It’s that time of year again . . .

Where you hate yourself for not doing everything you said you would do, but then you try to set new goals, achievable or not.

So last year, I made a few resolutions.  Four to be exact.  I wrote three of them in the blog a year ago today. 

1. Get my family to eat healthier.
2. Get published.
3. Get organized.
4. Take better care of myself.

Well, I’d like to say that I accomplished all my goals, but that would be a pretty big fat lie that I would have to carry on for as long as I know you.  I really try to save those for the big things, you know like scratching the paint of the car owned less than a week, letting a runt pug puppy walk off the vet examination table, keying someone’s car, or burying a body.

The first one, I think I did rather well.  Especially this summer when my boys would eat their body weight in watermelon if I let them.  I’m baking more and trying to sneak purees into their breakfasts.  Their lunch usually has both a vegetable and fruit.  Dinner has two serving of vegetables and often a third or a fruit.  Of course, they usually ignore it.  But Sean loves broccoli in all forms, and Evan can’t get enough carrots and apples.  Plus I got my parents, brother, and grandma eating more vegetables.  My grandma even had fresh vegetables chopped up for an appetizer for the big holiday meals, and my mom is regular without her fiber.  Yeah, I kind of rock.  Now if only I could get the boys to try more.

The second one was a complete bust.  I wrote one poem this whole year, worthy of publishing.  Sure I went through my Poet’s Market, but did I put any of those dates down?  Nope.  Did I try to write at least once a week?  Nope.  Yeah, I suck.  But I did start a craft blog and a craft hub page.  I started taking pictures of my crafts.  I spent the summer working on it until my laptop crashed and burned.  So I have to take time to wrestle with Vista and get back to craft blogging and publishing hub pages.

As for number three, Hahahahahahahahaha.  As the natural pessimist, I could berate myself all day about how horrible I’ve done.  I rarely file.  I often find pink bills in my mailbox.  I’m embarrassed to admit that I got our internet/phone/cable shut off and missed the disconnect date for the electric bill by one day and begged them to let me pay them and not turn off my electricity.  The moral of the story the bundle people suck and the electric company was totally cool and chill.  (The dude was like, um, ma’am, we haven’t even put in the disconnect order yet, you can calm down.)  The only upside is this house is cleaner than the last.  The boys’ toys, my make-up, and my pantry are totally organized.

The last one I decided on about a week after I made my grand resolution list and had you all pat me on the head.  Over a year ago I had a huge spot of skin cancer taken off my back, and just to scare you all, I’m not even thirty yet.  We haven’t had dental insurance in years, and I think it might be ten years since I went to the dentist.  I decided if I was going to keep my family healthy, I should be healthier.  So I started a morning skin routine, taking time to actually take care of my face and even put sunscreen every day.  I started flossing every day, never missing a day with two types of mouthwash.  I started wearing a pedometer.  I actually was five pounds from being within my scientifically determined weight goal before I got pregnant with Sean.

So what am I going to do this year?

1. Get more organized.
2. Get published.
3. Get dental insurance and a dentist.
4. Save more.

 

Ok, obviously I need to get better at organizing myself.  It’s plain embarrassing that I’m always late on bills.  I’m on the verge of turning 30, and I can’t figure out when and how to pay bills?  The good news is my BFF bought me a planner to help me when we realized the last time I was organized I carried a planner.  I’ve been doing the system for a month, and it seems to be working.  I’m writing down the amount and when bills are due on both the planner and the family calendar.  I’ve got my eye focused on catching up on the important filing.  (Though there’s something so unsatisfying about this job and I think I know what it is.  As a wave washes more oil onto the beach.)  I’m going to organize the craft stuff because it’s a disaster, and I’m going to carve a little tiny place to be organized.

Bare with me.  I’m going to go through my Poet’s Market in the next few days and write down all the due dates for contests.  I’m not really sure how I’m going to fit in more writing time, but I’ll try to work on it.

I can’t say when we’ll get it.  I hear finding dental insurance is a real bitch when you’re a single family payer.  I’ve heard horror stories about paying insurance that turns out not to cover anything.  So I’ll have to do some research.  We’re already paying 450 a month on health insurance, and my OB/GYN’s office prefers us to pay up front for the pregnancy, so we have some bills we’re conquering.  But damnit, I will get us insurance sometime this year; I will find us a dentist; and I will get us into appointments.

I think every one says this.  I’m a big saver, but lately I’ve fallen off the wagon.  It makes me tense not to save.  I like to save up for something.  The Husband is a spender.  He likes to get things when we have the money.  He also cuts his own checks, so you can see where the tension is in the family.  But I’m thinking I’ll make a jar that says “Disneyland or Bust,” and maybe he’ll get the idea.  Of course, this saving thing will work a whole lot better if the economy would turn around.  (Which it better.  Soon.)

So we’ll see how this all pans out, seeing that I’m going to have a baby in April.  I also have this whole list in my planner, right in front, staring me in the face.  So wish me luck.

Any one want to share their resolutions?

