Home!

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We made it home from our bus driving holiday, and then we all went our separate ways, thank goodness! 4yo asked us to play with him and he received a round of resounding ‘no’s, poor monkey.
I cleared my head a little by running the push mower over our backyard; Husband did a bit of office work, 8-in-1-week-yo snipped some prickles down near the hideout; 6yo slunk up to the lego room against all admonishment that everyone should go outside, and 4yo played with his duplo downstairs, to be admired by all and sundry passing through the kitchen.
We had left the kitchen in a pigsty, but we literally ran out of time before we drove away after filling the dishwasher already. I was worried about mice because, well, mice! But there has been no evidence in the kitchen, or anywhere, really. But they must have been dissatisfied with the crumbs in the kitchen, because they climbed up in one of the bathrooms and shat on the hand towel, just to show me their disapproval,  little fuckers. So, now I have to put traps around again, and hopefully snap some necks to discourage them from running amok in my domain. Once again, I cannot ascertain where they came from, and why they didn’t just eat the stuff left in the kitchen instead of despoiling my haber-fucking-dashery.
But otherwise, it’s great to be home.

Me so boring!

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The boys finished their bmx races in great form, but in last place, so we are high tailing it home a little early. There were a few accidents today, and the ambulance came twice. Never a dull moment.
I had a go of bmxing once, a few years ago. I came off flying and landed on my left knee, and it still occasionally hurts me. Now I just watch, and hope, fingers crossed, that the boys a) never get seriously hurt, and b) never lose their nerve like I have.
I don’t like heights. I was never really bothered by being high until fairly recently, i.e. the latter 8 years of my just-about-36. That is dead on to the birth of the firstborn, and is probably not a coincidence. I assume it’s an evolutionary tactic of some sort. So I hate being up high, which includes rock climbing at the local community centre (I nearly started crying when I got to the top and had to gracefully decamp on one of those windy straps), being in a car on a narrow, windy and HIGH road (did cry and may or may not have been almost acreaming), and also swinging. Yes, that’s right, swinging. As in, on a garden swing, child’s yard swing, tyre swing, etc. In short, almost anything that gets me off the ground. Oh, puh-lease! Of course, roller coasters are out of the question, and ferris wheels are just balls of death in tandem.
This year at Disneyland, the Cars ride was a big hit – because it’s awesome! – but it was a bit scary this time, whereas when we went on it 2+ years ago, I don’t think that it was. Also the Pirates of The Carribean, Star Wars and whatever other rides I went on were also questionable for me in parts. Good grief, I’m an old lady! But that means a veritable cache of handbags, so I’m ok with that.
But the boys, the boys! They are fearless, and I encourage them to do the jumps, and go faster, and build scary shit around the backyard. And they are always disappointed when I decline a turn, but I can’t tell them that I’m scared because I don’t want them to be as well. For now I will spin white lies about organising my handbags.

LA Traffic

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Hauling ass to Disneyland and there have been a few of the obligatory traffic jams, but we left as early as my showering and hair-washing allowed, so we are doing ok. But Husband got me a big tea and now I need to go. It is inevitable that the kids will need to go, or that 4yo will need to change his clothes because he refuses to admit that he also needs to go. It’s also inevitable that Husband doesn’t want to stop driving, since the traffic is light and moving freely, so it’s a good thing I brought the travel potty.
I love the travel potty. We have had it for a few years and the boys have used it semi-regularly and consequently, it has saved us (and the upholstery) many times. But how to use it in a moving bus? Would it be better to set it up on the floor behind the seats? Or on a seat so kids could remain seat-belted? It has an absorbent piece inside the baggies, but what if sitting down makes little tummies more likely to knock one out? Bad news. Of course, there are wipes and what-have-you, but a bouncing bus is not an ideal locale to have to deal with such.
Crisis averted! Husband admits he also needs to pee so we stop and take care of business plus almost a baker’s dozen of hash browns and other assorted menu items, and then scream back onto I5. It was a short break but well needed. It may or may not mean the difference between fast passes for the Cars ride or waiting in line until the park closes before we can get a ride, but at least the bus doesn’t need hosing out just yet.

Feels Like The End of The World

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Driving home after, perhaps, an ill-advised dinner out with my rabble.  We made our escape with not too much horsing around, and started on the long, arduous, question-riddled journey home. I remarked that there was, in fact, no cars on the road. For minutes at a time there were no other cars on the road. I felt like I was driving into the beginning of a post-apocalyptic story. And that would be ok, because I had filled up the petrol tank at Costco that very day; we had just finished dinner, and therefore would have at least 15 minutes before begging for more food began; I found a second first aid kit in the back of the car – not the best for zombie attacks but not the worst for general injuries. There was even an errant water bottle floating around back there, which I almost never have.

