Remembering Scratcher Bun Buns Motorcycle Eater

My husband, Sam, is pathologically allergic to crowds, which is why it surprises me every year when he insists on going to the Cotton Gin Festival.  We always drive forever to get there, watch the tractor parade, do one or two activities, and then he insists we've had enough family fun and ushers us home.

Two years ago, we arrived late and had to park in the middle of nowhere.  We were walking to the parade, when we came upon the children's play area.  Since there wasn't anyone there, Sam insisted that we hang out and play a while.  The only problem was, since it wasn't technically time for the children's area to be open, our activity choices were very limited.  Actually, we only had one choice, goldfish toss.  If you've ever been to a fair or a festival of any kind, you should be familiar with goldfish toss.  You pay $3 for something like 10 ping pong balls and you throw them at little unsuspecting goldfish in little tiny bowls.  If your ball lands in a bowl, that goldfish gets to come to your house for a few days in preparation for its eventual burial at sea.  

Tyler asked if he could try to win a goldfish, and I readily agreed.  I could handle the responsibility that comes with having a goldfish as a pet.  Sam handed over $3 and Tyler went to town.  It was at this moment that I noticed the red bowl in the middle of the display, which I knew  meant that there was a grand prize to be won.  Warning bells began to go off in my head when I inquired what would happen if Tyler threw a ball in the red bowl, and the lady running the game pointed to the floor of her booth where a half dozen baby bunnies were running around.  Tyler, seeing where she had pointed, immediately got excited and announced, "Daddy, I want to win a bunny!"  If I ever I needed proof that Sam isn't a mind reader, this was it.  I was trying my best to wordlessly communicate with him what a bad idea I thought this would be, but he just smiled and said, "Then let's keep trying buddy!"  

It's important to note that we had stopped at the ATM on the way and gotten out $100.  I knew that once Sam was on board with operation "Let's take home a baby bunny", that the odds weren't in my favor.  I plastered an encouraging smile on my face and began praying nonstop for God to intercede on my behalf.  Luck appeared to be on my side because $60 something dollars later, we were the proud new owners of approximately 5,000 goldfish, but we'd yet to land a ball in the grand prize bowl.  My inner mommy was jumping up and down while planning a mass burial at sea for our new pets, who probably had no idea that they were sitting on death row.  My outer mommy was being sympathetic to Tyler's bunnyless plight.  At this point, I reminded Sam that we might want to cut Tyler off so we would have enough cash left over to buy lunch.  

Sam told Tyler that it was time to cash in his winnings, and my inner mommy started doing her happy dance!  I was moments away from escaping unwanted rabbit ownership.  Just as my inner mommy was halfway through the electric slide, Sam looked at Tyler and said, "I bet if you tried really hard, you could sweet talk the nice lady into letting you trade your goldfish for a bunny."  My inner mommy stopped dead in her tracks, and began telepathically trying to give daddy a peace of her mind!  Outer mommy was trying desperately to covertly tell daddy and the lady running the booth to stop the insanity!  I had a 3 month old baby to take care of!  The last thing I needed was an unexpected pet! Apparently, I'm not very good at covert charades because moments later, Tyler was inside the booth selecting his new rabbit.  

As we were leaving with our $60 rabbit, I asked the lady what she did with all the leftover rabbits at the end of the day, and she told me she sold them.  I then asked how much she sold them for.  Turns out we'd severely overpaid.  At the end of the day our $60 rabbit would've been $10.

Disclaimer: I'm a not a fish Nazi.  Had Tyler brought home the 5,000 goldfish he'd actually won, we would have loved them and taken care of them right up until they died.  There would have been no mass fish murders where we marched them to the gas chambers prior to flushing them all down the toilet.  It has just been my experience that when placed in the ownership of a small child, the average life expectancy of a goldfish is approximately 15 minutes.  In those 15 minutes, the fish would have been loved with all Tyler's little heart.  I'm pretty sure we would've ended up throwing them a fishy funeral, where I would've had to get up and say something nice about each and everyone of the dearly departed.  There would even have been a period of mourning.  So please don't call the police and accuse us of being fish abusers.  I can assure you we aren't.

