A Letter to My Mom

A Letter to My Mom.

Most of you probably know that we are quickly approaching the first birthday we will celebrate for my mom – without her.  I wanted to take this opportunity to publicly thank her for being my mom.  If I had been granted the gift of foresight, I would have done this last year, but alas, I am burdened like the rest of us with living life from moment to moment.  So, if I could have, here is what I would have written:

Dear Mom,

I probably don’t thank you often enough for being my mom.  In fact, I’m not sure if I have ever thanked you.  I probably should.  As far as mom’s go, you are pretty top-shelf.  Sure, you get a little annoying and are super messy (by the way – Matt found the coffee stain on the mattress that we tried to hide) but at the end of the day you are pretty darn great.  I thought you might like to read just a few of the reasons:

1.       You married Dad.  Sure, he is a little rough around the edges, but the two of you together made some pretty great kids and in turn, we made some pretty great kids and at the end of the day – we have a pretty awesome family.  That all started with you guys.  Thank you.

2.       You let us laugh at (and usually with) you.  I’m not going to sugar coat this – you are pretty easy to make fun of.  You just make it so stinking easy.  And, to top it off, you laugh along with us.  Thank you for teaching me that self-depreciating humor is okay.  I not only inherited this wit from someone along the way, I also learned that laughing is maybe the best way to deal with any situation.  Crying doesn’t do us much good – thank you for teaching me to always look for the best in any situation and when you can’t find a “best” there is probably something to make fun of that will get you laughing anyway. 

3.       Thank you for always making sure I looked normal.  I know our family didn’t have a lot growing up.  I’m not complaining – I am very thankful for our middle-classedness.  But I know that with dad owning a small business and with you working at a factory, Girbaud jeans were probably not always in the budget.  But I always had them.  And I always had the “right” kind of shoes.  In your wisdom (not vanity, wisdom), you knew the value of us having the clothes that made us fit in.  God help us if I had to do that based solely on my personality.

4.       Thank you for always answering the phone “mm-yello”.  That is hard to type, but I hear it perfectly in my head.  I admit:  we often called you just to hear that and get a good laugh and then hung up.  Again, laughing with you….

5.       Thank you for teaching me that relationships with people are what matters.  You were a great friend to your friends, a great sister/daughter/etc. to your family and a great mom to us.  I admire that about you and try to model it. 

6.       Thank you for loving food as much as I do.  Only in our family can we make you a taco dip birthday cake and everyone accepts it as perfectly awesome.  Whenever we order Casey’s pizza, I still want to eat a bag of Doritos with it, because that is how we roll in the Stolz family.

7.       Thank you for teaching me that you are never too old to figure out your role in the world and in turn, realize your dreams.  When I think about what a stressful situation you must have been in when Sara Lee closed, it makes me appreciate the type of person you are even more.  I am only 33 and I can’t imagine starting over right now.  But you did.  And you did it by kicking ass and taking names.  You worked hard and deserved every A you got.  You had to partner with people younger than me and work together to create projects.  You became friends with those same people that were more than half your age and they are better for it.  Then you graduated and had to go on job interviews.  And then you got a job.  And because of that job you changed lives.  Of students, of teachers, of coworkers, of administrators.  Amazing.

8.       Thank you for being an amazing grandma.  Thank you for walking with me and pushing strollers and just talking about life.  Thank you for knowing when you were starting to annoy me by talking too much and just walking quietly.  Thank you for always being willing to listen to a monitor so that Matt and I could have some valuable alone time. 

9.       Thank you for being a funny sleeper.  Matt and I continue to (and will probably always) tell the story of when you proclaimed “I EAT MEAT” in a very beastly voice when we shared a hotel room. 

