Three Strikes...

Today is almost over...

I started writing this post this morning...and here I am now, anxiously anticipating sleep.

Today was without humor...but I have a funny memory from yesterday...

All of our candy from Halloween in March was out on the dining room table. I'm upstairs trying to match socks and I hear Pre-K 4 crying and screaming at the Dictator, which really is very rare.
Turns out the baby had eaten all of her "Halloween" candy...mind you this is candy that has been in my pantry since October...
So, I basically continue on with my sock mission, because the candy has already been eaten and the baby knows it, so she's the big winner...end of story.
Well, not quite...Nick comes home and Pre-K starts to tell him about the great injustice...she is immediately interrupted by this statement,  "Daddy...I eat all Meli's candy and she cry like baby!"
We nearly died laughing.

I saw this article once about a woman who "solved" the mystery of the missing socks by pinning them together previous to washing...who the hell is this woman with the time to pin socks together.

Cheating is OK as long as Everyone Does It...

Today is just today.

So, Pre-k 4 and the Boy really enjoy playing board games, which I think is pretty cool. They cheat like nobody's business, but because they both do it, their cheatin' ways have replaced the real rules and everyone is happy...
 Today while counting cards and dealing from the bottom of the deck, the Boy starts to shout, "Aaah, Pre - K 4, You have something by your foot...that's so gross, what is it, keep it away from me...! At one point he actually covered his eyes and said, "I CAN'T LOOK!!" 
Pre-K 4 doesn't really freak out, so she's looking around and finally picks up some carpet lint and simply says, "This?" 
Not the humorous part of the story. While ranting, the Boys face is literally covered with green, nose slime, which has been wiped so many times with his sleeve that it has left track marks across his cheek resulting in this half child - half swamp creature... who is now standing on the couch and hiding from a fuzz.


Nick and I are going to a fundraiser/ cocktail party on Saturday night. He's already asked how long we have to stay...since we paid already.  My problem is not how long we're there, it's the pre-teen anxiety I am feeling about what I will wear.
One of the perks of my job is the extremely lax dress code.
I have one pair of jeans ....and a second pair of the exact same jeans, as a back-up, in case something should happen to the first pair that can't be fixed with the sponge from the sink.
My theory is that if I wear something cute, the Dictator's breakfast smooge will still look the same on that shoulder blind spot (you know that place that only others, not wearing your dirty shirt, can see)  as it does on my extra comfortable, and slightly worn out T-shirt. The most important difference being that then I'd have to pay to have it removed at the dry-cleaners.
So, I have to compose a look that will allow the other guests there to recognize me out of my normal, less then fashionable day wear, but that won't alter their expectations of what I may decide to wear on Monday, because I can promise you - it will be machine washable.

**Just an aside..."Cheating is Ok..." does not apply to my husband...or my boyfriend.
That's what you get for bitchin' bout my grammer...ahahahaha!!**

I've been fighting it...but I've lost.

Today is the day I except that I am a suburbanite.

I know it is official and I am crying inside.
I spent the morning dragging my children and my husband, who had the day off, from one home goods store to another in search of the perfect...rocks.
Nick just kept humoring me and saying things like, "Yeah, those are ok." or "Well, I don't know about those..." while most certainly thinking, what the hell have I gotten myself into here...
I want to say that it was a temporary lapse in judgement, but that would be a lie. The right rock can make or break my landscaping, it could change the whole design scheme really. As a matter of fact there are businesses built around the perfect rock...I'm sure of it.

Speaking of...I also hate to love my minivan...the second most disgustingly dirty place in my life.
My two favorite parts of my dream car are -
1. the automatic doors and  2. the great and powerful - MOVIE PLAYER.
Yesterday, I entered that piece of automotive excellence sans offspring. It took me nearly 8 minutes of listening to "Ice Age and the Dawn of the Dinosaurs," before I remembered that the damn thing has a radio.

