Apparently I took a wrong turn on my life-path.....

I'm kind of a crappy mom.
And, apparently, I'm not even supposed to be a mom.


I love books- I love looking at them, smelling them, carrying them. They transport me to lovely places, teach me cool things, and I love looking at interesting pictures. I also really like Oprah. She's cool shit. She's rich, but classy and doesn't act all snobby. So, I rented her book from the library.

In Oprah's book, there was a quiz toward the middle, helping people figure out their best "life path" or some crap. The results were supposed to show you if you were a nurturer, leader, creative type, problem solver, ect. As I am a lovely type A who takes every single quiz presented to her (even the "Is my boyfriend mad at me?" and "Am I a good friend?" quizzes in Seventeen in my early teen years) I whipped out a sheet of paper and took the quiz.

I scored the highest in the creative, introverted category. The lowest score came in the "nurturer" category. I think there were 7 total categories. Apparently this quiz thinks I am better suited to paint or decoupage alone in a cave than to raise offspring.

I tend to agree.

I am selfish. I buy special mommy-treats and hide them from the rabid beasts who call themselves my children. I hide good chocolates, beautifully wrapped decadent creamy truffles. The packaging is almost as orgasmic as the chocolate itself. I hide in the bathroom and lock the door and turn the lights out so I can crap without a squirming child on my lap, and a whiny toddler poking me. They can't find me with the lights out. I hide my expensive makeup and clothes from my pilfering, experimental teenager. I read fun books like "Fifty shades of Grey" to remind myself that I am, indeed, a hot blooded chick. I try to dress up at least half the days in the week to show myself and the world that I haven't lost my ability to put together an outfit without stains, or consisting of only pajama pants and my husband's old sweatshirts. I treasure my leopard printed pony hair ballet flats, my (also leopard) peep-toe stilettos, and my Frye boots. I love my clean house and my reading corner with my own cute, comfy chair and table for my books, wine, and chocolates stashed in the drawer. I tell them to leave me alone every afternoon so I can have "mommy time." I like my own space.

Then there are women tho lose themselves in being a mother. They are excellent at the nurturing. They love being a mom, and it shows in everything they do. They can read "Goodnight Moon" 784 times in a nice, soft voice, without swearing. (I'm all, "Goodnight moon, Goodnight room, Goodnight to the fat f*cking cow humping the moon...") They wear their sweatpants and unkempt hair like a badge of honor. They don't care if their house is messy- they love the little handprints all over their sliding glass door. They hang embroidered poems proudly proclaiming that very fact. They trip over legos at night and chuckle to themselves about kids being kids. They patiently answer the same question 42 times in an hour without screaming. They drive toy and fry strewn minivans, and pin their kid's sports buttons to their coats like military awards. They are proud to be their children's everything.

I can't. Don't get me wrong. Of course, I love my kids. I love them so much I want to squeeze them and bite their ears. Which I do. Often. You would think I could only handle one child- maybe 2. No, I have 6. I love them all. If you asked me to pick some to get rid of, I wouldn't be able to. They all are my favorite. (I personally hate mothers who say they have a favorite. I was the least favorite of my own mother- a fact my sister loved to point out.) But I digress. I tried, for a few years, to be "the perfect mother." I tried to keep our house all calm and zen and toys and fun and reading and schedules....and I went crazy. Literally needed to see a shrink. I was told to go out and "find myself" and all that. I realized I was doing a crappier job trying to be a perfect, good mom than I did when I was just flying by the seat of my pants.

The thing is, I don't really enjoy playing barbies or making lego things. I don't like coloring or playing games. I don't like glue projects, family magazines, or any of that. I like to lay on the floor while my kids drive cars over the mountains mud puddles on my chest. I talk to them and try to make them laugh. I tickle them and play hide and go seek. I chase them and hold them down and slobber on them. We laugh about farts, poop and private parts. We go places, and I teach them useless facts. I instill in them my love of reading. I try to root out and encourage their strengths and help them with their weaknesses. My kids know they are loved and cared for. I know there are alot of other moms out there like me. Just because we are not the ideal mom: with the apron and cookies, the leader of girl scouts, religion teacher, minivan lover, homework helper, classroom volunteer, swing pusher, den mother;  it doesn't mean we love our kids any less. I may not be a mom-of-the-year type, and my kids may never buy me a "best mom ever" printed sweatshirt with bears, hearts and bows, but that's ok.

I'm just a mom like you, and we all want our kids to be loved and live their lives to the fullest. How we get there is just logistics.

Changing Perspectives.

I love food. No, I really love food. Any food. All food. Well, except mushrooms. Oreos and Diet Coke for breakfast? Yes, please. 2 glasses of wine during and after dinner? Yup! A mountain of spaghetti? Right here. I love going out to eat, I love eating, and I love cooking and baking. I tend to overeat. I eat when I'm stressed, when I'm sad, and when I'm happy! Yes, I eat my feelings, Mr. Psychoanalyzer-er. I have an unfortunately loooong 2 week PMS where I can't get enough carbs, sugar, and yummy goodness.

It comes as no surprise, then, that I struggle to keep my weight down where I would like it to be. I used to tell myself that I had "curves." But then I looked at my naked body and I could find nothing I liked. Even my tiny ankles were starting to swell, the dimples on my butt could hide a quarter, and my thighs looked like small children were still clinging tightly to them.....under my skin. I felt in no way, shape, or form "curvy" or sexy. I wasn't obese, but I was overweight. And for my 5'4", an extra 20 pounds is alot...especially when it concentrates in one general area. I didn't like feeling squeezed into clothes, and I didn't like the size on the clothes I had to buy.

I felt OUT of shape, and OUT of form, and I was so unfit that my muscles were weak. It was absolute work carrying my beefy son upstairs. (side note: how come baby pudge is so cute, but mamma pudge is not?) I was tired and winded. I was jealous of friends on FB posting about running and working out. I wanted to be fit, too! I wanted to be a young, skinny mom!

I'm not saying curvy isn't beautiful. Most women, no matter their size are curvy. It's biological, people.  I know many different sizes of women who are comfortable in their skin. I just wasn't comfortable in mine. And that's what its all about. It doesn't matter if you're a size 2 or a 22, all women can feel insecure and uncomfortable. I felt like an athletic girl trapped under a snowdrift of PB cups, oreos, sweet tea, and stuffed crust pizza. But I've been working hard to change that. I started out walking. Then a mild jog. I'd come home with sweat spots so bad it looked like I wet my pants. Like I got a "runner's thrill" if you know what I mean..HA! Then I was jogging faster, then running. I took up paddleboarding, and biking. I tried rollerblading, and hated it, so put the money towards an even better bike. It's taking a LONG time, but the pants sizes are going down. I've only lost 4 pounds in almost 3 months, but maybe I'm growing some major ass-kicking muscles....

I admit, in the beginning, I just wanted to be skinny. Along my run, I'd daydream about fitting into a certain dress, or a pair of Paige jeans. I wanted to be hot for my husband. But somewhere along the road, somewhere between mile 50 and 75, my perspective changed. Now, I want to be fit. I just want to be in shape. I want to be athletic. I want to be strong! And that to me means more than fitting into a certain size. I used to yearn to have the physique of a Victoria's Secret model. Now, I want to look like the strong women in the Altheta catalogue. Powering that bike up the hill with 70 pounds of kid in tow feels awesome. When I reach the top, I gain a fresh perspective on the day. Burned the dinner? Psssh. Bad hair day? Oh well. Baby teething? Oh, he's sleeping in the trailer behind me- and look how sweet and peaceful he looks leaning on his sister.

It just makes the day go so much better when I can whirr those pedals as fast as my legs can go. And I don't feel so guilty about sometimes making unwise food choices because I know I will burn most of it off anyway. I eat what I want, because if I went on some restrictive diet, I get so crazy-irritable, no one wants to be around me :) I don't need to be a certain size or weight anymore. I'm still curvy, and always will be. But now I can race my kids- and WIN! I have energy to spare, and my omni-present depression stays at bay a little better, because the more I can do, the better I feel, and I'm looking better too, which helps all that self esteem, which in turn makes me feel like I can do anything.

