What I learned after 35 hours in the car with my children

The fam and I just spent the last several days vacationing/driving. But really there are plenty of you who know that traveling with kids is not so much a vacation as it is an adventure. And a test. To see how strong you are. To see just how much spunk and resiliency you’ve got.

Turns out I’ve got plenty of spunk, but after a certain amount of time my apparent lack of resiliency takes all that spunk and turns it into crazy town.

And let’s not forget about patience. What a virtue patience is. Well, after about day four of sojourning with children, my patience measures at a 2 on a scale of 1—75. I don’t know why I chose that scale. It just felt right. And accurate.

So it looks like I’ve got some things to work on! And I wouldn’t have even known had it not been for this trip.

It also revealed a lot about my children that had heretofore gone undiscovered, such as:

-Bubba is not content with his share of trail mix unless it has two chocolate candies in the mix.

-Bosco does know the word stupid and how he should not use it.

-Boys cannot just lounge on a beach towel for hours, taking in the scenery and fresh air. They have to be doing something. The Husband is included in this one.

-Listening to “Thriller” on repeat in the car keeps them entertained long enough for me to take a little nap.

-If you tire them out enough during the day, they will go to sleep in a tent.

-Bubba still needs a nap or he will fall asleep in ketchup. I’ve always known this but now I think he does too.

-Drinking water is very important to Bosco. If he doesn’t get it the second he wants it, a major regression to his two-year old self is completely warranted.

-They like s’mores. I guess I should have assumed this to be so.

-Getting splinters out of a five-year old’s hand is fun in a totally sarcastic type of way.

-Sand is only an enemy to the mother (me).

Knowledge is power my friends. And you better believe I’m going to use it to my advantage. Our next trip will be to some knoll covered completely in grass and wildflowers (no sand) with a view of the seashore (for me), with a never ending water supply from a nearby spring, where the kids can run around like hooligans (with gloves on their hands to avoid splinters and for the Michael Jackson music I’ll be blaring), after which everyone will take a nap, then eat a couple of s’mores and packages of M&M’s (forget trail mix). Everyone will be having so much fun and there will be good feelings betwixt all of us, so much so Bosco will have forgotten that the word ‘stupid’ even exists. Then we’ll fall asleep in a tent (with an air mattress for me).

If anyone knows where such a place exists please let me know.

The end

Yo ho yo ho.

You will please excuse my extended absence and silence won’t you? Life has been fraught with many frightening things lately.

The apple of my eye turned five last week and that alone has turned me into a blubbering idiot. And by idiot I mean a person who cannot comprehend or come to terms with an aging son who most likely will turn into something hairy, stinky, and hormonal. Yes, this is beyond comprehension. I just cannot envision it or what I will do with such a testosterone-riddled creature. Any tips? We’re practically there already since the other day he told me he was never going to speak to me again (although he did break into tears immediately after saying it, instead of stealing the family car).

Anyway, Bosco requested a birthday party that involved superheroes, pirates, and Ironman. And I said okay, pirates it is, because I look for any excuse to bring the term “bilge rat” into my repertoire. The party itself was fun, despite the Husband’s uncharacteristic worries about kids staining the carpet with their drinks. That really threw me for a loop. And at the end of the day our newly crowned five-year old said he felt like the luckiest boy alive. Well, shoot.

Then all was well, until a couple days later. I’ll just say these two things: food poisoning, laundry. First Bubba (who escaped the worst), then Bosco, then me, then the Husbo. Then with a freshly gutted husband on the mend he vowed to never throw up again. And not knowing what the culprit was or if it was really food poisoning at all, everything in the house was tossed or sanitized. I do feel for him. It was horrible for all involved but for some reason when things such as these strike him down it sounds like a freight train, where as everyone else is more like a measly old diesel truck. Poor freight train.

And so that was last week. New day. New dawn. The house is a mess.

I should have kept this sign up longer probably.

Ominously ominous

Bosco: "Mommy, do you feel ominous?"

Me: "No. Do you feel ominous?"

Bosco: "No."

Me: "Do you know what ominous means?"

Bosco: "Yes."

Me: "Well..."

