Til we meet again!

This is what I just posted on my Super M.O.M.S. website...

Hi, Friends!

When I think back to five years ago, I had just moved to Iowa, leaving everyone I knew and loved far far away, given birth to our first child, suffered through some killer PPD, and was just completely alone and sad. My life felt very foreign and out of control - each day I just wanted to GO HOME! 

Fast forward five years and you'll see a lot of smiles, happy tears, sad tears, and friendships that have turned into family. My closest friends in the world were found at some of my first meet ups with the group! I will never forget my first time going to a meet up... it was at Lisa P's old place in Urbandale and geared toward the little ones in the group. Bella was about 16 months old and the oldest by 6 months. She was knocking into babies and stealing their toys. I was mortified, but I sat next to this crazy kinda hippie chick with a really cute red head. Turned out we had more than a few things in common (like it was both of our first meet ups) and I instantly knew my gigantor child with a love of making babies cry would not only be accepted, but loved by so many in the group. 

Then came Max and he rocked our world. I realized the importance of Mom's Meals and not having to ask for help, help just showing up. 

Whenever we go to a park in the metro area, I truly have a funny/happy memory associated with each place.

This group saved my life. I found friends for myself, my children, and my husband. We found people to love and love us back and for that, I will be forever grateful. I fell in love with Des Moines - it took some time and a lot of talking me into it - but I did. Moving home is bittersweet. It'll be much more sweet when we get there, but right now, it's very bitter to leave the cozy nest where I brought two screaming bundles of joy home. Where we brought two cats and a dog and will only leave with the dog. A vet (Value Vet) who has made loving my animals his life. Doctors (Dr. Megan Beebe, Pediatrician at the Waukee Clinic) who has called me at all hours of the night, stopped by on her days off, and Facebooked me, all to check on my little man when medical times were really tough. 

I repainted the same room where I rocked Max last night. The crib is still there (he may go to Prom sleeping in that crib), the glider and medical items are gone, but the memories are just so vivid. I know I'll hold them all close to me, but leaving my home where I brought my babies home is getting harder and harder to do... and making me more of a "Des Moines? Hell, yes!" t-shirt buying kinda gal. When I walked up my newly carpeted steps last night I followed up a diapered Bella climbing up the banister like a little monkey... she hasn't done that in years, but it was so real, because it happened here. How about the Target in Urbandale where the manager still laughs and says, "Hot and Spicy!" like the dance Bella did standing in the cart in the ladies lingerie section... Or Costco where Lucy and Shelley always find my kids and say, by name, very personal things about them. 

My backyard always has little echo's of laughter coming from the pirate ship, fort, lemonade stand, and Disney Dream Cruise Ship (we like to relive that experience often) that appear. The basis for all that awesomeness is our swing set which will sell with the house. That same backyard that held countless BBQ's with a lot of you. 

The Downtown Farmer's market saw us almost any Saturday we were in town... I'll miss the FOOD. I love Iowa food. The corn will reign King of my summer meal forever. Sweet corn. Mmmmm... never heard it called Sweet corn (just corn everywhere else in the world), never knew feed corn was something else, and I thought a Combine was where the tragic school shooting was in Colorado. 

I've met farmers, a lot of farmer's daughter's, and have a profound respect for them, the life style, and the WORK.

My friends, I will miss you. Most shocking, I will miss Iowa. It's had a lot to offer, even if I didn't want to see it in the first few years. 

We are off to Cincinnati. Nate starts his new job on May 21 - couldn't say anything sooner because it's not with Wells Fargo. I'm really bad at good bye's, so I'll just say, we'll meet again!


I'm going HOME! 

Thank you. Thank you for everything.  I'll miss you. Love, Sommer 

And, feel free to buy our house. It's a great one. :)

Medicine

A spoon full of sugar sure does help the medicine go down. Especially when that spoonful is milk chocolate covered in a candy shell guaranteed to never melt in your hands (which is a big lie, by the way, if you've ever had a sweaty little toddler fist steal one at a birthday party, covet it for a half hour, and then finger paint their way up your white linen skirt).

In our house, a lot of medicine is consumed. I've gotten to know Augmentin is a cousin of Amoxicillin. Actually, that is not quite accurate. Augmentin is the evil step-sister to the pink bubble gummy goo I begged for as a child. Augmentin is white (ugly) and tastes like molten metals. Just ask my kids. At three Zoe learned to say, "It's not Ag-mint-en, right?!?" whenever we'd hit up the local legal drug dealer ready for our next score.

