Reasons why people should never even consider having 4 kids...

This blog will turn advice column for the afternoon. I want to warn all of those poor souls out there contemplating the idea of having too many children as I do. Sure, it seems all sweet and cute. After all, Pottery Barn's baby line of anything is just too adorable for words. The reality isn't that cute. It's a hard, treacherous road, not for the faint of heart or those who enjoy having anything clean in their life. So onto the list....

Here is a list of reasons people should never consider having 4 kids:
1. Eleanor Marie (aka Badness McClanahan). She is a true terror to the core. There is no saving yourself from the tyrant that she is. You may think your 4th child will be different, but they won't be. They just all look different because they have different Baby Momma & Daddy's (yes, I know the possessive form should not be used here, but shut up. It looks better)
2. A flooded bathroom. Yes, I couldn't find her in the house for a whole 5 minutes after throwing her out of my room. Her first stop, flooding the upstairs bathroom. How do I know it was her? She shoved the clothes she was wearing when she left my room in the toilet & sink, that's how.
3. Strawberry Milk syrup all over the bedroom floor. Why? Who the hell knows? I'm not sure what source of inspiration she drew when she saw the lonely container in the fridge just waiting to be mixed with some white milk, but somehow she could not have it.
4. Markers, markers, EVERYWHERE. No, I'm not exaggerrating. I have photo evidence this time. She has colored the floors, the walls, some toys, the bedding, parts of carpet and herself...all today.
5. Toothpaste. Who knew there were so many uses for toothpaste that we should even coat the walls with it? Lord knows there is no way we are actually going to brush our teeth with it. It's much better rubbed on the walls, the tub, piled in the sink, smashed into some clothing, filled in the crevice of a toy and fed to the dog.
6. Hot Fudge Topping for ice cream. Just in case we ran out of strawberry syrup. Best to keep this open & upside down in the laundry basket just for safe keeping.
7. Nail polish. Certainly some people choose to wear it on fingernails (pansies, every last one of them), but not Eleanor. Nail polish is much better used to decorate furniture, the floor, the stairwell banister, her face, her clothing, ooo....and that something shiny over there.
8. Scissors. Did I forget to mention that she cut some of her hair again? That's because she prefers to blame her dance teacher for doing it instead. She SWEARS Ms. Debbie did it because under no possible circumstances would Eleanor do such a thing. Did I also forget to mention that she cut her dress last night? No particular reason given, just a smile and a pose. It's a nice, big slice in the middle of the dress that can't be repaired (as if I'd ever find the time with the said too many children).
9. Cereal. Do people actually eat this stuff? I thought it was only used to coat the surface of every object in the house. It makes a lovely addition to any piece of carpeting that can be found. It's also nice to fill in the pockets of laundry before it gets washed. Smashed bits of cereal are a delightful accent to the stainless steal interior of the washer drum. It only takes like 10 minutes per piece to scrap it off once it dries. Sort of a special something nice to do during the cold & flu season.
10. Miniature doll accessories. So much better to step on than to try to walk on that nasty, clean floor. It should never be played with in conjunction with the doll whose box it was included. Absolutely not. You take these items and line them up wherever Mom may walk, preferably barefoot.

There really are so many other items to list, but I can't face it right now. Especially since my 6 year old, the informer who is overly concerned that everything be just and right within the household because "she didn't do it", is currently screaming my name from the front of the house. Thankfully, Ellie Monster is sound asleep because he work here is done for the afternoon.

Gabe-ism #486

There I am, Super-Mom baking breads for Christmas because I'm just that fantastic (insert hysterical laughter here)and I couldn't help to overhear another classic from the prophetic mouth of Gabe. To set the scene, he is currently fighting with his sister, Meredith, in the den. If you've read my other posts, you know Gabe is in his underwear standing on his "soap box" giving the following speech:

"You see Meredith, I'm tough because I have to be. I go to school with all football players and I mean REAL football players. That's how I'll always be tougher than you."

He says it with such conviction, I didn't have the heart to bring up the fact that they both go to the same school. I'm booking my next vacation in Gabe's World.