I still slip, and call myself "fat" sometimes. It's a product of the wonderful world in which we live. We are brainwashed from a very young age. Sexy slim people sell everything from fast food to furniture to vacuums, and we all have access to the best food anytime, anywhere. Celebrities are expected to lose their baby weight months after having their babies, wives are expected to be "hot" and sexy even while taking care of the demanding needs of a young family, the anti-aging market is booming, and the diets just get crazier every day. People talk about the obesity epidemic, but what about the anorexia epidemic? It's almost impossible to know what's healthy anymore. It's all messed up. It's hard to find a balance between taking care of yourself and getting carried away as a mother, and even harder to teach that balance to your daughter.
I'm doing my best to teach my 4 daughters the values of honesty, kindness, compassion, virtue, and taking good care of the body they were given.

And all that is so much more than a dress size.

Handy Dandy Back to School Fun and Totally Awesome Rad Tips

We have a relatively small house compared to the number of people inside. We have 8 of us in a 1900 square foot house. We counted closet space, the entryway, the nook with the wood pellet stove, and the corner where Pa Ingalls plays the fiddle and whittles animals out of wood for the kiddies to play with.... In an age where couples without children build mcmansions of upwards of 4,000 square feet with man-caves and sewing rooms and piano rooms and rooms to play yoga in, our home is the size of a spacious outdoor toilet. I've stumbled ass-backwards blind into some things that actually work well.

• I don't fold underwear or socks. Eff that noise.
• I buy each kid a 10 pack of socks in a specific style, and then it's easier to sort them to that kid. 
• I sort the laundry to each room, and then the kids in that room put their own clothes away. Each kid folds their own laundry after about age 4. 
• I don't sort laundry for washing. If  red shirt makes all the stuff pink, the pink shit goes to the girl it fits. They get something new. Yay!
• Under each sink is a few supplies- rags, bleach cleaner waaay in the back for those poop accidents that always happen in my house right before we are supposed to leave for church or some other pure activity, toilet cleaner (for the toilet), that scrubby powder- Bon Ami for counters and tubs and sinks, and some vinegar in a spray bottle. Makes everything metal shine, and if the kid sprays it in their face, the worst thing that happens is that they have pickled eyes. 
• I only have knick knack bullshit on one bookshelf in my house. Every surface is dustable/wipeable and able to be unsmeared/undrooled/unshitted/unboogered in under 10 minutes for whole house. You'd be surprised at how many boogers I find while cleaning. Kids have a gene that makes them stick boogers on random surfaces. Sometimes they grow out of it during puberty. If not, they grow into men who pick and eat their own crop of snagglers.
• The aforementioned bookshelf is my "happy place." No one is allowed to touch mommy's happy place....except daddy...Ha! (Yes, I'm snickering like a stupid 13 year old boy.) It has all of my favorite books, treasures, and photo albums. I can see it from my favorite spot in the living room, and just looking at it makes me happy. Every mom needs a "happy place." Heck, you need a few happy places that kids just aren't allowed to touch. No booger smearing allowed.
• Each kid has their own "special box" for treasures and a shelf to put their rock collections, random found hair collections, and dried booger specimens. In our house, these special boxes are those canvas boxes in various colors from Target. Oh, wonderful, happy, magical target. The land of unicorns, glitter, and sexy hairy men with goat bodies....Each kid is allowed to decorate their "bed space" as they wish and everything else is streamlined in their room for easy cleaning.
• THE SCHOOL PAPER AVALANCHE: I have a spot on the counter designated for school papers. I go through them each night (because of those sadistic wonderful teachers who send permission slips for next day school trips the night before said trip), hang up cool art, and stuff to save goes in a big canvas box up on a shelf, to be sorted later into each kids own big plastic bin. I save special artwork, important papers, grades, and such in the plastic bins. Each tote is labeled with the kids name. Someday they get to look through their container of crap, and laugh because the macaroni on the paper is moldy and sick. They will thank me. The boring schoolwork like math goes in the bottom of the trash. Shhhh. If they knew I threw away their papers, they would all form a plot to stand eeerily beside my bed at night while I was sleeping. Standing there...breathing...staring.....hissing "mommmmm" at me while I sleep...Oh wait, they already do that when daddy send them up to wake me in the morning....Such a nice way to wake up.
• Each kid has a basket for their hat, mittens and scarf. There is a bench for backpacks and hooks for coats. Unused or ripped things get religiously donated or tossed. The extra sets of mittens and hats and coats and snowpants get hung in the coat closet. 
• Every few weeks, I go through every square inch in our home and take inventory of what we use and what we don't. If it;s been unused, it gets donated. I haven't missed anything yet. Cross my fingers that I won't ever need that shrunken head maker or the creepy doll that grows hair or the sausage maker with the packet of "wild" seasoning.
• Each kid has a box in their closet of clothes they need to grow to fit into, and a bag for clothes they grew out of. Each season, we take stock of all of their clothes, and rotate as needed. Each season, kids get new stuff without having to spend a pantload, and nothing gets missed. God forbid, we miss the Hanna Montana shirt with the "real" pigtails busting out of it...
• I don't understand the parents who don't have their kids cleaning and helping more. My kids clean out the family vehicle, vacuum, do the dishwasher, clear the table, and lots of other stuff. Yeah, sometimes they suck at whatever they did, but mostly they do an acceptable job. 
• We have a big dry-erase calendar to keep track of all our schedules. At first, I thought some smartass kid would take one swipe at it with their hand and thoughtlessly swipe away my oh so carefully color-coordinated mosaic of daily scheduled commitments, but it turns out the ink dries well enough that you need to rub with a cloth to get it off. Cool beans.
• Each kid dresses their own self. I'm not one for those ideas from parents with waay too much time on their hands who go through outfits and lay them out at the beginning of each week, and then put them in some 5 day hanging organizer they stenciled with handmade paints colored with organic beets grown in the distant fields in Russia with the Omnipresent guidance of the Divine Almighty Pinterest. At best it would last a day or two in my house, and then it would be back to reality with petrified toad shit collections on the hanging shelves. I don't fight the little people. If my boy wants to wear the same spiderman shirt 23 days in a row, fine. Who cares. Gap is not banging on the door to  photograph my kids. (Although they should. My kids are insane-cute.) Any parent who bases their absolute fulfillment as a mother on making sure their kid has the perfect apple green striped hair bow to go with their layered leggings and scarf and tee is a bubble brain. Period. There are more important things, people.
• Speaking of that, I don't understand why some people keep their kids hopping with all the activities they can possibly sign up for. Basketball, football, fencing lessons, flute, knitting lessons, power yoga, pottery, Spanish....Do your kid a favor. One extracurricular. All the "free time" can be spent catching up around the dinner table eating together, homework, having family time, and relaxing. Get to know your kid They are pretty cool people. After all, they came out of your va-jay-jay. They are funny little midgets of yourself before you got old and boring. Hang with them. It keeps you young.

Well, that's all for now. Hope you enjoyed my Rad Tips. Now for the Funny-of-the-Day:

You're welcome.

Hello!

Hey All!

I started this blog a few months ago while going through a bad time in my life.

Things are really looking up, and getting so much better.

And it's getting very busy around here with the warm weather- we are out boating, gardening and all of those other fun summer activities.

So I will be a little sporadic with my posts for awhile as I'm focusing more on my family and myself!

Thank you to the 2,000+ visitors to my blog so far! I appreciate your kind comments!

Kim

Turning the - into +

On this journey of self discovery, I have taken many steps towards re-defining me.

