The Story of a Quicky Part 2

I know I swore I would never do this again after the last weekend trip but when my dad asks me to do something, I do it.  Anyone else have this sort of relationship with their dad?  I mean, he says, "Let's drive 6 hours across two states and visit with relatives in the cheesy music capital of the midwest!"  I say, "When do we leave?"

So we loaded up our 6 suitcases (sounds extreme but the kids each have their own small rolling suitcase which sometimes helps with confusion and fighting over what the kids will wear) and headed to Branson, MO last weekend.  

Again, this is a two minivan endeavor.  Two kids eating junk and candy and watching movies in my parents' car and two kids listening to The 39 Clues and drinking water bottles with granola bars in my car.  

It was a beautiful day.  Blue skies like you only see in September in the midwest.  Puffy clouds providing a bit of shade.  Lots of random crazy places you only find in the midwest to laugh at.  My favorite was Arnolds Barbecue restaurant with an attached car wash.  

We arrived in Branson pretty early.  Said hello to some relatives and headed out to dinner.  We ate at Olive Garden.  I know this isn't fine dining to many, but my small town does not have an Olive Garden.  We have a Fazoli's.  So Olive Garden is a pretty big step UP!

I have one son who is very partial to spaghetti so it was like he had arrived in Mecca.  My dad also loves spaghetti so it made him happy too.  This is a double bonus for our family!

We ate, visited then headed back to the hotel.  It was bedtime after a long day.  But at about midnight my daughter woke me up and then threw up in the bathroom.  Yea!  We are off to a great start!

My husband and I talked it over and decided that maybe a bit too much strawberry lemonade at dinner was the culprit.  My daughter felt just fine the next morning.  Happy, bouncing, eating normally.  So we chalked it up to a lesson learned and set out on our next day.

My husband and dad played golf in the morning and my mom and I took my kids shopping.  Doesn't that sound like fun?  Keeping track and keeping happy four 8-year-olds in an open air shopping mall???  Whooo-hoooo!

This was my attempt at pleasing my mother.  She loves to shop.  She wanted to buy stuff for my kids.  My kids hate shopping, but with the promise of ice cream after lunch they held it together and I only lost two of them for a few minutes.  These are the best odds I could hope for.

It went so well my mom started talking about going to another shopping mall.  Can you even imagine doing two places with kids and expecting anyone to be happy?  I quashed that and mom got mad at me.  Figures.  It's my fault she has unrealistic expectations about child behavior. 

Instead of shopping some more, we went swimming.  Good for the kids.  Mom actually looked pretty tired so she rested some.  That was good for me.  I didn't have to dodge thinly veiled insults from the woman who gave birth to me.  

Then we were out for dinner again.  It was a fish place and the kids all tried fried alligator.  

But then that night again I had Ella puking and Jack puked too.  Now we are starting to hit a red alert level.  One kid puking is able to be handled.  Two kids?  We have new questions to answer.  Is this catching?  Will we get sick?  Should we leave early?  How much whining will the girl do if we leave before visiting the Titanic museum?  Can we handle that?

In the end we decided everyone was eating too much junk, should not drink anymore soda, and avoid fried foods.  Aaaaaaand visit the Titanic museum just so we don't have to listen to the girl whine about it again.

The day went mostly well.  Minimal whining.  From my mom.  And the kids were pretty good too.  Until we went to dinner at Billy Bob's Dairyland.  Fried hamburgers, fried pies and ice cream shakes.  So much for avoiding junk.   Frankly, it is hard to find a meal that ISN'T fried in Branson.  And an exact quote from my mom during that dinner was, "Well, we can just share a chocolate fudgey brownie dessert.  Right?  Share it?  That won't make the kids sick."

We avoided the chocolate fudgey brownie, despite my mother's insistence that it would not make anyone sick, and survived the night without puking.

2 nights.  3 pukes.  One whiny mother.  I don't think we will be doing this again.  At least for a month or two.

So sorry.

I haven't felt like writing lately.  A close relative passed away last week and we buried her this week.  I didn't feel like it was my place to write about it on facebook, since she was related to my husband, but it has been a week of mixed emotions and heartbreak.

Therefore, I wasn't really feeling like being snarky or funny.  But life continues and kids are kids and they started school!  Yes!!!!  

Now don't get me wrong.  I adore those 8 hours I get kid-free and quiet-house.  Cleaning that stays clean.  All good things in my book.  But for some reason, this year doesn't feel quite as liberating.  Maybe it is because of the death and funeral.  I think, most likely, it is because my husband is actually home this week.  He is usually driving all across the USA doing his work thing all week long and then makes appearances on weekends.  And I have come to appreciate both the leaving and the returning.

If I traveled back in time and told my newlywed self or even my dating-seriously self that this is how my marriage would work, I would have said, "No way.  I would never live in a weekend marriage."  However, 17 years later, this is really quite pleasant.  My husband is a really great guy.  We talk every day and I keep him up on the minute to minute drama of quadruplets.  And when he returns we are happy and relieved to see each other and it is a little celebration.

I have taken on tasks that, honestly, should have been mine from the start.  I take out the garbage, pay the house payment and all the other bills, manage our bank account, and fix whatever things break while he is gone if I can.  Those don't sound super tough, but it can pile up when you add in feeding and maintaining life for the rest of the household.  And clean clothes.  

Laundry is never-ending and the bottom of the laundry basket is a rare sight.  The unicorn of laundry.

But I digress.  Anyway, if any of you Russian readers have noticed the absence, then blame it on the death in the family.  Have a great weekend.

I am an idiot.

This school year I have agreed to set aside my sanity and be the treasurer for my children's school PTO.  This is not a small commitment.  The PTO raises and spends thousands of dollars each year.  And I have had some issues with how some things are done.  But I decided that things would only be changed if someone stepped up and worked from within to make it better.  And I have control issues, so who better to get in there and do that??  Why, yes, I am raising my hand for that job because I have control issues.  And I'm an idiot.

This new commitment is my own fault.  When we first were attending our church, I saw some things I didn't like about the children's program.  The choirs were not age appropriate.  They ran too late for the littles.  And they sang completely inappropriate songs for them too.  