10.   Thank you for being you.  I could go on forever about what makes you so special and why I am so grateful for the fact that you are my mom, but in the end, I just want you to know that I am just that – grateful.  Obviously, Maddie will be just as lucky to have a mom just like you, because I learned everything I know about being a good mom from you.  Well, maybe not everything.  There are some notes I took that I think I could put in the “Don’t Do This” category.  But that is a whole other letter.  Maybe for next year’s birthday…

Baby Genius

I am pretty sure it can be considered official:  Wesley is a baby genius.  You might wonder what makes this official and the answer should be obvious:  I have declared it.  But honestly, you can have conversations with the kid.  I woke him up the other day and asked him for a hug and he told me "no, breakfast."  (Typical male behavior, food before affection).  But, knowing that it may eventually yield me the coveted hug, I said "Ok, Wes, what do you want for breakfast?" to which he replied "pop-tart.".  I know what you are all thinking - genius, right?  I mean c'mon - the kid is 22 months old and asking for empty carbs?  Soon he will be composing poetry and learning to play the guitar all while calculating actuarial tables.  I love all my kids equally, but I also compare them to one another and when you look at the fact that Ben didn't say a word until he was 2 1/2 and still answers the question "What are you doing?" with "Good" - you have to admit that Wes's conversational skills are amazing. 

In other (non-genius) news, Maddie turned five last week.  She had a great birthday, got to be star of the week at school, basically basked in the attention.  Then, Monday, we were going to gymnastics and she said (out of the blue).   "Mom, I just thought my life would change when I turned five."  I laughed, then asked her "Why do you say that?" and she said "Well, did your life change when you were five?" and I told her not that I remembered - what was she hoping for?  She said "I don't know, I just thought that maybe I wouldn't like to play with dolls anymore, and I still do.  That is weird, huh?"  My kids never cease to crack me up.

Zach has been going through a pretty clingy mommy stage.  Not sure what is prompting that, because I obviously give the kid whatever he wants and lavish him with attention whenever I can telling him how handsome, intelligent, witty and super-awesome he is...that's not wrong, right?  Lately when I leave him he has taken to wailing "Mommy, don't leave me...I just like you...I just want to spend all day with you...".  Oh sweetie, mom loves you to, but not enough to spend all day, every day with you. 

I better do a quick Ben update as well, so that he doesn't feel left out.  SPOILER ALERT...do not read this to your kids if they still believe in the Tooth Fairy....so, Ben lost a tooth a couple of weeks ago and it happened at school with me not having to do anything about it (for those of you knowing my aversion to teeth, you know what a blessing this is).  So, he was so excited to leave it for the tooth fairy.  Well, that night Wesley had croup and Matt and I took turns sleeping on the floor by him, then I got up bright and early to leave for a trip...at about 9 am it hit me - We forgot to be the tooth fairy!  Bad, bad parents.  So, I told Matt to leave a note the next night from the Tooth Fairy telling Ben that since it was his first tooth, the Fairy wanted to give him some more time to show it off to everyone...and to leave him $2.  That should buy him off.  Good, good parents.  Then, a few days later, Ben was telling me that his other bottom tooth was wiggly.  I asked him the next day how it was and he said, "Hmmm, not that wiggly anymore."  I asked him if I could see and it turns out the tooth was gone - he had swallowed it at some point.  I'm glad the Tooth Fairy of our household does not require actual, physical evidence of tooth loss, because there was no way I was going in after that...

Crying, Puking, and Suburbans...oh my!

So, very seldomly do Matt and I have to discuss our parenting styles.  In fact, our typical conversations as it relates to parenting basically has us patting each other on the back about how great of parents we are and how everyone else could really take a hint or two from our play book.  But, once in a great while, such topics do come up.  Recently, we have been talking about (okay, I have been talking about) how Matt can maybeee be a wee bit harsh on the kids.  The whole time, I'm sure he has been thinking that maybeee I'm a wee bit soft on those same precious angels.  A little backstory:

Ben has (since his second day of kindergarten a.k.a. "I'm not getting on that freaking bus" day) a little bit of anxiety when it comes to a lot of things - including going to school, having sleepovers, going to a tee-ball game - basically just about anything.  This anxiety comes in the form of a "tummy ache" often accompanied by crying and screaming so convincing that the first time he did it I was certain he had appendicitis.  By now, I'm used to his tricks.  However, Tuesday of this week, Maddie had just puked all over the living room (awesome) and Ben was scheduled to be leaving for his first flag football practice.  Of course, there is some crying about how his tummy hurts.  By no means were we forcing him to go this practice (I'm not that cruel) - we had asked him several times if he felt good enough to go and he wanted to go - although he would start to tear up and whimper. 

