Thursday, July 21, 2016

Rough Day

So Coco has some dairy sensitivity issues. He's been drinking almond milk since he was a little guy, but used to be able to handle other dairy. Not so much now. After a long conversation with a lactose intolerant friend, I decided to try giving him a Lactaid anytime he wanted any dairy. It has helped immensely. Unfortunately, I didn't have any in my purse the other night and he had a cheese quesadilla while we were out at dinner. I completely forgot by the time we got home to give him one. He was fine that night and I didn't even think about it. The following night for dinner, he had a casserole that was full of sour cream and cheddar. Again, I didn't even think anything of it. Until he woke up in the middle of the night throwing up. Fortunately he's at the age now where he makes it to the toilet 99% of the time. He went back to bed, but threw up again in the morning. And again. And again. Poor guy threw up all day long. I thought maybe it was a flu bug, but he had no other symptoms. Then I remembered that he had all that dairy. Mom fail. By late at night, he hadn't eaten or had anything to drink. He tried some saltines and Sprite, but proceeded to throw that up fifteen minutes later. By Wed. morning, I was worried he was dehydrated so I got him some Powerade and he was able to keep that down. By the time we went to a party last night, he wanted watermelon, cookies, chicken, rice. I decided to make him take it slow, but he's completely fine now. Rough life when you're tummy is sensitive to dairy.

JP was out all day yesterday riding bikes with his friends downtown, doing cool teenager stuff and probably hunting Pokemon guys. So he met us at the party. Unfortunately, his back brakes were loose on his bike and he took a nasty spill over his handle bars right before we got there. So I dropped everyone else off and took him home to clean him up. He landed on his elbows and one side was missing skin almost to the bone. He hit his chest and was struggling with breathing and was worried he'd broken a rib. He also hit his hip hard. I was panicked when I started looking at everything and he was going into shock because he was in so much pain. Dad got home to talk me down from the ledge because I really wanted to take him to the ER. But really, what could they do? He didn't hit his head, if a rib was bruised, they can't do anything about it. He's doing better today. His elbows have stopped burning and throbbing. His chest still hurts really bad, but that's probably going to hurt for months if something got bruised. But he's really become a tough kid so I know he'll be fine.

Here's to a better day today!

Monday, January 4, 2016

Boys' Life

I watched a show about UFOs last night with Coco. I was in the kitchen working on dinner when he says matter-of-factly, "Aliens are real." That kid cracks me up. He is a boy after my own heart. He believes in Big Foot, aliens, Loch Ness monster, the lost city of Atlantis and he's on the fence about ghosts. I don't want to freak him out so whenever he asks if ghosts are real, I always tell him that some people believe they are. But he's seen enough creepy stuff on Ghost Hunters with me that I think he believes.
He also loves watching any show that delves into unknown mysteries and legends. He loves Expedition Unknown (and was rather annoyed that I deleted the vampire episode before he could watch it). He totally gets into shows where they are hunting for pirate treasures, Robin Hood, King Arthur, etc. And because he spent more time with me at home before going to school than the other boys, he knows a lot of random facts. We had lots of conversations in the car about anything and everything. He told his brothers one day how you would technically pronounce a local street name here since it actually used to be called Chinese Garden. None of them believed him until they asked me. He likes to randomly tell people things like that. I love that he enjoys learning new things.
And the kid seriously has the most accurate English accent of any non-British kid I've heard. It's hilarious. He's good at pronunciation and other accents as well. 

Peanut, on the other hand, loves any TV show where they build something or remodel something. He has such an engineering sort of mind. He loves puzzles and Legos and you can almost see the wheels turning when he is concentrating on something. He's my quietest boy for sure. If he's alone in the car with you, you'd never know he was there. He doesn't ask a thousand questions like Coco or tell random stories like his other brothers. I saw a movie with just him the other night and he didn't laugh or make a sound, but after the movie told me he thought it was a really funny movie. I never have any idea if that kid is enjoying something. It's a little weird since it's totally opposite from the rest of the family. He can be loud for sure when his brothers are teasing or attacking him, but other than that, he's a quiet one.

