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...