Well I guess that's better than crying...

Hailley did it again.  She locked herself in the downstairs bathroom.  We've been through this before, so to my ignorance, I assumed my 3-year old would remember the drama of the past and learn from her mistakes.  Silly Mommy, as Hailley would say.

I tried to explain the mechanics of the door lock to her through the door.  Result: hysterical "I CANT!" over and over.  Nope, not going to work.

I tried to unscrew the door handle off the door (mind you, with a flat-head screwdriver that I KNOW didn't work well with the Phillips head screws in the door handle, but it's ALL I HAD DAMMIT!)  I found myself cursing the very same lock I once so loved; the one lock that allowed me to escape my family every now and again.  Result: The handle got very loose. It could not be removed that way.

I tried to explain to Hailley again about the door lock.  This time I increased the volume of my voice.  (Us parents don't really want to use the term yelling, but yeah, there it is.)  Result: total meltdown inside the bathroom.  Nope, still not effective. 

I tried to simply ignore her and continue my exam studying.  My reasoning: Blake will be home soon, he's the one that fixes this problem.  I also thought she might just figure it out on her own.  Result: after 1 minute of that, total guilt.  What the hell was I thinking?? I can't just leave her in there!

So I went outside the house to the bathroom window.  As I tried to push the window up from the outside, I started laughing.  I was cracking up outside my house in broad daylight while I was talking to the window.  Whatever will the neighbors think? Finally, in-between hysterical giggles, I managed to get the window open. I bribed my daughter with gum if she would try unlocking the door again with me pointing out instructions.  I might have lost some weight recently, but squeezing through that smaller than normal window space was not an option I was willing to exercise.  Hailley quickly unlocked the door and announced she knew that was how it was done.  Awesome, kid.  Thanks.

Final Result: A smile on my daughter's face as she chewed her gum, a smile on my face (possibly complete loss of sanity, but who cares at this point) and a good story to tell. 

Nail Polish Remover Has Met its Match!

I woke up this morning when I heard my son start to whine from his upstairs bedroom.  I stumbled from my bed in my husband and my's makeshift room (ours is under construction, so we are now blessed with having our bed be the first thing people see when they enter our front door!) I crept up the stairs and collected Maximus.  He was cheerful upon seeing my face, which eased the pain I felt from leaving my warm nest.

I dressed him and his big sister in cute clothes (we are going to a moms' group today) and we tromped back downstairs to get breakfast.  Before I made two little bowls for my children though, I disappeared into the bathroom. My stomach has been hurting badly lately.  We won't get into any more detail here other than to say it has been deterring me from my typically responsible actions, like get the kids their food BEFORE I take care of my debilitating cramps.

 As I waited out my pains in the bathroom, I glanced over the nail polish job I attempted last night.  Botched again.  I waited two and a half hours after painting them to go to bed and STILL have linen prints all over each nail!

I heard a plunk outside the bathroom door.  Lately, anytime I hear a sound I immediately assume it is Maximus finding mischief.  You know what?  I am usually correct.  I was correct again today...

I exited the bathroom in a hurry and looked around for the disaster.  "Oh Max!!"

He had found my nail polish bag that I foolishly left out from the night before.  He grabbed the nail polish remover and entered our kitchen.  Maximus somehow ripped the top of the lid off the bottle and proceeded to dump its contents all over the floor.  Only a photo of the bottle will help you understand how this kid did it.  He can't open bottles normally, but to shred the top apart? He's got that down.  Thank God he's alright!

Just when I thought...

I went away for the weekend with my girl friends.  It was wonderful; we enjoyed a child-free, carefree weekend together.  I slept in!  I sat in a hot tub! I shopped for myself! (Kind of.) I left my two younger children; Maximus, now 10 months, and Hailley, 2 1/2, in the care of my husband during this time. 

Now I trust my husband completely.  I was slightly worried about the state of the house upon my return, but I was pretty sure my kids were in capable hands.  When I came home Sunday afternoon everything seemed pretty good to me.  The kitchen looked like it had never seen a dishrag, every possible plate and silverware piece we own was unclean and the dog bowls were bone dry, but I can settle for that. 

I asked Blake, my wonderful husband, how his weekend was. 
"Great!" He responded cheerfully.  The kids were bathed and napping he told me.  He relayed his weekend activities and I divulged mine, and then we resumed our lives. 