Bosco: "Well, I can't tell you because it's an ominous secret."

P.S. Thank you Sesame Street

P.P.S. If I were to do another giveaway in celebration of one more year I've kept up this blog, what should it be? Favorite store gift card, product? Now accepting suggestions (reasonable ones that will not make me roll my eyes in your general direction! And if they are not going to be reasonable at least make sure they are funny).

I've hit my winter wall

I know I am thick in the middle of the winter doldrums when I let my kids watch PBS Kid shows for the better part of the morning, and I am singing “GO, GO, GO, GO on an adventure” right along with them. But really PBS Kids is hardly television. It’s interactive preschool. Let’s just call it like it is and be grateful that it exists, especially during these germ-ridden, claustrophobic, barren winter months.

Like I said, doldrums.

{One or the other always ends up being the human pillow. Thank you Sesame Street for bringing my sons closer.}

There is, of course, another sign that I’ve reached my quota of all things harsh and desolate, and that is when I start laughing uncontrollably at things that are not really deserving of such long-winded chortles.

For example, the following conversation between father and son gave my stomach muscles a nice workout:

Bosco: Daddy, what animal starts with the letter ‘A’?

Husband: Ummm, antelope.

Bosco: Daddy, I said what animal starts with the letter ‘A’?

Husband: Antelope.

Bosco: Daddy! What animal starts with the letter ‘A’?

Husband: Antelope!

Bosco: Um, Daddy, I don’t think you can hear what I’m saying. (Gets up and walks over to the Husband.) I said what animal starts with the letter ‘A’?!

Okay, actually that was pretty hilarious. Made me laugh all over again. Maybe that means spring is on the horizon. Maybe.

Blogging slumps are a normal symptom of aging; just treat with plenty of rest and water.

By joe I’ve been a bad blogger as of late!

I was just reminiscing on the days when I posted five times a week. Man those were crazy, crazy times. My mind was consumed by what the next day’s silly post was going to be about. Because they always were and are very silly posts. That is what I've built my empire upon! And I kept that routine up for a respectable portion of a year. I have to give myself props on that. Woot, woot.

But that semi-insane burning desire can only last so long before your brain decides it’s probably more important to sleep, or before cohorts are able to tempt you into doing other savory or unsavory things that simply leave no time for pouring your soul out on the internets.

So then it becomes three posts a week, then sometimes two, and now you folks are just right out giddy if it’s once a week. Right? Well I am indeed flattered. And I have every intention of keeping my blogging spark alive, even if it is a very little, unreliable, fickle, distracted, yet determined spark.

And as a token of my dedication, last week when my youngest son decided to spread the contents of his poopy diaper over the entirety of his body and his room, my first thought before I had to put the whole second floor on fecal lockdown was to take a picture. For you. Because I figured you would care. But while I knew you would care, you also wouldn’t want to see it. So I put the camera down. For you. Then took a more presentable picture later that still illustrated the streak of naughtiness that glimmers in the deepest recesses of his eyes and resonates in every crevice of his pursed lips.

Basically what I'm saying is stay tuned. More silliness is sure to make it onto this blog.

But what with my oldest starting kindergarten this year, the value of gold, and the happenings in Greece, it might just be the end of the world. So really what does it matter?*

*This sentence was added for rambling purposes.

Doofus is the word of the day

My son has fallen down and hurt himself many a time, and more often than not he "toots" upon impact. That's just how it is. And heck if I now if that's a sign he's in gastric distress. All I know is that as an immature grown woman, this trend of his is very hard on me, especially if the sound resembles a nose cracking.

I feel so many emotions all at once. Fear, unstoppable smiling, pain, worry, rage, nervousness, giggling, sympathy, guilt, tee-hee,  "I told you to stop running," shame, a glimmer of suppressed laughter in my eyes, nausea.

And how am I supposed to feel all these things at the same time and not look like a complete doofus, what with all the conflicting facial expressions? Deranged doofus I tell you. Well obviously looking like a sane mother is simply not an option for me, at least not until I grow up or my son stops falling and/or passing the gas. Whichever comes first.