Mystery Pee

I realize it's been quite some time since my last post, but such is life with kids. Today though, I was inspired by the most disgusting of happenings a mom encounters - Mystery Pee. Now maybe this is something that only happens to moms of boys, but since that's all I knew for years, Mystery Pee has always been a part of my post-parent life.

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of Mystery Pee, let me fill you in on this delight. Mystery Pee is the phenomenon that happens in any bathroom children use regularly. You walk into the bathroom and all one smells is pee. The longer you investigate, the less you know the source. It is perhaps the single most frustrating thing a mom can encounter because, of course, Dad doesn't smell it.

The next step in dealing with Mystery Pee is to find it. You can't use smell because it's everywhere. It's rank permeates the atmosphere of the entire room. The only way to conquer the beast is to start cleaning. Moms always start with the potty and sometimes on that rare shining occasion it works. However, you then don't have Mystery Pee, you just have a dirty toilet. Us real supermoms are not at all impressed with that. After all, that is just Tuesday in this house.

No, you must search harder for The Pee. Obviously, we then clean every square inch of flooring surrounded the said potty, but that will never do. We move on to the surfaces of cabinets, the trash can, the edges of the tub, the dark corners of the bathroom (wait, there's that item I've been looking for for weeks), the towels, the soap dish, the toothbrush holder, etc, etc, ETC!!!

The truth behind Mystery Pee is that you never really know where it was originally located. That is the most frustrating part because then you can't start there the next time you encounter it. There is no clear, concise solution to The Mystery Pee. You just have to freaking white glove clean the entire stinking bathroom! It is just one of those parenting "things" that makes you go UGH, but we all have to deal with it. Only the real super-parents are willing to admit it.

Stuff Gabe Says

Since I haven't had much time for blogging lately, I thought I might start a column called "Stuff Gabe Says". Of course, I have no idea how to set it up on here, so now it's just a blog posting.

The idea hit me this morning as I was driving Gabe to his phonics class this morning. We are cruising along, singing to the radio and it's just Harrison, Gabe and me in the car. Out of nowhere, Gabe asks "Do flamingos eat crackers?". It is the question that crosses everyone's mind as they drive down Claiborne Avenue in New Orleans. My response, "I don't know about that, but I do know they eat shrimp and that's what makes them pink." (because that's what the plaque at the zoo says) His response, "Do you know what would be awesome? Is if the flamingos ate fish and then they would all turn gray. No one would know what to do".

Uummm....WHAT? I know that's what you are thinking. That's what I was thinking after all. I sheepishly asked, "Why would having gray flamingos be so awesome?" because I am the idiot that engages in this conversation. His response, "It just would be because then they could take over the world." I have to stop the conversation at this point because all I can envision is the smell of the flamingo area at the zoo and I don't want the conversation going there. Harrison is giggling hysterically in the car at this point, and if you have multiple boys you know this fact: giggling almost always leads to farting, snorting, hiccups, etc. This then leads to something I have to clean up, so let's just stop it in it's tracks.

You may need some background on Mr. Gabe. He is my 9 year old who is highly creative and raging with ADHD. It is this magical combination that makes Gabe so awesome. He is very random and you have no idea what he will ever say. He makes outrageous claims and will convince you he's correct. When we were in New York, we were on the subway and Gabe starts talking to some person on the subway, likely a pedophile. He convinces this man that in a past life, he designed and built New York City in 8 months. The man starts to believe him and asks me if it's true. (No, I have no idea what is wrong with people. A 5 year old did not build New York City in a past life. Does one really have to ask this question? So obviously, I told the man that Gabe was correct.) This is Gabe's World.

Gabe's World is a magical place that I would like to visit one day, maybe take an extended vacation or retreat there for a few hours a week. Most of friends will testify to the entertainment value that he has to offer. He is a super cute boy with blonde, curly hair and hazel eyes. He has giant, pouty lips and you can't help but to think he's adorable. His most unique attribute is that he rarely wears clothes. If you drive down my street any time of the year, he is the boy running around in his underwear. He is usually screaming (especially at video games), almost always laughing, making sound effects but definitely fully located in his own world.

