Thursday, October 8, 2009

Duchess of Blog

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Sunday, September 27, 2009

Where's the Bucket?

ME: Levi here is you a bucket baby, if you need to throw up try to do it in here.
Levi: Why mommy?
Me: Because it is gross to get throw up on stuff like the couch or the carpet.

A couple hours later Levi is coughing almost non stop and starts gagging

Me: Levi lean over your bucket baby...

Levi runs to kitchen and pukes on the wood floor. Then he smiles.

Levi: See mommy, not on the carpet or the couch.

Unexpected things...

Levi in a panicked voice : Mommy!
Me from the other room: What is it Levi?
Levi: Mommy come here! Now!
Me: I'm coming baby...what is it?
Levi: Mommy you have to come see my Woody!!
Me: Your what?!
Levi: My Woody!
I get into the living room and this is what I see

Levi's Woody had been missing for a couple weeks now and he wanted me to know he had found him under daddy's chair.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Brown Eyed Girl

My birthday was last month and my darling husband was very good to me. One of my gifts I received from Kyle was a Yorkie puppy, Miss Lucy Lou. She is irresistible, and unbelievably cute. I adore her. I call her the little brunette, brown eyed baby girl I never had. Because contrary to what your high school biology teacher told you brown eyes are not dominant. True? Yes. I have four kiddos and not one has brown eyes. My girls both have blue eyes and the boys have hazel-green. So don't be mislead. And just this morning my brown eyed baby girl woke me at 6:20 am.

I needed to get the boys up for school anyway, and was I ever surprised to see the them awake already, in the living room watching cartoons. I made them breakfast which they ate without complaint. Then they dressed, brushed their teeth and went out to ride bikes before the bus arrived. But, that is sadly where the June Cleaver morning ends because it all went downhill from here. Kyle was looking over the school calender and noticed that today was fall portrait day. What?! I glance out the window to see Kalvin in his faded t-shirt with a milk mustache and Levi with toothpaste wiped on the sleeve. Damn it--

Quickly I run into the closet and pull two button up shirts off their hangers, and...what's that SMELL? I don't have time to investigate. I plug in the iron and set to creating smooth wrinkle free clothing. Which is hard to come by at my house since I pull laundry out of the dryer and it sits in a pile for who knows how long before it gets put away. Wait that is a lie, it most likely will sit in a pile until someone wants to wear it again because I am horrible about putting laundry away. Now where was I? Yes, the anti-June Cleaver morning.

I am pulling things out of a laundry basket knowing that near the bottom is a nice pair of khaki pants for Levi to wear...there's that wretched SMELL again. What is that?! I glance around and can't spot the culprit. I go about ironing. I yell at the boys to come inside to get changed, when Levi whines, "I'm already dressed. I don't want to start all over again!" I roll my eyes and think 'stop with the dramatics.' He likes his button up shirt though, he says it's "fancy." Lovely, that is one less battle, but the white undershirt has a sleeve that keeps bunching up and he is leaning toward a melt down and I yell, "Just let me button your shirt!" Then he decides he doesn't like the way his socks fit, and his pants are going to make him "hot"-true-, and he doesn't like his new shoes anymore. Good grief....that SMELL! I couldn't take it anymore. I go in search of the smell. I am on my hands and knees sniffing the air.

Crawling seems to lighten the mood as the kiddos start giggling at mommy's fat butt shimmying by them in search of the SMELL. My nose takes me to the closet, and in the corner is a wet circle of brown. "What is that?!" It smells like poop, but it's not poop, is it? One thing not so cute about my Lucy Lou is she likes to eat cat poop. Yes, disgusting, yet it is one of her favorite things. I have to keep a very close eye on her outside to make sure she isn't digging in the flower bed for kitty biscuits. I think that is what is in my closet. Cat poop. But not from the cat, from my dog. One more glance and sniff and it is official. Lucy Lou has puked cat shit! In. My. Closet.

I left it there. I had no choice. I had to get the boys to the bus stop. It is fall portrait day and they had to get on the bus, looking spiffy and well groomed. There can't be a chance that someone might think I forgot about fall portrait day. I watch them get on the bus and Levi immediately starts pulling at his shirt, which I am certain will be untucked before he gets off the bus and Kalvin is running his fingers in his hair trying to get that messy look he likes so much. Atleast they left my care looking dressed the part. Now back to the cat shit vomit in my closet!

Thursday, September 3, 2009

When it comes to Condoms

This morning as I cleaned the kitchen floor, I danced around with the mop singing along with Pink as her Funhouse CD blasted through my house. Little Lucy Lou was busily barking at the mop, or it could have been my singing. Whichever it was she was having as good a time as I was. Truly a good time. Music set the tone for this love fest I was having with clean and I was embracing it. Getting immersed in music and lyrics is an escape I have long enjoyed. And in doing so my kiddos have picked up on some racy lyrics from time to time.