The weird, odd thing that some of you probably will find obvious, is that I never thought through life that much. Then, like a slap in the face from Oprah, one day it hit me that I can control it. I can decide the image I want to present to the world, I can decide on the person I want to be, and own that image. I can be what I want to be- haha!  And "image" means different things to different people. But the bottom line is that you must commit to the image you wish to convey to the world, and if you are not 100% happy with that, you need to change something about it.

Like I said, I struggled with being torn between what I thought a mom of 6 kids should act like, and my personality. I figured I had to act all nice, and not swear, and be calm all the time. Like the mom to the 19 kids. She acts all nice and wonderful all the time. But 2 things: 1. She's on TV and is probably a troll behind the camera who wears a thong over leggings and makes the kids eat lucky charms with their hands, and 2: She is not me. (I like to swear. It makes me feel like a badass. Actually it doesn't. I don't really think about it, and it's a habit. I don't really care that I do it or not, but it's part of me. Like my freckles. So it's here to stay.)

Now, some moms seem perfectly happy fully immersing themselves in the sea of being a mom. But I know that I personally am not happy being defined by a single word. I am more than that, and I think deep down, those other moms know that they are too. Our children will be better children for knowing the full, rounded people we are, and not just thinking of us as servants to their every need.

Anyway, I always felt torn between 2 lives. Sometimes my true self came out in my comments on facebook and to my friends, but a lot of times, I felt like I needed to stuff myself down, and censor everything I said. I felt like I needed to be a domestic diva- sewing and quilting, having a perfectly clean house and cooking everything and baking everything. Now, I like doing some of those things in moderation, but not all the time.  I was stressed and unhappy inside from being pulled so many different ways.  And I definitely wasn't happy with my appearance. Gaining weight over the past few years with many babies and stress and waaay too much baking, I am not happy with how I feel stuffed into my clothes. I am not happy with how my belly is pinched into my jeans. I told myself little lies like "I'm happy with my curves" and "I'm healthy enough" and "I'll just be the soft old grandma who bakes" but I didn't believe them. I can't go up the stairs without getting tired legs, and I truly miss being more active.  I want to be alive for as much as this life as I can, with my new understandings of myself, and I want to be healthy for as many years as I can. I want to be stronger. And let's face it, I want to look tighter and leaner. I want my husband to go "Daaaaaang!" when I strip down to my pretty panties. I want to feel comfortable in my clothes. I still want to have curves, I just want to be strong enough to haul those curves into a run, bike ride, or long swim. And I don't want those curves to keep jangling after I've been at a full stop for 5 minutes.....

I don't know why I felt like I had to act a certain way, maybe it's because I was a mom so young, and thought I needed to be all proper and perfect. I became a mother at age 17, and never went through that usual young-adult period of finding oneself. So I was always kind of in limbo, torn between a wild young person who never "sowed her wild oats" and what I picture in my head when I hear "mother" 2 VERY different things.  I also felt pressure from people close to me who I felt always criticized my choices if I strayed to far from "the mommy path."  I feel like I can finally be myself without someone saying, "What the heck? Why did you do/say that? That's stupid." Now I feel like if someone said anything to me along those lines, I'd tell them where to shove it. I think most of the pressure came from being a young mom and never really finding out who I was without kids. And not having a chance to do the things a young person needs to do in order to be confident in their life. Because people without kids and people who had kids later never seemed to have any or as much inner conflict and resentment as I did.  So maybe those people who have kids later never felt this way. (Yay to them!) But I struggled with it for a long time. And struggling sucks. Being free from the constant turmoil of trying to be basically a "stepford wife" and "soccer mom" and trying to please everyone has made me so much happier, there are no words. I am less stressed, less anxious, and I finally feel like I'm coming to know who I am!

I had to dig deep to figure that out. I actually made a list of what I like about myself, and what I don't like. Both lists are what make me me, and so I accepted them for what they are. I accepted me. And it felt amazing. The peace I felt after that exercise made me cry. I don't need anyone else to accept me, because I accept me. I love the good with the bad, and the bad really isn't that bad. (things like swearing, pinning farts on other people, hiding purchases I made at Target form my man candy, laughing at inappropriate times, so on and so forth...) When you finally free yourself from worrying about what others think, you are free to fully appreciate who you are. The insecurities all but disappear.

After that, I started to look at the world through different eyes. Here's the deal. The "perfect mom" doesn't exist. The thing is, every mom has different qualities that she brings to the table which can immensely benefit her children. For example, I am a pretty creative gal. I think waaaay outside the box. I'm weird. So when I tell stories to my kids, I TELL STORIES! I can also make cool fart noises with my armpit, and I jiggle my butt and scare them with it's startling aliveness. Every mom has their strengths. You just have to figure out how to tap into the strengths and use that to better your family.

I used to think that deep down I hated being a mother, and I was terrified, but I'm glad that I realized that wasn't true. (so are my kids-HA!) I just needed some time to myself to think, recharge, and reconnect with myself. I really love my kids, but since there's so many of them, the sheer amount of energy required to be "on" all day- dealing with boo-boos, changing pants, baths, laundry, meals, reading books, waking up at night to give bottles, cleaning house, engaging them, talking with them about their problems, schoolwork- it is simply too much to do every day, 24 hours a day. So I was easily irritated all day long, and was exhausted. I felt like I had a rabid brood of chickens always pecking me to death, hungry for blood.

I'm still working on being easily irritated, but I have been taking more time to myself in order to recharge my batteries. I have hired a babysitter who comes and plays with the kids twice a week so I can run errands, get work done, and have some much needed mommy time. I erased the initial guilt I felt by realizing that most mothers have a relative or two nearby to drop the kids off at. Or daycare, or a neighbor girl, or a sinister tattooed muscular man with long hair....wait- that one's my fantasy...nevermind.....Since my nearest "grandmas" are over an hour away, a regularly scheduled babysitter is ready to relive me for a few hours to get stuff off my list. She also stays late one day every other week so me and the man candy can get a date night back once again. Last night we ate ice cream on the little metal chairs outside the shop, laughing together about the random stupid shit we find so gosh darn amusing.

It was wonderful bliss.

I went and got a new haircut and a brighter color, and resolved to make pampering myself a regular activity. I paint my toes, put on face cream, and use shaving cream and a girl razor! (I used to borrow my man's razor and use soap- what a difference!)
I also bought a paddle board and a pair of rollerblades. I've always wanted to be in sports because my mother never allowed me to, and I've always resented that. But what the hell- better late then never, right? Why not turn the negative back to a positive? So I got me some sporty shit and haven't looked back since. This is my sports, people. And it's awesome! I even got some sports bras so I feel all badass and athletic. If only my jiggly butt would cooperate and stuff itself into some hot bike shorts.....Alas, I'm the girl with the ghetto booty. Hopefully it will shrink a little with all this activity!

Now, not every mom wants to nurture their love of athletics and the outdoors. Maybe you want to get back to baking a bit, maybe you wish you had time to read more Babysitters Club books, maybe you want to catch up with your soap operas, or, maybe you want to reconnect with your love for making paper mache dolphins. Maybe you wish you painted, or wish you had taken a shop class in high school. Different strokes for different folks. I highly recommend that you rediscover what gets your clock ticking, and carve out some time to do it!

You can truly be the mother YOU want to be. Think about what that means to you. If you find that it you are unhappy where you are, think about what you can change. Think about how you want to be with your kids- what you want them to remember about you. Think about what God gave you to teach them. Everyone has gifts.

Turning the negatives into positives requires some thought, some planning, some effort, but has huge payoff. Think about where you can do that in your own life!

Shopping with kids. Extended version.

Since my husband works from home, I try not to use him as a "babysitter"...which means I take the kids with me wherever I go. Usually that means I have at least 4 of them, since the other older two are usually in free daycare school. But now it's summer time....

Going anywhere with 4 kids aged 6 and under and then 2 more takes intense planning. My two youngest are ages 2 years and 8 months, and they differ in weight by 5 pounds (no, I'm not joking.) The two "middles" are age just 5 and just turned 6, and these two also differ less than 5 pounds in weight. If my other two go with, their ages are 13 going on 22 and 9. And no, their weights do not differ by 5 pounds....(that would be scary...)