In Des Moines, Iowa the weather is about as predictable as Xander's behavior. You never know what you are going to get. Conditions may be right for sunny skies and then BAM! it's a winter storm without the warning. You go with the punches and even when you do everything right you end up with a punch to the nose and ringing in your ears. Bob and weave, hope it doesn't get the best of you.

This morning X-man (thankfully) called for Daddy when he awoke at 5:55. His momma tried to pretend the day hadn't started yet but all she could hear was "MILK AND CEREAL!" at the top of some pretty tiny lungs.

So began the "Let's take your medicine!" which then turned into "I'm going to count to three and then we'll take Medicine!" to "Please, just one taste! I'll give you an Oreo!" to "DO NOT spit our your medicine!" to "Take all this NEW medicine - looks, it's orange, your favorite!" to "Who wants M&M's? A little boy who takes all his medicine, that's who!" and then, "Whomever takes his medicine gets to watch Mickey Mouse!" then "Mickey Mouse ALL DAY!" and finally, "Take this medicine now or Momma's head might explode!"

He took his medicine and I was feeling sweet success (forgetting it took over an hour and a half to get 2 teaspoons of sugary liquid down his tiny throat) and a bit of cocky "I'm the momma!" when I ran into my little three-foot-stubborn-medicine-taker.

"Oh-ee-oh?" and his hand flew out, palm out.

"Oh, yeah. I owe you an Oreo!" and I went to the cabinet, Xander nipping at my heels. Filling his hand with one of Nabisco's best, I started to shut the door and a little foot kept it from closing.

X had a look in his eye and said, "M&M's."

"M&M's, too? I think it was an Oreo OR M&M's."

"No. M. and. M's. Too."

Fine. I put a dozen in his grubby hand. He sauntered to the couch to start his Mickey Mouse Marathon. And as I watched my three year old start his day with Oreo's and M&M's I looked at the clock.

It said 7:56. AM.

Who won that battle?

Rules

Ladies, can we, as a collective whole, start to adhere to a few ground rules? Like unspoken rules that we, as a group of civilized women who have born children (or are of the child-bearing age) generally stick to? Before sticking to them, we could also come up with the exceptions to the rules?

1. If you are within 60 days of the birth of a child*. You would have 120 days total (before/during/after) child's birth to break rules without any ramifications. 

*Your child. You may not use your best friend's child as a substitution.

2. Work, Life, Family, and a Broken Washer all rear their ugliest heads on the same week, causing you to dig to the depths of your "too old/small/large/slutty" rubbermaid bins in the dining room (because this is easier than any other option). 

3. Snow day. 

4. There is no way any person will ever see you - all day. Think child stricken with the stomach flu (remember this excuse if you are a rookie mom. You can get out of ANY plans with the threat of puke and/or projectile vomit), the day after your third wisdom tooth extraction (your friends have already stopped by twice and this time, you are on your own), or you put "Cleaning/Laundry/Ironing" as your Facebook status update. 

I cannot think of any other rule breakers, but if you do, send them my way.

Now onto the rules.

1. You will never EVER have "PINK", "HOT", or "Spring Break '00" written across your hind quarters. I don't care if those black leggings still fit, are the comfiest things you own, or were from Victoria Secret. Women will laugh at you from the disguise of their iPhones or minivans if you sport a saying on your ass and you are over the age of beer bong hitting Spring Break in your near future. 

2. Nose rings, tattoo sleeves, and a streak of flamingo pink in your hair should best be left to the ladies who could generally kick someone's ass in an alley. Face it... you haven't even been in an alley in years, let alone somewhere with an alley. Not you. Don't think about it. 

3. Let's get over Strip Clubs. 99.9% of our men don't even go more than once upon a Bachelor party, haven't gone back to one since they had a life, and didn't enjoy the experience the one time they did. If my hubby is fantasizing about a woman child named Chastity, Amber, or Sapphire, he's in worse shape then I thought. Strip Clubs aren't mysterious Sex Palaces and aren't worth time or worry... or investment in some slutty lingerie to compete. Sleep in an old t and sweats... who wants to worry about their kids coming in with a nightmare to have a bigger one when mommy's boobies are every which way but covered at 2am? 

4. If you own clothes a thirteen year old wants to show her friends, wear to school, or borrow regularly, stop shopping at Forever 21. Once you hit 30, you are no longer Forever 21. That was a lifetime ago.

5. No matter who you are, someone always wants to be as awesome as you. I don't care if they just built the house of your dreams (can you say espresso stained wide-plank cherry floors and a wall of windows that is so high they'll never all be cleaned), and there is something about YOU they envy... maybe you have a sleek ride (new Sienna, anyone) or always look like you've showered, done your hair, and have mascara on (how dare you?!?), but someone will always think you are better than them at something. You are a super mom, even if you rarely feel like one.