And then there's JP. I'm not sure what he's really into other than video games lately. But he's started eating a lot before bed just like Bubba. Last night we realized it was starting when he finished the spaghetti noodles with nothing but cheddar cheese on them and then had a bowl of ice cream right after. The scary thing is that he was always my best eater as a baby. He ate three jars of baby food at every sitting and still nursed and had baby cereal. He seems to be pretty in to Star Wars stuff lately since he saw number seven twice. He spent all of his Christmas money on one Lego set from the movie. 

Bubba eats non-stop, has grown another inch in the last month, and is driving. He and Coco are the loudest children for sure. I shushed him today after school when he was right next to me telling me something rather loudly. His reply, "I'm using my inside voice." Not really, son. Not really. He's in to snowboarding lately and almost his entire Christmas list consisted of equipment he wanted/needed. He joined ski club and will have his first competition this Saturday. He's getting gigantic-huge feet and hands, getting taller. He's definitely a man-child now. He enjoys pointing out how short I am now since he has a whole two inches on me. He's very lovey with me, which is also great. I always worried my boys would stop liking me when they became teenagers, but it seems like they like me more now. Dad used to be the cool one, now it's Mom. 

I love my boys. I love being a mom of all boys. I love watching them play baseball and football. I love that they love 80's music, techno and Flogging Molly. I love that I can impress them with my loud soda belches. I love that they think I'm cool and tough and strong. I love that they missed me profusely when I went to Ireland for a week and California for several days without them. And that they were worried the house might explode without me here or that Dad might not do things right. But I also love my Labor Day weekend every year when my boys all go camping and the house is completely silent and I can watch twelve different chick flicks and eat ice cream for breakfast and sleep until noon. 
I'm definitely one lucky girl to have five amazing guys in my life. And they treat me like the Queen. Bubba even said, "Your Highness" the other night (and not in a mocking way).

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Mid-Life Crisis

I think I'm going through a mid-life crisis. Or maybe not, but something I go through every so often. I don't think it's related to my mood disorder either. I kind of wish it were though so I would have a better excuse. It's just that, sometimes I don't feel like me anymore. I was a different person back in college. I know what you're thinking, "weren't we all"? It's not like I was some crazy, out-of-control party girl or anything. I went dancing every weekend at actual dance clubs. Do they even have those anymore? Or just bars with music? I didn't go out drinking or anything like that, just dancing. But it was a huge part of my life. I've always loved music and dancing. I took dance as a little girl and all through high school. Senior year, I discovered there were places you could go listen to amazing music and do just that. I don't know why, but techno music has always spoken to me. In college, I would go dance for like three or four hours straight. Can you really see an almost 39 year old woman at a dance club? You would think, "Oh, how pathetic. She's trying to pretend she's still 21."
The problem-I still feel like I am inside. I've always been independent and had to grow up early due to my parents' divorce. So I don't feel like I had to mature or anything when I got married and started popping out kids. My body has just gotten older. Sure I probably couldn't go three hours without stopping, but I could definitely do it with a few water breaks. I'm not in shape anymore, but I still feel like I could do it.
This used to be me. The punk rock girl who had purple hair for a salon photo shoot once. The girl who practically lived in Dickies and a wife beater. The girl who had a "Mean People Rule" sticker on her car. The girl who danced all night, who didn't care what other people thought of her, who wasn't afraid to be her true self all the time, who wore funky clothes that didn't always match, who was a social butterfly. The girl with the tattoos. I miss that girl. Obviously the tattoos are still there, but the rest of her disappeared. I don't want to totally blame it on being a mom and feeling like I have to be a good example, but that is a part of it. Can you imagine if I showed up for church with an entire head of pink hair? And I definitely can't get any more tattoos. The problem is, tattoos are addictive. I told B yesterday that if I could, I would at least have one on my inner forearm and on my calf. Perhaps even another on my back. Why is it appealing to me you wonder? Everyone gets them because they think it makes them stand out or be different when really they're following the crowd? No, to me, I just plain like them. They're an outward expression of who I am. I could care less if other people thought they were "cool". In all honesty, if my kid wanted a blue mohawk or ended up with a tattoo someday, I wouldn't care. What you look like on the outside doesn't necessarily have anything to do with your spiritual well-being. My appearance wouldn't change that. But I feel like I have to live up to certain standards. I feel like I'm supposed to fit into a mold, be a good example to my kids. The person I am now is afraid of being judged. I prefer to be alone, sometimes have panic attacks. Every so often, I feel like I've disappeared and it makes me sad. And I don't know how to deal with it. So, if the characters in my books have tattoos, just know I'm living vicariously through them. 