So, you really need to go to Target with your kids, Eh? I have a few tips...

• You can't go on a day after you or any kid has been up all night. Period. Tiredness is not to be taken lightly. Kids are supposed to get sleep before state MCA tests at school. Moms need sleep before shopping with said kids. End of story.
• You can't go on a day where you have any other plans for that day or evening. By the time you get home, you will be so exhausted because going anywhere with that many kids is like doing one of those 20k mud-run ice-man things. With a kid hanging on each leg needing a diaper change. And the baby strapped to your back. With a purse on one arm, and the full diaper bag on the other. And a full bladder. 
• Do go in the morning. If you attempt a trip to the land of Tar-jay during naptime, you will arrive in the land of piss and vinegar. Don't attempt under any circumstances.
• DO go in with a list. Extra points for it being organized by the walk around the store "in order of appearance."
• Do not attempt to bring toys from home. They will get lost, you will get pissed if you have to retrace your steps, and the baby will have more fun chewing the tags off of all of the items in your cart, anyway. 
• DO NOT- I repeat, DO NOT get one of those super-long carts that are the size of a minivan with the kid-seats or the damn car in the front. Save those for the grandmas leisurely out wandering the aisles with one kid. All that's going to happen is the kids are gonna get bored and end up hiding everywhere walking along with you, and you are going to ram everyone in the ankles. Just be the mean mommy and say NO!
• Don't waste your time getting a Starbucks or a fancy coffee. You'll just be all sad when you have to chug it like a 19 year old at a kegger when the cops show up just to free your hands to chase down the evil rabid lemurs kids that are hiding from you.
• DO NOT look around when one of your kids starts screaming and throwing a tantrum. Even the best behaved kids get sick and tired of walking through the bra aisle with you while you try to find the perfect bra to lift those poor, sad, pathetic excuses for teats into noticeable cleavage for your special annual date with Daddy. You don't want to see the condescending, disapproving looks that the perfectly manicured "perfect" moms with the single children in their perfectly matched Gymboree outfits are shooting you.
• That being said, if you see a fellow mom deep in the trenches of a battle with a screamer, please give her a sympathetic look, and step quickly out of the way. Do not say to your own little Jimmy, "See how that boy is being naughty! I'm sooo glad you are behaving!"......You are responsible for whatever wrath she heaps upon your head. We are in this together. Next time it could be you.
• Inevitably, some sweet old soul will walk by at that very minute, tap you on the shoulder with her cane and state, "You look like you have your hands full!" Please try to avoid giving her an atomic wedgie. She's senile and forgets what having kids is like. Smile nicely, even tough your gritted teeth make you look like a horny Cheshire cat.
• Try to be discreet when asking the teenage daughter if she needs more "feminine stuff". The look she will shoot you if you forget and absentmindedly ask loudly would make Carrie and her bucket of blood look like Rainbow Brite and her bucket of sprinkles.
• The lovely sprites who work in the land of Tarjay will have strategically placed items of intense intrigue to children at the checkout. This is the time where you corral them and throw at them whatever boxes of fun, interesting, new snacks you can find in an attempt to be able to swipe your credit card without some kid opening a lighter behind you and setting the trashy magazines ablaze, fueling the fire with squirts from some gross neon sugar slime packaged in a tiny toilet labeled "Sour Flush" found on the bottom shelf conveniently located behind the razors and condoms. 
• Once you arrive at your vehicle, safely ensconce all children inside. THEN, put all your purchases in the back. Close the rear hatch, s-l-o-w-l-y walk the cart to the return, s-l-o-w-l-y walk back, and seriously consider having a seat in the parking lot behind your vehicle to savor your little treat you stealthily sneaked without the kids seeing it. Enjoy the next 30 seconds of quiet between you and that sweet little pack of Kit Kat minis, and pat yourself on the back for making it through alive with the kiddos relatively intact. This time, anyway.

Shopping with kids....

One of my most perfect days ever would involve wearing a favorite cute comfy dress, wearing cute shoes, sipping on a strawberry smoothie, and wandering aimlessly and distractedly around Target looking like an asylum escapee for hours and hours.....
And then this would be my husband when I got home later:

But, usually, my Target trips are more like this...

Geocaching fun

Have you heard of geocaching? I had never heard of that term before until my cousin introduced me to it. It's this cool activity where you go on the internet via your computer or smartphone and you can type in your location and it will pull up all of the nearby hidden "caches" in your area. The really cool thing about it is that the hidden container may just have a slip of paper where you can sign that you found it, or it may also be large enough to contain some little trinkets to look at and trade with if you wish!
If you click on one of the nearby caches and you have the "cgeo" app on your phone, your phone can actually lead you to the gps coordinates with a compass that is surprisingly accurate! Then you look around the area...sometimes they are quite hard to find, and takes a bit of exploring!
I had been trying to brainstorm ideas of activities to do with the kids now that school is out. Then I remembered my cousin mentioning geocaching and decided to give it a whirl today. My husband and I headed out with the 3 middle kids and our neice and a pen and my phone. Our first find was quite near where we live, and we all hooted and hollered when we found that little bottle. The next few required us to head down a grassy and wooded trail. We had a lot of fun racing...until we started spotting woodticks! The ticks were out in full force, but we triumphed over them and found 3 more hidden caches. By the end, our lilly had pulled off over 14 ticks, brennan had 4, brielle had 2, and our neice had 5 or 6. Me and shannnon pulled off quite a bit too! I didn't mind. I like pulling off ticks..ha!
Our excursion ended with a much deserved trip to dairy queen.
Later, after supper, we headed out again, bitten by the addictive geocaching bug...this time with the whole gang. Our teenage daughter had a good time manning the "compass" on my smartphone.  We found 3 more before the babies started getting tired.
The best thing about geocaching? Its completely free! And the thing I love is that we can do it at our own pace, and find as many or as few as we like.
Another neat thing is it leads to to areas in your neighborhood that you might otherwise overlook. We found a ballpark 2 miles from our home that we never knew was there!
We are already planning on searching for geocaches when we go on our family vacation coming up.  As there are literally millions hidden all over the world, we can play "treasure hunt" everywhere we go!
So if you're looking for something unique to do as a family, look no further than your smartphone and your neighborhood. You may be surprised to find out you've been driving past geocaches for years!
Just go to geocaching.com to find out more. Happy hunting!

Sorry guys!

Hi everyone! Sorry I haven't been keeping up on posts lately. 4 of the 6 have had days with barfs and the craps, so it's been real fun around here. Plus it's been the final week of school, so we've been trying to wrap up all of that noise. But no worries, I still love writing to you, my peeps. Keep on keepin' on...

Just for laughs..

Make new friends...

I have been trying to be a better person for a long time now. Years, in fact. I'm sure most of you have done the same at one point or another, or maybe you are perfect, in which case, go screw yourself....
People make New Year's resolutions, people give up things for Lent, people try to get fit for swimsuit season....it goes on and on.

I tell ya, I've tried so hard in the past to be nicer. I really don't like being an old bitch. It's one thing to be fun and snarky. But, I have been an old bag more times than I really want to admit. But I'm being honest here.  Sometimes I like to act like I do everything and be a martyr of sorts. But then I turn around and complain and whine and piss and moan about it. A lot. Seems dumb to me now that I actually know I do it. And it's hard to stop. I tend to mumble under my breath about always having to clean up the kitchen 56,987 times a day...and so on and so forth. Kinda stupid. And redundant. And moot. Whatever. We all make mistakes, the point is to learn from it, right?

I tell ya. Having had depression and anxiety my whole life, I know more than the average bear about being a naggy, whiny, critical old bag. Just ask my husband. And my previous husband.

