COME ON SPRING!

Can't...take it...another...minute...

Must...escape...prison...(my house)....must have fresh air! Must stop cycle of cleaning, eating, sleeping, cleaning, eating, sleeping!

Wait a second...have to take kids with me...snowpants, hats, mittens, boots, diaper bag, Dora doll, purse, snacks, sippy cups...

Nevermind...

Guilt of the 1st degree

I bought the child corral. 

I love the child corral.

My son, however, does not share the same feelings that I do for the playpen.  He tolerated his colorful prison for awhile at first.  He sat inside its parameters and played with the toys I supplied him.  He drank his sippy cups when I placed them in his little hands.  He smiled and laughed as the world continued around him. 

But as the days turned into a week, his tolerance slowly faded.  Maximus's cheerful smiles turned into cries of anger and resentment.  He literally was angry with me!  He rejected my embrace; he turned away from me and preferred Blake's hugs over my snuggles. 

I felt heartbroken.  I tried to explain my actions to Maximus: "Honey, I only put you in the corral when I have to!  I can't have you climbing the dining room table or pulling knives out of the dishwasher.  I will let you roam free as often as I can." 

It didn't matter to my son.  He refused to acknowledge my explanations!  Every time I carried him anywhere near the playpen, he started to cry.  My feelings of guilt increased with his every wail.  I began to second-guess my genius purchase.  I let my son freely roam the house again.  Trails of destruction piled up in his wake.

This is where parents struggle.  Do we do what is right for the child, even though he does not understand what is best for him, or do we allow our guilt to weigh in the child's favor? 

I am still wishy-washy on the issue.  I continue to use the playpen, but I only use it for short periods of time.  My thoughts are consumed with hopes that Maximus will outgrow his over-curious behavior soon, and the playpen can be put away until we buy a puppy.

Good God, a puppy?

The Fall of the Prince

 For the last few fortnights, my precious abode has been ruled by a tiny prince.  This prince, while handsome and cheerful by nature, also has inherent destructive qualities. He was meandering the rooms, crushing household keepsakes under his hands, teeth and feet.  Too often did I, the queen, my husband and sweet king, and our two bright-eyed princesses weep and mourn over the loss of our treasures at their fate from his chubby fingers and sharp ivories!  His regime left all fearing and trembling in his wake, for who knew when the tyranny would end?  Would any of us even survive to tell our children's children of the terror we endured?

In the evenings, after his highness drifted off towards pleasant dreams in his royal crib upstairs, I would lay awake in my makeshift room and fantasize about overthrowing his lordship.  I envisioned traps and magical spells to quell his wild antics.  I prayed for time for move faster so the little prince would outgrow his ruinous interests!   My dreams, however, failed to rise to reality. 

Seven days ago my fair mother blessed me with a splendid idea.  She, also vexed by the prince's reign over my territory, questioned why I hadn't yet purchased a corral to hold him.  I quickly described my failed attempts to place this tiny male heir into a pack n' play.  I divulged my misery when he outsmarted my gate systems.  My eyes misted as I moaned about his triumphs over my chairs, my desks and my tables! We admitted that any solution I chose must be better than those I had already seen defeated. 

I took to Amazon.com, my technological accomplice.  I poured over its contents in search of the perfect weapon (all my activities I reserved for the dark of night, so as to elude the prince of my deception.)  Finally my weary eyes caught sight of the comfort they desired:


I sent for the package.  It arrived yesterday during the prince's nap (which couldn't have been timed better, I might add.)  My secret weapon did not even require my king's strength and expertise; it was already set up!

The colorful corral was quickly established in the office, the central hub of my kingdom.  When my prince awakened I gently placed him inside its secure walls. I went about my business, with one eye resting on his adorable, beguiling frame.

I unloaded my dishwasher.  I suffered no broken dishes or frights of him grabbing a sharp object.
Maximus played with his musical instrument.

I folded laundry.  I wept no tears for collapsed clothing piles.  My handsome prince played with his sister inside the pen.

I left the bathroom door open.  My reading materials stayed out of the toilet, and my son stayed in his new play spread. Oh, sweet, precious victory!

So goes my tale of the fall of the prince.  He has tumbled from his throne, but I am relieved to note that this tumble is a metaphor, not an actual fall from a chair or table, which I so feared.  I'm sure his fall from the top won't remain perfect.  He may fuss and cry and I will occasionally acquiesce to his mournful vocalizations...

I don't care though.  I won. :)
 

10 Reasons Why Marriage Rocks

It's time I talk about my husband Blake.  He is, after all, the reason I have kids to write about!  Let's start off with a few reasons why I love being married (to the perfect guy for me!)

1) Best friends rock, but you can't snuggle with them in bed while you giggle about some stupid inside joke you two have been cracking up over for three weeks.  "Mad Whacker Leaves Police Feeling Flaccid."

2) We enjoy each other's company.  We can be totally silent and still feel great sitting next to each other.  He gives me something to look forward to every day. 