Mommy Mojo

About two weeks ago, I lost my mommy mojo.  I meant to write about it at the time, but the boys kept doing cute things I had to write about instead.  Besides it was happier.

For three days, I had no patience for the boys’ antics as they tested the weaknesses of the line.  On the last day of no patience, I started screaming.  Ok, not screaming because I didn’t increase the pitch of my voice.  I yelled extremely loud.  Enough to make Evan cry.  Enough that through his tears, he kept saying “Calm down, Mom.  Calm down.”  I just thought I would be calm if you did the goddamn thing I told you to the first time, instead of the twelfth.

After a long talk with the BFF and highly encourage evening off to read (as in “Fae, if you don’t take a break, I swear I’ll drive out there tonight and tie you to a chair”), I was able to gain my patience back.  I missed not laughing at the cute moments that were passing me by because of my I-had-to-go-I-had-to-get-this-done-this-is-a-priority attitude.  I know if I’m calm I can deal with the problems in a better way without escalating them to yelling, “That’s it!  You’re living outside!”

But the boys are still testing the lines.  I find myself ready to lose it at any moment.  Errands are nearly a disaster as they dance around and antagonize each other by touching.  Naptime is a constant fight of telling them to stop giggling, spitting, burping, talking.  Toys must be dumped everywhere and fought over even if there are TWO of the same exact toy.  They’re wrestling, fighting, touching, pushing, hitting, ramping it all up.  Bath time has become a war.  I am sounding like my mother and wondering if it’s time to go find a switch.  Because they’re not even listening to the simplest of requests.

The thing that sucks is I’m so pissed off that I can’t even laugh at it after the matter.  I just take a deep breath and wait for the next onslaught of the raptors.

So until I get my patience/humor back, I’ll leave you with this little quote:

“They show extreme intelligence, even problem solving.  When they look at you, you can see they’re thinking, working things out.  They just keep attacking the lines.  They never attack the same place twice, unless they’re sure they can get through.  They’re testing the lines for weaknesses.  Systematically.  They remember.”

The Pirate Ship

So of course, we had to get Sean his own pirate ship.  Since that was all his little heart desired.  The Husband and I stayed up until midnight putting things together for the surprise.  Yet another Christmas Eve of us bickering our frustration at each other because including directions with the toys is now so not cool.

The next morning, Evan woke first and looked at his toys before coming and getting us.  We smiled as he exclaimed over each toy.  After 45 minutes and no Sean, I went in to check on him.  He was just lying in bed, thinking, contemplating, relaxing.  When he saw me he climbed out of his bed, and I ran into the family room for the perfect spot to catch a picture of the look on Sean’s face when he saw his pirate ship.

Sean came out into the family, taking in the magical scene.  I lifted the camera up, focusing it.  His eyes landed on the pirate ship.  Those dark brown eyes lit up.  A smile burst on his face.  He took a running step forward.  I started to press down on the button.  Then Evan jumped up and bumped his brother out of the way.

Yup, Evan cock-blocked his little brother from Sean’s own toy.  Nice. 

Sean was determined.  They raced to the pirate ship, getting there at the same time.  Sean let out a yell as Evan grabbed the pirates and the ship.

I have spent the last several days trying to make sure everyone is sharing and not hitting, punching, kicking, scratching, biting, pushing, bludgeoning each other over a toy pirate ship.

Christmas is magical.

Where’s Ho Ho?

Christmas Eve is when my dad’s family get together.  Five out of the six siblings with their significant others were there.  All but one of their children was accounted.  Three great-grandchildren.  Plus both sets of the parents/grandparents/great-grandparents where there.  At least it was held in my parents’ house, not my grandma’s double-wide.

One of my uncles dressed as Santa again.  Both my boys were hesitant to approach the stranger, but another uncle threw some presents to Santa to entice the boys, which worked.  The boys took their gifts, thanked him, and gave him a hug before getting the hell out of dodge.

About twenty minutes after my uncle got back to the party, Sean wandered the house.

Sean: Where Ho Ho?  Where Ho Ho?

Me: Santa had to go, Sean.  He has lots of other houses to stop at to give gifts to little boys and girls.

Sean: Where Ho Ho?  Where’s my pirate ship?

Did I mention all Sean wanted for Christmas was a pirate ship?

Fight vs Fighting

Me: Ok.  No more sword fighting!  Put the swords down.

Evan: Mommy, why is it fighting and not fight?

Me: Because you’re doing it right now.  Not something you do.  It’s all about doing it at that moment.

Evan: Hmmm.  Like I’m talking!

Me: Yes.

Ok, what kid pays attention and asks about verb conjugation?

Comebacks and names

I know.  I know.  Everyone is busy with the holidays.  My stats have plummeted, which is my fault for appealing to moms who are obviously busy right now.  Though I could post another post on crafts, I think I might start getting hate mail, so I’ll save it.