Now, I'm not talking about the occasional bitch-fest.  People need to vent now and then.Women have griped about their husband's dirty laundry on the floor ever since Adam left his fur thong on the floor in Eve's tent. Men are annoying. It's in the Bible....Ok, fine, maybe not, but men have been annoying their wives forever. I'm sure Noah was a stand-up guy, but I betcha that his wife was starting to go crazy by the end of the 40 days on that ark with all those reeking animals and her large family. Ever took a sniff by the otter cage at the zoo? Bet she ran out that thing praising God for sun!  I rest my case.

Anyways, my first step on this journey of self-betterment was wanting to make some friends.

The thought of making friends actually makes me queasy and gives me the trots.

Making friends starts with talking to people. One thing that I've been really bad at has been talking to people. I'm kinda like a hermit. I don't like to go anywhere, I like to stay home, AND I am a stay at home mom. SO I don't get out much. Naturally, I totally suck at small talk. I have a hard time looking people in the eye, I'm super awkward and clutzy, and I never know what to say, so I usually try to make them laugh to break the ice, which usually consists of making fun of myself. Example:
I met my husband's work colleagues (love that word- makes me feel cool for using it..) for the first time at a Christmas party. We were all making the requisite small talk, when one of them asked me to tell him about my kids. (Husband  must have told them I had kids.) I said I had 2, and he said I look pretty young for 2 kids, and I responded with, "Well, I was a slut in high school!" and cackled loudly...
Lovely, right?

Being a stay at home mom and talking to short people who crap their pants does not make one a good social butterfly...

But it dawned on me, "Well, why does it have to be small talk? Why can't I talk to people and ask them about things going on in their lives- about things important to them?" After all, I like it when people ask me about my life. I like to talk. I like to feel important and all that jazz. I  figured that other people do too.
Well, turns out- other people are interesting!

It's darn-tootin fun to talk to random people! In the past week, I have talked in depth to the man who we sold our car to, a neighbor I used to barely know, an old friend, a gas station clerk, and another neighbor who is totally rad and I LOVE talking to!

I never would have done that before. I was always too busy, and too crabby. The thought of talking to people made my ass sweatier than a whore in church. Maybe it's being off the crazy meds that makes me a little more reckless and sociable...I don't know. What I do know is that when we are little kids on the playground, we make friends easily. Laughing, playing, screaming happily. Pushing each other gleefully into posts...Oh, maybe that was just me...

And then we get older, and we feel like there are all these "rules." Don't talk about sensitive issues, try not to be annoying, don't laugh too loud, try not to be repulsive.....
Screw the rules. Be genuine. If you want to give your friend a squeeze, do it. She probably wants one. If you see someone crying in her car, tap on the window and ask if she's ok. If you see an old dude sitting alone somewhere, plop down beside him and chat him up! Old dudes are super cool. Talk to people!

Just be yourself. I can't begin to tell you how much FUN I've been having just diving right in. I talk to everybody now, and it's grand.

People really are interesting!

Who knew?!

Coming down...

I've been off my anti-depression medication for about 3 or 4 weeks now. The "coming down effect" is just starting to wear off. The feeling when I turn my head too quickly and my eyes and brain go all swimmy like I'm drunk. Thank goodness that's finally going away. 

The lovely side effects are gone. I can feel my toes again, and my "lady parts" no longer feel "asleep." 

I'm thankful that I can cry again. It's really lovely to have a good cry now and then when you feel overwhelmed because the dog dug up that patch of tulips that finally were big enough to push up a few flowers, or when you watch The Notebook, or when you see that diaper commercial where the babies are all special because some were a surprise, some were waited for years for, some were early, some were late...  Before, it felt like I would get to the point where I wanted to cry, but then something would shut down and I couldn't. It felt like when you really need to sneeze, so you look at the light and all that, but you still just can't sneeze, so it sits inside your nose, waiting...and then you feel like some troll with no feelings.

My medication helped me for a long time. But the side effects started to get so severe, that the price was not worth it. My husband has been wonderful helping me get through this time. Learning to deal with anxiety is something that is very hard to do on your own. It helps to have a husband that can tell I need a break and tells me to go away. And he doesn't get upset if I spend  little too much time browsing at TJmaxx. Or if I get yet another strawberry freezy smoothie thing at Target.

Without my medication, I am even more hyper and weird and unbalanced. I am scatter-brained- I forget EVERYTHING now. I lose track of time, I laugh a little too loud, and sometimes when I feel like I'm going to lose it, I need to give myself time-outs.

But I also love more fiercely, I laugh more often, I hug tighter, I kiss harder, and the fog has lifted.

And I got my sexyback....

After all, I may have some issues, but so does everyone else. If you think you don't- you may just me the sickest of us all......

The night I met my husband

I met my husband on a blind date on January 9, 2005. We were given each other's phone numbers by my cousin. So we arranged a date to meet, and I cancelled.
I thought he was going to be a fugly dud.

But eventually I agreed to meet him. What did I have to lose? After all, I would probably get a nice dinner out of the deal, and a much needed night away from my 2 girls. I spent a few hours getting ready, trying to find an outfit with that perfect balance of sweet and slutty. He wanted to come pick me up, but I wanted to prove that I was all independent and tough, so I met him at his place. I pulled up to a nice little house. To me at the time, it looked like a new fancy starter home where richy people lived. I rang the doorbell, and took a deep breath.

I was shitting my pants very nervous. My divorce was being finalized, and even though my first husband and I were very much over and done, I didn't know if I was quite ready to begin dating. Things had been so hard the past few months.
After the most perfect, beautiful wedding in the history of weddings, our marriage had lasted just a short year. My first husband and I had tried counseling. I tried begging. I had tried everything I could think of to try to keep him with me and keep our marriage together, but of course nothing works when the guy is banging the local bartender skeeze-bag....
Our marriage had been tough. Duh. Anyone who is married and has any sort of day-to-day troubles knows that marriage is hard. It takes 2 people who want to make it work. Granted, I hadn't been the bestest wife in the world either. I have a habit of nagging, picking fights, and being high maintenance in the romance department. I even kissed someone else before I was married. I had a few wild oats to sow....but once we were married, I tried like hell in that short year to make it work.  I loved his family and wanted so badly to grow old together. But it just wasn't meant to be. Once I knew he wasn't "there" anymore, I pulled my heart out and pulled up my big-girl panties, pulled the beautiful perfect wedding pictures off the wall, pulled together what dignity I had left and "turned the light off" on that one.

So I really didn't know if I was ready to date. Especially since I didn't even know this man. My cousin had told me he was in banking and he had glasses, and that his name was Shannon, but that was it. So in my head I pictured a fat, old, balding man with glasses and black socks-with-sandals who liked golf, was secretly gay (because of his girly name), and had a big fur-covered recliner. Fur covered from his 17 Guinea pigs dressed like characters in The Wizard of Oz.

I glanced through the little window next to the door and I saw him coming down the stairs to let me in. Holy balls! He was actually attractive. Shit, I hope this isn't my date's roommate or brother or personal trainer or something. That would be my luck. He opened the door and the first thing I noticed was his beautiful sparkly blue eyes. I couldn't look away. He said, "Hi, I'm Shannon."

Jackpot!!!

In my head I was all dancing around (YESSSSS!), but on the outside I was all cool and trying my best to look intriguing and sexy. (I suck at sexy. I'm cute, but in no way, shape, or form, am I sexy.)

We agreed to eat at Applebees' in St Cloud, a short drive away. We got into his car, an Alero, and I was so nervous, I was afraid he was going to smell my sweaty armpits. I barely knew him, and we were sitting a foot apart in his black little girly car. I hoped I didn't have rodent breath. I shifted in my seat, wiped my wet palms on my jeans, and we made some small talk, which I am totally not good at.

Him: "So, what kinds of things do you like to do?"
Me: "Umm, I like to drive."
Him: "Oh. Where do you go?"
Me: "Places."