6. Cheetah print is hienus. Especially on flats, coats, and coordinated with purple.

7. Nap time in our homes should come furnished with "DO NOT DISTURB" signs on our doors. You know those are the two hours you get the most done. Pinterest doesn't Pin itself, people!

8. Hats are to keep your head warm, dry, clean, or covered (we don't need to see this is Day 3 of no water heater, ladies). We are not at the Derby, or attending the Royal Wedding, so don't accessorize a cute outfit with one. 

9. If you can see your C-section scar, it's time to start a new Goodwill bag. Those items first.

10. If you are wearing your maternity jeans and you are A) not pregnant and B) your youngest's first birthday is passed, buy some non-maternity jeans a few sizes up. The jig is up. 

Carson

Carson is our first born. She has lit up our lives from the moment we held her sweet fuzzy self in our anxious arms. I remember our first ride home and she cowered in Mr's arms, licked him, relaxed, and nodded off to sleep (I was driving because he couldn't stand not to hold her all the way home). Carson is our protector, comforter, and she is a teacher of wonderful values.

Some of her teachings need to be noted:

1. Greet everyone in a way that lets them know you are THRILLED TO SEE THEM every single time you see them. It never gets old to know someone genuinely missed you... even when you just ran to the mailbox... at the end of the drive way.

2. Keep on keeping on, even when the going is really rough. Like when you have two children under the age of two fighting over who's turn it is to brush your tail after "taking you on a walk". Being taken on a walk by a toddler is like being chained to a wrecking ball (in the middle of a demolition). Earlier that same day said siblings may have also put all of your kibble into your water bowl, dumped it all over the laundry room, and then closed the door, so not only are you now matted, chained, and hungry, you can add thirsty to the list. But, Carson handles it like a pro and always has a gentle smile in her eyes to know she just loves them unconditionally, even if she doesn't actually know why!

3. Make a lot of noise if anyone creepy enters your yard. Creepy is a subjective word here. Apparently creepy can apply to babies, tiny dogs, the elderly, and Jehovah's Witnesses walking down the street, but you get the idea.

4. Enjoy the small things in life. Swimming in a lake, a good game of catch, chasing a sprinkler in the backyard, and fifteen minutes in the snow with you family are what great days are made of... especially if they end with a grill out.

5. Sometimes what someone needs most is just to let you know you care. This can be done with a snuggle, warm paw on their lap, or just to let them stroke your back as they have a good cry. 

I don't care what anyone says - my dog is the best friend, family, and therapist you could ask for!

God?

On our way to preschool this morning I, yes I, had full control over the music. The CD player is on the skids and Mommy Said NO! to a DVD, so I was seeking like it was no one's business for some new or old favorites.

"I saw God today" drifted out of the speakers. I stopped seeking to hear the song I partially remembered hearing. I've been very emotional lately and felt tears squirt into my eyes as I hummed along to the story of a new father holding his baby for the first time and comparing the experience to the closest he's ever been to God and His Glory.

Zoe is very aware of everything happening in her presence, and she listened very intently. She asked how the man saw God, and why not Jesus. I explained that sometimes seeing your baby, and your kids, is so wonderful that you see God and miracles. God shows up in babies. She just nodded and went back to looking out her window with a smile on her face.

I become a pack mule twice a day on Mondays and Wednesdays. Getting backpacks (which are designed for backs yet never worn on them by my two), lunch boxes, and snow gear in and out, while holding two hands of two little SNOW! diving monsters is a workout a mule wouldn't want. Anyways, I was busy fetching a stray mitten from a snowbank 14 feet away (how did that happen?!?) and screaming "DO NOT MOVE! CARS!" to the (ok, my) kids playing chicken in the parking lot.

We made it inside at the same time Jackson's family came in, too. They had their baby with them who was 10 days new. Zoe refused to take off her coat, boots, hang up her backpack. I treated her like she was 18 months old again (undressing, wiping her face, sanitizing her hands) as she just stared at the baby face peaking from the bunting.

Finally I pulled her away from the baby and asked what she was doing? She was late for class, go go go.

Zo looked up at me and said, "Mom! I was looking for God! I want to see God in that baby."

Be still my heart. 

I hope you dance!

Mr. and Zoe had their first (of what I hope to be many) Father/Daughter Dances tonight. We were inundated with thick, heavy snow all day and each of us checked the weather and community calendar sites with our iPhones tucked away, hoping the dance was still on but fearing the worst.