I'm certain there will be plenty more stories to share on Gabe. After all, it's only Tuesday and the week is young.

The Morning Routine

I don't think there is anything in this world that strikes fear in the hearts of parents quite like the morning routine. Sure, there have been zillions of articles posted in parenting propaganda magazines offering "simple" suggestions and advice on getting this under control, but they are clearly living in some alternate universe I can only hope to visit one day. The morning routine in the Black House is a simple notion regarding the survival of the fittest.

We begin each morning with my husband waking up at some obscene hour because he has been asleep since 8:00 pm. He makes coffee and plays video games. It is so rough for him, I'm not sure how he survives. Somewhere around 6:45 am, my oldest son wakes up so he can be dressed and out the door by 7:00. I know this only because I hear the melodious sounds of my alarm clock at this time. No, not the kind of clock you plug in and set. Mine is different. Mine is the sound of my husband yelling at the said child every morning.

In his defense, it is the only way to communicate with the 13 year old. He does not relate to the regular spoken word. I know this because if anyone just speaks to him, he does not react. It's sort of like those old Helen Keller movies. There are no answers to questions, no picking up of the object or any bodily movement whatsoever. Just a blank stare from a disoriented being. We've had this phenomenon tested at the Doctor's office, but they all conclude that his hearing is intact. It is a true medical mystery. So, we must scream. Screaming is what fuels his morning and gives him the ability to find school bags, shoes, uniforms, that detention slip we need to sign and on a good day, a toothbrush. They leave for carpool, then I am left to deal with the sleeping creatures that remain.

The baby (who just turned 3, but is still the baby) is the first to wake up. Coming from the family of yellers, she immediately begins to demand chocolate milk in her loudest yelling voice as though she had just won the lottery. I immediately sprint to the kitchen to get it then try to get her settled to a TV show so I can start on the others. This seems to be under control because I am Super Mom and pat myself on the back for having fielded this crisis so well. We will not be late for school today!

First, we must find the others as they will move all night long. Slinking and slithering through the house at all hours, they hop from bed to bed because theirs will never do. They are new, have great mattresses, and the bedding of their choice which makes them uninhabitable. On my morning search and rescue, I locate Gabe. He was sleeping at the foot of my bed hidden under the folded laundry I had not yet put away. "Gabe, wake up! Gabe come on, it's time to get up. Gabe, I'm serious, get out of bed." This is repeated approximately 475,382 times but he does not wake up. I remove blankets, stand him up,turn him around and nothing. The clock is ticking and I must act fast. Besides, I haven't even located Meredith yet.

The baby is now painfully aware that she is not the center of attention so the yelling continues. She needs a different show, some breakfast, a Broadway musical production of Mary Poppins, whatever. It's all unattainable at the moment. I know she will strike with a vengeful fury, but I must wake up at least one more child. In my haste, I decide to just dress Gabe where he lies. I find a clean uniform shirt and earn some Mommy points, but we have to wear dirty school shorts so I lose them. I pry the clothes on him and sense the baby is spiraling out of control. She is throwing the clean, folded laundry all over the floor in the den like she is on a float during Mardi Gras. She is also now spraying everything with chocolate milk because of the amazing patterns they make. I pick up the 65 pound boy and chuck him on the debris on the sofa. It's now after 8, I'm missing one child, no lunches are made, hair and teeth are not brushed, no breakfast has been eaten, and I need to leave in 10 minutes. I ignore the obvious down falls of the morning and focus on the fact that 2 kids have clothes on and one is already at school. It is statistically significant that a majority of my kids are now ready for school. I press forward.

What do we want for breakfast? Eggs. My kids want eggs every morning. Can't talk them into any high sugar, processed treats because that would be all too easy. However would they break down mommy if we didn't start rolling on the ground demanding eggs? Fine! I'll make the $^#&* eggs because I have got this, the delusion is driving hard this morning. After all, I have seen the TV moms of yesteryear perfect this morning routine. I cook eggs, get it on the table at warp speed. Medicine is dispensed, one lunch is made, I forgot drinks but moving on, found forks and we are going with breakfast.