If you didn't know this, 3 and 4 year olds do not like to sing praise choruses, as a rule.  They want to use their whole body to sing.  Jumping is required.  But the littles in the one choir were singing praise choruses all the time.  And they were bored.  It was hard for me to watch.  

I can remember singing in a little choir that my mom directed at my church.  We sang the song from "It's a Small World" which is a surprisingly appropriate song for church.  And also is surprisingly appropriate for littles.

This was not happening at our church.  The littles were standing at the front of the church, dwarfed by the big kids and staring into space.  No jumping.  No cute antics.  Just the parents (ME) cringing at their glazed eyes and penchant for knocking over very expensive microphones.

So when I was asked to direct the choir because the former director had a new commitment that meant she couldn't continue, I jumped at the chance.  And I immediately started a second and third choir for the littles.  Now there is a teeny choir.  They mostly do a few actions as the leader strums her guitar.  But they are learning rhythm and look so stinking cute not really singing in front of the church a couple of times a year.

We also have a middle choir.  These guys go to school but learn the church basics of Father Abraham and Deep and Wide.  And no those are not porn movie titles.  If you have spent any time with children at a church, you may have heard them.

And we have the Jr. choir that I direct.  We sing more contemporary praise choruses and some fun, silly songs like, "I Think I'm Going To Throw Up" and "I Just Want To Be A Sheep."  And we do two musicals a year.  TWO!  

All of these things are not small amounts of work.  I talk to the other directors and ask their kids to do cameos in the big kids musicals.  I make sure they can sing in front of the church a few times during the school year and I talk to our sound guys and musicians to make sure all of this goes smoothly.  And I choose the musicals, assign parts to the people most likely to learn them, help with sets and costumes, create power points of each song and all the spoken parts so that the kids have a performance crutch, and direct the large dress rehearsals before the programs.  And we practice every Wednesday night for about 30 minutes.  

The time commitment is about 50 hours a semester.  And now I am adding PTO treasurer.  I am truly an idiot.  This whole Stay-At-Home-Mom gig is turning into a Rarely-At-Home-Mom gig.

How does your school schedule shape up?  I know many other folks have more commitments than this.  Some folks do all this sort of stuff and have a job as well.  Tell me!  Vent away!  Overcommitted Moms Unite!

I am a cunning linguist.

My internet went a little sideways this week.  The hubba-lubba-ding-dong came home and set everything right.  All is well.  I hate that I waited for him to return to get it fixed.  I could have done that myself.  I am not helpless.  But I am busy.

I managed to do the hundred other things that needed doing this week and I had 4G on my phone so I was fine with not having my desktop, except for this blog.  Or personal diary.  More of a personal diary because most of the folks who are reading it are in Russia.  Seriously.  Blogger tracks these things. 

And the most viewed post was the one titled "The Story of a Quicky."  Now real people who read will realize that this was about a quick weekend trip away with my family.  It in no way referred to any bedroom activities.

But now I know that if I want to get more hits on the blog, I need to make vaguely sexual references in my titles.  Titles like "Blow My Man Down" that is about an unfortunate weather incident.  Or  "Getting Laid" that is really about putting down new flooring.  Or perhaps "My Threesome" which would relate my day with my kids, but one is visiting his Nana.

Think you could come up with more vaguely sexual titles?  I would use them if you leave one in the comments!  (See what I did there?  Just a small beg for comments!)  Come on all you Russians!  Put your comment through the Google translator and have a go!  Practice your english skills!

Oh my God!  I have to post something just so I can push my over-sharing "Skinny Minnie" post farther down the blog!  I cringe each time I see it.  I may have to delete it.

As a sort of update for it, I have been back on the exercise and diet wagon.  My self-control today is phenomenal.  I know this because after violin practice ran late, I picked up Dairy Queen for the kids and did not order anything for myself.  The story I told myself in my head was that there was no way they would finish their food and I could nab a few fries or a bite of a sundae.  

But the fact is that now that I am home I will be much less likely to nibble on their food and will eat my chicken breast and vegetables with gusto.  I hope.

Good luck to you if you can say no to ice cream in the summer.

Skinny Minnie

Are you skinny?

I am not.  I am rotund.  Fat.  Obese.  A big girl.  Wide load.  Fatty.  And all those other ugly words used to describe folks that look like me.

I don't like it.  Of course.  I look back over my life of eating habits and I truly just don't know where I went off the rails.  I was a skinny child.  But I remember in HS being around 105 lbs. and thinking I would be happy to lose those 5 lbs.  That is some skewed thinking.

In my 20's I gained a few pounds here and there.  Then I got engaged and lost quite a bit of weight but when I looked in the mirror, I still saw the chunky me.  I always had wondered at girls on TV intervention shows who were anorexic who would look in the mirror at their emaciated bodies and see 'fat'.  But I did that during that weight loss period.  I saw the slight bulge at my tummy.  I saw the thickness in my thighs.  I was still fat in my head and if all that work still didn't get me skinny, then why the hell bother?

So after the wedding, I gained.  Quite a bit.  And I still didn't see my true self in the mirror.  I couldn't understand why my pants didn't fit.  I would die a little bit as I slowly had to stop shopping at stores that didn't carry my size.

And then I got pregnant with quadruplets and I GAINED!  It was all physician supervised and my diet was very strictly controlled, but the emphasis was actually on gaining.  The babies needed to grow so I was eating the healthiest I ever had but I was on strict bedrest too so I was just laying around and eating healthy foods and gaining baby weight, I hoped.

That pregnancy was like the traumatic event in a hoarder's history that causes them to lose their shit and start stockpiling bags of cat feces.  It created a moment in my life where I went from fat to morbidly obese.

Once the babies were born, I lost a lot in inches and in pounds, but the exhaustion, sleep deprivation, and pure emotion meant that I was eating a lot and I put it all back on twice over.  Not good.

So now here I am, post baby by about 7 years, and I look in the mirror and I see it.  I see the huge belly that sags and the droopy thighs and I diet and I walk and I lift weights and I see the stretch marks and the scars from the c-section.  I have lost a few pounds here and there but it doesn't seem to matter.  I still will need extra room in my pants because of the way my body is shaped now.