Des Moines is a hearty town and a foot of snow in mere hours might cause a few collisions, but why close anything down? Get on your snow tires, boots, and 4 wheel drive and get out there!

So they did.

Honestly, the thought of those two out on those streets caused me a slight panic attack, but it was important they go so off they went.

Zoe was insisting on Red Robin, but Red Robin about 15 minutes away and in Des Moines, that means "very long drive in the wrong direction" so they decided on Mexican on their way to the fiesta. Mr. confided in me later that he was a nervous wreck with "Zoe + Bean Dip + Fancy White Dress" and I looked at him like he was crazy. Then I remembered "I spent a fortune on that dress" for the wedding... but I really got it on clearance at Target and pillaged the cosmetic aisle to split the difference. I just never told him that. So, I put the cheap dress in the washer (not even on delicate) and just hung it to dry and it came out looking brand new. Take that Crew Cuts. JCrew wanted $178 for the same dress... literally, the same dress. With a different tag. I had the JCrew one originally and a few months before the wedding I saw the new one hanging in Target for less than 25% of the price. The Crew Cut went back with a flurry of tulle and a smile on this bargain hunters face!

Anyways, I just nodded along like it would have been a travesty to have bean dip touch the expensive, delicate tulle and (faux) raw silk, as Mr. described the night. He must have said "cute" fifteen times. And he never says "cute". Now that's cute, ladies.

Any dance at the Urbandale Senior Center may not be the social event of the season, but for Zoe, it really was... she loved dancing, twirling, and getting photographed for a local paper.

When I asked Zoe if it was like a wedding, she replied, as the wedding aficionado that she is (she was the flower girl in one this fall), "Well, it wasn't like Aunt Anna's. There wasn't a gorgeous bride OR fantastic decorations. BUT! There was a place to tell them what songs you like and they play them - without even saying please cause it's so loud! And I could twirl all night!"

I loved hearing them talk about their evening, but once we started in on weddings it took me back to getting Zo dressed. We had spent the afternoon playing in the snow (Mr. may or may not have been throwing our his back shoveling) and when we came in the dance was an hour away. It was a frenzied ten minutes, yet Zoe was so still and smiley as I curled her hair, put on her tights, and dug through her closet (and almost to Narnia) for her glitter shoes. She was insistent on her Flower Girl dress and she kinda had to jump through to get through the layers of tulle. I was holding the arm holes open and saw this glimpse of us in twenty-five years.

My heart stopped as her big blue eyes met me coming through the white dress. A freight train of emotions hit me head on as I realized I will be lucky to have the honor of getting her into another white dress in a few decades.

When Mr. and Zoe left it hit me even harder that she will soon be going to dances without her daddy and not wanting her momma to help dress her. She may even want shoes with heels instead of glitter on them.

These last (almost) five years have flown by... how fast will the next ones go by?

Privacy. PLEASE!

There are times in a Mother's life when she truly needs to be alone. There aren't many, but the times that it is truly necessary are the times we will do almost anything to have five minutes. Just. Five. Minutes.

I have gotten used to peeing, pooping, bathing, drying off, and doing 99.9% of things you grow up doing solo, with an audience of two very attentive children. And usually I wouldn't have it any other way.

Usually.

Usually I don't mind the questions about my lady parts (including "why you have nipples stickin out, Momma?" to which, and I applaud myself, I did not retort with "because while I took a two minute shower in freezing water so the bathtub could overflow with the hot water I wished I was using, you pulled the last three clean, but more importantly dry, towels into the disaster zone and now I'm using a damp towel as effective at drying as a Golden Retriever's tongue" but I just walked out into my soggy carpet and put a clean (and by clean I mean only worn three times) bra on.

Usually it brings a smile to my face that they want to by near my so badly they don't mind bringing in a snack to watch me pee. It's cute.

But tonight I had something that made my "sensitive stomach" pissed off. In fact, my stomach would make sure I knew how badly it would react so the said food item would never be glanced at in the grocery aisle again... I will cower and shudder if I ever go by a Philly's Cooking Creme tub (with a shart, too, just to make sure it isn't even considered again).

Anyways, my usual audience was down to one. Xander was sitting on the stool in front of me with wide eyes and a lot of questions. Trying not to lose my cool, I told him to go find daddy.

"Go find Daddy."
"Um... no thank you." (This is a very new phrase that I'm starting to not care for...)
"This isn't a request. Please leave and go find daddy."
"Um... no thank you." (X stands up and walks up the stool.)
"X. Do Not Turn On The Faucet."
"Uh Oh." (He turned on the faucet. He pulls the clean hand towel into the running water.)
"XANDER! Please don't. Please. Just GO FIND DADDY!"
"I just need to clean my hands!"
"No. No. No. Please. GO FIND DADDY!"