The next day I was giving my son a morning bath and I noticed that the caps to both the baby shampoo and the baby wash were closed.  This may not sound abnormal to you, but it struck me as odd because Blake is incapable of shutting any lid, ever.  He leaves open ketchup tops, water bottle tops, baby wipes, cupboards, etc.  You name it, he leaves it open.  Well that is sweet of him, I thought.  He actually remembered to close two lids!

I was wrong.  I ignored my instincts.  I went against my intuition in defense of my husband, the father of my children, the love of my life.  I hoped he closed those lids. 

The day after my suspicious observation, I noticed what lid Blake had left open in the bathroom: the lid for the dog shampoo. 

My Bloomin Baby Boy

Maximus, my five month-old son, is crawling.  Okay, fine, so its scooting, technically, but either way, he's on the move!  I am so grateful that I get to see his first moves; I worked when both of my daughters were infants, so I didn't get to experience the joy that comes with actually catching "the firsts". 

Boy, oh boy, is he moving fast though!  I mean in his progression.  Just a couple of weeks ago (I have April 1st on the calendar as the first time he scooted) he reached for a toy and then pushed himself forward on his elbows  to get it.  Yesterday Max had to be removed from under the table where he was trying to investigate some cords.  I had set him down in the middle of the floor, so he traveled about 4 1/2 feet in the less than two minutes I averted my eyes.  Where's the fire buddy? 

This morning, he was so wriggly that I couldn't finish changing him on the changing table.  He kept rolling over!  I moved him to the floor and found myself trying to button his onesie while he was on his stomach scooting away from me.  Really?

I thought I had more time with a cuddly newborn!  I guess not.  I keep thinking, if this is what he is like now, what is he going to be doing in two, three months?  When he is a year old?  Heaven help us. 

(Quick prayer to God:  Father, please watch over my wild little boy, and give me the patience and skill to deal with his future shenanigans.)

Sweat Baby, Sweat

This year I joined the millions of other Americans who vowed to lose weight in 2012.  I am proud to announce that I have stuck to my goal (which was not a New Year's alcohol-induced declaration, thank you!) so far this year and I have worked out every single week since the first week of January. Three times a week minimum, at least 30 minutes per time.  Come hell or high water, I'm doing it! 

My husband treated us to a gym membership, which is my preferred method of huffing my way to a sweaty disaster, but alas, it is not always possible for me to get there.  To compensate for this, I have invested in home workout activities.  I have the Wii Fit, the Just Dance 3 game (which totally rocks! ), an exercise ball that spends more time entertaining my daughters than me, and lately, my BabyTone Workout DVD by Dustin Maher.  I love this DVD, and I highly recommend checking it out.  Of course I have the stamina of silly putty so this workout makes my cellulite beg for mercy, but it's worth it.

The workout is cool because it requires using your baby as a weight in the routines.  Maximus LOVES this.  So does Hailley.  She screams in delight, invades my workout space, and even has tried to climb me as I exercise.  I can now add "tree" to my resume.  Sweet. 

Today Hailley had a new idea.  I was standing in the living room holding Max out in front of me as if he had a loaded diaper, while I did squats.  Maximus is squealing in delight, and I am praying my legs don't snap like pretzel sticks in thick cheese dip.  Hailley watched me for a moment, then she went to her room, got her baby-doll and started mimicking me.  It was so cute!  And much better than pretending I am a tree. 

She does listen...

Yesterday I took my kids grocery shopping.  If you want an adrenaline rush, skip the bungee jumping or luging- just take my three kids to Walmart!  There is ALWAYS someone who melts down during shopping (hint: it's not me!) Add this stress to the dirty looks I get while toting around a shrieking toddler/infant/both, and I'm either burning calories at lightning speed or I'm setting myself up for coronary failure.  I once had an elderly woman ask me: "Is that your child?"  I felt like saying,  "No, I just randomly bring screaming kids that aren't mine around here, just for the fun of it!" I now treat shopping for food like an obstacle course, and I'm racing against myself and the time it took me before.  In and out in 45 minutes-that's a record! 