Him: "Where do you work?"
Me: "At DBL."
Him: "What do they do there?"
Me: "Make stuff."
Him: "Uh, what kind of stuff?"
Me: "Eyeglasses."

When I am forced to make small talk, there are all sorts of those uncomfortable awkward silences. That silence is the LOUDEST silence imaginable. All you do is try not to fart, so you pinch your knees together, and try not to let your throat make that weird gurgly noise.

In what seemed like 5 years later, we pulled up to the restaurant, and were seated at a booth. I looked over the menu, intelligently avoiding anything gas-inducing. I couldn't stop stealing glances at him over my menu. He was wearing a white with blue stripes button down shirt, and he had rolled the cuffs up to his elbows. He was wearing perfectly distressed jeans, and some brown casual shoes. He was so fricken hot I couldn't contain myself. I was dancing in my seat. I really wanted to make a good impression.

I'm sure I acted like an idiot. I don't get out much, and I have the world's most socially-awkward mother. My mom does things like laugh loudly at people in public, says wildly-inappropriate things at very inappropriate times, and is generally inappropriate. Sometimes it's fun, but most times you want to duck and cover. So I don't really have a good social compass to go by. Anyways, he seemed to be impressed by my skills with the steak knife, so he invited me for a beer at a close-by bar.

God knows alcohol and lack of social skills don't mix, but he was sufficiently amused enough to keep talking to me. And smiling. Gosh, his smile was amazing. His whole face just lit up every time he smiled. I'm sure I looked like a complete ass, just smiling and staring at him and nodding, but I didn't care.

We went back to his place and sat on the floor. Now you couldn't get me to shut up. Now I was totally an open book, and we talked for a few hours. I had to tear myself up off the floor to go back home and back to my girls. We hugged and I left.

He called the next night when I was in the tub. I told him how totally naked and covered in bubbles I was, and that sealed the deal. He was hooked. Oldest trick in the book.

The next weekend, we went to a Timberwolves basketball game. We had so much fun, laughing and talking, that we didn't even watch the game. There were no silences. When we got back to his place, we were saying goodbye and I couldn't take it anymore. I pressed up against him, hard, put my hand around the back of his neck, and kissed him with all the pent up frustrations of past and present. I may have bit him.

He liked it. I left, knowing full well that I had him. Had him like Kim Kardashian has her bubblicious ass. We have been together ever since that day.

We were married August 6, 2006. Our wedding day was hot, the DJ never showed up, I didn't enjoy the food because I was knocked up and nauseous with our first baby, and I wasn't able to get drunk and happy with everyone else. Needless to say I didn't have a good time. It was not a picture-perfect wedding. Even the wedding pictures were bad.

 It goes to show, that a perfect wedding does not a perfect marriage make. 

After all, the toughest iron is forged through fire.

The road has been a crazy one. We have gone through so much together, and it's not over. But we have so much animalistic bow-chicka-bow-wow attraction to each other, commitment to each other and our marriage, and friendly companionship together, that no matter what, we will always be.

 I'm totally the peanut butter to his chocolate cup. 

Running away from my issues

The other day- actually, on Mother's day, I bought these shoes at TJmaxx. I thought they would be totally cute to bum around in. I am super exited to wear them, as I usually buy old-lady type of "athletic" shoe. I thought it was funny that they say "GO run" on them, as I had no plans to run, or even walk fast. Eff that. I prefer to shuffle about...

Here's the deal. I totally have issues with needing to blow off steam. I have fantasies of punching things and learning to kick-box all fancy like some little Asian karate ninja-guy. I imagine that I would be all cool and sneaky and then POW! karate some mean-guy right in the junk.

But I know that I would look totally stupid and probably hurt myself.

Back to the blowing off steam. I am going to listen to my shoes which are commanding me to go run. Because I used to run and it helped blow off steam. I always start out running all crazy and bouncy and flailing about. Remember the Friends episode where Phoebe and Rachel run and Rachel is embarrassed by Phoebe's running skills? Maybe this will refresh your memory...

So, I don't know when, but I know fo sho that I need to go pound some pavement. Now I need some sexy compression pants to strap in my jiggly hindquarters....

New Recipes Tab!

I'm super excited to start sharing our favorite recipes with you! You can find links to the recipes as I add them if you click on the "Recipes" tab and then look under the heading of what you are looking for. I only have 1 up so far, but I will add more as I get spare time. HA!

Our Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies

I searched far and wide and experimented A LOT to find the best cookie for us. Finding the best chocolate chip cookies are like trying to find the best soda, the best restaurant, the best rock band, or the best panties. It is all subjective. There is no "perfect" recipe- only what's perfect for you. This recipe is pretty forgiving and adaptable. Me, I like chewy cookies, with slightly crispy edges. My husband likes all crispy to soak up milk, so I just leave them in the oven a bit longer. These are great for lunches, great for a good "mommy" breakfast with a side of Diet Coke, or great to throw out the window at the kids for a snack.

Enjoy!

Crap you Need:
2 c. flour
1/2 t baking soda
3/4 c butter- melted (I use salted so I don't add extra salt to the recipe.)
1 c packed brown sugar
1/2 c white sugar

1 T pure vanilla extract (Do yourself a favor and stop buying imitation crap. You can get real stuff inexpensively if you buy the store brand.)

1 egg
1 egg yolk
1 c semisweet chocolate chips
1 c milk chocolate chips (Yes, I am aware of the 2 kinds of chocolate. Yes, it does make a difference.)
*You can also add a handful of walnuts or raisins or whatever crap you want. We are not health freaks, so I stick to chocolate.

Crap you Need to Do:
Measure your dry ingredients  (flour, and baking soda) in a bowl and then let your kid stir it with a whisk to get it all aired up.
Pour the butter and sugars in your mixing bowl and beat until light and creamy (Oh, about 3 minutes.) Add vanilla and egg and yolk and beat another minute or so until light colored and smooth. Mix in the floury mixture just until blended. Don't over mix or it will be not good. Let your kid dump in the chocolate. Stir in your nuts or raisins or whatever you want.
Now, this part is hard. Put plastic wrap over the whole mess and stick it in the fridge for at least an hour. (You may want to have a few spoonfuls of dough first- it's the food of the Gods...)
Heat your oven to 375.
Put balls of dough on a cookie sheet and stick it in. (Duh)
Bake about 12 minutes. Give or take a few. For chewy cookies, bake just until the edges start turning golden and the tops don't look wet anymore. Then quick! Take them out and set on the counter and let them rest on the cookie sheet a bit. Then slide onto cooking racks or the counter if you don't have a nice rack. (HA!)
EAT THEM! NOM NOM!

A Mother’s Prayer for Her Daughter... By Tina Fey

I was trolling the facebook this morning with a package of donuts in my lap and stumbled across this gem. Yes, I know mother's day was yesterday, but really, we all know every day is mother's day. This was written by the awesome Tina Fey. Even though it was clearly written for fun, I think it has the combination of crystal clear honesty and fervent-ness us mothers feel on a day to day basis when we raise our eyes upward and summon God to help us get through the day.  It had me ugly crying with donut dust all over my face. Enjoy.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered,

May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half...

And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her

When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.

Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes

And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. 

Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long,

For Childhood is short — a Tiger Flower blooming magenta for one day –

And Adulthood is long and Dry-Humping in Cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever,

That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers, and the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,

Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,

For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord,

That I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck.

“My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental note to call me. And she will forget.

But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

Best. Movie. Ever.

This is not the kind of motherhood I pictured...

Can I be honest? 

Oh, of course I can, because these are MY mumblings, after all. 

There are days I barely keep my head above water. I feel like I'm in the middle of the ocean, in the middle of a hurricane, without a life jacket, with sharks nibbling my toes. 

I've already mentioned my problems with depression. If you haven't read about it, click here. 

