
son has inherited his grandfather’s sense of humor, too – stupid
flowers!

May 31, 2007
Why I’ll never forget to be very good at acting my age.

Last week, I wasn’t feeling very well and asked my oldest daughter
(she’s 13) to stay home and sit her sisters, including Mini-me.

"But, you said you’d bring her?"

Whoopsie.

"Um…well…you know, I’m old and guess I forgot."

So, I allowed Mini-Me’s little friend play with my cell phone and I
spent the next 2 hours, squirming on very hard bleachers and trying to
stay warm with my vanilla chai, at my 8-year-old son to his baseball
practice.

"I don’t know what it is, really, besides the fact that I’m turning 43 and feeling, you know, very hormonal!"

Okay, I’m not one of the youngest mothers, anymore, but I soon found out that I wasn’t the oldest, either.

"Yeah, well, just wait until you hit 50!"

Whoopsie.

"Gosh, but you look great!"

It’s true – I would have guessed her to be no more than, well, my age – but, am often told that I, you know, look much younger, too!

"I’m only 35, but I hope I can look as good as you guys, when I’m your age."

Oh, well – this would be one of those "younger" mothers, I was
telling you about – although, she’s very cute, blonde and perky, I
suddenly had a flashback and imagined her as a big old purple dinosaur,
singing:

"The more we get together, I hate her, can’t stand her…the closer I get to menopause…the grumpier I’ll be."

What is it with some women?

"What’s your secret?"

[eyes go wide]

"Uh…what do you mean?"

She placed both hands on her hips, and even pouted her lips, a little, and I couldn’t believe that she actually looked, cuter!

"You know…keeping up with four kids…finding the time…and still look happy and all?"

Oh, that.

"Oh, I’m not all that…just sorta…you know…a little brain dead from watching too much baseball!"

No – I don’t think that I’m very funny, either – having kids has
pretty much cured me of ever having to worry about how I look, to other
people, at the moment.

What with a letter, like this?

Dear Mom,

Happy 25th birthday. Haha! Can I ask for more of a mother? No!
You are the greatest. I thank you for bringing me into this world, and
for coming into this world yourself! Today is all about you, which it
basically NEVER is! Today, just sit back…relax…and let your muffins
do the talking. Feel free to have us spoil you…even though I might
push you in the pool…just kidding, or am I? Well anyway, happy
birthday Mom and even if you wake up to be a grumpy, cranky old woman,
I’ll still love you. Be sure to keep away from Dad, because he is sure
to give you (43) 25 whacks. Stay happy! For as long as you can!

Love always and forever,

Thing Two

Not to mention, this:

Dear Mommy,

Happy Birthday! 43, huh! Guess what, I got you a present. It’s me, your son, Little Man!

Oh, and this:

Happy Birthday, Mom. You are 43!

Love, Mini-Me

Finally, the one that made me cry:

Time passes by,

As quick as can be,

Because all of a sudden,

You’re 43!

But, that doesn’t matter,

At all to me,

Because you’re my Mom,

And that’s all I see.

Love,

Thing One

See, I’m not in denial – not with four kids constantly reminding how
old I "really" am – it’s just that I believe that women shouldn’t worry
so much about our age and that you youngsters should trust me when I
tell you that turning 43 sounds much worse, than it really is.

Sort of.

May 29, 2007
A glance into the world of higher thinking and dirty fingernails.

My 8-year-old son’s 2nd grade class hosted a tea and poetry reading,
Friday afternoon, that the children have been preparing for, for weeks,
and were put to task with having to create their own invitations, for
up to 3 people.

It was very cute and I would love to be able to share it with you,
only, I can’t. Because, I gave it to his grandparents and forgot to
take a picture of it – not to mention, show his father – but, I thought
that perhaps my parents would enjoy the handwritten envelope marked "By invitation only" and "To Mama and Papa, pleeeeease, come!" and I hand delivered it, personally.

"No, you keep it…really…I’ve got tons just like it, at home, already!"

I work from home – yes, it’s a perk – so, I was an obvious 1st
choice on his guest list and the poor kid agonized, for days, over
which of his grandparents to invite.

"I chose Mama and Papa, well, because I told a lot about them to my teacher, already."

Little Man’s teacher is Ukranian and – being that my parents are Hungarian – well, you know, we are practically kissing cousins, afterall.

"Are these the grandparents who inspire you in your love of history?"

His teacher was being very gracious.

"Yes, and he’s the one who was almost shot in the haystack!"

