Remember way back when I had Evan’s birthday party, and I broke my camera, but I promised to show pictures of that cool cake my mom made? Yeah, I forgot too. But since I’m spending the next couple days busy with the BFF and then driving I figured I would post those cake pictures. I REALLY have to find time to do my craft blog again. Stupid trips.
Mmm. Cake. My mom rocks.
Those cake decorating skills are not genetic
Last week during one of the many mandatory pillow fights with Daddy, Evan morphed into his newest superhero identity. Vitamin Man. With the power to shoot vitamins as weapons or into the mouth of friends to regenerate them.
This weekend he became Super Turtle, going so far to introduce himself to other children that way.
Today he was Jellyfish Man with his sidekick Octopus Man, also known as Seanny. Like every superhero, they ran around throwing their arms all of the place, shooting stuff out of their finger tips, making lazer shooting sounds, laughing with manic glee as they jumped from bed to bed.
If only I was a superhero. With invisibility so I can hide from the kids when I need to. With telepathy so I can read their minds (and their father’s) before they get themselves into trouble. With telekinetic power, which really would have come in handy when I was nursing and forgot to grab my book, the TV remote or my water before I put the kid to the breast. With the ability to fly because that would be just so cool.
Really, when we become moms, we deserve superhero powers.
Or I could settle being a Jedi. Yes, you do want to take a nap. No, you don’t want those cookies. You want to play nice with your brother. You do not want to hit your brother.
We’re off again. To SoCal. To be more exact, we’re going to be in Orange County with a stop or two in LA county. Rather than posting a full article, I’ll leave you with a few pictures from the wedding. You may all thank Court.
Evan having second thoughts
Evan standing with his uncles
Sean joining the fun
The boys and I (I'm making a funny face)
The whole clan
She's taking Sean hostage
I watch Good Morning America every morning, so that I have something to talk about other than the boys, crafts, and the blog. (Of course, I talk about those too and I have to explain the blogger I’m speaking of every time I tell a story, which is probably another post entirely.) The other day I was sitting, watching the news, eating my Rice Krispies. Sean came over and smiled at me.
Sean: Pirates!
Me: Not right now, Sean. Later, at DVD time.
Sean walked over to our entertainment center. He sat down underneath the TV and scanned the children’s DVDs on the shelf. Then he pulled out a DVD. He showed it to me.
Sean: Pirates!
Me: At DVD time.
He held a copy of The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything. Sean stood up. He pressed the eject button on the DVD player. He removed the DVD that was in the player and placed it on the ground. Then he opened up the DVD case and pulled out the DVD. Carefully he placed the DVD into the player. He pressed the eject button again, allowing the player to close. He turned and smiled at me.
Sean: Pirates! Arrr!
Then he sat down and waited for the movie to start.
Thank God he doesn’t know how to change the input.
Yet.
My husband did well. He bought me a box of Godiva chocolate. He knows my love of chocolate runs deep.
I had to put them in the fridge to keep them from melting. I’m cheaply green, keeping the house at a cool 80.
Yesterday I needed chocolate.
I NEEDED chocolate.
With the temper tantrums, the fighting, the hitting, the refusing to eat the pancakes that were asked for, the dumping of Legos, train tracks, and poles, I needed to run away as far and as fast as I could.
Today the box of chocolates remains unopened, sealed in the plastic wrapping, waiting.
Yesterday I needed my own time out. A few stolen minutes to center, to be me, to let my guard down.
My husband laughed when I stormed out of the kitchen mumbling, “Kiss you’re eldest goodbye. This is his last minute on earth.”
I wasn’t kidding.
Before I did something rash, I demanded he pick up the toys. I grabbed one of the king size Hershey bar with Almonds and raced to my room, slamming the door, throwing myself on the bed.
Godiva is for savoring, enjoying, escaping. It is an experience. It begs to be taken slowly, covering your mouth with rich flavors. Your eyes have to shut as you celebrate the chocolate. You just can’t wash out the aftertaste right away; you have to relish even that. It is heaven.
But I needed my first love. Someone who understands me, who won’t mind a secretive quicky in the back, not needing to cuddle. Someone who knows just how I like it, so the deed is done pleasantly fast; while I still have time to wash up and leave, entering the world like nothing happened.
I reveled in the cheap chocolaty goodness.
I centered myself. I washed my face and hands, disposing of the wrapped in the bathroom garbage with a lid. I re-entered the world.
Once I was calm and happy. It was a lot easier to get everyone to clean the mess, eat their lunch and to their naps.
He’s testing me. He wants to see if I really mean what I say. He wants to see how far he can take this. He wants to see what this button does to mommy. It’s not yet 8:00 in the morning.
It’s Sean. He’s two.
Damn.
His eyes lit with daemonic delight when Evan showed us his tower of every single Lego built up. It was taller than Evan. I grabbed Sean, trying to make him play another game with him, trying to distract him. But the moment I let go, Sean was running. I yelled, “NO” in The Voice.
Sean knocked over the tower.
I demanded an apology.
Sean said, “no” with a smile on his face.
Time Out!
Sean cried for two minutes straight.
When time out was up, I asked Sean if he knew what he did wrong. He shook his head, and I explained that I told him no and that he didn’t listen. I told him to apologize to Evan. Sean walked toward Evan, turned to me, laughed and said, “NO!”
Time Out!
Sonofabitch!
Halfway through time out, The Husband broke ranks and talked Sean into apologizing. He agreed, but I told them time out was mean to be served out. The Husband snapped about how he wouldn’t be able to work under these conditions as Sean resumed his very loud crying.
At two minutes, with the office door firmly shut, I went over the time out procedures again. This time Sean apologized.