Setting the soaking hand towel on the side of the vanity, water dripping down the wood work and pooling by my feet, he continues to soak the powder room.

People, I am not at the liberty to stand up. Even leaning forward isn't advisable at this point.

I scream for Mr.

Mr. comes running.

Poor Mr. has to open the door.

"Xander! Come on, leave momma alone! What are you doing in a puddle of water?"

Xander picks the towel back up and rings out the water on each finger.

Mr. picks him up and as he closes the door, X says, "I just giving my fingers water, Daddy! They is thirsty!"

And that was the moment I realized I don't even need privacy while I have stomach-flu like conditions - one one liner like that makes me feel better than a bottle of Pepto ever would... bring on the audience of two, please.

Scratch that. Give me a little privacy and save the adorable one liners for when I come out. 

!Seeing Red!

My momma always said there'd be days like these... but she never said weeks!

We have lately had a rough patch at our house. My children have decided to push every single limit, button, and bit of patience each and every chance they can get. Which, sadly, is ALL THE TIME.  They play off one another and if one is in a mood, it is game on. And this game is in overtime. Someone needs to score, put the other side in their place, and end this. Before someone really gets hurt. And Momma starts hitting the bottle at 10am... on a Tuesday.

"She was perfect! Zoe is a model student!"
"We are so lucky to have Zoe in our play group! I'm going to borrow her to help me at home with my kids behavior! She is a role model!"
"Could she be a nicer kid?"

Now, these comments would usually send me over the moon in mommy pride induced ecstasy, but not Monday. I heard all three of these comments within four hours and it made my blood boil. Really. I was seeing red.

While I adore my daughter, I adore the opinions of my friends, and I adore the fact that Mr. and I are doing something right that she knows how to perform like a circus monkey outside of the home, I do not adore that I never get to see that Zoe. I see another one and a lot of the time, she isn't pretty.

"That is MY SPOT. MYYYYYYYY SSSSSSPPPPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTT!"

White blond hair (with a gorgeous pink bow) flies in the hair with her body coming fast behind her. Thank God her purple painted toes were not hidden in shoes, as they were weaponry enough in her Gymboree bow socks. The parts I could see from the kitchen (over the couch arms) were pretty and precious. But, her flying jab and stinging upper cut to her confused baby brother were anything but precious. After pulling a sweaty, kicking Laila-Ali wanna-be off Xander, and tossing her into the dining room (to have the French doors kicked closed and swearing - swearing if one glass panel does more than shimmy in it's spot I will have to be locked in a room with a warm bath and People to calm down), I learned that X was attacked because he chose to watch Caillou on the left side of the couch, which apparently four hours earlier Zoe had deemed "MY SPOT".  And come Hell or high water, it would be her spot.

Try later that day when Xander was told (for the fiftieth time that hour) that he couldn't play with her dolls - "Get your own, X! Oh, wait. You don't have dolls. You just have William. One doll. So you cannot play a tea party with lots of dolls. Just one. Boring. A baby tea party with boys." he simply pulled off his diaper and started peeing. All over the tea party. It was now a lemonade party, based on what was collecting in the china, but he had fantastic coverage. She sat there and screamed but didn't know what to do. I demanded she close her mouth - this lemonade was sure to be sour - but she just stood up and screamed louder.

Still then, later that same day. SAME DAY.  They were slamming the doors to their Jack n' Jill bathroom so hard it knocked a picture off the wall downstairs. I let this all happen because I was locked in the garage when I was unloading groceries and they thought this would be a fun experiment.

It has been one thing after another. Every day, all day. No days feel "easy" anymore.

Does anyone else just feel like they are raising really bad kids only to hear from others they are really good kids? I feel like I'm raising Cybil... 

3!

My little man turns three this weekend. THREE! In the whole scheme of things, three is still a baby, but when he's losing the baby fat, letting us know when he has to "GO POTTTTTTTEEEEEEEEEEEEE", and he can say, "I sorry, My sister Bella!" each and every time he's transgressed against her, I feel like he's a big kid.

And a big kid is so awesome for him to be... he is so stubborn and determined to do what he wants, when he wants, and with as little helps as he wants... he's ready for some more room to grow.

But MOMMA IS NOT.

He still wakes up sweaty and damp, holding his "Lob-ee" (Lovey) in one hand with both arms outstretched for his momma to get him from his crib. He's borderline stunting his growth sleeping in his crib (he looks like a Great Dane in a Bishon's crate), but he has never once climbed out, fought us about a crib, or looked interested in "a big boy bed" so why bother? He's comfy, safe, and sleeping.

