Who Does Number Two Work For?

Okay, so something strange is happening in my upstairs bathroom. Pardon me for being so blunt, but there has been poop "mysteriously" appearing in the toilet. "How does that happen?" you may ask. If you've never been in my house, the kids' bedrooms and bathroom are upstairs and our master is on the main floor. Bryan and I never use the upstairs bathroom, but in the past few weeks, we have discovered "mystery poop" in the upstairs toilet, which noone in my house will take responsibility for. Jena swears she flushes and Brayden insists he doesn't use that bathroom (unless he did it when he was sleepwalking, which is his excuse for lots of things since he has been known to pee in strange places while sleepwalking). So unless Izzy has magically potty-trained herself and is holding out on us or the cats have learned how to use the toilet, we have a mysterious visitor who likes to occasionally leave a present in our toilet. As I think about this situation and try to solve the case of the mystery pooper, I'm reminded of the bathroom scene from Austin Powers with Tom Arnold and Mike Myers . . . "WHO DOES NUMBER TWO WORK FOR?" Apparently in our house, number two doesn't work for anyone.

My Bubble is Burst by an 8 Year Old

As I was cleaning out some of the kids papers from school the other day, I came across this. It was a card Brayden made at school right before the holidays. What appeared to be a very inappropriate drawing for an 8 year old, was actually a menorah. (What IS it with boys and their phalic drawings?) He was learning about different winter holidays at school and had made a Hannukah card. When I read the letter inside, I was amazed by his choice of words. I don't know if you can tell, but the last line says "You have light shining in your heart". (Well, actually it says "You have light shinning in your heart", but what's one extra 'n'?) How touching! Two thoughts were running through my mind as I read that - A. My son MUST be a gifted writer and B. I must be one heck of a mom for him to say that about me.

I was so touched, I gave him a huge hug and thanked him for writing me such a nice letter. When I asked him what made him think to write that, his reply was "We had to use the word 'light' in our card".

Oh, the love of markers!

I thought Kate Gosselin was mean for not allowing her children to have markers. Even her oldest two kids who were like 7 or 8 at the time weren't allowed to have them in the house . . . geez! I know they're messy and easier to stain than crayons, but there's just something about coloring with marker that feels so darn good.

I've never been one to stifle my children's creativity. For being as OCD as I am when it comes to other things, I've always let them have markers, Playdough, watercolor, paints, Moon Sand - you name it. That's part of being a kid!

That was before my dear third child was old enough to discover markers. I don't know exactly how or when it happened. I'm sure it was one day when I was watching soap operas and eating bon-bons. (What are bon-bons, anyway?) Since then, it's been a constant source of amusement in our home. Yes, I said amusement. I think it's funny when Izzy colors herself with marker from head to toe. Hey, sometimes you've gotta laugh, or you'll cry.

To help tame her marker obsession, I bought her some of those Crayola Color Wonder Markers for Christmas. The kind that only writes on special paper. She hated them. As soon as she realized she couldn't color on herself, she got pissed and that was the end of that.

So last night as I'm cleaning up from dinner and the kids were playing in the basement, I hear Brayden yell, "Mom, you better come see Izzy!". That's never a good sign. Expecting her to have gotten into something, most likely a marker, I wasn't too concerned. It doesn't take a whole lot to faze me these days. Then I see this . . .

If you look closely, you'll see that she even colored her teeth. After Bryan gave her a bath and a good scrubbing, her face is still stained blue. While he was attempting to wash the marker off, I gave Brayden and Jena each a gallon sized ziplog bag and had them search the entire house from top to bottom and collect any marker they came across. When they were finished, I put the bags of markers on a top shelf in a cabinet where I knew they would be safe. And do you know, after getting her bath and clean pj's on, that little stinker, STILL managed to find one in a drawer the kids forgot to check.

Confessions of a Blogging Slacker

If you're one of those people who read my blog when I first started it and then gave me a hard time for not keeping up with it, well I've got news for you . . . I'm Baaaaaaaack! It's only been a year and half. Geez, has it REALLY been a year and a half? Wow, time really does fly when you're working full time and raising three children and a husband!

So, yes, I confess I have been a blogging slacker. I have several friends who have wonderful blogs that they update weekly, even daily, and it just reminds me of what a slacker I am. Not only am I a blogging slacker, I'm also a Facebook slacker. I love Facebook. I love blogging. But I also love my children and husband (most of the time) and the daily chaos that exists within my home doesn't leave much time for anything else. By the time I DO have a chance to sit down and blog, it's 10 pm and all I want to do is pass out on the couch.

I am going to TRY to keep my blog updated more often, but don't hold me to it! Here's some cute pictures of my kids who are alot older now than the information in my profile. Maybe I'll get around to changing that one of these days . . .

Wish I could write more today, but I've gotta get to Wal-Mart before the Easter Bunny visits!

Roll With the Punches

Today was my first official day back to work. Yesterday was actually supposed to be my first day back . . . and then I got the stomach flu from my kids. Nothing like calling in on your first day back. So, today I went back. I became a working mom again. Back to reality.