And I am embarrassed by it.  When I eat in public I can tell that other people, even close friends, are looking at what I put in my mouth. I feel judged by them.  I feel I should have to explain that my blood sugar is bottoming out because I skipped breakfast to try and be 'thin'.  Or that I just walked two miles and won't get to eat again until late tonight.  They look at that fork of whatever and think, "That is why she is fat."

I watch them eat too and wonder at how they can stop.  How can anyone order a meal and eat only half?  Only half a dessert?  Say no to the ice cream, cheese, hamburger, pizza?  How do you do it?

I have tried so many diets.  Weight Watchers, Adkins, South Beach, Flat Belly, Nutri-System.  17-Day.  some of them work for a bit.  Some don't at all.  I choose healthy foods to have at home.  I exercise 5 days a week.  I park far away and walk.

Family relationships have always played a part in my weight loss/gain.  They haven't held back in their judgement of my size and the voices in my head are theirs.  Saying that I shouldn't eat that muffin.  That  I look horrible.  How can my husband love a fat slob like me?

And when things are extra stressful, I hide any eating I do.  That seems wrong too.  Even if it is an apple core I am tucking in under the garbage at the top of the can.  

I know that I should stick to it and be faithful to responsible eating.  Then I get hungry and fuck it all I will eat something!!

Again, I have no real moral here.  No "and then she ate celery soup for the next 4 weeks and miraculously lost 130 pounds!"  

I read inspirational weight loss stories and am inspired.  But mean words and hurtful labels won't turn this ship in a different direction.  I honestly don't know what it will take.

While on our beach vacation we scheduled a beach photo shoot for the whole family.  It seemed like such a good idea in my house far away from the beach.  Sunsets are lovely over the gulf and I had enviously viewed my friends' pictures from their beach vacations.  It will be perfect, I thought.

You probably know me well enough to know by now that if there is a way to make something more complicated or annoying, we manage to find it.  First of all, I booked a photographer that wasn't actually in the area where we were staying.  She was lovely and very friendly, but  it was an hour drive to meet her half-way.  And the traffic in Destin is famously horrible.  And there was a car accident that slowed both directions down.  Our side was slow because people are stupid about checking out an accident.  I hate that.  I don't get the fascination at all.  So the hour drive took an hour and a half.  But we did get there.

We met the photographer and walked out onto the beach where no less than 5 other photographers were taking pictures.  It was a beautiful evening, and that was almost a miracle right there, so I could understand the crowd a bit, but it is hard to make it look like you are on some deserted stretch of beach when 50 other people are trying to do the same thing.

And then there was the timing.  It isn't like you can choose the time of your sunset.  It sets when it sets.  But to get there on time, we had to leave at a time we would usually be eating.  Eating before would have put it at about early afternoon and we weren't hungry then.  So imagine 4 hungry kids, two grumpy grandparents, and two frustrated parents.  Not optimal photo-taking behavior.  

The kids were unbelievably inattentive and obedient.  I mean, way beyond our normal orneriness into clinically disobedient.  No amount of threats or bribes were going to get them to walk or stand or sit correctly for those dreamed of shots of perfect children. 

But it turns out, after all that, and the late late dinner we had after (because every restaurant was as busy as the road had been and we didn't sit down to food until 10pm!) the photographer posted a sneak peek to the photo session and the pictures are FABULOUS!!  No kidding, AMAZING!  We are so going to be purchasing more than a CD of these pictures!

Whew!

Update:  For some reason, these posts are out of order on my blog.  Sorry about that.  I will stop fiddling with the font despite continuity issues.  My OCD can relax.

We did finally make it to our destination.  It is a lovely little Florida community called Seacrest.  Beautiful homes and foliage are everywhere and the community family events are daily.  And our house?  AWESOME!  The decor was out of a magazine spread.  There were enough beds for everyone to have one to themselves and the boys got a whole floor on the 3rd floor to themselves-with a television!  You have no idea the amount of peace this afforded us all!

Also, my daughter had her own room with a television so she would retreat in there every time the boys started annoying her.  She spent most of her time there, in fact.

I will admit that it was a bit of a trek to the beach and it was seriously crowded with a bunch of over-privileged, snotty, selfish, tourists, but we managed to have a lovely time despite that.

My husband and I marveled at the attitude of the other tourists.  They never failed to disappoint us by meeting our "I am an asshole" expectations.  Whether they were walking down the sidewalk or through our beach towels, these folks exuded their TOURON attitude.  

However, the folks that were serving us were phenomenal.  Every waitress, tram-driver and sales clerk was so helpful and kind.  It was refreshing after watching and dealing with the rest of the buttheads.

We brought along my very favorite jerk.  My mother.  After our first day on the beach, and listening to her whine about how she doesn't really like the ocean (What???  She planned this whole experience!  She initiated the planning!  She doesn't like the what what???) we were waiting for the tram to take our sorry hineys back to the house 2 blocks away.  Truly, I could have walked but the kids and my mom were having none of it.  

So my mother tells me that my belly was showing in my tankini.  With a long skirt.  I try to stay covered up for many reasons, mostly because no one wants to see this belly.  I know that.  But also, everyone around me is a stranger.  And a rude stranger to boot.  So I don't f-ing care if an inch of my stretchmarked belly is showing for a moment.  But then this conversation happens:

Mom:  Your belly is showing.

Me:  Okay, but I don't know anyone here and I am not too concerned about it.

Mom:  But you don't have to look at it.

Me:  (stunned silence) That is pretty mean, Mom.

Mom:  I know.  I am sorry.  I love you no matter how you are.

(She has said this to me before and fails to understand how completely asshat it is.  I was tired.  I let loose.)

Me:  I love you no matter how you are too, Mom.

Mom:  (Confused look-maybe finally understanding that she is being a jerk) . . . 

And so our vacation started on a wonderful note of peace and harmony.  Or maybe not so much.

And don't worry, I have more of these Mom gems to share.

Like I mentioned before, we are preparing for a long car trip.  Like in a few hours.  I have the capability to post from the road on my smart phone.  But typing big, long essays while riding in the car is not compatible with sanity.  So you should expect little tiny posts.  They may look like this:


Shhometh....

Like I said, not compatible.

Right now I am looking at one long counter of food stuff that needs to be packed up some way to travel in a hot truck bed (covered) for the next two days.  I am thinking laundry baskets, because we are Klassy.