Speaking of doofus, this dead rosemary plant is a huge doofus and I said so OUT LOUD yesterday. I had big plans for you bud, mostly to do with potatoes. Now look what you've done to me. I'm blogging about herbs!

Over and out.

Note: No noses were cracked.

Never you mind how I got these pictures

I would love to report on my birthday happenings BUT I am waiting for some pictures to arrive in my inbox first, ahem, . . . Sister. For now, just know that it involves Sundance yet again.

So instead for today I'll just do train of thought. Yay!

I realized the other day that there are far too many pictures of my eyeballs on this blog as of late. I do apologize. It was much too self indulgent . . . and creepy.

Speaking of creepy, our sea monkeys are apparently mating. And I have to watch it whenever I'm at the kitchen sink, which is multiple times a day, of course. Last I counted, there are three "couples" and its impossible for me to tell if they are monogamous because they all look the icky same.

One sea monkey just sort of hangs on for dear life while the other one performs underwater acrobatics whilst eating food.

It's all rather sickening as it reminds me of what it's probably like to be on submarine and I feel pukish observing it all. I have a right mind to throw the whole lot of them down the sink but Bosco would NEVER forgive me because he has the memory of a baboon. He still remembers me telling him that he has to get shots before he goes to kindergarten. I said this two years ago when I was still addressing his age in months since he said "tanks" instead of "thanks" Prison Mike style.

Anyway, maybe I'll just stop doing the dishes instead of worrying about all that nonsense, for reals.

In other news, have you ever awakened yourself in the middle of the night because you were absolutely certain there was a mouse crawling around under the sheets bumping into your foot, but when you came to your senses you realized it was just your other foot?

 

 

P.S. The Husband is watching far too much Discovery Channel, specifically Gold Rush and First Week In. My nerves are practically shot. Thank goodness I have Downton Abbey . . . and Swamp People.

Just when I thought I'd gouge my eyes out . . .

I finally figured out that the culprit for much of my angst was a pair of contact lenses that needed changing. It’s amazing how blinking less can be such a positive mood changer.

Little things indeed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still just as agitated as ever, but now there’s a simultaneous brightness in my eyes along with the scowl. Some might call this a cute handful or a feisty asset. Both seem like a valid description of me currently.

For example, I am still annoyed that the Husband sees a pile of his folded clean clothes on the bed (that I put there) and moves them to a chair instead of hanging them up. But then I remember that he did the dishes last night, so I must call it good, for now.

Then there’s that mystery stain on my shirt that looks like yellow crayon, but then I remember Bosco did tell me I was his favorite so . . . bygones be bygones.

And let’s not forget that Bubba has subjected me to the most heinous of diaper changes (his, not mine) this week, but he did cuddle with me for five whole minutes today without telling me to move, so now I can face one more diaper if need be. Plus he made me the loveliest imaginary sandwich I ever did see and he even remembered to hold the pickles. Can’t let that little nugget of thoughtfulness go unnoticed and unrewarded. He get’s extra ice cream tonight I think.

Then there’s the high probability that I broke my nose while sleeping last night (bad dream I guess) and it hurts to nasally inhale. But who really cares about that when there is cheesecake to be had? Exactly.

And I don’t even really feel the need to address this sore throat I’ve had for a week!

Let’s just hope this euphoria can last a few more days. I’m off to turn thirty-one this weekend. Wish me luck!

I just happen to have a picture of me putting in a contact lens. Is that weird? More like kismet I think.

Absolutely Guaranteed to Grow

If there’s one thing I know how to do it’s take a vacation. I love to shirk responsibilities, in a responsible holiday sort of way, any chance I can get! I did practically nothing besides try to enjoy myself for two whole weeks.

Somehow I even got Mother Loops to do my laundry for me, without really asking her. Oh, and all the Wii dancing action deserves a mention. I was sore for days. Days! Though I did take breaks every once and awhile to feed the kids. They deserve it, even though the holidays and all the gift receiving had rather undesirable side effects that can only be described as “Ugh”. I can hardly blame them though. It is rather abnormal to suddenly get everything you wanted, one day of the year, and then be expected to SHARE! And then be expected to not start sentences with the words: but, no, why, me, candy. 