He still loves to pick out a diaper - always Mickey Mouse - but the decision of Mickey holding balloons, Mickey hugging Pluto, or Mickey with jazz hands is quite a dilemma each diaper change. Sometimes I throw "Mickey briefs" in the mix, but those are usually tossed a half-second before the Mickey with balloons. My boy is a boy's boy, but he loves those jazz hands.

He still wants milk before bed. His preferred method to sip is to curl into your lap with one hand on yours and just as your leg falls asleep he gives a milky kiss that makes you pray time stops. Right. Now.

He needs help with his shoes and shirts, but yesterday he got a pair of pants on by himself. He jolted off the floor with a "I DID IT!" (break out the jazz hands, thanks, Mickey Mouse) and smiled a killer set of baby teeth. And I teared up as we high-fived. If he doesn't need help with his pants, no one else will. It's over. Until Mr. and I are both 80 and I'm helping him with his, but that is so not the same. At all.

He needs to constantly be reminded of the boundaries, rules, and standards in our house, but he also knows when he breaks them and a set of shiny blue eyes and a single tear tell me he has remorse as deep in his soul as I do. I hate to disappoint and he does, too.

Xander has stolen my heart in three short years. It's exhilarating to think what lies ahead in our relationship and lives, but in the middle of the night when he needed his momma (last week), it hit me.

I already hate his wife.

Never Have I Ever...

1. Said, "Get your penis off the kitchen table. NOW." (Drink!)

2. Locked myself in the garage so I could finish scheduling an appointment after hearing, "I'm sorry, I cannot hear you" turn into "Ma'am? I need to hang up if you cannot find somewhere quiet to speak".(Drink!)

3. Chopped up mushrooms, in front of my four-year-old, added them to the dinner mixture, and then swore up and down that there were no mushrooms in dinner, she could eat it in safety of dying from the miserable fungus. (Drink!)

4. Went to a mall A) with no intention of shopping and B) never walked into a store. (Drink!)

5. In the heat of an argument screamed at my husband to stop complaining about a two hour traffic jam because "I would give ANYTHING - and I mean ANYTHING - to be stuck in a car ALONE and in complete control of the radio, noise level, and nothing thrown at the back of my head followed by howls of laughter!", sir. (Drink!)

6. Watched Dance Moms, Little Miss Perfect, Toddlers & Tiara's, and most shows on A&E, to solely feel better after a bad parenting day. (Works every time... DRINK!)

7. Confirmed to a telemarketer that yes, those are in fact monkeys in the background. (Drink!)

8. Wished their little life's away "How many more days until school starts again?" only to feel awful and not want to miss a single minute. (Drink!)

9. Said, "You may not try to see how long your little brother can stand in the snow without shoes. Let him back in. NOW." (Drink!)

10. Knew I'd "never have those kids" until I had them. And I wouldn't trade them for the world! (Drink!)

Poopy Day

"I NO WEAR UNDER WEAR. I big boy BUT NO. UNDER. WEARS!"

Switching tactics, I threw the Mickey Mouse boxer briefs (yes, they make them... and filled out with a tiny tush they top my "cutest things I ever saw" list) to the side and pulled out a Mickey Mouse diaper (see a theme here?). Xander saw the diaper and wiggled away with a "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Nothing. Nothing. NAKEY PEANUT!!"

So, against every bit of good judgement I put legs back in his (Mickey Mouse) jammie bottoms, tucked a baby peanut in, and pulled them into place. Kissing his forehead, cause really it's cute to hear "NAKEY PEANUT" even at 6am and at 100 decibels, and pulled him into the upright and locked position. He smiled and climbed onto the couch to watch "CAILLOU NOW!".

He's almost three and feeling it, people. There is no longer a battle of wills, a battle of manners, a battle of "my kids will never act like that" realization that "my kids ALWAYS act like that", it's momma for herself and I needed to find the Keurig. And quick.

Zoe came downstairs and her sleepy eyes went from glossy to bright. No good morning from this kid, just a screetch worthy of a B grade horror movie, at least.

"What, baby? Zo, have you seen my Tazo tea for the Keurig? Did you drink it all?" (Yes, my four year old is a closet hot tea drinker. She likes it black, bold, and before preschool. She is also able to make a K cup in the time it takes me to change over a load of laundry.)

"He POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPED!"

"Ok, we all do. But really, where is the tea?" with my hind end hiked to the sky as I searched the bottom of the pantry (where no one should attempt to search without gloves, a mask, and tongs) for one misplaced cup.

