I have been a delinquent blogger . . .

So much to say, so little time.  I had great hopes for my blog.  Clearly everyone would notice and appreciate my wit and charm.  This would allow me to get followers.  The followers would allow me to post adds.  The adds would obviously attract Oprah who would promptly put me on her show.  I therefor could quite my job, and be E & O's full time wrangler.  Only one problem, in order to get this far, I actually need to take the time to write it.  

I could put every Mommy excuse in the book down here: E tried to put O in the dryer (true story), O tried to flush E's pants down the toilet causing the great flood of 2010(also true), our fish, tuna, made a valiant effort in the path of Nemo to get back to the ocean (also, freakishly true), but I am going to be straight up honest - the fall line up has started.  This is something we have been training for, for two straight weeks.  I have E & O convinced Glee is "their show".   We got dressed up in costumes and rock out to every single song.  I encourage all of you out there to share in the sweet sweet joy of network (provided it is appropriate) tv with your child.  

This might be a good time for a little self disclosure.  My children watch television.  They eat high fructose corn syrup.  The eat many foods that come in nugget form or on a stick.  Our fish, tuna (his beloved mate helper tragically died a year ago in november), is a genetically engineered glow in dark goldfish from petco that is apparently outlawed in some countries (I swear we didn't know when we bought it.)  Both of my children have either accidentally or on purpose partaken in the sweet nectar of the Gods that is diet coke.  I feel much better now that I have confessed.  I'm also pretty sure I have some organic strawberries in the fridge - couldn't hurt.  All this aside, I am a good Mom and I try really, really hard to be one. 

The point to the rambling.  Have you ever noticed how much mothers judge each other?  It is unbelievable.  And also (at the risk of sounding like a hipocrite) have you ever observed the mothers around you.  Today I was out with a girlfriend and her kids in our local library parking lot where the city had gathered all kinds of different trucks for the kids to climb in.  The streets were packed with children in their adorable fall outfits.  There was also a sea of northface down jackets, high heeled shoes, starbucks, and the dreaded blackberry.  I label the latter three the attention taker awayers.  I watched more kids fall or wander off because their parents were to busy sipping their no doubt organic soy nonfat decaff no whip latte and updating their twitter feed to notice their kid.  Even if they wanted to, their footwear would have proven  a hazard.  These were the same people who skipped ahead of all the other families in line, or were to busy to notice their child doing the same.  I left feeling pretty awesome about myself.  I got home and was watching E & O play.  They both play interrupt their play to check their fake cell phones.  E absolutely pretends she has a pager on (she has, on occasion, taken it off her hip and said, "you have got to be kidding me - these people".  I have to admit, I felt pretty horrible. What message am I sending to them about what is important.  But then later, I saw E comfort O when she fell / dove off the couch by singing a song my husband sings to both of them, kissing it, getting her a band aid and a popsicle, and getting her mr. bear (the most beloved and disgusting of all bears).  Moments like that make you realize you are a good parent.  We are all (with few exceptions) good parents.  You know who our biggest critic is?  Ourselves.  Instead of focusing on the bad in the world, in other parents, and in yourself - take a minute to watch the true goodness in your children or your nieces and nephews and remember - it came from you.  That being said, they learned to pour bath oil on the floor and turn it into a slip and slide while I am in the shower, from their father. 

One of the most difficult parts about being a military wife is understanding and respecting your husband.  But lets be honest, sometimes it is okay to let them have it.

Right now my husband is at a 5 ½ month training about 1500 miles away from home.  I absolutely 100% support and respect what he is doing about 90% of the time.  The other 10 % of the time, which is usually occupied at whatever hole in the wall bar he and his “buddies” can find to watch the game, is a different story. 

On a normal day, receiving a phone call from my clearly intoxicated husband where he is absolutely making me the butt of the joke on speakerphone wouldn’t upset me.  However, even my halo looses its shine.