Anyway, I do hope everyone had the merriest of Christmas and New Year’s celebrations.

Finally it’s 2012 which is great because I’ve been writing 2012 on my checks for the past twelve or so months. Yes, all three of those checks I wrote.

Starting a new year is always a little perplexing and maddening for me because January usually coincides with the time I have no desire to do anything and yet the strong desire to do everything. I don’t really work things out in my brain and hit any sort of stride until late March.

So, eventually I'll have lots of riveting* things to share and discuss if I can remember what those things are. But other matters require my attention at the moment so give me 4-6 days. Maybe even 7, depending on water temperature!

Tally ho!

*Silly

P.S. If you're into Instagram, let's be buddies. You can find me under ramblingsarah or @00red (that's double zero red just to be sure :)

I guess I can check 'magician' and 'Santa' off his list of possible future careers

Bosco: How do reindeer fly? How do Santa’s elves know that I was naughty yesterday? How do treats keep showing up in the advent calendar? And how does Santa know we have a tree!?

Me: Magic.

Bosco: UUUUggghhh. Everything’s magic! It’s always magic! Can’t Santa do anything without that? I sure hope he can eat and sleep without magic!

I think someone needs a big cup of hot cocoa . . . before we once again broach the subject of Santa and chimneys.

Now let's just hope everything arrives in the mail

Without really thinking things through, I visited a popular mega super toy store the other day. I did this on the pretense that I am a good mom, and as a good mom I am willing to go to stores I typically loathe because something my child wants for Christmas lies inside the walls of one of these stores (this is a bologna belief by the way or btw).

The minute the automatic doors swooshed open I regretted my good momness.

People everywhere. Displays everywhere. Kids running to and fro all hopped up on holiday greediness. Parents all focused on grabbing whatever’s left.

Immediately my skin itched with sensory overload. And the germs right?

I contemplated leaving then and there. I had a minimal amount of time, and a minimal amount of blood sugar. The Husband had dropped me off while he and the kids went to gas up the car. Twenty-five minutes tops. I figured I could handle that and find at least one of the five things on my wish list.

Wrong.

I scoured aisle after aisle, and was getting rather hot under the collar, literally. Bad day for the itchy wool coat. I had been to this store before (gasp!) so I should have remembered that usually I had to rely on an employee to help me find the hidden treasure. Me and my foolish ways. But how was I going to explain to an employee what I was looking for when I wasn’t exactly 100% sure of what it was called. I only had a picture in my head and a hope in my heart and a child’s description.

So I forged ahead, through cart traffic and wailing toddlers and toy ATMs

Even when I found an area where a certain item should have been I couldn’t even get front row access because there were two other rows of people huddled around looking too.

And before I knew it my time was up and I had NOTHING to show for my good intentions. Plus, I hated any and all toys, especially the ones that could launch things.

So I went home, decided some toys weren't all that bad, whittled down and changed a few things on that list to better match my mother sensibilities, and ordered everything online.

Then I made myself a steaming hot cup of cocoa, plopped in three (or four) Candy Cane Hershey Kisses and drank it by twinkle light.

I recommend you do so too, if you haven’t already. It helps restore those depleted of Christmas spirit.

Gratitude: In 15 Minutes or Less

The first 5 minutes

Me: Ok Bosco. We've got to go somewhere. I need you to get dressed.

Bosco: (Walking towards me slow motion) Well, I'm a sloth right now. A sloth is a monkey-ish animal that hangs from trees.

Me: I know what a sloth is, but I more surprised that you know. Okay Sloth, I need you to get dressed.

Bosco: Okay Mommy Sloth, but you know since I'm a sloth this will take an extra long time. Like 2000 minutes probably.

Me: Ugh

The next five minutes:

Me: Bosco! I hope you're getting dressed!

Bosco: (running towards me at lightning speed) No time! I'm a cheetah! Cheetahs are so fast you can barely see them when they pass! (running away from me at cheetah speed)

Me: Argh

Another five minutes:

Me: Okay we have to leave now! Get dressed!