And there is still a pretty big list of things to buy once we are there because I am not transporting the 3 dozen eggs and two gallons of milk or anything else that needs refrigeration.  I love vacations.

Why is it that when we plan for a week of 'relaxation' it requires a few days of heightened stress?  To illustrate the stress, I had a doctor's appointment this week.  I have asthma and about every 6 months I have to go have my lungs listened to in order to make sure I can still breathe.  Breathing is nice, wouldn't you say?

This time my blood pressure was high.  Not, get-this-girl-to-the-hospital high, but high enough that I am no longer ingesting intentional salt and the whole weight loss thing is more urgent than ever before.  Those of you who are thinking right now, "Of course she has high blood pressure, she's a fatty," can stop reading and kiss my very wide ass.  I don't need you here.  Go.  Away.

I have never had highish blood pressure before.  I joked with the doctor about how my blood pressure would go down once the kids were in school and all was okay, but it was a little frightening.  I should be made of sterner stuff after having 4 human beings inside, but I am not.

In any case, driving for 10 hours plus stops and meals and negotiating said stops and meals with my 4 children, cranky husband, bipolar mother, and wonderful father should end up with a MUCH lower blood pressure, I am sure.  You will certainly know when I get back.  Cause I am an over-sharer.

Boo!

I mentioned in my bio that I love a good ghost story.  I have never seen a ghost myself, but I love to hear about my friends and relatives' experiences.  I love the small thrill and the unexpected scare.  And I scare very easily.  In fact, I have friends that refuse to see movies with me because I am a jumper when that "Boo" moment happens onscreen.

I have heard friends relate that their car is haunted, their house is haunted, their painting is haunted and more.  I love it.  Tell me a story and I am happy as a clam!  Gleeful!  But wait until the sun comes up, please.  Don't tell me that story in the dark because that is just mean.

Recently, my husband and I have been experiencing strange reverberating thuds in our house after we go to bed.  We have 4 kids so we usually chalk it up to them and their shenanigans.  But then my husband left for a night for work and I was left alone to hear the thuds.  Last night he was back and I was brave enough to go check the kids.

If these thuds are the kids' fault, then they are doing a lot of monkey stuff.  They are jumping down and back up on the bunk bed.  They are running down the hall.  They are awake!  Awake at 10 is completely in violation of the rules!

But when I checked on them, they were most certainly asleep.  They can play possum pretty well, but they were definitely asleep.  Slack faces, sweet sighs, and utter stillness gave them away.

So I went back to my room and kept hearing the soft thud, thud, THUD......thud of mayhem in the rest of the house.  I did what anyone would do late at night to find out what it was.  I googled 'thud in the night.'  

I know you will be completely shocked to find out that this particular google search generates many ghost story websites.  And I love a good ghost story.  So I read them.  And then I was completely freaked out!

There was a haunted hospital story and a haunted mobile home story and a haunted dog story.  And I kept reading even though every thud now sounded like an ax murderer coming to get me.  

I finally got tired enough to fall asleep.  My husband and I had a discussion the next morning about the thuds.  He has heard them too.  We have decided, now that it is daylight, that the thuds are our sound system where we play books on CD at night to help us fall asleep.  We recently moved some of the bits and pieces around to set up an outdoor movie for the kids.  The sub woofer must have been adjusted and now as our narrator talks, when he hits a particular deep vocal sound, it thuds.

This is very comforting to me.   It  will save me hours of trembling and shivering in my bed waiting for Freddy Kruger to come slice me up.

Since it is daylight right now, would you like to share your ghost story in the comments?  

Update:  Today we have an all time high number of page views.  I think it is the ghost story label.  So somebody needs to comment.  It's a rule, right?

Update Deux:  I notice that I did not actually say I love ghost stories in my bio here.  Heh.  I did say I love those bad scary movies, that are mostly shown on Syfy.  Have you seen the latest?  Sharknado??  My God that is bad.

Jim Dale is my Hero

Sometimes the cranky in this house is so deep, I could haul it out in a wheelbarrow.  This morning for example.  You would think if the kids slept in way past their normal wake up time, that would bode well for the day.  You would be wrong.

If the kids are so tired that they sleep in, then there isn't enough sleep to fix the cranky.  I have broken up two near fist fights this morning.  One over a crayon.  Not even crayons.  Just one singular crayon.  The other was over Legos.  The Lego one I can almost understand since it happens pretty regularly.  One male child of mine thinks every Lego he has ever touched or seen is his personal property and takes great umbrage at anyone other than himself touching or using that Lego.  We are working hard to break him of this behavior but it involves a lot of discussions that sometimes may, or may not, end in my yelling.

We are gearing up for a few hours in the car too.  Car rides are fun aren't they?  Especially with kids?  And if those kids are siblings, then the fun is just over-the-top, right???  Right???  We do okay, really.  We have a magic formula for car rides.  

We choose a book on CD from my husband's collection (he drives hours every day and has many from which to choose) and pop it in.  Usually the only time we hear from the kids is when the CDs are changing or someone needs to eat or pee.  It is pretty darn magical.  We have been known to turn it on just to stop an argument.  Bliss!

The added bonus of the books on CD is it helps assuage the guilt I feel because, though I am a former reading teacher, I don't read aloud to my kids very often.  I know the research.  I know the bonding moment it should bring.  It is one of the most painful parenting moments I have ever faced.  Everyone wants to sit in my lap.  No one can see the book well enough.  He or she is hogging the book. And on and on.  Painful, I tell you.

Lately we have had disagreements over which book should go in the player.  We lasted a really really long time listening to the Harry Potters.  But now we are into Percy Jackson, Eragon, and the Narnia books.  Narnia books are very appropriate, but too short.  Percy Jackson is not appreciated by everyone.  And Eragon does not go over well with the girl child.  

Ahhh.  To go back to the Harry Potter days.  We would stay in the car an extra 5 minutes to finish the chapter!  It was so awesome.  And such good writing!  Hubby and I honestly listen to them again and again as we fall asleep each night.  We have tried the J. R. Tolkeins but those are a little verbose, without moving along the narrative.  There are many Hobbit-lovers lighting their torches to burn me at the stake for saying that.  I can't help it.  I have read and listened to The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring trilogy books and I hate the songs and the long winded discussions of what to do next.  Just get a move on!  And the guy they have reading them is no Jim Dale.  (He reads the Harry Potters and is truly an artist.)  He sings the songs.  Seriously!  There is no known melody for these long, long, looong songs that J.R. wrote.  Don't try to sing them.  Just don't.