Monday, December 29, 2014

It's Been One of Those Days

Do you ever have those days where you just want to disappear? You know, you make up an excuse to go run errands, work on the computer, take a bath with the music cranked loud? Well, it's been one of those. Things were fine this morning. I went to the chiropractor, got a yummy raspberry italian soda, went to the grocery store. JP was on the PS3, the littles were watching their library movies so I could return them today, Bubba was still asleep (at 11:30). He was awake when I got back and, surprise, on the PS3. JP was attempting to diagnose what was wrong with his new RC car he got for Christmas. The littles were in the backyard (in the snow without snow clothes on). I made them finish their other movie and clean out the new hamster cage while I sat down on the computer to do some work for the business. When the movies were done, I was headed to the library, bank and the other grocery store to get what I couldn't find at the first one.
At this point, I was really needing to get out of the house anyway because even though I was in the office, they were bugging me. It was one of those days where I just wanted to have me time. I wanted Christmas break to be over and have them back at school. Bubba insisted on going to the store with me so he could get out of the house. Why is it that they get more clingy when mom is grouchy? 
When we got back, he and the littles decided it would be a good idea to throw each other around the living room and onto the Lovesac. I'm not sure why I thought it would be a good idea to bring that back downstairs from the playroom. All they've done is launch each other off it, flip onto it and use it as an end zone to play living room football. It's supposed to be for extra seating. But do boys ever use anything for its intended purpose? Nope. So why did I expect anything else? Wishful thinking I guess. So of course people are going to get hurt today like every other time. Bubba decided to bury Coco underneath it and suffocate him. "He asked me to!" Seriously dude? You're almost 15, think about it. Not a good idea. Of course Coco comes out screaming his bloody head off because the child does not have an inside voice or normal volume for anything. And when he gets hurt? He rages on everyone and everything. He has some serious anger management issues. But I probably would too if my three older brothers constantly picked on me. He can do serious damage if you let him rage on them. Sometimes I want to just sit and watch the show and laugh. They deserve it after all. But the yelling is getting to me. It's always nice when you have a headache and three kids are all screaming at you that "he did it" or "he asked me to" or "he started it". *Heavy sigh*
I finished eating lunch, did a few more emails and then, to use our family's new term, "rage quit" and went and took a hot bath and blared my music while reading a book. Of course I'm not in there for three minutes when Coco comes screaming at the door that Peanut ate a bite of his food while he was bringing me my phone upstairs because Bubba told him he did. Do I believe Bubba? No. He's trying to get a rise out of Coco and stir s*** up with him and Peanut. Peanut is yelling up the stairs that he did not. "But, mom, a square of it was gone," Coco insists. "That's because YOU ate it!!" Peanut yells back. 
My reply? "Don't believe Bubba. He's trying to get you mad. I trust Peanut. Now let me have a bath!" Why is it that when I try to take a shower or even pee for Pete's sake, all hell breaks loose around here? Fortunately, by the time I got out, Dad was home from work. I came down to work a little more and they started in with the whining again. "I'm off duty and so done with you guys! Complain to Dad," I say as I shut the office door. I ate my feelings with the rest of the coconut creme pie from Christmas and now Dad is hiding out in the office with me while they play football in the living room. He gave up trying to watch his football. "I like to watch football. You know what I don't like to watch? Football in front of my football," he complains. Peanut has now barricaded himself in his room and is reading books because everyone is "being jerks" to him. *Heavy sigh again*Please let this day end soon.

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Why Boys?

Why did God make me a mom of all boys? Well I'll tell you.

