tired parents

We’re Expecting

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I took my dog, Sylvie Odette, to the vet today for a pregnancy check. Back in May she was in heat and had a little episode with our other dog, Ollie Augustus. Despite my best efforts, we have a teen pregnancy on our hands.

When I found out today that my Sylvie is with puppy, I panicked. The vet left the room to print off some information and Lydia asked, “How did she get pregnant?” Sofia responded before I could with, “When a boy and girl…” I quickly interrupted, “Nope. I need everybody to sit in their seat and give me a minute.”

The vet’s assistant returned and informed me of basic needs for my pregnant Sylvie. As she explained signs of birth, she recommended getting a thermometer to check Sylvie for signs of labor. My 6 year old leaned in and whispered, “I am not sticking that thing up her butt.” I assured Vivian that would not be her job, texted my husband, and tried to pull it together.

As I was checking out, the assistant said, “Feel free to call us with any questions and we’ll see you in a couple weeks.” I laughed and said, “I will probably be stalking you with questions.” They laughed, but I think they realize I will be calling daily to process this situation.

We got in the car and before the girls could ask any questions, I asked, “Who wants ice cream? You can have a smoothie, frappe, or milk shake.” We stopped by McDonalds on our way home. I got an ice cream cone and shared a 10 piece chicken nugget with Sylvie. I felt like we earned that.

Weird Obsession

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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.

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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.

Good Hair Day

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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.

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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 solution toolembarrassed 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.

 

PC Perks and Regimens

 

Hot Mess Mom

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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.

redefine in press

Car Chats

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You know that little tiny area at the bottom of your windshield that is never touched by the windshield wipers? The spot that is the shape of a shark fin and always has rain drops on it…
The fact that it is never cleaned really bothers Lydia. A lot. She would like for someone to find a way to make sure it is also cleared off with the rest of the windshield.
Yes, we had a five minute conversation in our car tonight and yes, there may be some family members with OCD tendencies.

Not Morning People

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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!

Just Checking Mom!

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Last Sunday, all of the children went to sing at the nursing home after lunch at the local Mexican Restaurant. We all played musical cars and I ended up with Vivian, Lydia, and two of her first grade friends in my mom mobile. In true girl style, Lydia and her friends decided they had to go to the bathroom before leaving the restaurant.

I waited outside the bathroom with Vivian, knocking to remind them that we couldn’t be late. At the sound of the paper towel dispenser dispensing a small forest and mischievous giggling, I popped my head inside the door and busted out my mean mom voice. They giggled, but promised they were almost finished.

I immediately turned to check on Vivian, AKA Amber Alert, but didn’t see her. I panicked and yelled her name, only to find her in the floor looking up my dress. I asked what she was doing and she loudly responded, “Just checking to see if you’re wearing panties today, Mom!” I quickly replied, “Every day, Viv! Every day, now get up out of the floor!” The older church ladies in the booth nearby were as mortified as I was. Thank goodness the girls came out of the bathroom and we could all escape the awkward moment. Fortunately, the nursing home was a success and no further public service announcements were made.

Cow Poop and Mother’s Day Breakfast

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I was rushing around to get to a Mother’s Day Breakfast with Vivian at school. I am not a morning person, so I was cutting it close. I was completely ready, I simply had to take our beloved Ollie Augustus down the hill to his kennel.As I reached to remove his collar, I quickly realized that he had rolled in cow poop…again!

Two things, 1. Eau de Cow Poop lingers even after washing your hands three times. 2. There are few things more humbling than texting your child’s teacher about cow poop. In light of the first point, I hand sanitized my hand about 20 times as I drove to the school. I finally got rid of the horrible smell, just in time to be the last mom to arrive to the breakfast.

I had a chocolate milk with Vivian as she finished her Fruit Loops in chocolate milk with orange juice. Upon clearing our tables, we walked back to the pre-K room to find a precious gift from our children.

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Allow me to show you an enlarged version of the letter in which I am 70 feet tall and weigh 60 pounds.  It sounds awesome until I read my age… 62 years old. Oh, and apparently Vivian likes doing the dishes with me. Who knew?!

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According to Vivian I am super model skinny, despite my age, I make a mean batch of chocolate fudge, and she knows that I love her. I am just going to embrace the age and let people tell me, “Dang! You look good for 62!” The cow poop, however, I could do without.

No sleep + kids = Momnesia

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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.