So I guess the point of this post is to ask if you have any magical tricks to deal with long car rides with kids.  What are your tricks and tips to make the trip less painful?

Crazy People Part 2

Remember my crazy aunt and uncle that are not actually my aunt and uncle?  I posted a little update that my aunt ate from my plate at a restaurant, uninvited or initiated by me.

We went out to eat a couple of other times.  We chose Mexican food one night and this happened:

Crazy Uncle:  (without looking at the menu at all) I want a naked burrito.

Waiter:  ???

Crazy Uncle:  You know, a burrito without the tortilla.

Waiter:  (very politely!) We have several burritos to choose from.  So you want lettuce?  Tomato?  Cheese sauce?

C.U.:  Yes.  No tomato.

Waiter:  (still politely but clearly has never heard of this before)  So all you want is ground beef and lettuce and cheese sauce?

C.U.:  No lettuce.  Cheese is fine.

Waiter: (writes things on his note pad)

Me:  Did you want cheese sauce?  Or just cheese?

C.U.:  Cheese is fine. 

Me:  But not sauce?

C.U.:  No sauce.

The waiter was incredibly patient through this.  My husband and I were trying not to look at each other and roll our eyes.  But then later, my crazy aunt got involved.

C.A.:  You see the reason he wants no tortilla is because he has DIABETES and the tortilla has things in it he wants to avoid!  (She is hard of hearing but the yelling was because if the waiter didn't understand her, it would be more clear if she yelled it.)  (Of course.)  (I am rolling my eyes right now!)

And all of this was said as C.U. grabs a handful of chips from the table and munches happily away.

The food came.  C.U. had a pile of ground beef with shredded cheese on a plate.  We ate.  Then my C.A. ordered dessert.  

C.A.:  We want dessert.  We would like to have a sopapilla.  Can you bring it out with the sugar and cinnamon on the side?

Waiter:  Our sopapillas don't have sugar on them.  So you want the cinnamon on the side?

C.A.:  WE WANT THE SUGAR AND CINNAMON ON. THE. SIDE. OF THE SOPAPILLA!  (This was yelled with hand gestures. No kidding, I put my head down on the table here.)

Waiter:  (Speaking a bit louder, but not yelling.  Just trying to be more clear)  There isn't any sugar on our sopapillas.  Just cinnamon, honey, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream.

C.A.:  Okay, just put the cinnamon on the side.

(Waiter wanders off to tell everyone else about the crazy lady that just yelled at him.)

The sopapilla took a bit longer to come out.  I would guess it was so everyone in the back could take turns spitting on it.  When it came out, my diabetic uncle-who-is-not-my-uncle ate half of it.  Because the tortilla on the sopapilla and the chocolate sauce, ice cream and whipped cream and cherry on top (that he grabbed right away and obviously relished!) would not mess with his blood sugar at all!  Many times they repeated that these were not like the sopapillas they had ever had before.  As they licked their fingers and smacked their lips.  

After they licked the plate (kidding a little bit) we got up to leave.  We were going to a minor league ballgame afterwards.  My husband tried to hang around because we just knew he would try to stiff the waiter on the tip.  He did.  But he wouldn't let Tom stay behind and leave a bit more.  You know, a 10% tip instead of an 8% tip.  Now we can't go back in there.  

Thank you C.U. and C.A. for ruining one of our few dining choices in our town.

Debbie Downer

Last year we planned a trip to Florida with my parents.  4 kids.  4 adults.  Two minivans.  Negative 10 sanity.  We got to Montgomery, AL and stopped for the night.  When we awoke the next morning, The Weather Channel people were having on-air orgasms because there was a TROPICAL STORM COMING RIGHT NOW RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE GOING!!  TAKE COVER!!

We had family in the area so we called them.  They were pretty nonchalant about it.  It was just cloudy and sprinkling.  So we checked The Weather Channel again and they weren't sure of the path Debbie would take but IT HAS BEEN UPGRADED FROM TROPICAL STORM TO HURRICANE!!  TAKE COVER!!

We talked about what to do.  I got a headache trying to contain the little darlings in two hotel rooms without causing damage.  We watched The Weather Channel again and called some friends who were in the area and they confirmed that it was just cloudy.  But I was very hesitant to continue toward the area.

We were supposed to be in a condo on the beach.  Facing the beach.  Large windows down one whole side.  On.  The.  Beach.  I am from the mid-west.  I know what to do in case of an earthquake, severe thunderstorm, and tornado.  I even have some ideas about zombie apocalypse. But hurricanes are an unknown.  I hear you need sheets of plywood.  I was bringing my crockpot and griddle and a butt ton of food but no plywood.

So we opted to turn around and head to Gatlinburg, TN.  It was another full day on the road and we were very happy to pull up to our jumbo cabin with 4 bedrooms, each with its own jacuzzi tub, a kitchen, large living room and deck with another hot tub.  Lovely!  We paid much less for the giant cabin in the mountains than we did for the condo on the beach.

Then we went to Dollywood and had to take out a loan to get in.  We hiked some mountain trails and almost saw some bear.  We ate out nearly every meal because cooking in a cabin in the mountains was a whole different deal than cooking on the beach.  And we visited the Ripley's Aquarium and took out another small loan.  In the end, though our accommodations were cheaper, it was much more expensive to do things in the mountains than it would have been on the beach.  Because on the beach we would have just played and swam and walked.

We are attempting another trip to the beach this summer.  My kids regularly curse Debbie in their little 8 year old ways.  I don't think we would let The Weather Channel turn us around again unless there was truly a hurricane coming.  Not the hands-in-the-air, gleeful, the sky is falling sort of reporting.

I hate The Weather Channel.

Swimming

I take my little heathens swimming in the summer a couple of times each week.  There is this old pool that is part of an old country club near town.  