So, he's going out the door, a little teary eyed, when Matt sort of grumbles about how he needs to grow up and get over it.  I tell him, he does not need to grow up, he is six and that he better not be mean to my precious little boy.  I get the obligatory eye roll as I'm sure Matt is thinking in his head, oh good God this woman is going to be feeding me the same line when we are dropping him off at his dorm room as they get loaded up to go (in Matt's newest baby - his Suburban). 

A few minutes later they are back and Ben is announcing that he just puked.  "Where is it exactly that you puked Ben, please, pretell".  "In Dad's car," he replies. 

Sweet justice, I was thinking.  He deserved that for being mean to my baby and not believing him when he said he was sick!  Matt came in and in much better spirits than I would have been, proceeded to clean out his car and I spent a few glorious days reveling in how, although Matt and I are a super team, this what a true picture of how I really know my $hit. 

Then comes Friday.  Matt leaves for Chicago for a long-awaited, well-deserved trip with friends to Chicago for a Cubs game and of course, the start of the Hawkeye football season.  And I wake up with four kids to myself and a heinous stomach flu.  Guess I should have seen that coming - I deserved it. 

Warning: Not My Normal Pithy Witticisms

Okay, so I'm not even sure if "witticism" is a word, but I wanted to give you guys a heads up that this entry is not going to be the same hilarious stuff I usually write about my kids - although I will throw in a story about Ben at the end, just because it is funny.  I always say that I can't write until I'm inspired to write, but today I was inspired.

I am lucky enough to be able to attend the Global Leadership Conference that is being hosted by WCA today and tomorrow at numerous satellite churches around the country and globe.  But, that isn't what I'm going to write about (well, at least not entirely) - it is just providing context as to why I was at a table for lunch today with four complete strangers and two people who I know, but not as, let's say, BFFs.

Sooooo, we were discussing the morning session when one lady turned to another lady and asked, "do you work outside the home?"  I don't know why, but this has been turning around in my head in all sorts of contexts today.  I'm not even sure where I want to start.  Let me start with the petty, then move to the profound (at least as profound as I get - which isn't really that profound).

If I was the type to take offense, which most anyone who knows me, knows that I am pretty hard to offend, BUT, if I was the type, which should I find more offensive:  the fact that you would never ask a man if "they worked outside the home" or that you are incredulous enough to believe that I would entrust my four loving little children to someone else for care and nurturing during these obviously formative years?  I know that many people have very strong opinions that either A. a woman is entitled to contribute to society in the work force (kids be damned) or B. once you have kids, the most important thing you can do for your kids is to stay home and raise them (career be damned).

Then I got to thinking how unbelievably, undeniably blessed I am.  I get to do both.  And I feel pretty strongly about both of them.  I can contribute to society, use the smarts and skills God blessed me with and get the heck away from my kids a few days a week and then I can roll around with my kids, take them to swimming lessons and get the heck away from the office a few days a week.  It is the best of both worlds and I just wanted to rub it in to everyone how awesome it is.

So, there are two distinct mornings at my house:  the mornings mom has to go to work (i.e. shower) and the mornings mom doesn't have to go to work.  Recently, on a non-work morning Ben came into my room, looked at me and said (with obvious disdain and disgust):  "Mom, why do you always look like that when you don't go to work?"  He was noting my ever constant ponytail, thick elastic waistband shorts and gym t-shirt with flip flops signature look, I think.  And I said (not taking the bait of asking him innocently...like what?  As I am sure he would have replied with something like "a slobby loser") "How do you want me to look, Ben?" "Like a pretty princess." "Hmmmm, and how would I go about looking like a pretty princess?"  "Duh (insert eye roll) put on one of your princess gowns.  Ugh" (insert exasperated sigh and unsaid comment of, Mom - Maddie can pull it together with some sort of sequin and tulle every day - and she's only four - what is your excuse?")