1. I love MMA. The bloodier the fight, the better. There's something about watching people punch each other that makes me feel better. Watching the chicks fight makes me think I missed my true calling in life.
2. I love shooting stuff. Another thing that makes me feel better.
3. I can belch with the best of them-actually much louder than my children sometimes.
4. I love baseball. And not just because my kids play. I grew up going to Angels games and always loved it. I don't find it boring at all. Watching it on TV-yes, but not being at a game. And I love to keep score. I know what's going on that way and I've got it down pretty good after doing it for like 5 or so years now.
5. I don't like camping. How does this make sense? Well, if He had given me girls, I would never have that one weekend a year when they all go camping for three days. It's a time when I can rejuvenate myself. I eat ice cream two or three times a day and have chick flick marathons and read a lot.
6. I was a tomboy growing up. Almost all of my friends were boys. I only ever had one really close girlfriend at a time, but I was always hanging out with the boys.
7. I love action movies.
8. I love beautiful cars. Someday, when I'm a rich and famous author, I will collect them.
9. Driving a race car is on my bucket list.
10. I'm not a sissy. I'm not trying to brag or anything, but I once helped my husband carry an incredibly heavy washing machine up a flight of stairs-just the two of us. I'm pretty strong for a girl and so far can still pin my 14 year old and beat him in arm wrestling. I'm sure that won't last another year, but still, for the moment, it makes me feel like a boss.
11. I like the feel of mud and I don't mind getting dirty. Mud boggin' is a serious blast.
12. Sometimes I'm a bad mom and encourage my children to hit each other. Well, not exactly, but there are times when one whines about someone hitting them and I say, "Well what do you want me to do about it? Hit him back."


I do still think boys can be disgusting at times. Case in point: tonight, Coco announced during a boxing match with Peanut that he had to go to the bathroom. Peanut asks, "One or two?" Coco announced that it was just one. But Peanut proceeded to talk about poo versus pee and how long it takes. I also do not enjoy when they tell me what it looks like. No thank you. I don't like the eating of boogers either. That's just wrong.

I do love girly things like princesses and the colors pink and purple. I collect purses (that I never end up using), scarves (that's a new one this year), and shoes. But I love having all boys. They are dramatic enough, so if I had girls, I might have to be committed. Boys tend to lose their minds from about 10-12 years old, but Bubba has come out of that and is a fairly easy teenager. And the best part of it all, I get to be the queen of the house and every single one of them treats me like I am. One of them asked once, "Why do you get to eat ice cream?" And one of the other ones said, "Because she's the queen and she can do what she wants." Enough said.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Birthday Fail-Sort Of