I know the images the words, "Country Club" can conjure in your head.  Nobody named Buffy has EVER been near this one.  There is no golf.  Heck, there is no city water and sewer.  This club has been around since the early 1930's.  The pool is literally the very oldest pool around anywhere.  It is rough-bottomed and besides the lake and the pool there are no other amenities.  Most of the cabins around the lake are in great repair, for the 1950's. Some have been remodeled over the years but the majority have not and a few are falling in the lake.

We go to this pool because it is serene and cool and quiet.  We regularly have it to our selves.  It has a bathroom and a large deck area.  And is surrounded by trees and looks down the center of the very small fishing lake that is a part of the club.

We get to use this pool because my parents have a fishing membership in the club.  They used to own a small cabin that my dad tortured me by  having me help remodel.  But that was sold long before I got married.  So now we just go down to swim a few hours every few days and enjoy our almost private pool.

Last year when we were there, we ran into some families that thought everyone else was deaf who swam with them.  I know this must be true because I got to hear about their marital woes and what a bitch their exes were.  And because we must have been deaf, I also learned their children's names because they were hollered, repeatedly, the entire time they were swimming.

And their children's names were absurd.  My kids go to school with some Rivers, and girls named Tommi.  I have heard the ridiculous names with which some parents have saddled their children.  But these kids.  I almost felt sorry for them.  But then they stole our pool toys and proceeded to tear them up so now I have no sympathy left.  So even though the oldest couldn't have been more than 10 years old, I now hate King, Phoenix, Rock, Blue, and Three.  It is like they looked for category names on Jeopardy before they named their kids.

This week I was sharing our pool with a young mom and her one-year-old.  I commented on how cute he was and baby talked to him for a moment then introduced myself and my mom and my kids.  Then this lady looked at me like I had asked her her bank account password and social security number, grudgingly told me her name and we proceeded to not speak to each other again because I was obviously crossing some sort of line by asking her name to make small talk.

Is that weird?  I mean, I am always trying to make new friends in new circles.  I enjoy knowing the people with whom I am sharing a public space.  I chat with people at soccer, or football, or track.  Doesn't everyone?  

Unless they name their child Bull.  Then I don't want to know them.

Crazy People I May or May Not Be Related To

I was going to write a post about swimming with some children who will be beaten up on the playground in the future because they have some seriously screwed up names.  I mean, Isis.  WTF??

But then my crazy aunt came to visit and I knew swimming could never live up to the stuff that is happening right this frigging minute.

You see, my crazy aunt is not even my aunt.  She is my mother's cousin.  But I have always called her aunt so there you go.  When the kids were babies she sort of decided, despite living 4 states away, that my children were her grandchildren.  She doesn't have any of her own and lives 4 states away so I figured it was mostly harmless and let it continue.

She came to visit with my uncle-who-is-not-really-my-uncle back then.  And during a nighttime feeding argued with me about washing her hands with actual soap and water.  At two in the morning, when I haven't had more than 3 hours of consecutive sleep for 2 months, it is not wise to argue with me.  I might have been a little testy.

But, in my defense, if you come over to eat at my house, I would offer you the same courtesy by washing my  hands before feeding you.  I don't think I was really asking too much that she do the same for my 2 month old, preemie, babies.

Then, there was going to be some weather.  The weather guys were predicting it.  Having lived in the area, I wasn't overly concerned that there might be a little snow.  And my "aunt" and "uncle" live in a colder portion of the country so snow should not have been that overly concerning for them either.  But I guess it was, because between that early feeding and the next morning when I awoke, refreshed from my 2 hour nap, they had left to "beat the weather:"  SMH.

Fast forward a few years and my crazy aunt has come to visit us every year at least once a year.  Sometimes she shows up for birthdays.  She and my uncle don't believe in staying in hotels when there is 'family' in town so they camp out at my parents' house and expect royal treatment.  And they have dietary restrictions so they expect special food.  And my crazy 'aunt' is hard of hearing.  So you find yourself repeating whatever you said several times as she mouths along with you.  That is the only time I am slightly sure that she understood whatever I said.

During the past visits my aunt has relayed to me how many people to whom she has given pictures of my children.  "I printed out too many pictures from your last post on facebook and didn't know what I would do with them all!  But you know, I managed to give them all away before I got here!!!"  She tells me this over and over again, gleefully.  She lives several states away and stays with friends and family to extend her visit to weeks which means no less than 50 people could have these prized pictures.  So I apologize to all the strangers in the mid-west who have been forced to accept a photo of my children.

And there was the time that she told me she took a picture of my house.  "Oh, I drove over this morning before you were up and took a picture.  And then I took a picture of your neighbor's house.  They have such a lovely garden!"  

I just have no words for this.  This is strange, right?  If she had said, "And then I sneaked into your room while you were sleeping to snap a few more shots!" I would not have been surprised at that point.

Please wish me luck.  This is just the first day.  This visit should last 4 more days.  My kids will leave for camp for the last two and my mom is leaving to care for a sick relative in one more day.  By Friday it will be me and my dad waiting on entertaining my crazy aunt.  

P.S.  You won't believe this but when my crazy aunt sat next to me at dinner last night, in a restaurant, she took a bite of my meal before I did.  No joke.  I kept looking around the restaurant to see if anyone else had witnessed the crazy people moment!

The Story of a Quicky

We took a little family trip over the past two days.  It was spring break and I thought it sounded like fun to get away for a couple of days.

While we did have fun touring a city we don't get to visit often, there were some low points in the trip.

For example, you can't really yell at a child and give them the perfect swat while in a hotel room.  Every threat I made came out through clenched teeth in a deadly whisper.  For some reason, my children did not respond optimally to this.

And while riding in the car, you cannot look threatening enough when you yell to the way back seats of your minivan.

I had thought getting the bribery of shopping for Legos out of the way early would help keep the whining to a minimum.  But then the whining to build the dang Legos was more than I could bear.

And, just so everyone is aware, Holiday Inn beds suck.  The hubbins booked the room and when we got into the room (that he had checked into hours earlier) there were two DOUBLE beds.  My hubster and I have been sleeping in a queen bed for a majority of our marriage.  And splitting up the kids, two on the floor and two in the bed, made the two in the bed contractually required to bicker.

There were fun times.  Like when the daughter was complaining about allllllll the waaaaaaaaallllllking!!!  Then we jumped over to a fabulous hotel with amazing atriums filled with lush plants and gurgling waterfalls.  Suddenly, this was the best vacation ever!