Last week, E & O took it upon themselves to make “snowflakes” out of Cheese Its.  There was Cheese It dust everywhere in my living room.  So, I get out the vacuum cleaner to clean it up.  Anyone who has read any of my posts will know that the vacuum cleaner and carpet cleaner are my sworn enemies.  Well, this time, no mold spewed out of it, however it made my house smell like ear wax.  Google to the rescue, or maybe not . . . Apparently if you put cinnamon or coffee grounds in your vacuum, it clears up the smell.  Or your house smells like ear waxy coffee grounds – not pleasant.    To top it off, E swears that something is “on fire” and locks herself in the bathroom.  So I am now covered in cheese it in my ear wax and coffee scented home trying to instruct my toddler how to unlock the door, quite unsuccessfully might I add.

Ring.  Ring.  (Loud noise in the background)  My husband talking way to loud:  “Hey Baby, are Sundays important at our house?”  My reply: a litany of expletives sure to make any hardened criminal blush.  It was at this moment I realized I was on speaker phone.  Whoops.  My husband: “I love you the most.”  My reply: “Enjoy your Daddy vacation.” Click.  In retrospect a little harsh.  And don’t worry once my tantrum was over I called back, apologized, and reminded him of my love for him and all he does. 

I have officially hit my limit and am ready to blow.  It is now past bedtime and E and O have become their alter egos Evil O and Demon E.  They will not leave me alone, not even for a minute.  I very calmly explain that Mommy needs a time out and head to the time out corner, the most dreaded of all corners.  THEY FOLLOW ME THERE.  Okay, I’ll try the bathroom.  Two tiny little pig tailed heads peak through the door.  E: “Are you going pee pee or poo poo?”  And here comes the Mommy Temper Tantrum.  “You need to leave me alone for five minutes, I am not your peanut butter bitch (I spelled it, don’t worry) [This is a long story for another time].  Tears from the girls.  Stomping up the stairs after gaiting it off from me.  E yells, “I don’t lub it when you make me sad.”

That night we again all slept peacefully in my bed after a long conversation about how much we love each other and reassurance from Emma that “Sometimes you make me mad, Sometimes you make me sad, but no matter what you say or do, I will always love you.” (a line from one of our favorite stories)

Moral of the story, we all need a time out here and there.

Confession

The absolute best part about being a parent are the moments you get to be a kid again.  The even better part comes when your spouse gets to play too.  It is like regressing to a calvin and hobbs for a brief moment in time . . .

This leads me to a small confession I would like to make.  I, on occasion, have persuaded my children to think something is awesome so that I have an excuse to do it .

This weekend I convinced them to be excited about the Wizard of Oz exhibit and the Children's Museum.  E couldn't wait to see the dinosaur - apparently in her version the witch gets eaten by a dinosaur.

A few important points:

A) They have never seen this movie, nor will they for some time.
B) Upon reflection this movie is moderately terrifying (flying monkeys, melting witches, dancing midgets in  capri pants . . . )

I was like a kid in a candy shop - I think I might have actually squealed when I saw THE ruby slippers.  We went to Aunt Em and Uncle Henry's farm.  We rode the witch's bike with toto in the basket.  We were swept away to munchkinland and got to see INSIDE the houses of the munchkins (one of my lifelong dreams).  We skipped down the yellow brick road.  We met the Scarecrow, the Tinman, and the Lion.  We went to see the wizard. We explored the witches castle.  And we clicked our sparkly pink shoes and said "there is no place like home"  (E said this falling asleep on the way home).

I was shocked at the parents sitting on the sidelines - reading a book, playing on their iphones, talking on their cell phones.

My point, I do have one here, is this.  Own the little girl or little boy inside of you.  Let it come alive when you get a chance.  You will be a better parent and a better person for it.  Your kids are only little once - enjoy their childhood with them and re-live yours.  Get off your iphone!  Put down the book!  Facebook, Email, Twitter can wait.   Play with your kids.  Share your memories and build new ones.