Suddenly, I smell lit matches. Peculiar. I don't remember lighting any candles this morning? Oh no, silly woman. That's not it. It's the toddler who is hiding under the table lighting matches then dropping then onto the brand new hard wood floors. My mom is now up and has located Meredith. I grab the previously lit matches and flush them, verbally abuse psycho toddler and hide the matches in a new location. We are swimming with success and need to leave in 3 minutes to squeak into school.

There is no time, I have to make a new battle plan for this morning. Since Gabe's teacher is the meanest, I decide he is going to school now. Ellie is now hiding because she is in trouble and Meredith is nude. I'll just make 2 trips, no big deal. We find the back-up shoes because the originals are missing and run to the car where I will embark on the longest journey of 18 blocks known to man.

Let me describe this trip to school. It is, as I said, 18 blocks. Any other time of the day this journey takes 3-4 minutes. Because it is a school day and I have school children in the car, it will take a minimum of 15 minutes. It's the law. There are 5 stop lights, 3 of which are one block away from another light. Doesn't matter because I will catch them all, every day, without fail. There will also be the old lady in one lane and the construction truck in the other lane driving side by side at 15 miles per hour just to torture me. With 30 seconds to spare, I rip into the carpool line, practically shove Gabe out of the moving vehicle and I have done it. We are at school, on time. Mommy points re-earned. Take that ye distributors of the tardy slips.

High off my success, I go back home. The return journey takes less than 5 minutes and I only manage to get one stop light. I pull up to the house ready to face the remaining 2, who are at this point, late for school. As I enter the house, the baby greets me by screaming at the top of her lungs, flashing me her panties, stating she will not go to school today, then runs away. Meredith is so ready for school with 3 different hair accessories, 2 shirts because she is wearing a sequin top under the uniform shirt, a micro mini and sparkle shoes. I can't be more thrilled because she's actually dressed. Mom made the other 2 lunches so we are ready to go. Where's Ellie? Well, she is now half-naked in the playroom and would like to bring a piece of furniture with her to school today. Clothes are shoved back on her body, I grab her, the bags the lunches and we run to the car.

We repeat the same drive to school. Luckily, a new, old lady and construction truck were there to make the second drive last just a bit longer just like when the massage therapist throws in a extra half hour to your massage (yeah, right). We're back at school, now tardy and Ellie is naked once again. I begin the treasure hunt that is trying to find anything in my car because I haven't seen the interior carpet in at least 2 years. I find a complete outfit, but not necessarily the one we started with, dress her and go into the office to claim our tardy slip prizes.

In our lives, it's just another Thursday.

The Bikini Wax Incident of 2010

Many of my friends have told me for years that I need to have a blog. At first I thought, whatever, when will I have time to blog? I am married, have 4 kids, 2 jobs, a dog, a tortoise, a hamster, and a life jam-packed with madness. After the events of this evening, I decided it was time. Anyone on the outside looking in, can't help but to feel better about their life and circumstances after reading about my daily adventures. So this will be the point of it all....feel better about being you because there is this mad woman in the suburbs of New Orleans surviving her daily madness and you can thank God you aren't her, even if just for a moment.

Let us begin by looking into how this day began. I thought I was so on the ball because I had woken up early. This was the day I was going to tackle many things and get a great start on the week. By 9:00 am, I had lost 1 of my kids in the house which made the kids 10 minutes late for school. They may or may not have had something for breakfast, brushed their hair or had all items required for the day. I had not yet bathed, brushed my teeth, had anything to eat or drink and was wearing clothes from the night before. My dog had escaped the house for the first time today, ran the neighborhood and was back home. Clearly, I was a woman who was totally in control of her day.