Today I took pre-k 4 to kindergarten round-up. What a COLOSSAL waste of time.  My beautiful love was like, "This is it?"
"Round up" implied some sort of rodeoesque experience, packed with exciting future kindergartener activities, sure to amaze and impress...By the time we reached Station 7, and she repeated for the 7th time "My name is...and "I go to..." I was surprised she didn't just tell the poor woman to read it off the damn paper.

If You Want Another Baby...get another husband.

Today is the day I decide if a man hunt is in my future.

If I had to answer that question based on the last 30 seconds, the answer would be...hell no.

When Baby Mussolini woke up this morning she looked at me, lied back down and said, "Where's daddy?" He's at work.  Her response,"I wait for daddy pick me up." So I did what anyone else would do, I wished her luck and left her there.
It was right about the time we were getting into the car to head to the promise land, more commonly referred to as school, when Pre-K 4 said, "Mama I don't think daddy is going to come home in time to get the Dictator out of her crib."...never change your morning routine, you're bound to forget things.

I had a conference with Pre-k 4's teachers today.
Those woman are so sweet that I am sure they have little mice sewing them ball dresses and tying ribbons in their hair on weekends.
Seriously though, they are wonderful. More importantly, SHE PASSED!! The one who declared this morning, while examining herself in the mirror, "Look, my grey tooth is still there!" is apparently a star student, but I knew that...even before the Dictator trashed the classroom as we spoke of letter recognition and exceptional counting skills.
Pre - k 4 nearly down, just 16 - 20 more years, 26 if she takes after her father...

The boy's conference is Thursday.

So, Miss 2nd grade scored 2 goals yesterday in her teams championship soccer game...just sayin'.  I can't believe how excited I get over that stuff. I mean I KNOW that the parents are looking at me, I can feel their eyes, but I can't stop...My soccer star told me, in a not so subtle way, that I needed to quiet down, "Mama, I think you are embarrassing the other kids."

Candy is for suckers.

Today is Halloween...in March.

At around 10am, Ms. 2nd grade, came upstairs asking for her Halloween costume. The boy, Pre-K 4 and The Dictator were soon to follow - as expected.  Prepped and ready to once again shock the neighbors with our absurd behavior - they all decided they wanted to go trick or treating.  I'm not that cool, but I do have my moments, so rather then send my little candy seekers out of doors, we had our own junk food hunt, complete with Halloween goodies...actually acquired last Halloween. Waste not, want not.

Today is our 7u soccer team finals... I decided that I would make a special treat for the kids. I started pre-heating the oven at 9am... it is 1:30pm and the treat is now baking. You're welcome BGE.

Mini D. walked in to the office just a moment ago asking for a pony tail. Pebbles walked out...I called after her, "Honey you look so pretty." "No mama! I butiful."



Quick note...
I have really been enjoying your comments. Thank you very much for taking the time to read my little tales of woe. Please share your own some time.

Memories...

Today is five years later...

My mom was a screamer. It's no big secret...if she were reading this she would probably scream at me, just for the hell of it. 

She was also one of the funniest people I have ever known...I'm not sure when I figured that out, but thankfully I did, because it made the screaming more tolerable. 

She also had a hollow leg, but not in a bad way, in more of a good time, funny story way.

I remember one night, I must have been in my mid teens, she came home from dinner with my dad and she was totally smasharooed. She came stumbling into my bedroom and decided that she was going to sleep on my carpet instead of muster up the strength to find her own carpet. 

Well, I was a rotten teenager and was not wise enough to appreciate how awesome it would have been to see her face in the morning had I let her sleep on my floor...so I decided I would drag her to her own room. At breakfast she says to me, "Jen, my back is killing me. She lifts up her shirt to reveal a monster size rug burn..." 

The moral of the story...if you plan to drag someone for any significant distance across a carpeted floor - be kind enough to tuck in their shirt.

Miss 2nd grade is the only one of my children with any memory of my mother. Her memories are as follows, "Grandma gave me coffee ice cream for the first time with soo many chocolate sprinkles and she used to like to do art projects with me." I'd say if I had to be remembered, I'd be OK with that.