E and the Tinkerbell Underpants

Everyone believes their child is the cutest, smartest, most talented child in the world.  I firmly believe my three year old and one year old are tied for the "most spirited".  I am attempting, for at least the third time, potty training.  This absolutely 110% is psychological warfare in our household.  Our family and friends have nearly been alienated by all of the pee pee poo poo potty talk.  I armed myself with positive reinforcement tools, ridiculous articles on how to train of off google, and enough diet coke to last through nuclear winter.
The first half of the day was perfect.  We set our little timer, went to the potty every hour, earned our rewards, signed off our chart.  It was actually kind of fun.  Then E decided she didn't like her tinkerbell underpants and wanted the brown haired fairy - so she peed, right there in the entry way - took off her underpants, handed them to me and asked me for "the brown haired underpants."  The combination of the truly disturbing nature of her verbage - the fact that she peed on the floor to get new underpants floored me. This went on for the rest of the afternoon, about every hour, just before our pee pee timer went off .  She just didn't like that fairy on her butt.  Why would you want any fairy on your butt - the fact that there are cartoon underpants at all is kind of alarming. What kind of long term effect would there be if I told her she can't pee pee or poo poo in her underpants because it will get pee pee and poo poo on the whatever characted I paid an extra two bucks to be on her underpants?  Can you tell I am about to lose it over the potty training.
We keep going, day by day.  She mad it through the museum with no accidents all day.  Got home and was up to her same tricks again . . . . oh how I love that little girl.

Mommy, I puked in the red bowl

Day 3.  

It starts like a bad scene out of stand by me - peanut butter taco and mandarin orange toddler puke.  This causes chain reaction puke.  E then proceeds to dissect what she sees spewed (pun intended) on the floor.  We run up to the bathroom and the girls go straight into the tub - we turn on the jets and black chunks come flying out . . . 

(side note: any tub with jets needs to be cleaned once a month with either specialized cleaner or with 2 tsps of dishwasher detergent and a sprinkle of bleach).  

So we switch bathtubs and put on jammies.  O goes to bed, E comes downstairs with me as she is "scared the puke will eat her."  We clean the bathtub and get out the carpet cleaner.  Black chunks of mold in the bag of water that my charming husband forgot to empty last time he cleaned with it.  We clean the vacuum cleaner.  Emma sees the black stuff and says "I told you the puke would get us"  

(this is very remnant of the time she pooped in the bathtub.  She tried to run away from it, creating a whirlpool effect on the pool which "chased" her, she started screaming, "the poo is chasing me."  .  She didn't take a bath for a week after)

We cleaned the carpeting and E went to bed.  That charming husband of mine called and said "how is your night."  Heres a hint, if your wife is home alone with two toddlers and she sounds like she may need an exorcism by how she says hello, if you don't want to be slain by her rhetoric, don't cheerily ask how her night is after you've described your "awesome" pick up soccer game in sunny AZ.  

Its 2:00 am now and I hear, "Mommy, I don't feel so . . .  " and barf.  There goes E.  I went in to get her to the toilet and she greets me with a pillow full of puke and says "don't worry Mommy, I puked on the pillow."  On cue O wakes up and projectile vomits over the side of her crib.  I'm pretty sure she smiled when she did it, and by the glint of the moonlight it looked an awful lot like pea soup.  We head downstairs with every blanket and towel we own an created two vomit proof snuggle nests each equipped with their very own toddler sized barf bucket.

This would be a good time to point out that through persuasion and claims that "dora is on vacation" E has started to watch Charlie and Lola religiously.  I will take a mildly obnoxious british accent any day over poorly phrased spanglish or an inexplicable bald, common sense challenged, mutant child .  Even if Calliou is just  a kid who's four, I want to punch him.  This change has caused 1) me to top googling: does anyone else hate Calliou / What exact language is dora speaking? and 2) E to occasionally speak in a British accent. 

So I sit, in the dark between two puke proof snuggle nests, alternately holding back their blonde and red hair while they puke like frat boys.   When I had finally reached my limit and was about to have a full blown mommy meltdown, E looks at me and in the sweetest British accent says, "mommy, I puked on the red bowl."  


Moments like that stick with you.  They remind me of why I do it day in and day out.  Even though they were both pukey, I kissed their little lipies and spent the night snuggling them by the dim light of charlie and lola.