And those, my friends, are the days I am so grateful to have an office to go the next day.

Genuis Parenting

Here's the deal:  I'm not a very good parent.  What I am, is a pretty good actress.  So, when the curtain goes up and I'm not prepared, that is always a bad moment.  I've had a couple of these lately.  Let me set the stage:  Saturday morning, gorgeous day.  About 9 am, birds are chirping, rainbows are shining, etc., etc.  I am cleaning up from a delicious homemade breakfast (cereal) and encourage the little children to go outside and get some fresh air.  As I take out our empty milk jug to the recycling (because of course, we are also a green family) I look over and see Zachary punching Wesley.  And I launch.  Hard.  Seriously, I have already had 40 minutes with these little beasts and my buttons have all been pushed.  I scream at him so loud that it honestly hurt my throat for the next 40 minutes, yank him by the arm to come sit on the steps in timeout and then look to see the damage he inflicted.  As I look up for the first time I make eye contact with about three sets of neighbors and all of the random strangers in my neighborhood as apparently it is garage sale day and I am on center stage.  Awesome.  Love it when people not only see me launch, but see me launch in my grungy pajamas.  And......scene. 

However, for every horrifyingly embarrassing moment (like when I went inside for two seconds and came back out to see Wesley standing in the middle of the street laughing at me while some of the same neighbors probably wondered who let the 18-month go unsupervised for even one second) I have (what I believe) to be a stroke of genius.  Ben has been having some serious attitude issues lately (which Zach then thinks is hilarious to mock.  I'm pretty sure he thinks my name has been changed to Stupid Mommy).  So, tonight, I asked him to get out of the bath, get his pajamas on and keep an eye on his brother Wes who was locked in his room.  He proceeds to get out of the bath, go into his bedroom and then go all Magic Mike on his brother, because when isn't a naked dance hilarious?  I wasn't so mad about the dancing, it was more the non-listening (although eventually he has to learn about the non-dancing, too).  So, I told him that the movie he was planning to watch for the night was cancelled (knowing full well I wouldn't go through with it, because how else does one find time to blog unless they park their kids in front of a movie?)  I let him scream for a while and think that I wasn't going to let him come down and then I saw it:  his uneaten (as usual) vegetables for dinner.  I told him to come down, asked him if he wanted to watch the movie (yes!) and said, then sit there and eat those vegetables and when they are gone, I will start the movie.  Funny how corn started to look sort of appetizing.  Feel free to use this technique at home.  And I will continue to pretend to be a good mom:)

Happy Father's Day

So, I am very lucky in the fact that I have great guys in my life and would be remiss if I didn't at least mention them on Father's Day.  Of course, I should probably start with the father of my children, Matt - without him, we wouldn't have the crazy, ridiculous litter of children we call our family (or do you start with my dad, because without him, I wouldn't be possible OR do you start with his dad, my grandpa because without him, my dad wouldn't be possible therefore making me not possible...).  Well, my executive decision is to start with my husband. 
Matt is an amazing father.  He is involved and hands-on with all of our kids, even in the tiny tiny baby years where a lot of guys look at their children more as small creatures that they could break and should probably not be trusted to handle.  He is willing to take on all four kids when I need some time away without hesitation.  He supports us and leads our family in a way that I admire and am in awe of.  Yesterday, he took Zach and Ben golfing (after dropping off Maddie at a play date) while Wes was napping and I had three hours of uninterrupted quiet bliss.  Of course, I used it to clean the kids' rooms, which was sort of ridiculous, but I think I could have been peeling wallpaper and would have enjoyed it because it was by myself with no one demanding anything of me.  Thank you Matt, for being so amazing.
Then there is my dad - my dad and I have always gotten along swimmingly.  He is a simple guy that takes life for what it is.  He isn't easily flustered and always has time to give the kids a ride on the golf cart.  He was a great guy to have around growing up and I'm excited for the time my kids will get to spend with him.  They love visiting grandpa's house (granted, that may be for the four-wheeler and golf cart - although Grandpa comes as sort of an added bonus). 
Then you have my two brothers - one a dad, one a great uncle to his six neices and nephews.  My brothers and I fought A LOT growing up and I see so much of our relationship in my kids.  The stupid bickering, the ganging up on each other, the constant fighting (sounds lovely, right?).  But, then I look at how much I enjoy hanging out with my brothers now and am excited that my kids will have three of their best friends around always, because they are family.
Then you have my three boys.  Ben with his sweet nature, Zach with his sarcastic nature and Wes with his spitfire nature.  I am starting to realize that I am totally outnumbered by dudes.  But at least they are all pretty decent dudes.  The other night, Zach climbed into bed with us (there was a monster in his bed you know) and I told him, Zach, this bed is not made for three people.  He looked at me sweetly and said, "Well, then you better get out.".  Ah, with men like this in my life, what else can a girl ask for!