One of my favorite memories is of her chasing my dad around the house laughing and screaming and trying to grab him in unspeakable places, she was a dirty fighter...I loved that too.

"There are no Accidents," Master Oogway, Kung Fu Panda.

Today is Friday, but isn't everyday??

I don't cry over spilled milk... I say things like, "What in the world would posses you to do that while I am trying to get the Dictator in her shoes and brush pre-k 4's hair?? Didn't you just spill your milk yesterday?? I mean hasn't the quota been filled??" 

Very early this morning, Miss 2nd grade frantically woke me to tell me that she had not completed her homework.  Shockingly, I did not say, "Who gives a sh-t," I simply assured her that we would find time in the morning, not to worry, off to bed - No, I will not walk you down the hall, get back to bed. Then I fell back to sleep thinking how responsible it was of her to remember that she hadn't taken care of her responsibilities and feeling sure she would have that homework done and packed before I even crawled out of bed. 

I do believe in the power of positive thought, but feel it only works if you are a truly good person...I am apparently more average good. She went to school with her homework complete, ate her breakfast in the car and got her hair brushed on the curb outside of the school.

On Fridays, it's just my little Mussolini and me.  She is usually stuck so close to me that I have to agree to listen to that curly haired genius whose singing of songs about Italian men and fish who ride bicycles gives me 15 minutes of "free" time. 

Today was different though. I went to the bathroom to the sound of some strong protesting, but when I came out...she was gone. 

For a moment I thought, "Hallelujah!!" But then I missed being bossed around, so I started to look for her.  She was nowhere - vanished. Outside?? No, too cold. Basement?? I hope not because she would be lost forever in that pit of despair.  Upstairs?? Starting to freak out a little... shockingly, I don't have any experience with losing children. 

Then I hear the giggle, still no sign of her, but at least there has been verbal contact...LAUNDRY MOUNTAIN - NOOOOOO!!!

"I hide-n-seek! You yellin' mama...Go count!!" 

The Von Trapp - Leone's

Today is the day I admit to everyone publicly that I am not the perfect parent that you all think I am...please  appreciate the sarcasm.

This morning, while I was taking my version of a shower...head in sink, rinse, dry...I heard the most lovely sound. It was singing, "Twinkle-twinkle Little Star," I believe.   I immediately thought...What the hell...they're supposed to be getting their shoes on so we're not running around like maniacs to get out the door in as close to on time as possible. So with head wrapped in Transformer Headdress, I shouted over the rail...if I come down these stairs and you're not ready for breakfast, I'm going to stuff that musical frog in the garbage disposal!!" Ahh the familiar sound of scrambling feet - now we're talking.

I have decided that all 2 year olds should be named after dictators. "Get me Milk!" "I need Shoes!" "I want drink from water fountain!" "Need new diaper!"...could it be that I shout over the rail too often...

Yesterday, Miss 2nd grade came home and said, "Mom I played this button game with Sam on the playground." Sorry. What? The best I can guess is it's like one of those paper fortune tellers that we used to make back in the Stone Ages.  She said she had to choose "Date" because the other options were, kiss, marry and something she couldn't remember...I am going to hit Sam with my car.  Nick said a big gun would be more effective, but I don't have the patience to file for a permit...hell we've been living here over a year and I still have PA plates on my minivan, which I guess could work out to be beneficial in this situation.

Today is...day 1.

Today is also the day...
I realized once again, after foolishly bringing the Queen of 6716 to Target that I am an idiot. She is the definition of 2 in all its glory and does not respond to any strategy that I have successfully used to pacify the 2 year olds that came before her. I mean any.
By the time I made it to the register, we had opened the pretzels, the fish and dropped a cheese stick.
She makes me feel like a first time mom all over again...and again...and again.
To her credit...she made it out with a bottle of hooker red nail polish and someone else's dropped lollypop.
Naturally, I will assume that the germ infested pop of disgustingness never touched her lips...