Just picture this, Levi riding his bike, then still fitted with training wheels, round and round our cul-de-sac singing his little heart out..."That party last night was awfully crazy I wish we taped. I danced my ass off and had this one girl completely naked..." I don't tend to buy edited music CDs, I like to hear the music with all the profanity and raw emotion the artist intended. Go ahead, start the eye rolling and threaten to not let your kiddos come over and play. If you keep your promise not to send your kiddos to my house I will go right now and fill up my iPod with all kinds of inappropriate music. Pinky swear?

My indulgent attitude toward music coupled with arguably inappropriate for young ears lyrics has lead to some interesting questions. On a quick trip to the market for a gallon of milk Kalvin turns down the radio, which in my car is a no-no. I like my music loud, very loud. The reason being that if the music is loud enough I can sing at the top of my lungs and not even I can hear how bad I sound. Listening to music without singing along is something I have yet to master. So I do often restrain from listening to my iPod at the gym. So when the volume is decreased while I am mid song it had better be important.

This was Kalvin's time to ask a pertinent question. One regarding a burning topic. "Mom what is a condom?" I was flustered, unable to answer for a brief moment. Taken aback by the young mind that was inquiring about sexual things. My mind was turning, rather quickly about how to answer this serious inquisition. He had just heard this lyric "...when it comes to condoms put two on..." So Asher Roth feels the need to provide sex education in his songs, or are they raps? Whichever, I had my 11 year old asking me about condoms, in the car, while we were driving to pick up milk, and I was a little stumped. So I answered as best I knew how, while being honest, but without too much detail. All the while I was cursing his dad for not being the receiver of such questions.

I remember coming home from middle school and turning on the television to find an After School Special was about to come on. Do you remember those shows? The ones that talked about topics that parents may be afraid to discuss with their teens so network television created drama filled mini movies to teach teens about the dangers of sex, drug use, and drinking. Since there are no such mini movies now for my kiddos I choose to use explicit music lyrics as a jumping off point for talks about sexual situations and teen angst. Feel free to judge me, you already are. And remember your pinky swear about sending over your kiddos.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Reading a book about lions

Me: “Lions are very large, and have long manes around their heads.”

Levi: “What is a mane?”

Me: “The long hair here around his face and ears.”

Levi: “I don’t like his mane. Why did you get me this book?”

Me: “You asked for a book about real lions.”

Levi: “I don’t want a lion book any more, I want a tiger book.”

Me: “Next time we go to the library you can get book about tigers.”

Levi: Closing the book, “I think we should go back tomorrow, and you need to make better choices.”

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Saved by the Belle

Levi is bouncing off the walls waiting for kindergarten to start, while Kylie's routine of sleeping until noon is about to abruptly come to a stop and Kalvin's PSP is going to get a little less game time. In two weeks I will be sending not one, not two, but three kiddos off to school. All with new shoes, shiny binders, freshly sharpened pencils and a willingness to learn. The willingness to learn will wear off before the first week ends, as will the whiteness of the new shoes. The pencils will be broken and the binders will be shoved into backpacks filled with papers I will probably never see, but I will still be singing along with the radio at the top of my lungs, smiling until my cheeks hurt as I head home after morning drop offs. Yes, smiling. While other moms may be whimpering in the hallway as they drop off their tender hearted kindergartner for their first big day of school I will be heading out the door in the way of the leprechauns, jumping and clicking my heels like I just found what is in that pot at the end of the rainbow.

Why am I so excited, over the moon, ecstatic about the return of school days?

I have FOUR kiddos. Yes I have four kids, and yes I know how it happens, and yes they all have the same dad. Do you know how many times I have had to make that comment recently? I just need to make that a disclaimer on my blog. I get questions about the paternity of my children from perfect strangers and casual acquaintances more often than necessary. And by more often than necessary I mean EVER. Is it ever appropriate to ask someone you don't know, barely know, or maybe you know them but not intimately--- who their kids father is? But since the topic is obviously up for debate and seems to be burning a hole deep into my inbox lets me set your inquiring minds at ease. Kyle, my husband-- the one my kiddos call daddy, is indeed their father. I am done ranting about monogamy. Ask again and I will deny all of it.

Now back to the original intention of this post which is to compare my new found happiness with the jolliness of leprechauns. I don't think leprechauns are jolly, maybe that is just St. Nick and his elves. But, I am undoubtedly bursting with jolliness at the thought of hearing that school bell ring. Just me and my baby Belle until four o'clock every afternoon. She and I will be visiting Starbucks every morning for a grande white mocha frappuccino and a child's vanilla soy milk, then hitting the stores. My little baby girl loves to swipe daddy's Visa.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Things I noticed this week about my teenage daughter

Going to the movies with a friend is a new favorite activity. I sometimes wonder if she really wants to even see the movie. She loves any excuse to hang out with friends. The thought has crossed my mind that at some point she will realize she is alone, unsupervised and mom is a whole 5 minutes down the road and would be clueless if she were to leave. Of course, I am counting on the fact that she is not as conniving a teen as I was. But on her next trip to the movies you may see me circling the parking lot, or better yet I am going to buy myself a ticket. I need a disguise…

Her cell phone is the most important thing. Ever. She password protected it to keep snoopy people from reading her text messages. I asked her for the code, she reluctantly gave it to me. Now the realization has come that I may be the snoopy people she is trying to keep out. She can text 100 words per minute which is important because she rarely uses it for much else. Very few phone calls actually take place since teens only seem to communicate via text messages.