Kindergarten Drop Out

When Colin started kindergarten 4 years ago, I though for sure nothing could be worse than dropping him off every morning.  Not because it made me sad; I'm not that kind of mom. Sending Colin to Kindergarten was hard because he puked at least once every morning.  If he didn't puke in the driveway or in my car, I had to sit by the phone and wait for the nurse to call me and tell me he puked somewhere in the Kindergarten hall.  Each morning, I'd ask her the same two questions: is he running a fever and has he puked more than once?  If the answer to both questions was no, I would instruct her to send him back to class and go on with my day.  This lasted for what felt like forever before he finally got over it.  

It's four years later, and Colin is now a model student, who all the teachers love, and I am once again in Kindergarten Mommy hell.  This time makes Colin's experience feel like a trip to Disneyworld, in the off season, without any lines, that I didn't have to pay for.

To stay Tyler is strong willed is like saying a tiger is a little bit bigger than a house cat.  Under the right circumstances the child can outwit, outplay, and outlast anyone.  Early in the summer he decided that he didn't want to go to Kindergarten, and he has steadfastly maintained this opinion all summer long.

I knew I was in trouble when he refused to acknowledge his teacher's existence on orientation day.  I even warned her that he might be one of her tougher students in the beginning.  

When I dropped him off the first day, I left him screaming bloody murder and hoped that he would calm down quickly and enjoy the rest of his day.  I went home and waited by the phone, and when it didn't ring by 10:00 am, I convinced myself that everything was going fine.  I picked him up that afternoon, and he assured me that he'd had a fabulous day.  Everything was right with my world until he discovered that he'd forgotten his lunch box, and he insisted that we go back to get it.  When we walked into his classroom, his teacher looked at me and said, "Oh, I'm so glad you're here.  We need to have a little chat."  In that moment, I was the captain of the Titanic and my ship had just collided with the iceberg.  We were sinking, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

Turns out my child had had a small nervous breakdown and ran around the classroom and up and down the hallways at some point during the day.  In Tyler's defense, he's had a hard time lately.  He's had to wear his funeral suit one to many times this year and his Daddy was in a car accident that was a complete game changer for our family.  I knew that he might have a hard time adjusting to Kindergarten, but I never expected him to try to actually physically leave the building.  

His teacher is fantastic and just wants him to succeed.  We formulated a plan, and I went home that day hopeful that things were going to turn around.

Yesterday was his 10th day of school and probably his worst.  The day started out awful and quickly progressed to horrific.  Tyler is completely committed to being a Kindergarten drop out.  When I wake him up in the morning, I physically have to pick him up and stand him on his feet.  He is so committed to being completely unhelpful, that every time I stand him on his feet, he promptly crumples to the ground.  I then wrestle him into his clothes, attempt to feed him breakfast, and buckle him in the car.  Yesterday my van windows were foggy, so I paused in the driveway long enough for them to clear up.  While I was waiting, I heard a car seat unbuckle, a door open, and I watched in horror as my child ran back into the house.  I put the car in park and ran in to retrieve him.  I drug him back out to the car kicking and screaming and once again buckled him.  Not one to repeat the same mistakes twice, I locked the doors and began backing up.  Moments later a shoe collided with my head.  While I was attempting to figure out what had just happened, my child climbed into the front seat, unlocked the doors, and ran into the house a second time.  Once again I retrieved him, and this time I sped down the driveway so quickly that he couldn't jump out without seriously injuring himself.  We finally made it to school, and I wrestled him out of the car and handed him to to teacher, who carried him like a baby to his classroom.  

When I picked him up later, his teacher told me he stood at the door and screamed all morning.  

I have officially had enough.  I have called upon every school resource available, and last night I stripped Tyler of the one thing that means the most to him, his motorcycle.  I even went as far as to plan a trip to his favorite motocross track on Sunday that he will only be allowed to participate in if he has three perfect days at school.  I am tired of doing the mommy walk of shame every afternoon as I walk down the Kindergarten hallway to see what heinous act he has committed that day in an attempt to get kicked out.  This is full out war now and mark my words, I'm going to be the last one standing!

First Time Mommy FAQ

1. Should I breast feed or bottle feed my baby?

Yes, I highly recommend doing one of the above; otherwise, your baby is going to be very cranky and unhappy. I breast fed all three of mine because I was to lazy and cheap to deal with formula.  I'm pretty sure all three of my children would have starved to death if I had to remember to buy and prepare formula on a regular basis.  Plus, I'm sure my minivan would have smelled like rotten milk all the time because I'm awful about cleaning it out.  That being said, despite what a lot of people will have you believe, there is nothing wrong with feeding your baby formula.  If you don't believe me, walk into a room of successful executives and ask them to separate into groups based on whether they were booby or bottle babies. Chances are most won't know or care.  The ones who do know, will probably be evenly split down the middle.  Also, if formula really was rat poison, I'm sure the formula companies' lawyers would've made them stop making it a long time ago.