"No. MOM. He pooped. On. The. COUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Then I remembered our "Nakey Peanut" incident an hour earlier. And then I heard Xander say, "Momma I did poo poo! Change me NOW!"

Before I could get out "DON'T MOVE!" I saw him squirm off my light green microfiber couch. Sure, I told the sales guy I wanted the cheapest cute set he had because I wanted the furniture to be disposable after two kids in five years, but not because my kid shit on it... at 7 am.

I saw it just in time to start gagging and dry upchucking. Xander started to cry and ran to me, but as the poop balls fell out of his jammies, hit his knees and ankles, plopped on our once-ivory builder-grade carpet it startled him. So he turned around with enough gusto to smush the turd balls into the carpet, get even more frightened, and flop his body into a two-year-old flop only a tantrum-throwing tot can do with perfection.

Meanwhile, my sidekick, my best friend is doing a perfect "My brother has defiled our home" performance (and soon reenactment) complete with gags, dry heaves, and "Oh no he didn't" thrown in for good measure.

The first thing that came to mind was RUN. Run in the opposite direction and never turn back around, but I pulled up my big girl panties, grabbed Xander (by his armpits) and ran to the toilet. Turds bombed the carpet, then ceramic tile, and I felt like my feet were Pearl Harbor under attack. I was hit, hit hard, but I kept moving. I wasn't leaving this little soldier in my arms behind.

We found the powder room (and for a nice home, we have a horrid powder room. It's cramped, cold, and you can barely get around the door to close it, so you can imagine the Cirque de Sol maneuvers to get us into the toilet). I yanked down those Mickey Mouse jams, plopped a sobbing babe on the potty (which on a good day makes him cry), and heard threw the sniffles (mine or his, not sure) "I all done, Momma. My poo poo all done."

This is the first time I realized just how much poo poo we were talking about. And, for the record, this collasol amount cannot be called poo poo, even if it came out of the cutest Mickey Mouse boxer briefs ever. Nope. This was SHIT, people. It was down his legs, smudged on his forehead, in his ear, and all over the front of the toilet. The stuck turds were freed when I pulled down his pants, so those were now let loose all over the powder room.

I stripped X down and told him not to move.

I did what any respectable momma would do with her child's most prized Mickey Mouse jammies Santa had just gifted her son. I threw them away. Immediately.

At this point I could survey the real damage and it wasn't good. It was horrific. My kitchen, living room, and couch not only lost the battle, but I was truly afraid they had lost the war.

Before I could clean anything I wiped X-man down with baby wipes and chucked him in a tub of bleach (California Baby 100% natural and organic, but I really did consider bleach) and told his sister in Act 2 of her production "Sit here. Watch him. Do not touch him. Just sit here. Scream if his head goes under."

I could hear "Mom... I'm only four. Am I allowed to watch a kid in a bath? Alone?" and I just kept jogging down the stairs.

My couch cushions are machine washable. The label says otherwise, but they are. They can also tolerate a little bleach (definitely Clorox this time - nothing organic in that load but the load he unloaded (pun intended)), a gallon of detergent, and even more bleach.

Woolite, Oxy-Clean, and Resolve bottles in varying stages of empty were now used, abused, and recycled.

Xander's water was cold at that point, so I did what any other respectable momma with a child covered in shit would do. Drained it, turned the shower on his unsuspecting head, drained that, and filled it up again with bubbles, warm water, and bleach.

Ok, it wasn't bleach this time, either, but I would have felt better if I did. I was having wild, poop smell induced flashes of my child having C-diff from this horrific morning, but I never did bleach the kid.

The carpet was the hardest. And the worst off. Apparently, when you call Stanley Steamers and cry, very very hard in Stan's ear (yeah, there's an awesome joke there but I was too exhausted to try it), he clears his schedule and makes it to your place. Quickly. With an OSHEA suit on.

Xander looked like an amphibean by the time he was sanitized and Zoe earned herself time on sproutonline.com for her heroics as the "my brother did not drown under my watch" champion.

By 10 am all was calm, all was bright, all was good. Except me. I could still be heard shaking and dry heaving in the laundry room. Pretty sure, a week later, I'm experiencing PTSD  at 9 am and 4 pm daily (Xander is very regular now), but we'll make it.  (And he can go to Kindergarten or even Prom in diapers if it means we will never have another morning like that one. Potty training smotty training.)

Weiners

I cannot say NO. It's not because I am unable, mute, or not aware of all the directions I am pulled day in and day out. I cannot say NO for one reason: I do not want to say no! I want to go, go hard, and do it all. I want to be the momma who is involved in everything; not creepy, suffocating momma, but room mom, Parent-Extraordinaire. So I am.