We also visited a zoo where it seemed all the truly exciting animals were not on exhibit at the moment.  And then we discovered the huge (free!) play area that we thought was also closed and the kids disappeared for 20 minutes and we had time to talk about something besides the closest bathroom, could we have a snack nooooowwww???, or can we go hooooommme noooooooow?

The last little road trip that we did was not all that stellar either.  I think it may be another two years before we attempt a quicky trip.

Last time, we visited The Magic House in St. Louis.  It is an astounding children's museum with loads of interactive and fun exhibits.  Really really fun.  But it is set up with all these little small rooms and was filled with, what seemed like, thousands of people.  So the hubba-hubba and I spent the whole 4 hours communicating like traders on the NYSE floor pointing at the other and flashing finger signs to say how many kids we were watching at that moment.

"Two?" Point to myself "One!"  Point to Hubster "Three?"  Shake head.  "No??"  "Yes??"  Over and over.  For 4 hours.  It was exhausting.

So then we went to dinner and the hotel for some before-bed-swimming.  Our 4th son jumped in and promptly forgot that 6 months before he had been a swimming fool.  No joke.  He almost drowned.  It was one of those slow motion moments when you realize what is happening but haven't moved yet and you feel like the air has suddenly become molasses.  My SO got to him a second later.  The whole incident took no more than 4 seconds but it has been burned into my memory.  The feeling of helplessness and the abject terror.  I was kind of pumped afterwards for a bit from the adrenaline.

So after our near death experience we headed up to our suite (cause 4 kids, two adults, and we were going high style at the Drury.)  We tucked everyone in and settled into bed.  We were probably snoozing by 9.  We know how to party.

Then at about 11, Son #4 started moaning and whining.  His ear hurt.  Ahh.  Yeah.  That would be because he has tubes in his ears and got pool water in them.  For two hours, while the great hub-o-rama slept, I cajoled and comforted the little guy.  I had finally had my fill of it at about 1ish and shook the hub-a-lub-a-ding-dong's shoulder and drove to the nearest Walmart for some children's Tylenol.

Everyone knows your story at 1 AM when you buy children's Tylenol.

The medicine finally did it's job at about 2:30.  And then the next day we went to the St. Louis Zoo.

We don't go anywhere without excitement.  And the St. Louis Zoo did not disappoint.  It was a lovely, unseasonably warm day in March.  We got hot.  So we bought frozen treats.  Son #2 got one of those rocket pops.

I watched the gal go into the deep, deep freeze to bring it out.  And even after waiting a minute or two to eat it, as soon as #2 kid puts  his tongue on it, it stuck fast.

Picture the scene from The Christmas Story where the kid licks the lamp post??  Yeah.  That was him only with a rocket pop.  It was a 5 minute endeavor to get it unstuck.  We tried water from the water bottles.  And pulling.  It was not cool.  It did include some pointing and laughing at first.  And possibly some picture taking.  Because that shit is funny.  But it was pretty traumatic for my boy.  He wouldn't eat a popsicle for about a year afterwards.

This is what I will reread the next time I think an overnight trip to a nearby city is a good idea.

This is NOT a begging post.  Promise.

But nobody is following me.  A few folks have found me probably by looking for the keyword "Zombie" but they probably weren't looking for a mommy blog when they punched that in.

And I think the real reason is that I won't link this on facebook or tell all my friends about it.  Kind of counter-intuitive, huh?

And here is why I won't be self-promoting anytime soon.  Some of these thoughts are about people I know.  Heh.  I might, eventually, talk about my family.  They might not want to know what I am thinking about them.  Specifically, my mother.  

I really have no idea how anyone else does this humor blog stuff without revealing their inner-family-dynamics.  And without hurting their feelings.  My very best stories all circle around family because those are the folks with whom I spend a majority of my time.  For instance, if I tell you about the 3 foot fake Barbie angel Christmas, my mother-in-law might take offense.  Or if I tell you about the time my mom said, "I can see I made a lot of mistakes raising you," there could be very real repercussions.

And I want to tell you those stories.  They are gooooood!  (Or at least in the case of my mother, cathartic.)

Now I do know that a few relatively famous bloggers have actually taken down posts that referred to their religion and/or family ties.  I don't expect to ever be relatively famous so I don't think this will be my problem, but just in case, no mentions of my very permanent and personal diary will happen anywhere else.  

Spiderman

We have been sick, sick, sick here.  How about you?

Ours is the upper respiratory cough, fever, stuffy nose.  I finally made it to the doctor for some meds.  I have asthma so this respiratory stuff goes straight to my lungs and takes forever to clear up.

My son, Sean, has been the most recent casualty.  He was home from school yesterday and I had daydreams that today I would go to the grocery store and get all kinds of house stuff done since he would be back at school today.  

Most moms, I think, are the boo-boo-ers.  The cuddly moms who are all snuggly and fuzzy when their kids are sick.  Not so much for me.  In the middle of the night, if you get sick, you wake up daddy.  And if you require more than one day of staying home, you had better hope like hell that Daddy is staying home too.

Sean is home today again.  My  husband is home too with weather being unpredictable and not feeling 100% either.  Is he out in the living room snuggling with the sicko kid?  Nope.  On the phone.  

That is just how it is at our house.  If you want to survive to adulthood you had better be the squeaky wheel.  Or else, listen to what I say the first time.  If you don't listen to me tell you that climbing on that thing is dangerous and get down, and you fall?  You are going to hear me tell you, "I told you so" long before you  hear me getting the keys to take you to the ER.

We have had one ER trip in our history.  My boys have been climbers and daredevils their whole lives. So much so that when they were in cribs I would walk out of the room to wash my hands and walk in exactly 60 seconds later to dismantled beds, mattresses propped up on the changing table and someone at the top of the homemade "slide" ready to yell "Cowabunga!!!"

The cribs had said on the box, "Easy to Assemble!!!"  "Needs no tools!!"  They should have read, "Can be dismantled by non-verbal toddlers quicker than you can go potty!"  I would have had a better understanding for what lie ahead.