2.  Should I use cloth diapers or disposable diapers?

Yes, unless you want to have poop all over your floor.  To decide which one is best for you, I highly suggest you go look at the state of your laundry room.  If all your laundry is done, folded, and put away, then you may want to start browsing the cuteness that is cloth diapers on the Internet.  If you can't see the floor of your laundry room, and the only time your laundry is completely caught up is when your mother or mother in law comes to visit, then disposables are probably going to be your new best friend.  

3.  What should I register for?

A new house because trust me the second you bring your baby home, your house is going to feel like it shrunk in half.

4.  What kind of stroller should I buy?

Buying a new stroller is kind of like buying a new car in that you really ought to test drive several before you decide what to buy.  Before you go out test driving new strollers, I highly recommend that you borrow a baby to take with you.  Not just any baby though.  You'll need a baby that is overtired, miserable, and likely to have a diaper explosion at any minute to truly get the most out of stroller shopping.  I know that when you go to the mall, you see endless babies playing happily in their strollers, and you probably think this is what your baby will be like.  Nope, not your baby.  Your baby will probably scream bloody murder after being in his/her stroller for more than five minutes, which means you'll have to hold  your screaming child while navigating your stroller through the mall stores one handed. This is why it's important to take a cranky baby with you when you stroller shop.  Pick out the strollers you think you like, and then attempt to push them one handed through the store while holding your borrowed baby in the other hand.  

Once you pick a winner, it still needs to pass one more test before you hand over your Visa card.  The next test is best done when its either really hot, really cold, or raining outside.  Have the sales lady show you how to collapse the stroller one time and one time only.  Then make her promise that no matter how much you beg her, that she won't ever tell you how to do it again.  Drive the stroller outside into the blistering heat, freezing cold, or torrential downpour, and attempt to collapse it and wrangle it into the back of your vehicle.  It's important that the sales lady keeps her promise of not offering to help you no matter what, while she watches you have your small nervous breakdown the first time you attempt to collapse your stroller; after all, she won't be there to help you the first time you go to the mall all by yourself. If you can successfully get the stroller you picked into your car without breaking it or cursing its existence, then its a winner.  At this point you can hand over your Visa card and return your borrowed baby to its mother.

5. What kind of car seat should I get?

Here is a little known fact, all car seats have to pass the same set of safety standards before they make it to the store shelves.  The more expensive ones are usually easier to install, have more bells and whistles, and look cooler.  That being said, any car seat you buy is going to be completely useless in a car accident unless its installed properly. 

Before you decide on a car seat, I highly recommend trying them out.  This is best done later in your pregnancy when you are in a crappy mood and really want to ruin someone's day.  Go to your local big chain baby store and find the sales guy, who looks like he truly doesn't want to be there.  Then tell him you are trying to decide which car seat will fit best in your vehicle, and ask him to help you lug your top choices out to your car to see how they fit.  Trust me, late in your pregnancy, when you are so miserable you can't stand yourself, watching the sales guy lug car seats back and forth to your car will be highly amusing and exactly what you need to cheer yourself up.

Once you decide which one to buy, read the instruction manual from beginning to end, watch a YouTube video on how to properly install that model in your car, and then drive over to your local fire station and have them check to make sure its installed properly.  

6.  Should I co-sleep or put my baby in a crib at night?

I say go with whichever one makes your baby sleep the longest.  Babies are little terrorists, and their favorite torture tactic is sleep deprivation.  If your little terrorist only sleeps when he's laying right next to you, then let him do it.  I don't care what your mother in law says.  It won't last forever.  If you don't believe me, head over to your local college and check and see how many freshman need their moms to sleep at night.  Then ask their moms how much they miss the nights when their freshmen were little and climbed in bed with them to snuggle.  

**Disclaimer: Never let your baby sleep with you if you have been drinking or taking any drugs that might affect how soundly you sleep.  Regardless of how you meet your sleep terrorist's sleep demands, crib or mommy's bed, read up on how to do it safely.  SIDS is no joke people.