The boy (and his sisters) really does enjoy listening to my father
tell of life in "the old country" – especially, having narrowly escaped
it, with his life – and Little Man’s teacher often allows him to repeat
the stories to his class and has also included my parents into his
history projects. Like, his oral report on on Dwight D. Eisenhower:

"If it wasn’t for people like him, President
Roosevelt and Winston Churchill, my Mama and Papa would probably not be
here, or been able to escape from the bloody communists!"

Yes, Papa’s history lessons can be quite…um…graphic and filled
with colorful language and, quite frankly, I was a bit nervous to hear
my son’s choice of poem, you know, that he finds…GULP…inspiring.

He did great!

What?

Oh, the poem…um…well, I don’t remember what the title was –
because, I was too busy worrying about whether or not I remembered to
charge the stupid camera’s battery, okay! – and then I noticed the dirt
under my fingernails!

Stupid weeds.

"Wonderful to meet you, finally, and thank you for sharing your stories!"

My son and I are going to miss her and – although, she is Little
Man’s favorite teacher and this has been his best year – all that
homework…not so much!

"I just like to tell my grandchildren, like it is, straight from my heart."

She glanced over at me, but I just smiled and hid my hands in my skirt pockets.

"Not many American children are exposed to such
worldly thought, or understand history as much as Little Man does, and
thank you, very much, for sharing him, with us."

I was overcome.

"Did you know that European women don’t shave their legs!?!"

[eyes go wide]

"But, my mom does."

[glancing down]

"I think."

Yep, the boy is a piece of work.

Just like his Papa.

Although, he and my mom haven’t been feeling very well, these days –
they do look great, though, don’t they and yes, that’s Mini-me, she was allowed to sign out of her class to join us and she is wearing her "Brother for Sale" t-shirt, appropriately enough – I understand that having grandkids can be pretty good medicine.

I agree, just not yet!

I’m looking forward to watching him (and the rest of my gang) grow
to be, well, very smart and well-versed in the world of higher
thinking…and yet…surprisingly very down to earth and a bit hairy,
like their mother!

May 21, 2007
Just when I thought I had seen my fair share of maternity wear and tear…

Although, I am NOT pregnant (knocking on wood until my knuckles
bleed) I expect I’m feeling a little bit of baby-envy, especially now
that my bloggity-good friend, Mom-101 has given birth to a beautiful little girl (welcome aboard, Sage!) and – not to mention being surrounded by newly and happily married
– I can’t help but feel this terrible urge to kiss someone and signed
nearly every end-of-the-year permission slip my children have brought
home from school…xoxoxo!

SIGH.

Why, yes – I’m premenstrual, so what! – I had a very lovely weekend,
all things considered, and was feeling pretty good, actually, as if I
had a decent handle on, you know, things.

Until.

"Um…where are all the flowers and…uh…aren’t there any other mothers coming?"

Mini-me and I had plans to plant flowers with her girl scout troop
early Saturday morning and I actually was able to get us showered and
out of the house on time, for once.

"Well, it’s still sort of early."

Me, and one other mother, showed up for 8:45 a.m. and I wouldn’t
have been the least bit surprised if I had gotten the date, time or
directions wrong, again.

"Yep, you’re at the right park."

We chatted for only a few more minutes – because, well….um….I
can’t seem to be able to stand…or, sit…without having to talk to
someone, or something, to the point where all the women blink and turn
away in awkward silence; can you? – and a couple of mothers finally
showed up.

"I don’t know about you guys, but I’m thinking this thing’s been canceled."

Silence.

"And I’m trying really hard, NOT to be annoyed, right now."

Blink, blink.

"It’s not like we all didn’t have something better to do, on Mother’s Day weekend, yes?"

Awkward silence.

To make a long story short (I know, too late!) the flower planting
was canceled and I, nor the other handful of mothers who DID show, did
NOT get the email.

"Well, at least we DID get an early start on our day, right?"

Blink, blink.

So, everyone grabbed their little diggers and went home. Except, me.
Because…um…I forgot to bring our hand trowels…and stayed behind
to chat and catch up with another mommy friend and the only other
person to show up from our troop.

"Why, yes…I write, for a living…um…sort of…but, it also allows me to work out a lot of, you know, personal issues."

Blink, blink.

Like, feeling as if I were, once again, kept out of the loop – yeah,
I’m probably being paranoid, so what? – to the point that I am starting
to believe that I am NOT worth the ten-cents-a-minute.

Awkward silence.

Don’t worry – I’m probably only being premenopausal, again! – it’s
just that I always thought that motherhood was going to, you know,
somehow supposed to get easier. Now, my kids are growing up (so fast,
btw!) I seem to be worrying more, than when they were, you know, a lot
more little-ish.

What will they do? How will they live? Where are they going? Who’s
going to teach them? What’s up with all the insanity and when will I be
loved?