Bosco: (donning a cape and sword) Okay Princess, I'll get right on that. I'm a prince ya know. And a prince always listens to the princess. It's his job.

Me: Oh. Ok. Sounds nice.

Bosco: And you should say thank you. I just saved you from an evil witch (proceeds to put on his clothes).

Me: Uhh, thanks, Prince.

:::Today I'm particularly grateful for sloths and tigers, because without them I would probably fail to realize and appreciate how great it is when the Prince decides to show up and rescue a damsel in distress.

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving to all those Thanksgiving celebrators out there! Have fun getting your tryptophan on. I know I will.

Pumpkins make him pensive and philosophic

Bosco:  Monday, Tuesday . . . Oneday

Daddy: What's Oneday?

Bosco: Oneday is the day that people die.

Cold feet from here on out

Today I put socks on my dainty little feet. Socks. I had to. Because there was snow on the mountains which meant the weatherman was right. Winter’s breath was upon us (before I’d even decorated for Halloween).

That’s a hard thing for me to deal with since I don’t like anyone’s breath on me, especially if I can see that breath.

The boys also are not dealing well with the arrival of icy temperatures. I unearthed their socks, pants, and other winter wear from storage and told them to say goodbye to bare feet and shorts. They just stared at me. Apparently they have forgotten what the next six (possibly eight) months have in store for us.

I told Bosco to put his pants on and he asked, “You want me to put these on?” like it was stuff and nonsense. It’s been so long since he last wore them that they came up to his calves. He tried to bend his knees and finding them to be too constricted by fabric, he started whining.

And as I slipped pants over Bubba’s legs, he just began moaning, “Noooo, noooo, noooo, noooo.” Apparently this child has come of age during the summer months, and pants are a mystery to him. A mystery to be feared. As are socks. The minute he ran onto the tiled floor with his newly covered feet, he was slip sliding his way to a face plant.

This is going to be a long winter my friends.

Is it time for Girl Scout cookies yet?

Schooled

I’ll admit it. There’s only so much fighting betwixt my sons over trucks, tracks, dinosaurs, trains, blocks, and tools that this mother (that’s me) can handle.

I’m more accustomed to siblings fighting over clothes. That’s the sort of thing I can understand and rally for/against. But that is currently not my lot in life. No. I am now more of the hammer monitor, the Thomas divvy-upper, the block Godzilla catcher, and the truck sharer/snatch preventer.

So yes, on occasion, after hours of fulfilling all the above titles, I have been known to yell, “You boys are driving me nuts!” Probably with more exclamation points.

But the last time I used this exclamation, my smart stinker but-oh-so-cute son Bosco replied politely and matter-of-factly, “Oh Mommy, that’s what boys do. That’s why we’re here. We’re supposed to make you nuts,” and went right back to sawing the couch in half.

Now at first I laughed because this is coming from a boy who has also just recently said that the last thing he needs to do to become a grown-up is to pee standing up.

But try as I might, I can’t find any flaws in his logic.

It's a rare talent I have, getting nostalgic like this.

We had our carpets professionally cleaned today for the first time since we've lived in this particular humble abode, and true to form, this had me thinking sentimental Anne Shirley-esque thoughts as I said goodbye (hopefully forever) to various stains.

I'm a goober I know, but these stains, some more visible than others, are like little milestones marking my voyage through motherhood and wifeydom. Obviously I'm hormonal or something. Or maybe it's the non-toxic fumes or the booties.

{Not that kind of booty. These kind of booties.}

That stain over there, in the corner just steps from the bathroom, (just pretend like you can see it) is where Bosco threw up for the first time. I believe there are few things as awful and heartbreaking as watching a baby, especially your baby, wretch. Oh the look on his face as he wonders why his little body has seemingly betrayed him! Confusion, sadness, hurt, sickness, wonder, amazement, anger, helplessness all wrapped up into one impossibly pitiful look. And there's simply nothing that can be done to ease matters. It must run it's course. Only comfort (and juice) can be offered. Then repeat that cycle at least five more times before the day is done, and you've got a full blown obstacle course on your hands. The stain at the bottom of the stairs happened during round three I believe.