7.  Is is true that I'll probably poop on the delivery room table?

Probably, but don't worry about that.  At that point you will have already have misplaced your dignity and you won't care.  Trust me.  I know I walked into the hospital with my dignity the night I gave birth to my first son, but I must have left it in the hospital because I haven't seen it since.

8.  What should I pack in my diaper bag?

If you are a first time mother, everything under the sun.  If you are a more experienced mother, you know what happens when you carry a diaper bag.  You're children will begin to view you as a pack mule and insist on filling said diaper bag up with a lot of gross crap.  I once emptied my diaper bag and found:

Fake teeth

One shoe insole

Six smacked fortune cookies

Fifteen little green army men

Seven stinky socks

1 million diapers that would no longer fit my baby

A stack of papers I was supposed to have filled out and returned to my son's school a year ago.

A used diaper

Two nasty sippy cups

And enough half eaten food to have fed a small country for at least a week.

I did not find a single diaper that would fit my baby, any wipes that weren't dried out, or any clothes that would fit any of my children.  At this point, I realized that carrying around a diaper bag was useless, and I threw a handful of diapers and new package of wipes on the floor of my minivan and ditched the diaper bag for a small bag that my kids couldn't fill with useless crap.  It was my Mommy Independence Day, and I haven't looked back since.

Please note: this kind of apathy about child rearing only comes along after you've had your second or third child.  At some point you realize that the only thing that really matters is whether or not you love them.  As long as you love them and they know that, everything else just kind of works itself out.

Irritable Bowel Syndrome

My husband suffers from irritable bowel syndrome.  It's a condition, disease, coping mechanism that causes husbands everywhere to flee the immediate area whenever they get really irritated with you and the children and seek solace in the nearest bathroom, under the guise of needing to poop.  We've all been there.  You are desperately trying to get everyone, including yourself, dressed and out the door for something really important (soccer game, preschool graduation, the birth of your third child, etc), and you look up and discover your husband, the Robin to your Batman, is nowhere to be found. Early in your marriage, you'll be stupid enough to go look for him and be genuinely concerned about his intestinal distress.  After he pulls this crap for the third or fourth time, you'll just get pissed off and mentally make a note to never do that thing he "really likes" ever again.  Early in your marriage you might even try to encourage him to speed things up in there, so he can come out and help you. Later on, you'll realize this only makes his bowels take longer to move.

I've also noticed that my husband's irritable bowl syndrome (IBS) usually manifests itself at bedtime, usually when its time to promote good oral hygiene.  The second I start handing out toothbrushes he starts to sweat, and I know its only a matter of time before he's  off to lock himself in the bathroom.  

The thing that amazes me the most is that the children let him do it.  I can't even think about making contact with a toilet seat without clearing it with everyone in the house first, and the only time I ever get to go without an audience is when my mother in law is here.  There have even been times, when I've been desperate for a potty break, and my husband has asked if I could wait just a few more minutes while he finishes what he's doing.

In the end it all works out though.  I suffer from a multitude of syndromes myself.  My two favorites being, I forgot to thaw-it-itis and BJ deficit disorder.  The first disorder causes me to more often than not forget to thaw something out for dinner, which means we have to order take out.  If I have to spell the second one out for you, you are either to young to read this blog or have never been married.

Bubblegum terrorism

I'm a firm believer that giving gum to a small child is kind of like giving a nuclear warhead to a terrorist.  Both situations only end in tears and mass casualties.  My husband, on the other hand, is the gum fairy and believes that gum is the perfect motivational tool.  Unfortunately for me, he likes to hand it out right before he is about to disappear for long periods of time, which means I'm always the one left to deal with the fallout.  It's been my experience that gum terrorism usually plays out in one of two ways: either the gum terrorists eats the whole pack and end up with intestinal issues or he has issues keeping it in his mouth and it ends up stuck somewhere.  

When Tyler was about two, I spent an entire day in mommy hell because he couldn't poop.  He spent all day grunting without any gratification for his hard work.  I finally broke down and was about to use a suppository to help things along when I noticed something hanging out of his butt.  Upon further inspection, I discovered that he had a big wad of Juicy Fruit gum hanging out of his rear end.  Of course my dear husband, the gum pusher, was nowhere to be found, so I got to be the one to investigate.  I grabbed the gum and began to pull.  I pulled and pulled and pulled until I dislodged what appeared to be 5 or 6 small packs of gum from his rectum.  Funny thing about butt gum, it looks just like regular gum.  Had I not known where the gum had just been, I would've thought he'd just spit it out.  Thankfully removing the gum plug seemed to do the job, and he didn't require any further assistance in freeing up things down there.  I still can't look at Juicy Fruit without gagging a little bit.