3) I don't have to wear my sexiest underwear, cook him his favorite dish or kill him with my dazzling conversations in order to get laid (not that I really had to put in that much effort, but you get the point).  These are things I do just because it comes so naturally to me.  And I never have to worry he's going to give me a gift that keeps on giving.

4) It's like having an outie puzzle piece hanging out with your innie puzzle piece.  Blake fills in the spaces where I clearly lack (examples: remembering the name of that chic we saw yesterday, stabilizing our bedroom ceiling before he drywalls it, finding that freaking sippy cup I gave up all hope of seeing again). 

5) I don't have to pray that every fart simply vanishes back into my colon.  Not that I overwhelm my hubby with gross behavior, but a surprise every now and then doesn't bump me off my pedestal.

6) There is always someone there to say something good about you.  Blake compliments me every day, and he swears he is forever honest with me.  (Thanks for lying about being honest honey! Wink, wink.) I love the way he looks after I hit on him, too; especially in public.

7) There is always someone down in the dumps with you.  At least I'm not the only one in this house who screwed up the bills again this month. 

8) Friends are cool, but their loyalty only stretches so far.  Blake has supported me through some pretty embarrassing moments! He never even breathed a word to anyone about them. No, I'm not going to tell you about them.

9) We share the same dreams.  Every time he gets all excited and starts talking about something he really wants to do in the future, from a house DIY project to a certain way he wants us to handle our future teenagers, I hear myself saying, "HECK YEAH! That sounds awesome!" 

10) I have an amazing person to travel with me down this twisted path of life.  Bonus: I won't have to keep repeating stories of the past over and over, 'cuz he will be in them! (Unless he gets forgetful, in which case, bring on that sappy scene from The Notebook.  I got your back babe!)

Not all marriages end, or are miserable, self-inflicted wounds to the soul.  You just have to meet the right person, and listen to people that aren't a bunch of downers. 

** To my husband Blake.  Happy 28th birthday honey! Don't be mad I spilled the beans about your age, old man.  I'll make up for it later (wink, wink). **

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!

MAXIMUS!!!

My son is 13 months old.  He is the most striking, intelligent child.  He claps and smiles, he dances to music, he calls the dog by name and he plays with his older sisters. I love him so much; my heart swells with pride and adoration every time I see his tiny little face. Lately though? This miniature man has been the biggest terror of my life!

Maximus is...curious, to put it in a pleasant way.  He climbs the chairs, the tables, and any other object he can use to get to the "restricted" stuff.  He stretches like gum to reach our cell phones, computer mice, cords, bobby pins, glassware, etc. in order to examine them (which often ends in the demise of the object).

In the last two weeks, my son has:
1) drowned my Glamour magazine in the toilet.
2) smashed a glass bowl on the kitchen floor after swiping it from my dishwasher.
3) pulled a chunk of Hailley's hair out of her head.
4) climbed onto the dining room table to reach my purse and destroyed/eaten its contents.
5) chugged what he could of my 7up, and the rest dripped onto the living room hardwood floor.
6) climbed onto our office chair and removed 11 buttons from my laptop's keypad.
7) terrorized my plant and eaten some of the dirt out of its pot.

I know there are more terrible occurrences, but my mind is repressing them right now. This is an abbreviated list of the activities my son has been up to lately.

Keep in mind that this child is THIRTEEN MONTHS OLD. What other atrocities will my family suffer from as he gains speed, agility and vocal skills?? I shiver at the very thought.  Thank God our furniture is mostly hand-me-downs.

Life Isn't a Big Bowl of Cherries?

My life isn't always cheerful and humorous.  I spend the majority of my time doing the same tasks over and over again.  I am tired a larger part of the time.  There are days where I whine all the way from the top of the stairs with my mammoth basket of dirty clothes down into the laundry room.  Every once in a while I burst into unexpected tears (like when I change Max's sheets in the morning and notice after his nap that he dumped his sippy all over the crib mattress and I have to change the sheets AGAIN) or yell at no one in particular just to get my frustration out. 

It is hard to remain calm.  That moment when your tiny little sweet toddler throws a tantrum which results in food all over the kitchen walls, floor and ceiling. 

It is hard to be a good role model.  That time your elementary school child caught the attitude bug and you heard yourself in her snippy tone. 

It is hard to be selfless.  In the dead of the night you hear your baby crying.  Stumble over the oblivious husband and go see what's the matter.  Spend the next hour and a half calming baby down. 

It is hard to smile sometimes.  Your child is super excited about... oh God, I don't know, is that a book or something?  You just wanted to finish paying the bills online.  Not happening now.  Take a break and listen. 

It is hard to be patient.  Your meal, which is always made last, has to sit on the counter getting cold while you give your infant an emergency bath after his diaper explosion. 

While there are limitless obstacles in this race, it is impossible to regret my career choice: Mom.  No matter what the crazy, insane circumstance is, I still LOVE my husband, my kids and my life.  I might bite my nails with anxiety over the bills or cry while I scoop buckets of water off the bathroom floor, but this is worth it. 

My baby woke up now and is crying upstairs, so I have to go.  :)

It's definitely worth it.