Not Morning People

When your dad wakes you every day by turning on the lights and you don’t like mornings, you get creative.

Well played girls, well played.

Well played girls, well played.

Every night, Lydia and Vivian hang blankets from Sofia’s loft bed because Big Daddy McNabb wakes all of us up by turning on the lights and talking loudly. Some mornings he even plays the Ohio State or Notre Dame fight song until we come down stairs. I will never understand morning people, but I always appreciate the pot of coffee he makes before he turns on the lights!

Standards or Sanity. You Choose

Make that party of two. After dance carpool I returned to the office to find this. Thank goodness they're cute!

Strep throat, party of two.

Do you remember how I gave up yelling at my kids for Lent on a snow day? That snow day turned into 3 snow days, then the weekend, then Monday Vivian woke up sick, then Monday afternoon I had to pick up Sofia early from school because she was sick, then I had dance carpool Monday night with Lydia, then Tuesday was a snow day, which turned into a snow week. Seriously.

By Wednesday, my cootie kids had been fever-free and on antibiotics for their strep throat long enough to take them in public. The girls had eaten everything we had at home, so we dropped Lawrence off at work and went to McDonalds for breakfast and the germ infested Play Place. Why? Because a mother considerably lowers all standards after being cooped up with children for so long. My next step, the grocery store. Yes, with all three girls.

Screen time is not restricted during snow days. Screen time = sanity for mom.

Screen time is not restricted during snow days. Screen time = sanity for mom.

 

Snow was in the forecast for that afternoon. I should have known how crowded the stores would be, but my options were, grocery store or don’t eat for days. Let’s be honest, I didn’t get this body by not eating, and hungry kids are grumpy. Off to the grocery we went. Never underestimating the power of bribery, I let the girls choose donuts for the next morning and told them, “If you want them for breakfast, you have to behave for the rest of the day.” Let’s just say, I will never get those two hours of my life back and I don’t care to re-live that trip to the grocery, but I didn’t yell at my kids.

 

If looks could kill

If looks could kill

As soon as we got home, I bundled up the girls and sent them outside to fight in their new snow boots as I put away groceries. The novelty of playing in the snow wore off quickly and the girls were back in the house as I was finishing with the groceries.  Just as all of their winter layers had been thrown into a pile, their daddy called to check on their behavior.

I put the phone on the counter and waited to hear the girls’ reports. Naturally, Vivian ran to the phone and told Lawrence, “We have been good today Daddy and we get donuts in the morning. Yep, we’re listening and we miss you!” I looked at her and she immediately gave me a dirty look and whispered, “Don’t say a word!” as she pointed her finger at me.

I made the girls a Newman’s organic frozen pizza, gave them a bath, and tucked them into bed with a movie. I then proceeded to finish laundry, get the back-up heat ready, and prepare for the possible power outage due to the anticipated 3-8″ of snow. I finally went to bed at 1:00 am.  I woke up, far too early, to Vivian counting to 100 as she hugged me in a headlock, then repeatedly asked, “Is it donut time? Is it donut time?”

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When you’re outnumbered and you can’t send them to school, you just go with it. I sugared them up and sent them outside to go sledding. You can call it caving, I call it staying sane during a snow week.

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Notice how dark this picture is? The donut demands started entirely too early.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fortunately, the snow is beautiful and my girls are cute. It's been fun, but I am ready for warm weather!

Fortunately, the snow is beautiful and my girls are cute. It’s been fun, but I am ready for warm weather!

Disney World

I was just snuggling in the bed with Vivian, talking about how she is turning five soon when, out of the blue, she dropped the Disney World bomb on me…

“Mama, I want to go to Disney World.” Then, she leaned into my ear and whispered, “If you let me go to Disney World, I will let you have a piece of wine and coffee when we get back home.”

My how the bribery tables have turned!

No sleep + kids = Momnesia

I will never forget my first week home with my firstborn.  She never slept more than 3 hours. Ever.  The usual for Sofia was 2 hours awake, 2 hours asleep, until the day I thought she died.  That’s right, with all of the new mom stress and worry, magnified by my exhaustion and overachiever tendencies to be the perfect mom, I thought I killed her in less time than it took me to kill a houseplant.

She was sleeping so soundly that I couldn’t wake her up.  Her breath was shallow, her body didn’t react to my touch, and this had gone on for more than her maximum of 3 hours.  I called my husband in a panic to get home because I had somehow killed our child in the first week.

We used cold rags on her feet, I tried to nurse her, we talked to her, turned on music.  I thought she was in a coma.  We rushed to the pediatrician and, as soon as the doctor came in, Sofia opened her eyes and smiled at me.  That’s right, I had all but blasted Beastie Boys but the sound of the pediatrician coming in woke up my newly rested, happy child. I then proceeded to have an emotional breakdown. The pediatrician recommended take out food and paper plates, to let my house be messy, and sleeping pills to get at least one night of sleep a week.

I am pretty sure I haven’t slept a solid 8 hours in almost a decade, but I have managed to keep all 3 of my girls alive. That’s right, all girls. Not the sweet, mellow girls either. I have thrill seeking, strong-willed, opinionated divas who are meaner and messier than any boy I know.

Go ahead, feel bad for my husband, just for a moment.  Then, realize that men determine the gender and I have to do their hair every morning.  Every morning.