I really wish that I could say that when I recounted this tale of horror to my husband he stopped giving out gum and we lived happily ever after without gluing any more orifices together. Unfortunately, I can't.  

One day, probably a month or two later, I was taking the same child to a play date at a jumpy place in the mall.  We were driving down the highway when Tyler started screaming bloody murder.  I looked in my rear view mirror and discovered that he was attempting to pry his eyes open with his fingers.  Not knowing what the heck was going on, I pulled over in a panic.  Turns out the gum fairy had snuck him a pack of Juicy Fruit as we were heading out, and he managed to use the gum to glue his eyes shut.  I used a wipe and managed to get enough gum off to allow him to regain the use of his eyes.  I called my friend and told her that we were running late because Tyler had glued his eyes shut with gum.  It was truly a testament to how well she knows me when she didn't seem surprised when I told her what had happened.  We got back on the road and five minutes later he started screaming again because apparently his eyes were still stickier than I'd originally thought.  I pulled over again and cleaned him up.  We finally managed to make our play date, but I spent most of the time unsticking Tyler's eyelids every time he blinked to hard.

Bonus Story:

I know there is at least one of you out there who thought that maybe I should've saved the butt gum for my sweet husband and offered it to him as a treat in the hopes that he would be scarred for life and stop giving our children gum.  I'm not that mean.  Karma, however, isn't as nice as I am.  When I was pregnant with Annabelle, we drove to Ohio.  Because its a thirteen hour car ride, we thought it would be a great idea to drive at night so the kids would sleep.  My mother in law went with us, and she took turns driving with my husband.  Our plan totally backfired because the kids refused to sleep and were absolutely miserable because they were exhausted.  When they finally fell asleep, I had the overwhelming urge to pee.  I didn't want to wake them up, so I peed in a leftover to go cup.  Not wanting it to spill, I put the lid back on and put in back in the cup holder.  I didn't think anything about it until we made a stop sometime later, and I saw my sweet hubby, who had been asleep up until we stopped, drinking from the pee cup.  I passed him just as he took a huge sip, and he looked at me and said, "Honey, I don't know how you drank this at dinner.   That's got to be the worst Sprite I've ever tasted!"

I Have A Dream

I have a dream that one day I will drop middle son off at kindergarten, and he will kiss me goodbye and walk off happily to join his classmates.

Today he screamed when I left.  I could still hear him as I exited the building.

I have a dream that one day all of the children in this house will be able to poop without alerting me first.

Yesterday a child screamed for me from across the house.  I went running in his direction because a scream like that usually means someone is bleeding.  Nope, he just wanted to tell me he was gonna go poop, and he couldn't find me.

I have a dream that one day I will be able to use the bathroom without having to clear it with every child in my house.  I also hope to one day be able to remain seated for the entire performance without having to intervene in a dispute or having a spectator sit in my lap.

I almost wet my pants twice today thanks to a clingy child who refused to get out of my lap when I told her I needed to go potty.  "No pee pee for you mommy.  No pee pee for you!" she informed me.

I have a dream that one day I will actually make it out of my house on time with all three children dressed and everything I'm supposed to have.

My bestie told me the other day that she strives to be like me because, "Rachel you're only kind of late to everything.  We on the other hand are always running way behind."

I have a dream that one day I will be able to take a shower from beginning to end without a single interruption.  I dream of washing my hair, all my various body parts, and shaving everything that needs to be hairless without having a naked child appear out of nowhere and invite herself to join me or without having to referee at least one shouting match.

I was so close last Sunday.  All of the kids were entertained, and my husband was home to watch them.  I was just about to shave my legs when I heard the voices outside of the bathroom.  "I have bath with you?" came a little voice.  I would've said no, but she wasn't asking me.  She was asking my husband who thought it would be a great idea for them both to join me in our shower that's about as big as a shoe box.  My darling daughter also snuck in her giant Ariel doll.  I spent the rest of my shower face planted up against the wall while my husband complained about not having enough room.