Then, I woke up.

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother’s Day! I love you so much! I hope you have a great
Day, and try not to work yourself extremely hard today! Relax! Love you
so much!

Thing One

Dear Mom,

On this day, I get so many memories of all you have done. When
there is a bad time, you always pull through. That’s why today is all
about you! I thank you for giving me life, the strength to move on.
Whenever I was hurt, you would be there to heal the wound. Whenever I’m
scared, you would be next to me, right there. I think of your love, and
smile, and that feeling lasts a while! What I’m trying to say, is "I
Love You Mom!" and I always will!

Thing Two

XOX,

I love you and have a Happy Mothers Day.

Mini-Me [written with all the "y’s" facing backward]

Dear Mommy,

I wish you a happy Mothers Day. I am giving you a surprise. Love ya!

Your Son,

Little Man

Blink, blink.

I reached into the bag, gently pulled out the package of tissue paper and unwrapped the pretty silver frame.

"Teacher asked me to write it and, like, to describe my mother."

Yes, my Mother’s Day was very lovely – thank you for asking – and
don’t worry too much about being able to handle more than one kid, Liz. Whenever in doubt, just think of me and the seven simple little words written by my Little Man…

Kindhearted, beautiful, charming, shopping, cleaning, gorgeous, magnifico…

…and, in the future, if anyone ever needs any help, from me, feel
free to drop a line – especially, if you can’t make it and decide to
CANCEL! – or, stop by This Full House of worn out maternity
wear and mother guilt, anytime, and I’ll be more than happy to provide
an example, in showing you exactly what NOT to do.

Just don’t call me…MAGNIFICO…I mean it!

May 14, 2007
To All The Men I’ve Been, Before…

We have a very busy weekend planned – of course, because it’s
Mother’s Day – which starts early tomorrow morning, where at precisely
8:45 a.m., I will be planting flowers at one of our neighborhood
playgrounds with Mini-Me’s girl scout troop.

Why?

Well, because my little Daisy is earning a badge, or something, I
think, or maybe not…all I know is that the notice specifically stated
– PARENTS HELP!

Guess which one?

So, I’ll just pretend it’s just another school day – ignore the fact
that it is really a Saturday, with no baseball, soccer, volleyball, or
anything – and, you know, drag my kids out of the house, kicking and
screaming.

Why me?

Well, Daddy won’t be home – because somebody’s gotta work, right? –
and I’ve grown accustomed to running a pretty tight ship, have never
been one to admit that I needed help and probably wouldn’t know what to
do with myself, if I really did choose to take advantage of free time,
if I had any.

What?

Having spent most of the week outside cutting grass – in between
those times I was, you know, pretending to work – it’s hard to ignore
the fact that the poop decks need a swabbing and the crow’s nest is
starting to smell, well, sort of like wet Doofus-dog.

Given the choice, I’d rather be planting.

So, I won’t get to sleep in tomorrow morning – big whoop! – or,
probably not on Sunday, either, because both my husband and I have
mommies to visit and, either way, I can’t think of a better way to
celebrate Mother’s Day than perhaps petitioning the holiday-gods that A
DAY OFF ON A SATURDAY, for my man and me, would be nice.

Because there’s no school on Sunday and – just like the Bangles said – it’s our I don’t have to run day!

And the closest I want to get to having to attend a sporting
event is watching it from the comfort of my own couch, in my pajamas,
with a cold beverage and plenty of snacks, because, as far as I’m
concerned, there is no such thing as too much down-time and absolutely
NO dieting on weekends.

I’ve often said to, well, anyone who is silly enough to hang around
long enough to listen is that I would make one mother of a husband!

[hocks a goober and hogs remote]

"Can I get you anything?"

[scratches]

"Naw, I’m good and heading out to hammer up a couple of loose boards on the house."

[lip quivers]

"What’d I say?"

[starts to turn and walks out]

"I like to feel needed, too, you know."

Oh, I know and – though, he really doesn’t sound (or, isn’t) that
needy – my husband knows that I couldn’t do half the stuff that I
do…um…do, if it weren’t for his calm, cool, collected and accepting
nature.

Total opposites really do attract.

So, this Mother’s Day I would like to acknowledge my husband.
Because the man can (and has) stepped into Mommy’s shoes at a
moment’s notice and is still able to keep his manhood intact.

So, Happy Mother’s Day, Hon ’cause your one Mother of a
hubby…and don’t worry about your wallet…that you forgot on your
dresser – because, I know that you were very distracted with making the
kids’ lunches this morning and running late – I’m headed out now to
bring them to you and will even buy you lunch.

After I shave my legs, of course!

May 11, 2007