Last Wednesday I was responsible for procuring pizza for the Little Friends pizza party. It's a monthly fundraiser that for $5/child they get a slice of pizza, fruit and veggies. In all honesty, it's really so the mommy's get a day off fighting their preschoolers on which vegetable they will attempt to taste. See, we must send in five - yes, five - of the food groups in their lunch. Fantastic on paper. Miserable in practice if your son is anything like Xander.

Xander has some sensory issues that make meal times a challenge. Not a challenge like "Take five more bites and you can have a snow cone" or even "Take three more bites and you can have a pony" that my friends talk about. Nope, this is balls to the walls prying his pinched, pursed lips and locked jaw to get three bites of ANYTHING down his throat within a three day span. I have literally dangled a Popsicle, Pop-Tart, and Eggo in his face in attempt to see a single calorie intake for a 24 hour period to get a "Nah" as he walks away.

So packing his lunch isn't the easiest of exercises. He sees his puppy dog insulated tote come out and immediately starts with, "I no lunch." It only gets worse when he sees a wayward carrot slipped into the bag along with a single strawberry. Forget the Ritz crackers and a single cheese cube (which apparently round out his "acceptable" list, right behind Apple Jacks and, well, um... a grilled cheese once upon a dream), this kid saw the veggies and it isn't pretty. Thankfully, we aren't the only home dealing with this carb-a-holic dilemma of what to pack her preschooler. One of my closest friends once admitted to using the same baggie of carrots and apples until they molded and then starting fresh a month later. All year. Hey - she SENT the food. The miracle workers in the classroom could deal with getting the preschoolers to touch the food!

Back to last Wednesday and the procuring of pizza.

I got to the Costco Food Court as it opened and was surprised an elderly man in a wheelchair was already ordering. I offered to help him with condiments on his hot dog - he declined - and then I immediately ordered an abundant amount of 18" goodness in the form of molten cheese and crust so chewy it's been known to beat the Tooth Fairy at her own game by taking in loose teeth to never see them again. I had 45 minutes to kill, so I took to the aisles of retail glory that is warehouse shopping.

While picking through a pile of girls Speedo suits for $6.99 ($6.99!!!) my elderly friend was scooting along next to me and stopped close by. I glanced over and then jerked my head back, unsure whether to call the police or ask him if he needed help finding the (now missing) bun. Sitting in his lap was a Costco-sized hot dog. Not on a plate, not wrapped in foil, and without a bun. Just laying there in a creepy greying crotch/leg of a man with a twinkle in his eye and grease on his sweat pants.

I dropped the Speedo ($6.99, people!) and walked away as tears squirted out of my eyes. I couldn't laugh... right? Was this a joke? What in the hell?

I watched woman after woman drop an item, blush, and move away as Wiener Gate 2012 took place. And I tell you what... that twinkle in his eye told me that this wasn't his first time to play with his wiener in public.

Hiatus... Over.

I'm back, people!

You know, in July of 2010 I thought things couldn't get crazier. I had an 18-month old and a new three year old. They were just starting to learn about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. And by pursuit of happiness, I mean wanting whatever the other child had. No matter what. Acquiring said item was the only way to feel happy.

Fast forward a year or so. I am now the mother of a four year old daughter whom I don't know whether to pour a cup of coffee and gossip with or give her another lecture that I'm the mommy and she gets to be the kid... so please don't harp on Xander's "poor choices" and put him in Time Out. I'll handle it.

Zoe is a lot like her Aunt Hanah. Everything she tries she is does well and everything she works at turns to gold. Nothing is difficult (except hearing the word NO), nothing weighs her down (except her little brother wanting to hang onto her legs and get pulled across the kitchen), and nothing seems impossible. She embraces life with a smile and shout of glee. Zoe loves to tumble, dance, and sing "Poker Face" and anything Black Eyed Peas. She is the light of my life and my very best friend.

Xander is my heart. I have a 36" little lover who hugs, kisses, and snuggles like the man you always dreamed of would. He came into my life in a mess of emotions - I didn't know how I thought about having Baby #2 let alone a little boy. Well, I've realized my little man couldn't be a better addition to my life unless I had him cloned. Xander is smart, silly, only wants to please, and is so empathetic he'd give his best toy to a stranger if they were crying. He is literally my heart walking around outside my body.

My husband is a fighter. He's been through a lot and continues to keep swinging. He's quirky, hard working, and a great dad to two great kids.

That's us in a nutshell. Keep an eye on the site - I'm back and I'm back for good.