I dream of one day getting in the Van, that I just spend the afternoon cleaning, to find that is is still spotless.

This will never happen.

The problem is that I know one of these days all of my dreams will come true, and then I will be sad.  I will be sitting on the potty, probably unable to go without my audience, and it will dawn on me that my precious babies have all grown up.  My heart will be broken, and I'll wish that I hadn't ever wanted them to grow up in the first place.

I Am Your Lifeguard

Sweet Tyler,

I am writing you this letter as your first week of kindergarten comes to an end.  It's been a hard week full of tears, broken hearts, and adjustment.  It broke my heart when I left you at school the first day crying and pleading for me to stay.  I know you don't understand why I had to leave.  It will be a long time before you understand that mommy left you because she loves you more than anything in the world, and she wants you to spread your wings and fly and be the best Tyler you can be.  I'm sure standing in your new classroom for the first time, all by yourself, felt like Mommy had dropped you into the deepest part of the ocean without a way out.  I know you desperately wanted me to be your life preserver and cradle you in my arms and see you through the uncharted water ahead.  You have no idea how badly I wanted to do that too. Unfortunately, I can't.  I can't because I love you to much to hold you back from being amazing.  As much as I want to be your life preserver, to carry you effortlessly through the calm waters and always keep your head above water when the sea gets rough, I have to resign myself to being your lifeguard.  My job now is to stand on the shore and guide you, to cheer for you, and to teach you how to succeed on your own.   Know that even though I'm not always right there holding your hand, I am always on the shore watching your every move, and I will always be there to jump in and rescue you when you truly need saving.  Mommy loves you more than you'll ever know.  I can't wait to see the man you grow up to be.

Love,

Mommy

The Correct Diagnosis

I had a bladder infection last week, which meant a trip to the doctor's office with all three children in tow.  Not looking forward to sitting in a waiting room full of sick people with the kids, I opted to make an appointment at the Walgreen's Pharmacy Walk In Clinic.  I alerted the children to our afternoon activity while they were eating lunch.  Tyler, age 5, was immediately concerned that I was going to have to get a shot.  Not wanting to upset him, I informed him that more than likely I would just have to pee in a cup at the doctor's office.  I realized my mistake the second the words were out of my mouth and his little eyes lit up like Christmas morning.  Five year old boys are obsessed with bodily fluids and bodily functions.  Up to this point, he was blissfully unaware that urine could be placed in a cup for medical purposes.  Knowledge is powerful in the hands of a 5 year old, so I was asked a series of follow up questions:

Tyler: Does the pee come out of your Pa-Gina?

Me: Yes.

Tyler: How do you get it in the cup?

Colin (age 8, also obsessed with bodily fluids): Does it require a special contraption?

Me: You just pee in a cup.  It's really not that exciting.

Tyler: Do you pee all over your hand when you do it?

Me: Sometimes, I guess.

At this point, the conversation came to an abrupt halt because the baby required a new, less fragrant diaper.  Once the baby smelled better, I loaded the children up and headed to the doctor's office.  I noticed that Tyler had a particularly thoughtful look on his face as I was securing him in his seat.  As soon as I put the van in drive, he asked, "Mom, have you ever pooped in a cup?"  At this point I knew we were headed down a dangerous path.  I had to be very careful how I answered this question unless I wanted to walk into the bathroom one day and find a cup full of poop sitting on the counter.  I considered my answer carefully before informing him that, while I'd never pooped in a cup, sometimes doctors did take stool samples from people.  I then told him that I was pretty sure they only did it in hospitals and that I thought it was really painful. Thankfully, silence ensued for the remainder of our journey.

We arrived at Walgreens, and I went up to the kiosk to check myself in via the automated system at the check in counter.  As it turns out, there is also a phone next to the computer for people who need assistance checking in.  This phone also has a button, that when pushed, turns on the store's intercom system.  I'd been to this particular clinic at least 6 times, and I never knew such a button existed.  I was alerted to its existence when I heard Tyler and Colin's voices broadcast throughout the store.  Interestingly enough, the button that turns on the intercom is not the same button that turns it off.  I managed to shut the intercom off and instructed the boys to go find a seat before I killed them.  I finished checking in and turned around to discover three empty chairs where the kids were supposed to be sitting.  Apparently I hadn't been explicit enough in my directions because I found them moments later sitting underneath the chairs.  Deciding that there were worse things they could be doing, I ignored them.

