So I’m driving along with my three girls and my niece as we come upon some cows. Chloe quickly points to a cow and then this conversation happens…
Chloe: “I named that cow Melissa.”
Lydia: “Which cow?”
Chloe: “The one with the white face.”
Sofia: “Did you name any of the other cows?”
Chloe: “Just Melissa with the white face.”
Vivian: “You should have named her Mooo-lissa so she could understand you.”
I am never bored with these girls!
My middle daughter still has a few issues with masks and costumes, but she’s getting better and agreed to a Disney cruise. Her sisters are beyond excited and my husband is not the least bit on board with this idea. I know we’re going to be throwing our money at all things Princess, so I informed the girls they need to start a Disney Cruise fund.
It’s really just a way to tell them no when they ask for things and be able to remind them of their trip without being the super cheap mom that always says ‘no’. So far, they are cooperating and even asking for chores to earn money. That’s right, chores, Box Tops, loose change, any way to earn money…and I mean any way.
The other day I asked my youngest, my baby, my mini me for a hug. She put down her change cup, smiled ever so sweetly, and gave me the tightest hug as she told me how much she loves me. She then stood up and said, “I’m gonna need some cash money for that hug. I’m trying to earn money for my Disney fund.” I told her I didn’t have any change and she said, “Mom, I said cash money. Dollar bills, no change. I’m trying to go on a Disney Cruise here.”
Today I forgot soap at the grocery, so I stopped at a little place on my way home. Soap, I only needed soap. A quick run for soap turned into 2 kids needing to use the bathroom, 1 kid doing Karate Kid crane moves in the bathroom, a request for fake press-on nails and a hair net, and their weird obsession…plungers.
Every time we go down the cleaning aisle, my kids lose their minds. Straight up laughing until they snort as they plunge the floor. Except for today. Lydia actually plunged her sister’s head. Yep, her little sister’s head.
I can now add, “Stop plunging your sister’s head!” to my list of things I never thought I would say. Now let’s all say a prayer that the plunger was brand new and never used for it’s true purpose.
I tried to explain to Vivian that she would be wearing a cap and gown for her Kindergarten graduation picture, but she got super excited about her cute outfit and even picked a hair bow. I explained that a cap is a kind of hat and she might need to take out her hair bow. She looked at me and said, “Nope. I look good today and I am not messing up this hair with some stinking’ hat!”
When we got to the school, I thought her teachers might be able to talk her into it. Not so much. Thank goodness one of the teachers recommended that she hold the cap in her picture. After a lot of sass and attitude, she agreed to hold the cap.
After our picture day drama, I knew graduation day would be an issue with “that stinkin’ hat” so, in true mom fashion, I decided to lie. “You know, Viv, you can’t go on to first grade if you don’t wear the hat to graduation. It’s one of the rules.” She rolled her eyes and said, “Are you kidding me? I don’t want to be in kindergarten again! I’ll wear the stupid hat, but just this time.”
When all the kids walked in, she was wearing her little cap and gown, smiling her goofy 
embarrassed smile in front of all the families. She sat down and giggled nervously as I quietly rejoiced in one of my few victories with her. Awards were presented and a little kid bumped her hat as he walked by, then another classmate bumped her hat. She took off the hat and put it under her seat. I got her attention and motioned to put her cap back on, but she looked at me and whispered, “My teacher said to put our hats under our seats if they fall off.” with that ‘get ya some of that’ look and she quickly turned around.
She received awards for her test scores, the library award, her diploma, and ‘Most Likely to be a Fashion Designer’. Well played, Kindergarten Teachers, well played.
As I was trying to get the girls ready for dance carpool and myself ready for CrossFit, I walked in to find Vivian drawing…completely naked. Rushing around, I asked her to bring me her tights so I could help. As she took her sweet time getting to me, I informed her that, “I will not be late because you won’t cooperate.”
She threw her tights to me and said, “Well look at you mom! Late, coordinate, you rhymed! Haha! Late, coordinate, great. I rhymed, too.”
I put her tights on and said, “I’m leaving. Hurry up or your daddy will leave you.” It didn’t even phase her… If you ever see me and I am clearly the frazzled hot mess mom, you can assume that Vivian is involved.
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.
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!
If you know me well, you know that patience is not my virtue…and I’m not a morning person. Naturally, school mornings in our house are festive to say the least, as are Saturday game days and Sunday church mornings. Okay, every morning is rough. Did I also mention that I have 3 little girls? There are a lot of wardrobe malfunctions, fighting, and yelling to get through the morning routine. Yes, I said routine. It’s the same thing, every morning, yet my girls wake up in a brand new world every day.
On Valentine’s Day, we were all getting ready for the last basketball game of the season…and running late. On the annual day of love, amid the hectic morning, my family informed me that I am a nag. Romantic, I know. You see, I had been asking and asking (and asking and yelling) to pick up their things, to get dressed, to stop fighting, to put on clothes suitable for winter, to brush their teeth, to put their dirty clothes in the hamper, to brush their hair, to put their toys in the toy room, and… you get the point.
Naturally, I protested and let their daddy get them ready. Rather than repeating myself, I simply took all of the things I had been asking them to pick up and put them in an empty hamper. I also let them go to the game rocking the first ponytail attempt by their daddy.
When we returned from the ball game, they realized that their American Girl dolls, favorite sweatshirts, toys, books, etc. were gone. I showed them the hamper and told them the new rule, “I ask once to pick up your things and after that, I simply put it in the hamper and you have to do a chore to get each thing back.”
Sweeping the entry to get her American Girl doll. Parenting like a boss.
The rule had been helping, but mornings were still rough. So, I decided to give up yelling at my kids and losing my patience with them for Lent. Naturally, Ash Wednesday was a snow day. Thursday was a snow day. Friday was a snow day. That’s right, 3 consecutive snow days. My husband is a bit worried about my sanity, but so far I haven’t yelled at my daughters. Day 4…only 36 more to go.
Planning ahead for next year.
So, I have 3 girls. They can hold their own with the boys and love sports, but they are also girlie girls. Translation, I am a dance mom and my girls take every dance class available. For real, the studio offers an “unlimited class rate” and that’s how we roll. 
We switched studios this year and my girls were nervous, so we set up a time to meet the owner and check out the studio. They instantly felt at home and comfortable with Ms. Shelley. So at home that Vivian licked the dance floor. That’s right, after a bunch of sweaty kids left their summer dance bootcamp, my 4 year old licked the floor. She also attempted to lick Ms. Shelley, which brings me back to being comfortable thing.
I am at the studio 3 nights a week for 2 to 4 hours a night. (I told you, dance mom.) Vivian only goes on Tuesday night, but she makes her presence known on that one night. She walks in, smacks Ms. Shelley on the rear and says hello. Ms. Shelley doesn’t even need to look, she knows it’s my kid.
I have “that kid.” You know, the one that leaves class to go potty and as I ask her if she is behaving she replies, “Yep, I didn’t lick the windows.” Um, what?! Why did you mention that? “I licked the windows last week!”
Getting ready for their recital with their little cousin. Yep, “that kid” is on the left.
Mamarazzi & Her Divas 