How Did I Ever Have Friends?

Okay, so over the last few months, I have become very aware of an annoying trait that I (and other people in my family) may possibly possess.  Turns out, I'm a loud talker.  Who knew?  Well, I'm guessing pretty much everyone I have ever known knows, but I had no idea.  Perhaps I'm a little hard of hearing or something. 

The reason this has become so glaringly obvious to me is lately we have been trying to teach Zachary the difference between indoor and outdoor voices.  Turns out, he has only an outdoor voice and beyond that, apparently so do I.  It is really crazy annoying.  I'm not sure how anyone hangs out with me and to all of my friends that have hung in there for me, thank you.  I'm so grateful that you want to still associate with me with the potential damage I have done and continue to do to your eardrums. 

So Zach recently went on a shopping trip with some friends to Target and even his three year old friend had to tell him to tone it down a bit.  The kid is amazingly loud.  And amazingly neurotic.  We are really struggling with him right now - not only with his noise level but also his ability to freak out about pretty much anything:  He can't get his shirt off, he can't turn on the water, his sister looked at him, his seat belt is stuck, you get the picture.  I have taken to calmly telling him to calm down, it's not that big of a deal which is met with one of the following responses (at an amazing decibel, usually in some sort of enclosed space that makes the sound even further resonate):  "I can't talk normally!" "Don't tell me to calm down - that is a naughty word!" "It is stupid - goll dangit!" The other bad thing about this trait in Zach is that you never really know what is going to come out of his mouth.  It could be something amazingly clever or witty, but often it is something amazingly clever and inappropriate. 

If I will warn my kids of one thing, it is that God has an amazing sense of humor and a way to craftily work some karmic retribution in little ways in my children (and therefore, the same will be true for their children).  Zach is obviously pay back for all of my friends and family that has put up with my super loud voice over the last 33 years.  By the way, I am now incredibly self conscious, so if you are talking to me on the phone and I suddenly drop the noise level, it is because I just remembered that I don't have to shout at you. 

A Common Thread

Dirt.  Grass seed.  Rocks.  Sidewalk chalk.  Cigarette butts.  Zip ties.  Bubble solution.  Bubble wands.  Sand.  Grass.  Leaves.  Sticks.  Trains.  Matchbox cars.  Pencils.  iPhones.  iPods.  Remote controls.  Sponges.  Kleenex.  Paper towels.  Uncooked rice.  Cooked rice.  Magnets.  Ice cubes.  Straws.  Beads.  Nails.  Thumbtacks.  Silk flowers.  Coasters.  Poopy diapers.  Poopy wipes.  Clean diapers.  Clean wipes.  Barettes.  Ponytail holders.  Cotton balls.  Brushes.  Eyeliner.  Toilet paper.  Earthworms. 