So today is my birthday. I really don't feel like I'm as old as the number I turned, but whatever. It is what it is. Anyway, the day started off fine. JP made me frozen waffles for breakfast, but I had gone back to bed after waking them for school because I didn't get to bed until 2 am and slept like crap. So, worst mom in the world award goes to me for saying thank you, but why don't you eat them because I'm not hungry and really just want to sleep right now. I felt like crap afterward because it was such a sweet gesture. Once I got Coco off to afternoon kindergarten, I cleaned up the living room floor and organized the kitchen counter (which ended up taking much longer than I thought it would). I finally sat down to read for awhile and then my sissy called and took me to get ice cream. After all the boys got home from school, it was time for Peanut to start his diorama on Pippi Longstocking that is due TOMORROW. We got a Lego drawer made and a Lego Pippi, but then he said he had a headache. Apparently, his teacher forced them to have a gum chewing contest for like twenty minutes. So he laid on the couch to rest for awhile. In the meantime, the nicest six year old brother in the world went upstairs to make a Lego couch for the project while Mom added some orange ribbon to create Pippi's hair. (It looks awful by the way, but when all you have is boy Legos, it's all you can do to even find a face that is somewhat smiling). By then, it was time to go drop off Bubba for summer Legion ball tryouts and then time for JP's game. I told Peanut that he could just rest in the car during the game. I get there and set up all my crap-fill my wagon with my chair, Coco's chair (that he won't end up sitting in), camera bag, snack bag, blanket bag, drinks, etc. B hands me the scorebook to set up and I help little guy find his one dollar coin in the bag so he can go buy candy at the snack shack. He finally settled on a ring pop and caramel apple sucker. I go to sit down and thirty seconds later hear him screaming like he's just been shot. He tripped on the rocks and scraped the crap out of his elbow, which is now bleeding all over, and dang it his stupid ring pop is covered in dirt. I grab some napkins and the water bottle that has a squirt top and clean as much of his arm as I can and wash off the ring pop (which he might've been more upset about). I finally sit down, ready to enter the line-ups in the book when wouldn't you know it, Captain Headache walks up to me, "Mom, I need help." The child is COVERED in vomit. Yep, he puked all over himself. All the car windows were down so I said, "Did you throw up outside?" Of course he didn't. Did he at least lean out the window and barf on the exterior part of the car? Of course he didn't. Instead, he leaned in between the two middle seats of the van and barfed the entire contents of his stomach all over the carpet, his socks, his shorts, his shirt, and his face. So, I go pack all my crap back into my wagon and into my car and drive home with all the windows down and Captain Barfs-a-lot in the front seat in nothing but his underwear. I get him in the house, tell him to shower, and proceed to bring out as much cleaning stuff as I can think of. Bubba gets a ride home from tryouts and says, "Oh Mom, worst birthday present ever. What can I do to help?" He helped get fresh water, hose off the floormats, and get cleaners from the house. Coco went and found me a scrub brush. It was so nice to have their help. I came in the house to change and check on Peanut, but he still hadn't gotten in the shower. He was just lying on the floor in the bathroom. I cleaned Coco's elbow and Bubba gave me a giant hug and I left to watch the last hour of JP's game. Bubba called to let me know that Peanut had finally taken a shower, but was so tired after that he fell asleep on the floor wrapped in nothing but a towel. I told him to at least cover him with a blanket. After the game (which by the way it started pouring rain when I got there), I came home to Bubba and Coco shouting, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!" They had cleaned the downstairs, including the toys off the stairs, and done the dishes. Plus, Bubba had made Coco mac 'n cheese, and woken up Peanut, helped him get dressed and then physically carried him up to his top bunk to bed! Best present ever! So I got the worst present ever, but also the best, so it wasn't a total fail.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Fists of Fury

I will never be the woman whose house is always immaculate-even if you drop by unannounced. Who in umpteen years of knowing me, you've never once seen me without make-up. Who loves to workout and has zero percent body fat to prove it. Who you've never once heard raise her voice to her children the entire time you've known me. Who always takes the high road. The one who sews clothes for her kids. The one who is super crafty and makes all kinds of cute stuff to decorate her house. (And yes, these are real women I know)
Instead, this is what you see when you walk in my front door:
Yep. It's our front room. Every person who walks in the front door, sees this. Because heaven forbid you should play with your 18 different car and monster truck sets and then actually clean it up after you're done.