Some days are really awesomesauce. The sun shines, there's fresh donuts at the store, I have fun clothes on, my new Glamour mag came in the mail, nobody craps on the floor, no one pisses the bed, and everything is peachy keen. On those days, I even find time to do projects with the kids, and I go to bed at night thinking the day was great. 

And then some days are bad days. Sometimes, I can be all rational about bad days. (One of my light bulb moments? Click here). After all, they happen to everyone. Those days, I can get out of a funk pretty easily with the help of the Pinterest humor page, some chocolate, and a little time to be alone. On those days, I try to remember to hug all the kids at least once. (yeah, when you have this many, sometimes you lie in bed at night hoping you hugged them all that day.)

But then there are days like today.

Today started like an ordinary day. Mikey was awake at 5:30, I fed him his milk, and I brought him down for Shannon to watch at 6. Shannon is normally awake at that time, and he graciously watches the kids while I go back upstairs for another hour of sleep. My alarm woke me at 7:38. (Yeah, weird time. I like to be weird.) I stretched, shook the dream out of my ears, and put in my eyes. If I don't put my contacts in in the morning, there is no hope. I am more blind than that black dude with the glasses who sings and plays piano.

Anyways, Shannon came up with Mikey, handed him to me, and he got in the shower. I took Mikey downstairs and tried my best to keep Brielle and Mikey quiet so Emily would stay sleeping. I tried to set Mikey down, but he wasn't having none of it, so I stuck him on my hip while I cleaned the crumbs and jam and yogurt up in the kitchen, started a load of laundry, vacuumed, cleaned the toothpaste off the bathroom counter, picked all the clothes up off the floor and threw them in the hamper, put the empty cans in the recycling, and generally straightened the house. (It's nice Shan watches the kids so I can sleep an extra hour, but man, does that house get dirty in those short 60 minutes!)

By that time, Mikey was really crabby, so I tried to give him more milk, and started rocking and singing to him to try to put him down for nap. Like all babies, he will not relax and wind down unless I am standing, hopping on one foot, playing the clarinet, and dancing the mamba all at the same time. (Most of the time, he is such a good baby, but sometimes he just wants mamma to rock and sway.)

Finally, he was asleep, and I put him down. As I came downstairs, I slipped on our retarded spiral staircase and ripped my chode. For all of you who are clueless about chode, it's the general crotchal region. I pulled some stupid crotch muscle I didn't even know I had. Then I heard Emily crying her I'm-going-to-be-a-little-pain-today cry. Which means she woke up on the wrong side of the crib and she would be a terror all day. So I got her out, and she was soaked. I put her in the tub and stripped the bed. Brielle got in the tub with her, and I gave both girls apples to munch on. I then went upstairs to rearrange Brennan's room to fit the giant beanbag chair in it that Shannon was sick of stumbling over in the office. I got Brennan's room quickly in order, and Shannon's dad showed up to go to Brennan's grandparents day, which was so adorable! I went back downstairs, checked on the girls, who were spitting chewed up apples into the tub, and went into the laundry room to switch the loads out. I stepped in water.

For those of you that don't know, ever since we bought this house 6 years ago, our septic has backed up into the house no less than 547 times. No lie. Maybe a *bit* exaggerated, but it's been at least 6 times a year. Our floor drain is in the middle of the main floor of the house, inside the laundry room. I don't know why the septic has so many issues. I don't know if it is because my husband needs a full roll to wipe his hairy ass each time he goes "poo," or if we just go through so much water that the tank doesn't have enough time to settle out, but it sucks. Sucks hairy ballsack.

So, I go in the kitchen for my phone and remember that all 4 girls have dentist appointments at 10:20 today. It's 9:45 now, and so I quickly get the girls out of the tub, put the shit problem on the back burner for now, and get the girls dressed. I realize that of course I forgot to tell the older girls I would be picking them up from school, so they have no clue, and that Mikey is still sleeping, and I'm wearing my jammies. I run upstairs, put on something relatively stain free and wake up the baby. He's covered in baby poo, so I run down to change him, and in the process, I slip again, and pull my crotch-again! AND bang my head. Damn! Mikey is fine, so I toss him down, get him clothes, get him cleaned up, and now it's 10:05. Now I smell shats again, this time coming from Emily. I change her again. Now everyones clean and poo-free. We run out to the truck, and I grab my cell phone. 

I call the school to warn them of my arrival, and by some miracle, Lilly is ready and waiting. For some ungodly reason, she is wearing her super-short sleep-shorts today even though it's cold and rainy out, and you can see her underpants. Lovely with her stork legs. 

I throw her in the back of the truck and we fly over the speed bumps to the high school, where Jaeli is leisurely walking towards us. Why do teenagers have all the time in the world? I suppress the urge to lay on the horn and scream obscenities at her. Score 1 for me!

Since the city is undergoing some huge road construction project to annoy us make the streets nice, we pull up behind the dentist office, entering through the back door. *snicker*

All of us troop through the entire office, dragging mud all the way. I check the clock. 10:25. Yesssss! Lilly gets called back and I settle in with Mikey on my lap. No less than 15 seconds later, and Emily is pulling Brielle's hair for taking the germ infested dentist office toy train from her. Brielle fires back with a slap, and it's on. Some jerky dude gives me a dirty look and I shoot him my best seductive smile to throw him off. It works. Mikey starts fussing, and I pat myself on the back for remembering to make him a bottle before we left. 

That works for 40 seconds. Then he wants down to play with the petri dishes they call toys. Greaaat. I set him down, because he is 22 pounds of heavy, squirmy slobbery baby. Oh well. The gonorrhea, lice and jock itch on the floor builds immunity, right?

Over the next hour, he and Emily tag-team my lap. At one point, while on the phone trying to schedule a septic tank-pumping, I was holding both of them. I make a few calls and get someone lined up to come take a look at the poo-issues.

50 minutes of fights, tears, and screaming later, and they are finally done. Mikey is crabby and fussing. Emily is whining. The dental people all look relieved that we are leaving. I can tell by the way they say, "See you in 6 months!" I almost forget Brielle in the bathroom, but unfortunately thankfully, she spots us with her eagle eye as we are leaving, and everyone makes it into the truck. 

Since we missed the girls' lunchtimes, we swing through some fast food place and grab burgers for all involved. I have the presence of mind to get more m&m's and some reese's PB cocaine-cups. I drop off the girls back at school, and race home since Mikey has reached his limit of 120 minutes since his last bedtime. He wants a nap. bad. Brielle says her tummy hurts. Shit.

I squeal into the driveway, and with the speed rivaling an Indy 500 pit crew member, I get all the kids inside.

Emily spills her soda all over the kitchen floor, and Mikey is red-face pissed tired. (The worst kind of tired.) I get Brielle a bucket and tell her to lay still on the couch.  Shannon is walking all over the house with wet, muddy pant legs. I tell everyone not to flush the toilet (because of the poo-issue) and go upstairs to try to get Mikey to sleep, but he pinches my arm skin. So we come back down, and I find poos on the floor of the laundry room, because SOMEONE flushed. That's when I lost my shit.

I am proud to say I didn't swear, throw things, or nail any one's fingernails to the floor, but I cried. A lot. It took FOREVER to get Emily and Mikey finally to bed. Then I ate ALL the m&m's and the PB cups. 

These are the days of our lives. 

These are the kind of days that make me drown. These are the kind of days that make it impossible for me to tell if I'm irritable and depressed from lack of sleep, irritable from all the shit that's going down with all these kids day to day, or irritable and anxious from all the sugar and caffeine I consume to help me deal with my day. 

I truly can't tell if I'm depressed and anxious from never getting REM sleep because I haven't gotten more than 3 hours uninterrupted sleep since 1914 2004.

I know people will say to cut the sugar and caffeine. But if I did that, I would look like this:

Where's my effin'  PB cups and Diet Coke?!!!

And what the hell do I do about lack of sleep? I can't just go to sleep for 5 days straight!