Ah, yes.  The earthworm.  If you haven't figured out what I am writing about, those are the most recent things that came to mind that Wesley has put in his mouth in the last 96 or so hours.  The kid either has a serious case of pica or a penchant for knowing exactly what he shouldn't put in his mouth, so of course, he puts it there.  The earthworm was actually a couple of weeks ago and all I could do was stare at him and throw up in my mouth a little bit.  Thank God I have an incredibly awesome neighbor who doesn't fear touching gross things the way I do, so she kindly swatted it out of his mouth and launched it into the yard.  Wes was left smacking his lips with what little earthworm he may have ingested along with the dirt appetizer that came along with it. 

If I haven't said it before, I will now.  Matt and I are in agreement that God knows what he was doing when he gave us Wesley last.  Otherwise, the Brogans just may have been a three-person household. 

Guess What?

Guess what is my topic for today and it applies to two of my kids.  First off, Zachary.  For those of you who have spoken with me lately, you probably know that Zachary is driving me clear up a wall.  The kid can be so good and so sweet and so stinking cute, but by God does he have a stubborn naughty streak that I have no idea what to do with.  I have tried EVERYTHING!  Sometimes, I find something that works great and we have a good week and the next week it is like we are back at square one.  Today the kid has been sent to his room, swatted (politically correct way to say spanked), sat in a corner, had his bike taken away, had his Jeep taken away and had outside taken away (I'm not sure how well I am going to be able to enforce these, which may be a large part of my problem.)  I had to take him out of his room and sit him in a corner, because while he was up in his room he opened his piggy bank and his brother's piggy bank and started taking the coins out of Ben's, because he wanted his bank to be full.  Yep, a little petty larceny going on while being punished - this kid is going to either go to law school or prison.  But, I digress.  So, the other morning, Zach came down early and Matt was already gone, so I asked Zach if he wanted to get in the bed and snuggle with me.  It was one of those tender moments.  Quiet, the sun was just starting to come up, you could hear birds chirping, a nice breeze coming in from the windows.   Zach was all nestled into the crook of my arm like he used to do as a baby.  I told him "Guess what Zach?" and he looks at me, his beautiful hazel eyes smiling, "What, mama?".  "I love you," I told him.  He smiled knowingly.  "Guess what, mom?" he asked me.  I smiled, waiting for him to return the phrase, "What?" I asked.  "Chicken Butt.".  And then he laughs hysterically.  Yep, that Zach is a real charmer.

My other "Guess what" relates to Wesley.  I don't understand babies.  They eat, poop, run around all day, having no cares in the world.  He lays down in his nice cozy crib, a glass of water, an extra binky and his Super Buddy all by his side.  And then it begins.  Usually, with his sixth spidersense, he knows that I have just finished putting away dishes or laundry or whatever it is I am finishing up at about 11:00 pm and have finally put my head on the pillow.  Thus begins the crying.  Like the good wife and mother that I am, I roll over and ask Matt "Are you going to get him, or should I" (except implying that I really don't want to get him, will you?) Matt goes up (he is an awesome husband, but Wesley is also smart enough to know that dad doesn't give into his crap and he might as well lay back down) and lays by him for awhile, until he is calm.  But then it is like the kid has crazy thoughts going through his mind and can't get comfortable.  He sits up like "Guess what! I just had a dream about poop!" and lays back down.  Cries a little more.  Then "Guess what! I think this tooth might finally be coming through, let's look at it right now." Cries a little more, lays back down.  "Guess what! I think tomorrow might be the day I graduate to 24 month clothes - what do you guys think?" Cries a little more, lays back down.  So in reality, I have no idea what he is really thinking about, but it must be pretty important stuff to a little guy if he can't sleep through the night, what, with all the worry.  Do they prescribe Baby Xanax? 

What's Wrong With Me?