Anyway so after I pull into our apartment complex and park, I arrange for Swaylynn to take Hailley up the stairs while I get the groceries up.  Our apartment is on the second floor, so this is also an exercise in speed: hurry up and get my stuff upstairs before Hailley notices the gate is down and wanders over to the staircase (and I have a heart attack!)  Sway is an excellent helper, and usually occupies her little sister while I do the heavy lifting.  Yesterday, however, Sway came out after me because she had to bring in her backpack.  I was loading up my arms with bags from the trunk already-as many as my noodle biceps can handle.  Sway comes around the other side of the car and says to me, "Can you please put my coat on your head and carry it in?  My arms are full."  I look at my daughter.  She has her backpack and her coat, both of which she could put on and carry inside, and she wants me to help her?
"Sway look at all the stuff I'm carrying!" I huff as I turn to go inside.  No way I'm adding to the teetering load I now am balancing.  This is what I hear behind me, coming from the mouth of my eight-year old:
"Oh, you are fine. That's what you always tell me when I have a bunch of stuff to carry, so I guess now it's my turn to tell you- you are fine!"
I laughed all the way inside and up the stairs.  I guess I had that coming.

Are You Coming Home Honey?

Ah, the weekend.  Saturdays are made for sleeping in (7:30), relaxing (laundry) and...marker all over Hailley's face?  I opened her bedroom door to see her sitting on Sway's chair pillow, decorating her face and the pillow with blue marker.  My little artist.  And it was only 8 am. 

After the art fiasco, the rest of my day went as follows:
The house was a disaster.  I started cleaning immediately. Hailley peed on the living room table (potty training is fun!) Swaylynn, my 8 year-old, started to melt down around 11 because I let her stay up too late the night before.  Being the genius I am, I put her down for a nap with Hailley. This meant they spent their quiet time fighting.  Maximus, my 4 month-old, was gassy and therefore irritable and refused to nap when the girls did.  This meant I also did not get a nap in.  By the time Blake came home at 3:30, I was ready to escape. 

Now my husband loves me and wants me to be happy.  However, if I don't declare some "me" time then it just doesn't happen.  Men are so different-they take care of themselves first and everyone else comes after that.  It is not that Blake is cruel or overly selfish, its just the way he is programmed.  This is why when he sauntered home finally, I handed him the baby and said, "Well, I've got a few errands to run, so I'm leaving."  I had no idea where I was going to go or what I was going to do, but I figured I'll get to that after I get the heck out of the house. 

"Okay honey!" was his cheerful response.  I quickly explained that everyone was hungry and grouchy, and I headed out the door without even changing out of my Mom At Work outfit.  I had escaped!  I went straight to the mall.  I never go shopping.  For a person who rarely goes anywhere without diapers and goldfish snacks, I felt like I was on vacation.  My plan was to window shop mostly.  Oh, I had a fantastic time.  So much fun in fact, trying on dresses and drooling over shoes and treating myself to a new necklace, that I never even looked at my cell phone to check the time. Finally the high started to wear off and I heard my cell phone chirp with a new text message.  My husband had written, Do you plan to come home honey?

Of course I planned to come home. Eventually.

The Prodigal Slipper and the Stapler

My nearly two-year old loves to throw things.  She has no preference really to what she picks up and whips.  Hailley throws paper, pencils, books, toys, balls, keys, garbage, food, socks, shoes, underwear and herself when she feels the need.  She often accompanies this action with running in the opposite direction of the individual who so desires the item she possesses.  As the person who suffers the most from this, I strongly dislike her hurling action.  I try to put on my Mary Poppins face and nicely tell her not to run away with my stuff, but she does anyway.  I choke down the urge to yell at her cherubic little face when she whips it across the room out of reach as I'm feeding the baby.  I bite my lip to discourage myself from going into her room and throwing all HER stuff-let's see how she likes a taste of her own medicine!! I sit back and remember that I am the adult, whether or not I feel like it.
As you can probably guess, many, many household things are lost after they leave Hailley's chubby little fingers and are launched into space.  Most recently was my mini stapler that I use for my college classes.  The thing simply disappeared.  I searched everywhere to no avail.  I knew though.  I knew who was behind the crime.  Without any evidence though, I couldn't prove her guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.
I recently removed the baby bassinet from beside our bed.  Do you know what I found where the bassinet once was?  Of course you do, and I certainly should have known too.   A slipper!  The slipper that the entire family spent time searching for a month ago, all in vain.  And right next to that prodigal slipper? My stapler. 