Then, normality returned when there was fighting in the backseat and I pulled over to yell at all and sundry; a few other cars drove past the the possibility shrank from my mind. Of course, it would have been a great script since Husband is overseas, and with whatever plague plagues the human race and consequently the airports, he would not be able to get home and render aid. Of course, the world is pining for a relate-able female lead in a zombie movie, and who would be more relate-able than a weary mother of three? I have bling and I could put on some lippy and sunglasses, so the high-end soccer moms could relate to me;  I have a medium-sized car and have lines on my face so the maybe not quite sooo glamorous parents would relate to me, especially as I yell into the rear view mirror; and my car is just FULL of crap, so everyone everywhere rejoice as there is a normal un-role model in the lead. Spielberg, send me your ideas!

Anyhoo, there are few reasons why some sort of apocalyptic nightmare might begin today, or at least reasons in which I might be a little prepared, if there is such a thing. On the other hand, I have awesome plans to go and watch the Cindarella movie in a ballgown, so… let’s postpone those end of the world plans for a little while. A day or two, at least when Husband is home to help.

They probably think I’m awful

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But 4yo doesn’t get out of the fucking pool when I tell him. He swims away and plays with the other fucking parents. He ignores me, and has gone from one side of the pool to the other to avoid me. So I yell at him. Not full yell, but quiet yell. And they look at me from behind their brightly colored prams while their 2yo learns to blow bubbles or whatever. Fuck off. It’s not like we haven’t been doing the same thing for 2 years, and that he doesn’t know the rules of the pool and what he is and is not allowed to do.
And then he cries like he is being beaten. But, of course, it’s because I have not given him his hot wheels cars to smash against the wall in the shower. And then he suddenly stops crying, as though his breath has suddenly and awfully cut off. But, of course, it’s because I asked him if he wanted a cuddle and he tearfully nodded and swallowed his cries.
I’m not an awful parent (all of the time), I guess I just have awful interactions with my kids on occasion when there are the most witnesses. Sigh.

Who Do You Love The Most?

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The big boys had an appointment the other day and there were a few general questions asked, to get to know the kids, I guess, one of which was “Who does Mom love the most?” Shock, horror, and crickets. Finally 8-in-two-weeks-year-old says that he can’t answer that question, and I pipe in with “that’s a silly question” and all and sundry boo down that line of questioning. All’s well that ends well. I am not scarring my children by favoring one or two over the remainders. I might be scarring myself by pondering my navel and those of my kids whilst enjoying red wine all too often, but that is the lesser of the two evils.

The Crazies are Coming!

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I just saw an old message from a past life, and now I have the heeby jeebies. He called himself “an old friend”, but at the end we were all but hissing at each other, and I hated myself for wasting so much of my time and emotion on him.
I thought my Facebook privacy settings were kosher, but that is probably an oxy moron. Regardless, blergh!
I hope my boys never get stuck with someone; I hope my boys never become people that other people get stuck with.
I hope my boys take risks and opportunities when they are young, so they don’t miss out on them when they are older, because these things are often not repeated in a form we can see.
I hope that people stop stalking on facebook, even though it means I won’t have anything to do.

Parenting Posters

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Perspective matters…

Learning how to forage, or, I’m not cooking for those ill-mannered brats tonight

Opportunities to make good choices, or, put that down before I smack you with it.

Building Confidences, or, conspiring against me.

Enjoying a cultured dining experience, or, self-medicating with wine from the  pharmacy.

Saving them from bad choices with food, or, saving all the good stuff for after they’re in bed.

Looking at baby photos because an 8th birthday is coming up, or, reminiscing about when they couldn’t talk back.

My kids do Dr Seuss

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Vix in socks
Socks on feet
Body under blanket
Pillow under head.

Feet out of bed
Blanket on floor
Pillow on floor
Head bang on bed.

Big and bang go hand in hand, sir.
Big and bang are my good friends, sir.

Pee on floor next to pot
When this pee on floor ever stop?

Quiet! Quiet!
Mom’s coming upstairs.
Blame the cat and the hat for the mess she repairs.

No more bangs!
No more feet!
You need you blanket!
You need your sleep!

Wine in bottle
Now wine in glass.
Sound back on TV and sofa under ass.

Doom and Disaster

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In the words of Hairy Maclairy’s creator, “Alas and alack”, I have a cold sore – and there is a large soiree this weekend! This time last year, I had a raging cold and doped myself to the eyeballs so I could go. Hopefully this dreaded virus will disappear before the big day.
I’m sewing myself a big skirt, princess-style, so hopefully that will take any and all attention away from my face. And if that doesn’t work, then I will just have to drink more.
I only noticed this awful malady this morning, and since then I have swallowed a handful of echinacea and zinc, and dabbed some vanilla extract; next I’m moving on to witch hazel. That about sums it up for the home remedies I have on hand, so it will be off to Walgreens for something stronger. The hardest part will be not kissing my irresistible monkey during the day. The shopping part, though, he may not mind.
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