I'm sure most of you haven't given this a lot of consideration, but we have four car seats in our minivan.  So, when we take on an extra adult passenger, like we did yesterday, I am typically relegated to the back seat between Maddie and Ben.  First of all, when you look at the spot between two car seats, you think - well, that looks pretty roomy.  Then you sit down and realize that the distance from hip to hip in reality, is much larger than what you imagine in your head.  So I am literally wedged between a four-year old and a six-year old, much too far back to take part in the adult conversation going on in the front seat and much to annoyed to take part in the conversation going on around me.  Is that bad?  Do most parents enjoy the pratter and chit chat of their small children, because I really don't.  Once in a while, I enjoy listening to their conversations when they don't know I'm listening - those can be pretty funny.  I especially enjoy their theological discussions.  However, what I really can't stand is my kids telling me what I am supposed to say.  For instance, Maddie will say "Mom, now ask where is my right hand?" So, I will oblige.  And she will hold it up from where she was hiding it behind her back and I will do the obligatory laugh and tell her how surprised I was.  I can handle that - if we did it once.  Instead, she wants to do it 15 times until I am about ready to respond with "Maddie, I could give two $hit$ where your right hand is."  Of course, I don't actually say that.  This road trip I came up with the perfect solution - an iPhone and headphones.  I'm not really sure why I haven't thought of it sooner.  I just turned on my Pandora, put in my headphones and completely tuned out the noise around me.  Once in a while I would get them giggling by poking them with my feet or telling them really loudly that I couldn't hear them (which, blissfully, I really couldn't) and felt that I was still being a good enough parent.  Problem solved.

A few quick comments on Zach, since the little fellar did turn three this week.  He is, by far, the funniest kid we have.  He is also, by far, the most bi-polar kid we have.  But, 90% of the time he is pretty stinking enjoyable.  I have often said that for a three year old he has an amazing vocabulary, but beyond that he understands sarcasm and actually has some comedic timing.  He made everyone smile that wished him a "Happy Birthday" by wishing them a "Happy Birthday" right back.  We were walking through the mall yesterday (a trip to Iowa City made well worth it by being capped off by a trip to Chipotle) and he was telling me how he hated the "excavator" (escalator) and would much rather ride the "elebator" (you can probably figure that one out) when a lady walked by and just started laughing at the conversation and said, "oh, excavator - how cute! That is one for the baby book!" To which, I nodded politely and said "Yep, this one really is a funny one." When in my head I'm thinking, oh lady, if you only knew half of what this kid said - I had asked him a few minutes prior if he needed to go to the bathroom as he was grabbing as if he needed to and he just looked at me and said "No mom, I just like to grab my junk."  Now there is one for the baby book.

Karma

I tend not to have good material to work with when it comes to Maddie, because in reality, she is a fairly easy child.  She whines more than the engine on the sweet Beretta I used to drive (Loretta the Beretta to be exact), but besides that she is generally helpful and easy to get along with.  But, the more time I spend with her being home these last few weeks, the more I realize, she is a LOT like me and just might be my karmic retribution.  Lately, when I catch her doing something wrong (take this morning:  Ben, Maddie and Zach were eating breakfast and talking about Ben's sight words.  Zach said, "I want to learn a sight list" and Maddie goes, "Ha, did you hear that Ben? Zach called your sight words a sight list" basically implying that Zach is a total idiot and no where near the intelligence level that she and Ben so obviously share.  I said, "Maddie, don't make fun of your brother, he is just trying to have a conversation with you" and she said, "Mom, I wasn't laughing at Zach, I was saying that to myseeeeellllllfffff.  Uhhhhh." I said, "Really, when you said Zach called your sight words a sight list" you were really taking to yourself."  "Yeeeeeesssssss.") she starts crying because she knows she had been called out and I wasn't buying into her crap.  I mean, growing up, I was pretty good at being the ol' wordsmith with my parents in order to get myself out of trouble.  Who could doubt this angelic face, right? Maddie has that exact same attitude, I can tell.  She thinks she already has the "in" as the only girl who helps mom with whatever she needs and whenever another kid is getting busted for doing something wrong, she is quick to chime in with "Mom, don't you just love how good I am being?" With time and a little determination, she will get much smoother at this deception and Matt and I are going to have our hands full.

The Moral of the Story Is...