It's Totally Worth It

It is not easy getting up at 5 in the morning.  I grovel at the feet of my husband Blake, who gets up at 3 a.m. to go work out and get ready to be at work by 7.  However I am trying to make these mornings more enjoyable (or are least productive). 
This morning I was busy cleaning our apartment in preparation for some guests we are expecting over later.  I started my morning with some Joyce Meyer preaching, and then the CD player automatically moved on to the next CD in the slot after Joyce's teaching on Power Thoughts was finished.  A mix of the music from our wedding popped on.  As I'm wandering around, humming to myself, my daughter Hailley approaches.  She wants to dance with me! 
We twirl around the living room at 6:30 a.m., giggling and singing along to Ray Charles "I Got a Woman", and I realize that my early risings are all worth it for this moment.

Mount Dresser

Oh glorious nap time.  The time of day where I am ALONE and can entertain thoughts and activities that don't center around messy diapers, goldfish ground into my carpet or Hailley's favorite board book from Hawaii, which is currently crusted closed by.. IDK a fruit squeeze snack? Eww. 
Anyway so yesterday I put Hailley and Maximus down for their afternoon "quiet time"; the word "nap" is met with great resistance in my home.  But before I tell you what happened, let me explain something first. Nap time in my home is not always peaceful for me (or Hailley for that matter).  It can be very bad.  Previous naps have led to permanent marker all over the TV, nail polish on my childhood teddy bear's face, and fecal matter on the carpet and wall.  Nap time is met with nervous apprehension by me, and doom by Hailley.  (Max is an infant and still likes to sleep, and is too little to wreak havoc yet.)
So where was I? Yes, yesterday.  I put the children into their rooms and set about my own business.  After I while I heard Hailley start to scream from her room.  I rush in to find this scenario:

• The radio is on as usual, but it is now blasting the Christian radio station I tune into.
• I look at Hailley's toddler bed.  Empty.
• My eyes shoot to Swaylynn's bed (the 8 year old not home).  Empty.
• I look at the rest of the room.  Most of the dresser drawers are open, and some of Sway's clothes are spread around the area.  Still no Hailley.

Finally I see my 23 month old daughter perched on top of the tall dresser.  She has opened the drawers and climbed up the five feet to the top.  She is teary-eyed and has her Chicago Bears jersey (Hester, for those of you who are curious!) over her head and on one arm, like a sling.  Top-of-dresser items (all off limits to the child sitting in their place) are scattered across the floor, including Sway's peacock feathers and the lava lamp.  She is sitting next to the blasting radio.
She looks at me and says, "DOWN!"

Really?

Whose bed is this?

Right now I should be sleeping.  I should be fast asleep, dreaming about a clean apartment, or being skinny again, or Jason Segel.  Lord knows I could use my "beauty rest". This morning, however, I gave up this precious allotted amount of time by 4:50 a.m.  Why the *@#& would I do this, you ask?  I blame my son Maximus.
Max is four months old, and already suffers from an addiction.  "What??" You might think to yourself.  "I am reading a blog that a drug-induced mother wrote?" No, of course not.  I gave up drugs days ago.  (insert sarcasm here)  He really has an addiction though, and it is to my bed. 
I can't argue with the kid.  My husband and I enjoy a queen-sized cloud covered in bedding from my favorite store, Target.  This is the place I would vacation to every summer if I could.  So I get why he feels so comfortable here. But.. really? His satisfaction in taking over my side leaves me suffering.  I know what you're thinking-so don't let the kid sleep in your bed dummy!  Oh, if only it were that easy.  You try listening to a baby cry in his crib for even five minutes.  Parents of the world get it.  Before I know it he is happily nestled against me, breastfeeding.  Then he is asleep but I am a human pacifier.  Then he is kicking my left boob repeatedly (um, hello, way to kick the boob that fed you!) Finally he starts oohing and ahhing incessantly, a trait he picked up from his father.  So I vacate the premises, and he falls back asleep immediately.  Go figure. 

The scene of the crime, complete with spit up.

The Bologna Slap

Every single day of my life, something strange or otherwise notable occurs that causes this reaction in me: "Really?" As a married woman with three small children, there are ample opportunities for such a situation to happen, and happen they do. 
Take last week for example.  I was taking a shower in my bathroom.  Mind you as this said married woman with three children, this act was not only necessary, as I probably hadn't showered in days, but it was also the few minutes of that day that I got to myself.  No cries to investigate, no poop to scrape off the wall, no everyday object to fetch out of a drawer for someone.  Right as I was really feeling relaxed, I heard the bathroom door open.  My 23-month old daughter Hailley opens the door, walks over to the shower, peels back the curtain and very calmly, slaps me in the leg with the slice of bologna she was eating. 
Really?
I no longer wonder why animals eat their young.