That day I learned I could be a mom in good times and in bad, and a calm collected mom at that. Was never entirely convinced of it beforehand. Oh the doubts! Also, it turns out I have enough strength to clean up another person's vomit if need be. Up until that point I was always very unsure I had that in my make up. Well I do. At least for my kids I do.

Now what about that area over there in the hallway, or over there to the right, and in that spot right here? Well that marks Bosco's potty training progression of course! That was a fun year, OR TWO. Those stains remind me that I'm not a very patient person, probably never will be to any great degree, and that I don't particularly like to clean up urine, especially if it belongs to someone else. Who knew throw up would be easier for me than pee. That right there is a sentence I never imagined myself writing. I surprise myself everyday in the most fantastic of ways. 

Now may I turn your attention to the myriad of other spots. Those belong to the Husband, who likes to wear his shoes every where he goes, even in his own home, even when covered in motor oil or mysteriousness. He does not believe the phrase, "Take off your shoes. Make yourself at home" (or is it take off your coat?) Of course he likes to leave his shoes on all the time because he wants to be in a constant state of readiness if ever he has to suddenly leave the house. Fire! I'm ready! Wife needs a slushie! I'm ready! Ice cream truck! Ready! Bees are invading the entire house! You know I'm ready!

Well this is indeed an admirable desire to possess but I would be lying if I said it wasn't the cause of some marital discord from time to time. Beyond the dirt factor, I have a general dislike for all shoes constrictive in nature, so always seeing them on the Husband irks me. Irks me something fierce. What, are you itchin' to leave boy? But there simply were no compromises to be had regarding this matter. No pair of "house shoes" to agree upon. No pleas for "just take them off and relax" accepted.

Many a time I've seen the Husband ready for bed, in his pajamas or whatever it is men call the stuff they go to sleep in, and he would have his shoes on, which means, he took the shoes off to get ready for bed, and then put them back on! To get a drink of water! Or whatever! This is what married people call Something I Didn't Know About My Partner Until We Got Married. But who am I to talk. I have to have the television on Channel 5 and set to volume level 8 before I can turn it off.  

But anyway, those stains are indeed plentiful and serve as a great reminder that you cannot change your loved ones, particularly in matters of the foot. And you most definitely cannot teach an old dog, or even a slightly old dog, new tricks. As a wife, I've learned this lesson time and time again, but have yet to fully accept it's truthfulness and harness it to my advantage. Work in progress.

And now finally who could forget that one place in the hall downstairs. Yes right there. That's where my water broke. Cheers! And Bubba joined our family a few hours later (in the hospital, not the hallway). Another little person to leave marks all his own.

But right now it's a clean slate so to speak. All those stains, gone, which I'm pretty happy about because GROSS. But if I'm lucky there will plenty more where those came from.

{oh Bosco where are you?}

A conversation with Bosco regarding bunk beds, big toes, parachutes etc.

Me: Would you like to share a room with your brother?

Bosco: Oh yes. Sure. And then we could get bunk beds. And I would have the top since I'm not the baby. I know how to not fall off.

Me: Ok. And do you think you’d be able to get down to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night?

Bosco: Oh well, usually if I have to go to the bathroom really bad I just wiggle by big toe and stomp my legs on the ground. That usually does the trick.

Me: How do you wiggle your big toe and stomp at the same time?

Bosco: No, no. Not at the same time. I wiggle, then stomp. See. I wiggle my big toes like this (demonstration actually involves wiggling of all toes not just the big ones). Then stomp. It’s really loud.

Me: I think if you need to wiggle and stomp you've held it too long. And how are you planning on doing this in your bed while you’re asleep?

PAUSE

Bosco: Well, I guess you guys could get me a parachute so I could fly down the bed in time. That would probably work. Is it lunchtime yet?

Me: What about a ladder instead?

Bosco: No.

I can only handle slushies and 80s movies right now.