Ten minutes later, Sean knocked Evan with a plastic train. He also refused to apologize. Time Out AGAIN. That loud annoying crying again. I thought I might have to kill someone. I eyed the usually happy and cute two-year-old.
After two minutes, I repeated the usual time out ending. Sean laughed instead of apologizing. TIME OUT AGAIN! Two minutes of the crying ensued. I swear I’m going to kill that kid. Then I remembered how Evan pushed my resolve for a full day, and he was younger. I can do this.
At the end of two minutes, Sean was willing to apologize. We moved on.
To bath time, which was great for five minutes. Until Sean was upset Evan was on his side, and then he hit Evan with a pirate. Are you kidding me?! Wash hair, get soap in their eyes, rinse them, dry them, wrangle them into clothes. Mommy is ready to play. Bring it on.
Oh, crap. But today is Monday, which is grocery shopping day, which means I have to bring the little monsters into public. Sonofabitch.
Let’s just say I reassured the cashier, a mother of an eighteen-month-old, that everything is a phase. Then I plopped down three king-sized candy bars with my groceries.
This is just a phase. This is just a phase. This is just a phase.
They were young, and they decided to have one more date night before the baby was born. Since poor goes with young, they got some pizza and went to the movies to see The Empire Strikes Back. The husband was amused with Yoda, learning his mannerisms and speech to entertain his nephews at a later time.
The next morning the wife woke up feeling queasy and a bit in pain. She assumed it was indigestion from the pizza and went on her way. Until a few hours later, she was sure she was in labor, three days early. The husband luckily had the day off from work. They went to the hospital where they took the wife’s vitals and measured her. It wasn’t time. She wasn’t dilated enough. They sent her home.
The wife fretted as her parents would arrive home from vacation the next day, believing they wouldn’t miss the event. The husband called his father in an immediate panic.
Husband: Hi, is Dad there? Wife is in labor.
Stepmom: He’s unavailable right now.
Husband: Oh.
Stepmom: Wait! You haven’t picked out a boy’s name yet!!
Husband: Wife thinks it’ll be a girl.
Stepmom: There has never been an oldest girl in your family. Your family has boys. It’ll be a boy. And HE needs a name.
Husband: Fine. Ebenezer.
He hung up.
Hours passed slowly. The pain increased. In the evening, the couple went back to the hospital. But not before the husband decided they were NOT going to have a baby.
Husband: Suck it up. We don’t need a baby. We can have one done the road.
Wife: Husband, I think it’s a little late for that kind of talk. Perhaps nine months too late.
The husband admitted defeat and drove the wife to the hospital. They admitted the wife but believed the baby would deliver in the wee hours of the morning, on the husband’s brother’s birthday.
As the evening darkened into night, the doctor agreed to give the wife an epidural. At the same time, he felt they should break the water to move things along faster. The fluid was green. A fetal monitor was brought out. The baby’s heart rate was dropping. The baby was in distress.
There would be no pushing, no panting, no vaginal birth. Everything became chaotic. They rushed the woman into surgery, giving the husband another chance to call his father.
Stepmom: He’s not available.
Husband: What?! Where is he?!
Stepmom: He went to the family cabin to think about this new turn in his life.
The husband slammed down the phone and ran to get suited up to see his child born.
The doctor increased the epidural up the spine, since the wife was already numbed. She was not put under as was usual back then. They lifted a sheet, so that she could not witness them removing the organs to get to the child. The husband held her hand. He glanced at his watch. 9:00pm.
He glanced at his watch again when he heard the angry cry of the child who was now cold. 9:20pm.
The doctor: It’s a girl!
Wife: I told them so.
They whisked the baby away to test her, but the tests were positive. She showed no signs of distressed. They handed the baby to the wife, now mother. She smiled at the wrinkly, skinny thing.
Husband: She looks like Yoda with her big head and big ears.
Wife: So she does.
Later the husband, now father, decided to impress his young wife by changing the first diaper. He was the eldest of six, so this should be child’s play. Instead he got every diaper, every wipe, every blanket covered in the tar-like first bowel movement. Dirty and cold, the baby screamed. The wife laughed, helpless from the stitches and the laughter. She could barely tell the nurse on the intercom why they needed her. The nurse came in, took in the mess, picked up the baby. As she left, she turned and tsked in disgust at the young father.
The next morning the paternal grandpa called from a pay phone to hear the good news, deciding that maybe being a grandfather wasn’t so bad. Upon hearing, it was indeed a girl, the first eldest girl born on his side in living memory, he smiled. Before he left to see his new granddaughter, he planted a cherry tree at the cabin, so that she could have pink blossoms and sweet cherries.
When the maternal grandparents arrived home, they called around for news as soon as they walked in the door. On hearing that they missed the event, they drove straight to the hospital without unpacking the car. The grandma was beside herself over the thought of having a little girl to dress. She hugged the new mother and took the baby.
The quiet, tall grandpa walked in the room. A man of his generation, he said nothing. He confiscated the baby from his wife, sat down in a chair, staring into the little face. Beneath the silent, strong exterior beat the soft heart of a man who loved his family dearly.
He whispered to the baby, “No matter what. You’ll always be my Netty.”
Inspired by Gibby over at LOST in Suburban Bliss, I took this picture a couple weeks ago, where my car bakes outside the garage, where my husband’s car basks in the coolness.
Welcome to Hell. But at least there's no humidity.
I took this after five minutes of driving to my parents’ house. I think we found the solution to global warming. Now if the governments of the world would just pay for gas, car upkeep, and time, I’ll be happy to drive around, cooling the earth. Don’t thank me; just build many statues in my honor and pay me a comfortable salary when I erase a hundred years of warming.
Wow. Now it's so much cooler. Almost enjoyable.
So, Gibby, a 100? I feel so sorry for you.