I have a favor to ask you all.  As I mentioned before I’m going to have to deal with my large family learning my third child is a boy and some of you came up with some great comebacks (you know who you are AND you rock).  But I’m working on a preemptive comeback.  So when I say I’m having another boy  . . . .  I’ve been telling people that I always wanted my own Boy Scout troop, but that sounds pretty lame.  So if anyone has some creative juices left over, I could use some. 

Oh, yeah.  I got my I’m-so-sorry look from someone after I told her I was having another boy.  Really?

I’ll try to keep the posts short this week, since we’re all running around.  Godspeed and Good luck.

Ho Ho

For some reason unknown to us, Sean has decided to call Santa, Ho Ho.  As in:

It’s Ho Ho!

What’s Ho Ho doing?

Ho Ho is flying!

There’s Ho Ho!

But Evan could do with out.

Evan: I don’t like Santa Claus.

The Husband: Why not?  He’ll bring you presents when you’re a good boy.

Evan: I like the presents.  I just don’t like Santa Claus.

Maybe it has to do with the fact my uncle dressed up as Santa last year for the kids, and it scared Evan senseless.

The Activity Scene

When I was a child, I was fascinated by Nativity Scenes.  It was a natural call because I loved doll houses, miniatures, and the Virgin.  This combined all natural things.  Though my mother’s set was plastic, we were not allowed to touch it.  Until my brother dared, placing The Three Wise Men on the other side of the room because really they weren’t suppose to be there until January 6^th.  This upset me because my brother dared to touch the one thing I wanted to touch but couldn’t break the rules and two The Wise Men didn’t even show up for two more years.  How’s that for accuracy?  Those first years of the new tradition I fought it tooth and nail, moving The Wise Men back to the stable after my brother left the room.  The blood spilt from that religious crusade was ended when my mother declared that she liked my brother’s idea. 

When I set up my own house, my mother bought me a real Nativity set, one with kings and shepherds instead of just the Holy Family.  While I loved the set, I felt I could do better.  I searched high and low for the perfect set, always examining The Virgin for the perfect mother.  I found a really cool stable first.  A year later, I found the perfect set.  Mary looked down with love and joy on her baby.  Joseph looked protective and proud as he looked down at his wife and child.  The detail on all the characters was amazing.  The poor donkey was still loaded with supplies, left alone in the rush to deliver the baby.

This was the first year Evan noticed it.  He learned all about it at school, though he calls it an Activity Scene.  Yeah, I know I feel like a bad Catholic.  So it didn’t surprise me when he asked to see it as I have it up far above their reach.

So I handed him a Wise Man.  Sean asked to see one.  So I handed him a Wise Man.  Then Evan asked to see another figure.  I took the Wise Man out of his hand and gave him another.  Sean asked to see another figure, and I replaced the one he was holding with another figure, explaining what each person was.  We finished the set, except for poor Mary.

In the end, Sean had a Wise Man, and Evan had Joseph.  Evan placed Joseph next to the Wise Man.

Evan: Hi!  I’m Joseph!  Who are you?

Sean: I bad guy. 

Sean clinked the figurines together.

Me: No.  No hitting the people together.

Evan: If you’re a bad guy. . . .

Evan hit Joseph against the Wise Man, sending the container of myrrh a foot away.

Yeah, I should have seen that coming.  I collected the figures and sent the boys away as I glued the myrrh back into the hands of the Wise Man.  So concluded our religious and Christmas discussions.

Of course, Evan is asking where the baby is.

Amazing

Has any one noticed that people seem nicer?  Instead of giving me dirty looks because of my boys’ playful screaming at each other in a crowded Wal-Mart, people laugh and pat them on their heads.   Which is nice.  Until it happens in February.  Then I think the dirty looks will be back.

Another Pregnancy Complaint

Somewhere in the third semester of carrying Sean, I felt a horrible pain around my uterus.  Not a cramping pain, not a labor pain, just a pulled muscle pain.  And it hurt!  But there was no blood.  I figured I might as well wait until my next appointment so I could show my doctor where the pain was. 

Doctor:  Fae, how we doing today?

Me: All right.  But I think my uterus is detaching.

Doctor: Really? 

Me: Yeah, I have pain here and here.

Doctor: (chuckles) Well, your uterus doesn’t detach.  You’ve just pulled the ligaments.

Me: (mumbling) It feels like it has.  (louder) What can I do?

Doctor: You’ll have to get one of those pregnancy belts.  Any other questions?

Me: No.

Doctor: Well, let’s hear the little guy’s heartbeat, shall we?

So I started wearing one of those belts, and guess what.  Babies do not like those things.  They kick and punch at them all the time.  All.  The.  Time.

With this pregnancy, the pulling started a month ago.  I started wearing the belt.  The little dude kicks at it.  All.  The.  Time.  While it took eight months of pregnancy to become stiff in my inner thighs at night, I’m already feeling that bliss.  The pain crawls up both inner sides to meet in a happy reunion just above my crotch.  Which makes it hard to jump out of bed when Evan started having nightmares every night for the last four nights.  Yup.  Someone remind me this in the third guy no longer wants to cuddle, and I start dreaming of holding another sweet smelling baby.