So one night after we had finally removed the "Easy to Assemble!!!" cribs from the bedroom and were down to mattresses on the floor with a fitted sheet, I stepped out to potty.  I heard a scream and ran back in to blood.  Everywhere.

Okay. Not everywhere.  Just gushing from my youngest son's eyebrow.  I am looking around the room and there isn't a sharp corner in sight.  And asking him how he did it when he was so busy screaming and bleeding, was counter-productive.

To this day, I really have no idea how he cut his eyebrow.  There were just walls, carpet, mattresses, and fitted sheets in the room with his two brothers.  But we were off to the ER and came home with 3 handy-dandy little stitches in his eyebrow.  He will have the scar forever.

I think this may be one reason I am not so cuddly or hovering.  If I did, I would be MUCH grayer than I already color over.  These boys are determined to make this life interesting.  

We have moved on from the mattresses on the floor.  We decorated the room over the head-shaped hole in the wall.  We have big-kid beds.  There are stuffed animals and art on the walls.  

But one night, not that long ago, I went in after bedtime to see if everyone was out yet.  My oldest boy was perched, with his hands spread out against the wall like Spiderman, and standing on his tippy-toes on a 1 inch piece of trim at the top of a high chair rail we had installed.  Scooting.  Along.  The.  Wall.

Seriously.  

Don't take a picture

I have been reading my favorite blogger, People I Want to Punch in the Throat, and realized that I have a punch to throw out there.  Not so much zombie-related, but definitely something that most people may not realize happens.

Did you know that sometimes, when a person with multiples ventures just about anywhere outside of their home, random strangers want to take their pictures?  

I know, right?

Take any adorable child out on a normal day and the paparazzi are generally not there to snap photos.  Now multiply that child by 2 or 3 or 4 or more and you have yourself a little mini circus event worthy of scrapbooking!

For example, I attended a local art fair on a sunny Sunday afternoon with my husband and 4 kids.  We made the mistake of using our 4-seat stroller.  

This thing is really quite wonderful and made a huge difference in our life.  These multiple seat strollers have jogging wheels, stadium seating (seriously!), and would roll with just a finger tip.  

On the other side, the brake was pretty touchy, it needed a special rack added to our minivan to haul it anywhere, and if I loaded or unloaded children incorrectly, the front end would flip up quite abruptly.  But the kids didn't mind so much when that happened....

I loved that I could take my 4 toddlers anywhere by myself.  I hated that it drew so much attention to us when we were out.

So back to the art fair, we were chatting with a friend and I noticed this tall, fish-legged, man in shorts aiming his rather elaborate camera at my kids.  I didn't stop talking but just scooted around and bent over my children in the stroller to 'adjust the straps'.  In this way, I was aiming my quite formidable hiney in his direction.  Not exactly a lovely picture.

I kept talking to my friend when I saw this jerk walk around to the other side of my stroller so he could get a better picture!  

So I did what any mom would do.  I started speaking loudly to the man asking him what he was doing!  Yeah.  My friend was mortified and quickly disappeared!

The weirdo with the camera looked pretty shocked that I might not want a stranger to take pictures of my children.  Then he started lying to me  explaining to me about why he needed to take our picture, he wanted to show his daughter the stroller, blah blah blah.  Whatever, Mister.  I don't believe for a moment that you want to show a picture of this stroller to your "daughter."  Unless she is planning (HA!) on having triplets, quadruplets or quintuplets, she has no need for this stroller.  

I told him the name of the stroller (Runabout) and to look it up online.  Then I said that I didn't want him taking pictures of my family and to please move along.  

This all happened a few years ago.  My memory has faded, but now, in my head, this is what the d-bag looked like:

I know.  Totally ridiculous.  And while this is not the douche canoe who tried to take our picture, I did snap this while on vacation in Florida.  As a side note:  WTF??

But I digress.  We strolled along for a few minutes and tried to recover from my outburst.  My husband quietly chided me for making a scene.  We really aren't usually those people.  But we had drawn a crowd and though I wasn't sorry for calling out a complete stranger, I was a little mortified at the unwanted attention.

We pulled up to the concession area and settled the kids with some fried concoction and another gentleman walked up with his large camera.  This dude actually asked if he could take a picture of my children.  I smiled, thanked him for asking, and said, "NO."

Because we are NOT a rolling sideshow.  We are NOT here for your viewing pleasure.  We are NOT selling tickets.  We are a family who wants to get the heck out of the house together.  It takes the logistical and tactical training of a small army to make that 2 hours happen.  We had to haul 2 diaper bags and that was the first time I had done my hair for real in a week.  Leave.  Us.  The.  Hell.  Alone.

Thank you.

If you are wondering why strangers snapping photos is such a hot topic with me, I am happy to explain.  In the multiple birth world, there are many weirdos each year that try to pass themselves off as being parents to multiples.  Some of these losers are in it for all the 'free' stuff and donations.  And if you want to dedicate your life to obtaining free stuff, it does exist.  But you aren't going to get a free van for flashing around some photos of your 4 babies.  There might be some formula and diapers available.  If you are a true con artist, you might set up a donation account while securing your special little section of hell for all eternity.  

Most of the scammers just want attention.  And with social networking, a person could garner quite a bit of attention.  I know this because it happens every year that I get a couple of requests from a fake multiple parent.  If they can get a couple of real multiple parents to friend them, then others will accept the request because they trust the ones that have already signed on. 

There have been several more notorious cases over the years.  People who did set up donation accounts and bilked unaware donors out of several thousand dollars.  It is despicable and leaves a bad taste in the mouth of every multiple mom.  

I don't know where the photos that people snap will be used.  Maybe it will be just a, "Hey! Look!!  I got a picture of a family of quadruplets at the local art fair!" moment with a few friends.  Maybe, they will crop me out and photoshop themselves in and create some sick website with their own names on the picture of my children.  Either way, I hate it.  It feels intrusive and wrong.  I can't figure out why anyone would want to take a picture of MY children for themselves.  They don't know me or my family so they should back the hell up.

Mothers of multiples who have had the experience of having photos of their children lifted and reused nefariously report that it is shocking and horrible.  I do not want to have that happen.  

I don't have a neat little bow to tie this post up.  It is just a sort of PSA.  If you see a family of multiple birth children out and about, don't take a picture.  Just don't.