She has a facebook, myspace and twitter account. How many ways does a teen need to message, text, or view their messages and tweets. How about gawk at each others pictures. And how many pictures can a teenage girl take where she is giving a peace sign or the same fake surprised look in each photo?

The mall is “The Best Place Ever!” Where else can a teen load up on dippin’ dots, corn dogs, giant cookies, slushie cokes, cheesy fries and soft baked pretzels all in one place? She comes home from the mall on a carbohydrate high so intense it is hours before her eyes dilate properly again. I may start randomly testing for sugar levels and carb counts.

I have noticed her noticing teenage boys and by noticing I mean seeing a boy, blushing and then turning away as if she isn’t noticing. As adorable as I am sure some of these overgrown, former hot wheels playing, pimply faced, baggy pants wearing, testosterone hormone driven, teen twits are; they need to stay away from my daughter. Just today at the gas station, 5 fearless Y chromosome carrying Neanderthals were staring at her, with me right beside her. I need to really work on my psycho mom scowl.

She is attending Freshmen Frenzy this week and will be starting high school very soon. I am having mixed feelings as I watch her walk up the school all alone. She doesn’t need me to hold her hand or walk around to meet her teachers. I am noticing, as she has become a teenager she is taking on the responsibility of being her own person. She may not need my hand to hold anymore but I need hers.

Oh, and I have been informed that she does not intend on riding the school bus this year, "Mom, nobody is riding the school bus."

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Roller Coaster of a Ride

Rolling over your truck while driving for a day of fun on the lake with a boat in tow results in a roller coaster ride. Expect to see these fun surprises flying your way; capri sun packages, baby wipes, iphones, cups of iced green tea, littlest pet shop elephants, mini-powdered donuts, toy airplanes, WWE wrestling guys.

As a passenger on this fun ride I was leaving a voicemail for someone when the whole event occured....I would share it with you if I knew how to get a copy it on here.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Sleep habits

If it were not for my kiddos I would never get out of bed before noon.
If it were not for my kiddos I would never get in bed before midnight.
Early to bed early to rise is bull shit.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Yes, she is 14

Kylie: Mom?

Me: Yes...

Kylie: Do cats have brains?

Me: Yes...

Kylie: Oh

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Child with Autism & Depression

I feel guilty. Kalvin is 11 years old and just recently diagnosed with Autism. Actually he has been diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome, a type of autism that falls under the Autism Spectrum Disorders umbrella. The doctors are not very helpful…”here ya go, we have labeled your child now it’s up to you to know how you deal with it.” I did receive a couple book titles that may help. Seriously?? How can this type of diagnoses not come with some type of support for parents? So here I am scrambling to find help—scouring the internet for sources of information, reaching out on website forums-- hell I even twittered about it, all in the hopes of finding someone with closely guarded secrets they are willing to share with a mom who has no clue. And I have come across a couple sweet parents who would share their stories, but they have toddlers or preschoolers who have Aspergers, not a tween. So they are in far different places with very different problems. Impulsivity of a 3 year old is not equivalent to the impulsivity of an 11 year old. Poor social skills in a 3 year old aren’t going to get him teased and taunted like that of an 11 year old child who is trying to fit in with his buddies at school, but doesn’t know how. An immature 3 year old is not a worry—he’s only 3, but an immature 11 year old knows he’s immature, he feels the difference between himself and others his own age. His self-esteem his almost non-existent and as his mom I am doing all I can to help boost his confidence. But I am having little effect, I am lost. I feel like he may float away from me and his dad, the only anchors I think he has at the moment. How am I going to get him back? How am I going to help him find his self-worth? How am I going to get through this? Ridiculous, I sound like it’s about me, and it is not--- and “get through this” like it is a hurdle that can be overcome and I know it’s not. I need life skills for him and for our family.

His young little soul is also battling depression. And the doctors have asked me—more than once—if I too am depressed. “No” is my standard response. They say that children with depression are often mirroring the behaviors of a parent. So are they trying to lay blame? I did have a bout of post partum depression after Belle was born, but within three months I was off the anti-depressants and back to myself—as back to “myself” as a mom can be with 4 kiddos, one of which is a preemie, one is a hell on wheels toddler, one is a carrying around all types of confusion in his little mind but no one knows what is wrong, and one kiddo on the verge of teen years with all the drama that entails. Am I depressed now? I may be feeling that way now, with all the guilt, the questioning, the signs I missed. That trite saying about hindsight is kicking me in the ass right now. And today, yes today I am feeling depressed. I am feeling like I am failing, like I should have previously and should be now doing more than I am. Here I go again making this about me. Damn it!