Thankfully,3 we were called back into the exam room a few minutes later.  The doctor listened to my symptoms, did all the normal doctor stuff, and asked if I'd mind providing her with a urine sample.  She handed me a wipe, a cup, a brown bag, their attempt at discretion, and offered to watch the kids while I went potty.  Tyler, not wanting to miss the moment he'd been waiting for all day, refused to stay.  Annabelle also insisted on accompanying me.

We made it into the bathroom, and I managed to collect a sample despite the fact that my efforts were being closely monitored and inspected.  I put the lid on the cup and put it in the bag.  My attempt to exit the restroom was blocked when Annabelle held out her little hand and demanded to carry the bag.  The last thing I wanted to do was walk back to the exam room holding a bag of my urine while Annabelle screamed bloody murder, so I handed her the bag.  She carried it back to the exam room with a look on her face that clearly indicated she thought she'd been handed something far more valuable than a bag filled with pee.

Once back, the doctor confirmed I had a bladder infection and wrote me a prescription for antibiotics and one to ease my discomfort.  As we were walking out the door, she told Tyler, "Hey buddy one of those pills will turn your mom's pee orange."  As I walked past her, she winked and said, "I bet its at least a week before you get to go pee without an audience."  I don't think I've ever received a more accurate diagnosis in my entire life.

It's Probably a Crime Scene

I'm a work at home mom.  I answer the phones for my husband's lawn sprinkler business and take care of my kids at the same time.  As hard as I try to keep my two jobs from overlapping, it never seems to work.  My children will be complete angels all day until I sit down to return phone calls.  As soon as I pick up the phone, they all turn into the spawn of satan.  This morning I was returning a call to a customer and ended up getting his voicemail.  Colin picked that exact moment to pull a scab off which resulted in massive amounts of blood squirting out of his leg.  Tyler not wanting me to miss it, yelled, "OMG look at all the blood!  It's leaking out all over the floor!  I think Colin's going to run out!"  I can only imagine how this came across on my customer's voicemail.  I'm a little worried that he's going to alert the authorities, and they are going to show up at my house in a little while to investigate the murder that happened.

Why we don't floss...

The kids have a dentist appointment tomorrow.  When he asks if the children have been flossing, I'm going to truthfully tell him that we manage good dental hygiene on an average of 5 out of 7 nights a week.  If he asks why we can't make dental hygiene a priority every night, I'm going to point at the baby, show him this picture, and say, "because life with three children is never dull!" 

Giddy Up Momma

Having sex when you are married with children is a lot like having sex when you are a teenager in that you spend a lot of time worrying about getting caught.  There is nothing worse than getting caught fighting, wrestling, playing horsey, etc. naked and having to explain what you are doing to a small child.  Wait, there is something worse, much worse.  Worse is getting caught by small child, who thinks you are playing naked horsey with daddy, who doesn't want to be left out.  Even worse is not knowing you've been caught until the child climbs on your back and yells, "giddy up mommy!"  

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I'm not the only person something like this has happened to.  Feel free to share your rotten story in the comments to make me feel better.  

Babysitting

When we babysit, we make sure to teach our charges the important things in life such as how to properly mine one's nose for gold.

The Drama Queen

Annabelle just turned her little nose up at the pajamas I had picked out for her to wear tonight.  She put her little hand out to stop me and declared, "you take that away from me.  You take that away from me right now!"  Really kid?  You're only 2.

I can't help my hamburger tonight

You know what's awesome?  Turning around to see your kid eating a bowl of cereal while you are making dinner.  You know what's even more awesome?  Realizing the same rotten kid used the last of the milk to make his cereal and now you don't have enough to finish making your hamburger helper.

They're all little cereal killers

I try not to buy Lucky Charms because whenever I buy them, one of my rotten children always sneaks off with the box and eats all the marshmallows.  They always swear they won't when they are pleading with me to buy them in the store, "I swear Mommy!  I'll eat all of it.  I promise it won't be like the last time!"  They always keep their promise the first day and eat every last bite.  It's usually the second or third day when I go to pour a bowl for someone that I notice something is missing.  Usually, I throw the rest of the cereal out because I know its going to go bad before someone eats it once the marshmallows are gone.  Not this time.  My kids have been enjoying marshmallow free Lucky Charms all week.