So, here's a look at a day in my life. All of this actually happened to me yesterday. Don't be jealous.
#3 child is practically impossible to get out of bed in the morning. If it's extra hard, I bribe with candy in his lunch. Every morning I have to give him a piggy back ride down from his top bunk, carry him to the hall bathroom and pick out his clothes for him to get dressed. He's seriously like a zombie. I do all this so that #4 can stay asleep in bed because he has afternoon Kindergarten. 
Then, when #4 does finally wake up, he wants to watch movies, eat candy and play PS3-not do homework and get dressed. Some days, it's a fight to get him off to school. Yesterday it was raining, so I told him to put on his hoodie, but he really wanted to wear a leather jacket, and he insisted that the hoodie would fit under the jacket. So, he puts the jacket on over the hoodie (he is wearing the hood) and zips it up the front. A ridiculous look, but whatever, he's six and apparently has no fashion sense.
I make it to the library after dropping him off and then come home to wash baseball pants for practice. First, I bleach them in the sink because I've already washed them in the washing machine and they still didn't come clean. I soak them for over a half hour while I put a load in the washer. At this point, they still look the same so I use the brown Feldsnaptha soap bar to scrub them and then add some Spray 'N Wash for good measure. Then I stick them in the machine again. (And a day later, my hands still smell like bleach despite washing multiple times and several different lotions). It's still raining, so I drive to pick up #1 from school so he doesn't have to walk and because he has to get ready for his game right away. I hurry and make him a sandwich while he gets dressed and then we rush over to the high school, where I get to dodge idiotic teenage drivers while they cut each other off and honk at one another. I get home and come in the office to pay bills, only to realize it's time for the others to get out of school, and since it's still raining, I pick them up too. We get home and the little one is instantly begging for me to cut him a croissant and slather Nutella all over it. I tell him, "Not yet," so he proceeds to scream his head off. I put him in time-out, but give in and make the damn snack for him anyway since he's stopped crying-and let's face it, he's the baby so 95% of the time he gets his way. Meanwhile, #3 remembers that he has to paint his Pinewood Derby car because he has to drop it off the next day at the Cubmaster's house to be weighed. I get a text from #1 telling me that his game is cancelled because of the rain, but they're going to practice for awhile. I check the laundry and the pants still haven't come clean, so I completely give up. I straighten up the kitchen a little before a text comes in that they're already done practicing because JV and Varsity were both in the hitting facility with them since they couldn't go on the fields. While I'm picking him up, #3 is painting wobbly, mixed color lines on his car, but oh well, at least he did it himself unlike the other kids that will show up with their pimped out cars their dads did for them. When I get home, I decide to hide out in the playroom for like twenty minutes to read. I hear, "Mom! Where's mom?" while I'm lounging in the giant Love Sac. Is it completely awful of me that I didn't answer? I didn't make a peep. That's the whole point in trying to hide out. But, #1 quickly finds me because he wants to play on the PS3 anyway. But he closes the door so the others won't come in. Yeah right. #3 and #4 come in chucking stuffed animals at each other and screaming in delight. #1 wants to buy some special camo suit for his character on his game, but doesn't know the password to buy something. I don't know either since dad set it up and he's driving while I text him that #1 has sent an email request for the password, so he can't text me back before the child gets impatient. I give up on reading and head down to make French toast for dinner because, honestly, I didn't have a plan since I thought I'd be eating a ballpark hamburger right about now at the baseball game that didn't happen. I'm able to get a few pieces made and some bacon done before dad and #2 have to leave for practice-that they're still having even though they can't go on the field because dad is passing out uniforms and they will play whiffle ball on the grass. I'm able to get everyone else fed after that, but #1 only eats bacon because, apparently he no longer likes French toast. After dinner, the neighbor comes over to play PS3 for 15 minutes with #3 and #4 before he has to go home for the night. After he leaves, I tell them I'm going to have a shower and then we'll read scriptures. But #4 can't get his remote to work because the neighbor turned off his own remote, which apparently is now the one that he needs to use, but he doesn't know this yet so he literally lays on his back and kicks his legs and screams. #3 and I are yelling at him to stop or he doesn't get to play while we figure out the problem. Finally, I get in the shower, but as soon as I step in the water, all hell breaks loose. The door flies open and #4 is bawling because #1 is kicking them off the game even though they've only played for a few minutes. #1 flies in to gripe, I 'm trying to convince him to let them play, but then I hear thuds and fists of fury flying in the bedroom-all while I'm still in the shower mind you. I yell at them to stop and close the door so I don't freeze-which they promptly don't do. By the time I get out, dad gets home and tells me that aliens have taken over #1's body because he's as sweet as sugar as he tells dad that he let his brothers play and it's no big deal. What the hell?! We finally read scriptures, get the littles off to bed and watch TV. But around 10:30 or so, #4 comes into the hallway upstairs yelling down to me because he ripped a book while he was reading it! We finally get to watch TV again, but at midnight when dad goes up to bed, he realizes he has to glue the weights and wheels onto the Pinewood Derby car and it's apparently my fault for not reminding him. I finally go to bed around 1:20ish after I watch Agents of Shield, only to find myself lying there wide awake until almost 3 am. Some days I just want to punch something and bang my head against the wall...