My brain is shot. More than usual. It’s amazing the repercussions one thunderstorm can apparently have on me. For future reference I now know that if a torrential downpour makes the power go out, and somehow destroys my computer’s modem, hence causing severe unrest in the internet department, hence causing major changes in who provides me with life giving internet (no small feat or sum), and if that same storm causes flooding in my son’s room, which therefore causes major upheaval in said room as well as emergency action to be taken outside which sadly involves uprooting some of the grass seeds I have diligently watered FOUR times a day (the ones that survived the torrential downpour), which have just started to sprout(!), all of which coincides with an bunch of other STUFF and my monthly friend and the fact that there are no potato chips in the house(!), well if that same storm were to strike again I now know that my brain will take a vacation all on its own accord, without even asking for permission. And everyone around me is just going to have to be extremely sensitive and understanding, and slightly able to read minds, particularly minds that are gone.

Bosco is doing the best at this so far. Today I told him, “Hey you. Take your hands off and wash your shoes.” He then proceeded to take off his shoes and wash his hands. Not even realizing my blunder, I was simply amazed that he was doing what I thought I asked  him to do. Then when my sister, who had witnessed the interaction, pointed out my brainlessness, not only was I amazed that Bosco listened to me, but likewise in awe that we obviously have a telepathic connection. Also glad he didn't try to take off his hands. Such a champ I tell ya. I’m very grateful he has been able to be “in tune” during this my time of need and stupidness.

I fear others in my family are not quite up for the challenge . . . yet. This becomes evident when Bubba is still requiring me to change his dirty diapers and the Husband is determined to bring up topics that involve numbers and eye contact.

All I need now is my cape.

It seems as though our Bosco has decided that he will no longer comply with previously established expectations. Do what I say 50% of the time? No. Now it’s more like 20%. Lunch then nap? No. Now it’s don’t eat lunch, don’t take a nap, and don’t be quiet so other people (me and Bubba) can nap. Don’t pee unless it’s in a toilet? Not anymore. Now it’s pee in the bed at night and occasionally on the floor during the day. Have a general understanding of the word “NO”? Nope. Now “NO” means “It’s fine mom. Relax.” Likewise “settle down” has now adopted the meaning of “go monkey bat speedy.”

Needless to say I am loosing.my.mind.

However, I still possess enough magical mom power to confound and amaze this little guy every once in awhile, restoring admiration and respect, be it ever so brief.

I didn’t even know I had this power until last week when I had asked Bosco to please go in the bathroom and get me a tissue, which oddly he agreed to do. Now as a mother I have grown accustomed to fine tuning my hearing so I can zone in on potential problems.

I put myself in such a zone as he walked away and into the bathroom. I heard him open the door, go in the bathroom, move the stool over. And I thought to myself, “Why is he using a stool? Oh he must be trying to get a tissue from the counter instead of just grabbing a piece of toilet paper, since I failed to tell him that we are out of actual tissues.” So after I had this conversation with myself I yelled, “Bosco, you don’t need to get a tissue from the counter. We’re out of tissue. Just get me some toilet paper.”

He came back moments later with some toilet paper, and a weird look on his face. He then proceeded to just stand there for thirty seconds and look at me. No blinking. Just staring at me with his mouth open. Well, like a good mother I finally asked him what the heck was wrong, to which he said in this far out amazed tone, “HOW did you know what I was doing?”

Obviously this is a secret I intend to guard with my life for as long as it has such stunning results.

A picture does last longer.

Timeouts don't happen that often around our house. Maybe once a day is all (actually it's more like once a week but I don't want to jinx it so shhhhhhh). However, last week was timeout central, timeout party, timeout bonanza. Everyone had cause multiple times each day to cool their jets. Who knows why. I think maybe it was because the wind was blowing from the northwest.

Anyway, at one point the Bubba was reflecting in his high chair after his lunch ended up on my feet. Bosco was sitting on the couch contemplating why it's important to share and not hit his brother with hard things. And I was in my room listening to Thriller to calm my nerves.

When I came back to the scene of the crimes to clean up the mess, put the youngest down for his nap, and have the eldest apologize to injured parties, I noticed something had been secretly sketched on the chalkboard.

I noticed because pre-timeout the face looked like this, obviously penned during happier times :

Lucky for me I had snapped a photo while it lasted.