Yup. I'm Nuts.

We bought a puppy last month.  For those of you who are thinking, "Awwwww", put your puppy dog faces away and evaluate my thoughts here. 

My husband and I have three kids.  Ages: 9, 3 and 1.  The reason we have three is because WE DON'T WANT FOUR.  We brag about how bright we were to have Blake get a vasectomy two weeks after Maximus was born and we lean eagerly into our futures that are diaper-free.  So what do we do? We run out and get a dog. 

Don't get me wrong, he's super cute.  His name is Don Capone (after my grandpa and our current love of mafia film) and he's a pure bred boxer.  He sleeps in the kids' little chairs and chases his stub-tail and rolls around in the backyard barking at his squeaky toy.  My heart has melted again.

However...

It's officially a circus around here.  I thought it was before, but now it's definitely a circus.  Swing by around noon today for the nap act- you will be rolling around on our kitchen floor.  Admission: no money accepted.  You just stay in our house and I will sneak out the back door.  I will go to the beach by myself.  I will lay on the sand, catching rays and reading.  I might bring a bag of chips along.  I won't share with anybody, either. 

The kids chase the dog who chases them and bites their butts.  Suddenly I'm consoling Hailley, my three year old, for the scratch on her leg and yelling at Maximus, the infant, at the same time because he has wrestled Capone into a position I didn't think puppies were capable of.  Together they all destroy crayons in the kitchen.  Then there's Swaylynn, my nine year old, who plays with Capone for awhile and then complains that he doesn't like her anymore.  Sway- you just chased the puppy around the yard for an hour.  He is so wore out!  Give the poor guy a break.

Capone ruined the plants in our backyard.  He dug a hole there too.  He ate my Money magazine last night.  The first week we got him, he choked on a dandelion. (No worries, he was fine.  It was pretty hilarious, really.)  Capone has been caught standing on our living room table and the one in our backyard. As far as potty training... its been interesting.  Thanks to my son, I've held Capone's poop in my hand. 

Let me be cliché for one moment though: he completes us.  It's totally crazy around here, and he adds to the element of insanity that already stains our lives, but it works.  I love Capone.  He's family.  Even if he did eat half of my birthday pizza. 

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. 

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!