I've spent the last month of my 6 month maternity leave preparing to go back to work. I wanted it to be as smooth of a transition as possible, for both the kids and myself. I knew it would be chaotic, but I figured if I was prepared, it would be less chaotic. So, last night I did my last minute preparations. I had my coffee in the coffee pot ready to go, diaper bag packed up and in the car, kids' clothes laid out, lunches packed, and dinner in the crockpot ready to be plugged in the next morning. "I can do this!" I thought. Sure, it took over a half-hour to get everything ready, but I knew it would pay off in the morning when I was trying to get everyone up and ready.

I was all set to get a good nights' sleep and had just settled into bed when I heard the cries of a very unhappy baby through the monitor. "Great," I thought. So I went upstairs, rocked Izzy back to sleep, and got back in bed to get some sleep. 10 minutes later, I hear it again. Would I be a bad mom if I just turned off the monitor and pretended not to hear her? The thought crossed my mind for a split second.

3 hours of off-and-on crying later (2 am at this point), I did something I swore I'd never do. (And have never done in 6 years of being a mom until now.) I put Izzy in bed with me. Yes, I do realize she could have gotten SIDS, so please spare me the guilt. Desperate times call for desperate measures. "5:45 will be here way too soon," I thought as I drifted off to sleep with Izzy FINALLY sleeping soundly next to me. It was. As I awoke to check the clock, the way everyone does when they wake in the night to see how much time they have left to sleep, I jumped out of bed. 6:48!!!! How did that happen? I had overslept by over an hour and needed to be leaving the house by 7:30. CRAP!!! Long story short, Bryan forgot to reset the alarm for my early rise time, and with his help (and my preparations the night before), we somehow managed to get out the door on time.

So, my return to work was not without chaos and did not go as smoothly as I had hoped. It was just the opposite. It was the worst possible scenario of a chaotic morning that I could have imagined. The thing is, no matter how much you prepare for something, things never go as planned, especially when you have kids. Life doesn't throw curve balls. The curve balls ARE life. Whether it's the stomach flu, a crying baby, or an alarm clock mishap - these things happen to all of us. The best you can do is roll with the punches and remind yourself that even in the most chaotic and stressful moments, you are where God intends for you to be.

And if God intends for you to oversleep, then tell that to your boss when you're late for work.

Proud to be an American

Today I'm not writing about being a mom. I'm writing about being an American. For the past several days, I've heard many people complaining about the outcome of the election. Yes, I admit, it didn't turn out the way I had hoped either. You see, I am disappointed too. I am fearful for our national security. Yet, I am also proud.


I am proud that I live in a country where I can take my daughters with me to vote. Jena asked if she gets to vote, too. "No" I told her. "Not today, but when you're 18 you can. You are lucky you live in America, where women get to vote."


I am proud that I live in a country where a woman can run for president and for vice president and where an African-American can become elected. Brayden and Jena watched the election coverage with me on tv before they went to bed. When I tucked them in, I told them "Tonight, history will be made. We will either have our first woman in office or our first African-American." "I hope John McCain wins," said Brayden. "Me too," I said.


The next morning, the first words out of Jena's mouth were "Who's our next president?" "Barack Obama," I told her. "Aw, man!" she replied. "It will be okay," I said. "That's the thing about voting. Sometimes elections don't turn out the way you want."


However, I am proud. I am proud to have had the opportunity to cast a vote and to see the democratic process play out. I am proud to live in a country where not only can we elect our president, but where we can speak freely about it.


So go ahead and complain. It's our right as Americans. But let us not forget how lucky we are to have that right.

The Funny Thing About Pictures

Yes, I realize that I used to make fun of people who have a blog. I always thought they had way too much time on their hands. Yes, I am bored. I am still on maternity leave and have run out of things to do. My house is in order for the first time since we moved in, all of my pictures are in albums, I have about a month's worth of meals in the freezer (I guess I was in a panic that I won't have any time to cook anymore when I go back to work, yet somehow I managed to do it for 9 years), and a good portion of my Christmas shopping is done - so now I am blogging.

I realize that my last blog was very sentimental. Please don't be misled. I get very sentimental about Izzy. She's my baby and yes, she's got us all wrapped around her little finger. I know I will pay for it later. You will probably find that I write more about her than I do about Brayden and Jena. That's because I have more nice things to say about her right now. I'm sure in a few years that will change, once she is able to talk back and argue with her big brother and sister. For now, she's the only kid in our family who doesn't drive me crazy on a daily basis.


See this picture of Jena? Cute, right? What you don't see is the events that took place seconds before I took the picture. Brayden was reading a book to Izzy on the floor. (The only way I can get him to do his nightly reading without it becoming a major power-struggle is to have him read to her.) I thought to myself, "This would be a cute picture!" So I got out the camera and took a picture. Here it is. Jena, seeing me taking a picture of Brayden and Izzy, got very jealous and started screaming,
"TAKE A PICTURE OF ME, TOO!" So, that's what happened right before she is smiling and looking all cute in that picture.

That's the funny thing about pictures. They only show one fraction of a moment in time. You never see what happened right before - parents yelling at their kids to stop making faces at the camera or a brother and sister fighting over who gets to hold the baby. We as parents like to photograph the happy times. On days when we want to pull our hair out, those pictures serve as a reminder that our children are cute and yes, we do love them - even though at times we may not like them very much. (Did I really just say that?) Admit it - you know you've felt that way too at some point if you have a child over the age of 3. If not, you're either lying or self-medicating.