On this day, I decide to tackle another task, the bikini wax. I'm leaving town over the weekend and this always seems to spur a frenzy of extra activities for me. There is a need to take control of everything before I leave town so I can be relaxed when I get home. I'm not sure where this delusion started, but it has yet to work out for me. Nonetheless, I am committed to this pre-trip insanity. This trip, this Monday I have a sudden need for a bikini wax. Inexplicable as it may seem, it is an idea that drives my day. My friend Christine had totally busted my plan for laser hair removal the week before (evidently there are issues between visits that aren't bathing suit conducive). I learn I should wait until fall. Now, it's today, a Monday in May and it just all has to go.

The more logical side of my brain says "find someone to do it". It is quite convincing. Get someone who knows what they are doing. Genius, I am! However, the "there is no way in hell I'm exposing my 4 time postpartum vagina to anyone other than my OB/GYN" side of my brain says, I can do this at home. Since I'm not high on logic this week, that's the side that wins. My friend does it all the time (forgetting she is licensed to do so) and we have fun together, therefore, I can do it too. Genius, once again! I will go to Sally's.

The Crazies at Sally's also buy in to my genius. One of them is full of advice and totally hooks me up. I have the kit that contains 5 bottles of who knows what and I buy a bottles of No-bump stuff as well as this amazing pain relief spray. AWESOME! I am so set. I can manage 4 kids on a daily basis, a bikini wax will be a breeze or so the delusion thought....

Skip ahead to the evening. I have had the busiest day at work. My husband has to pick his mom up from the airport and abandon me for the evening as he drives her to and from her house (an hour away). My mom takes the girls to dancing and I just have the boys. Knowing I will be the Master of the Bikini Wax later, I decide to treat the boys to dinner. We have a great time, incident free at the restaurant. Tim comes home and immediately goes to bed (shocking, I know). The girls come home and after 2 short hours of battling, they are asleep. The time has come for me to conquer the wax.

I begin the process my pouring myself a ginormous glass of wine. Waxing is always better with alcohol. Then I sit down to read the directions. I so have this. It is a simple series of 12 steps. 1. spray don't hurt spray. 2. Clean area with Pre-Hon (nope, no idea either). 3. Rub pre-epil something or another so the wax doesn't stick to skin. 4. Oh wait, I was supposed to warm the wax in the microwave. 5. Take Popsicle stick that is called something else and mix wax to proper consistency. 6. Spread wax on skin at a 45 degree angle. 7. allow wax to cool and harden. 8. pull up one side gently and make a tab. 9. grab tab, pull skin tight and rip quickly. 10. press cushion of hand on fresh rip spot. 11. rub the no bump lotion on waxed spot. 12. repeat until finished and wear loose clothes. It's almost too easy.

The side burns go off without a hitch. Sure half the hair is still there and no I can't repeat the same spot, but I got this. A few more gulps on wine and then I go in for the real deal. What I don't realize until I'm on step 8 is that I forgot to do the first 3 crucial steps. I discover this as I try to make my tab of step 8. Let the sweating begin.

It's streaky, so I decided to add more wax to make a nice tab. I am now frantically doing shots of wine. There are strings of wax all over the bathroom and me as I brave the reality that the wax must, in fact, be removed. Panic-mode has never been achieved quite like this particular point in time. The moment of truth has arrived and I am now sweating profusely. In my nervousness, I wipe my mouth which had the numbing stuff on it. My lips are numb, but the crucial area is not. I begin just ripping away at the streaks of wax while the shots of wine are spilling out of my half numb mouth. I repeat this process until most of the wax is removed. There I sit, with strings of wax every where, half drunk, numbed lipped, giggling like a jackass because I have done all of this and most of the hair is still there with the exception of the one clump I accidentally flung across the room. I'm looking like the female version of Steve Carrel from 40 year old virgin. Seriously? Did I just do this?

All of this brings me to the point I am at right this moment. I hope this story of self idiocracy will give you a quick laugh and help you feel better about your day. This is sadly just a typical Monday for me. I'm certain there will be many more stories to share and I hope you just enjoy them. It's getting late and I need to get to bed so we can be late for school tomorrow.