I just don't think my depression meds are cutting it anymore, and I'm at the max dose of the flavor I take. I think it's time to wean off, and see what shit-storm happens. Maybe it's the meds that's making me cray-cray.Who knows. Maybe I'm just insane. Hey, if they let you read magazines and drink soda at asylums, maybe I should just go to one for help a vacation....

Anyway, The day is not over, and I hear Emily waking up. 

Motherhood is hard. Having 6 kids is not easy. Someday, I hope I get a break. Until then, our local store better keep PB cups in stock. And if Diet Coke stops being made, I'm screwed.

I love my kids. I love being home with them. But some days, I have to repeat that over and over in my head, chanting- Native American style- to keep myself from going nuts. 

And someday I will sleep. 

I worked in a nursing home a long time ago, and I always wondered why all the old ladies slept all the time. I thought it was because they are old. But no. It's because they're catching up on lost sleep. Years and years of lost sleep.

The sweet, easy slumber of a hard job finally finished.

Yes, 6 is enough.

What were they thinking?!

Yeah, this looks like a fantastic horseshit idea!

I'm not kidding. That picture is of an actual product currently for sale through Amazon. The actual description reads: 

"Inflatable Learner Swim Float/Swimming Float Neck Collar -

 Offers best protection for your Child/Baby while they REALLY learn to swim!"

What? My baby will REALLY learn to swim with this choke collar on? Guess I didn't know that babies needed to swim! What's next? A support device for the stair-master? Clearly, this product is made in the wonderful country of China. 

"Provides a sense of security and comfort for your baby in the water."

Think about how this must feel. Doesn't this seem *a bit* uncomfortable for a baby to wear? You know how when you're swimming in the lake with your life jacket on and it starts pushing up around your neck and you feel like you're choking? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea to strap around your baby's neck! Wow, mom, thanks- I feel so safe and secure with this gripped around my neck!

In fact, one of the product reviews said that a baby died while wearing this. How sad. How terrible for that baby to have been born to such shit-for-brains parents. Nope, this floatie doesn't look unsafe at all....

What are your thoughts?

*On a side note, I hope you enjoy the new look of my blog. I've been tweaking it a bit. :) 

Having one is a lot different than having the whole 6 pack....

This 6 Pack effectively ruined mine....

Everyone knows all of those cute little "momsy" sayings:

Like, "A mother holds her child's hand for a little while, but holds their heart forever." 

And, "Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children."

Everyone knows being a mom is rewarding.

And everyone knows being a mom is hard. Real hard.  

Blah Blah Blah. Yada Yada Yada. It's a whole different ballgame when you have 6 of them.

When you get pregnant with baby #1, usually it's a wonderful time. Full of anticipation and dreams. Being nervous about how the dog will adjust to the baby. With a partner who massages your feet. (I didn't have this, but hopefully most of you do/did). Planning the nursery, buying baby stuff. Good times. With baby #2, you're excited for your older child to have a sibling. Prepping for the new baby, being nervous about how the other child will adjust...But by the time you're impregnated with #6, you don't care where it sleeps. A cardboard box will do. You don't need fancy baby equipment, because there are always kids jumping around to look at. No one is worried about adjustment because the other kids won't even notice another body in the house. You and your partner are so exhausted from chasing kids all day that you fall asleep drooling on opposite ends of the couch at 8:30 P.M. You give the 2 year old candy to bribe her into massaging your feet. 

And when you are in those 2 months of pregnancy, and your belly skin is all elastic from all those babies, your belly will toss from one side to the other, like there are 2 feral, rabid cats in there fighting over a dead decomposing rat. It is so uncomfortable, you will want to grab the nearest rusty steak knife and get the little bugger out. 

Not everyone gets hemorrhoids or stretch marks all over their bellies or constipation. I went through 6 pregnancies and never had a one of those. Not everybody's the same, so if some chick in the checkout is giving you the details about her hemorrhoids the size of floaties, kick her in the smush mitten. People love telling you horror stories. And people love saying stupid shit, like, "You look like you have your hands full!" and "Are all of those kids yours?!" "No, no, lady, I just found all of them. You see, I Collect Blonde Children." See what I did there? That's how I got my blog name....

Everyone knows that boobs sag after a few pregnancies. But after breastfeeding 6, they look like sad little rotten avocados. All wrinkly and whatnot. Like elephant skin. The stretch marks start to cave in on themselves. But it's not like Victoria's Secret is looking for middle age, mothers of 6 to be modeling swimsuits. No biggie. It's not like I need them to hold up tube tops, or to support a shot glass or anything.

On the subject of fun bags, mother nature played one hell of a cruel joke when she programmed women's bodies to store fat in their thighs and hips after children, and lose it from the hooter area. What the hell is up with that? I know more than a few women who would love to redistribute the goods. Oh well, those big ol' hips come in handy for carrying a baby. And for filling out a pencil skirt quite nicely. Va Va Voom.

That excess stretchy belly skin is good entertainment for toddlers. Kinda like Play-dough without the mess.

When you have 6 kids, there is always someone screaming. About nothing. For some reason, kids like to hear themselves shriek at the top of their lungs. I'm sure on more than one occasion, our neighbors have almost called the cops because they thought someone was being dismembered and lobotomized, when the actual reason for the screaming was that one of Barbie's pink boots that match her roller derby skank outfit was missing. Gasp!

With the 6, there is always built in playmates. Someone always wants a story read, or needs a boo-boo kissed, or wants to play fetch catch. There's always someone ready to wrestle with, play hide go seek with, or torture mommy with. 

A fun thing about kids is that they are never grossed out by you. They especially like body noises. You can sit on the couch next to them, ripping them off, and you can all bond over trying to guess what it smells like. "Raw Meat!" "Rotting Fish!" "McDonald's Bathroom!" "Old Mangy Goat Carcass!" It's a jolly family guessing game.

As you fold towels, you hear one of your kids asking, "Where's mommy?" And another one says, "Mommy's upstairs" and in your head you are like, "Huh? Mom's not here....OH SHIT! They're talking about ME!" I still do this. Every. Time. You never get used to being "Mom." Because "Mom" is your mom. And she's old. And Mother's Day still feels like her day. Or your Grandma's day. Its a weird concept. 

You know you have a ton of kids when all you want for mothers day is a day all by yourself. No kids. No man. Just a book, a comfy chair, the sun, and endless soda with ice and a straw.

When you have 6 kids, there is no such thing as "laundry day." It's laundry day every single day. We reuse towels, pajamas, and dishtowels, and I still do at least 18 loads a week. It. Sucks.

But you do have built in slaves. You give everyone a job, and then you can sit and drink wine relax. Ha. Relax. What does that mean? I only get free time if I let someone cry, or lock everyone out of the house. The only way I'm able to put on makeup or clothes in the morning or "go to the bathroom" is if I get out the candy bowl or fruit snacks and throw them at the kids and put some cartoon crap on the TV. At most, this buys me 10 minutes.

Messes are inevitable. At least once a day, milk spills, someone pees on the floor or in the bed, someone drips honey in the carpet, and cereal gets smashed into the couch. 

By the time you have 6, that last baby is so happy, jolly and mellow from getting fed by, entertained by, played with, smiled at, cuddled with, poked at, and held by every member of the family. Everyone loves #6.

It's weird having kids ranging in age from almost 14 down to 7 months. You have everything from mood swings, messes and ravenous hunger to, well, I guess it's pretty much the same all the way across the board. Except with babies, you have to change their pants. I wouldn't want to change teenager pants. 

Having a flock of kids is fun, horrible, great, wonderful, messy, fantastic, crazy, and insane all at the same time. You will feel like you are losing your mind one minute, and then the next, you hear your kids talking about how you make the best cookies ever and then you realize that someday, you will have such a lovely large family to invite over for the holidays. And you will secretly give your grand-kids mountain dew and candy and then send them home with their parents. Mehehe... Payback's a bitch, kids......(hands furiously rubbing together...)