So, we celebrated Matt's 40th birthday this weekend.  Let me start by saying what awesome friends and family we have that celebrated with us (either in person or in spirit) and how lucky we are for it.  Let me also start by saying that I am too old to get drunk at a bowling alley on a Saturday night.  But, I will go ahead and rehash some of the high points for everyone. 
The popular gift for Matt was a "40" of beer.  Get it?  A 40?  Pretty clever, people.  Anyway, the evening started out with Zach asking what was in the bag that our babysitter brought over (yes, my friends, my babysitter arrives with beer - you can't have her!) and Matt told him "dad juice".  Zach looks at him and goes, "sooooo, dad juice is beer!".  Can't pull the wool over that ones eyes! 
Then we were off - Matt didn't really want to celebrate his birthday, but I thought we had to do SOMETHING.  Now, tell me what do you come up with in Cedar Falls, Iowa for a pretty random (but super fun) group of friends to celebrate your husband turning 40 on a Saturday night?  We chose bowling.  Classy, right?  There is a small little 16-lane house (yep, I talked to the worker guy for quite a while and picked up some pretty sweet bowling lingo - if you need any pointers, let me know) that I figured wouldn't be too busy and had pretty cheap beer - so that is where we headed. 
We had lots of fun, lots of laughs and lots of tall boys.  We had not very many spares, even fewer strikes and about 8% of our bowlers possess the ability to score over 100.  We called it a night pretty late by my standards - about midnight.  And here is where reality begins to slap me in the face...
What is it about your kids that they can sense that you maybe aren't getting the requisite amount of sleep that you would like and that maybe, just maybe you aren't at your normal all-star self?  Do they have some sort of built in beer-snifferouters?  (Sidebar:  one night a few weeks ago Maddie and I went to a great kid's birthday party that served beer.  I had two well deserved, much needed, not too much to impair me to drive my four year old, beers.  We were home in time to say good night to everyone else and when I went to say good night to Ben he goes to me - "huh, I don't know what you did at that party, but you sure smell funny." Thank you Mr. Bloodhound, next time I'll chew on some Tic Tacs on my way home so as not to offend you).  Anyway, OF COURSE, Wesley had to get a terrible cold this weekend and isn't sleeping well and OF COURSE the only way to get him to sleep at all is to bring him into bed with us.  I don't like doing this when I am stone sober, let alone when I have had a couple of beers.  I don't sleep well, Matt doesn't sleep well and Wesley sleeps like a king while I am forced out to a meager 1/32nd of my fairly expensive king size bed while my 13-month old takes up a good 2/3rds and my husband gets whatever fraction is remaining (not a math scholar people, I have no idea what that fraction would actually be).  So, add the beginnings of a hangover to this equation and you can guess how my night went. 
Sometime around 5:45 I am awakened by someone shaking me, which I think in my stupor is Wesley falling out of bed and have a quick heart attack while showcasing my cat like reflexes and grabbing the offender before any bodily damage is done.  Instead it is my six-year old wondering if he can watch Power Rangers.  Having kids that respect our rules can sometimes be a double-edged sword.  Ben learned to work the remote over the last month or so, which meant he was in a habit of grabbing it, switching it to 298 (Boomerang) and then negotiating the channels around there until he found something he liked to watch - regardless of whether or not Matt, myself or any of the kids were already watching something which led to many a discussion about asking permission to change the channel or watch TV.  Which leads to a six year old by my bed at 5:45 asking if he can watch TV when in that moment all I want is to sleep for another sixteen hours and have a kid that just fires up the TV, no questions asked.  Anyway, I mumble something about not until 7:00 (another rule, since Ben also went through a phase where he was getting up earlier and earlier when he found out that mom has little patience for visitors in the morning and will tell kids about anything they want to hear to get them out of her room, which meant free reign over the TV for awhile - I had to draw the line when he started getting up before 5 am to score some sweet TV time.)  I really have no idea what he did from 5:45 until 7:00, but I'm sure it was educational and creative. 
We finally had to get up at 7:00, because Ben was up and demanding some breakfast to go with his Power Rangers, Wesley had been squawking at us from about 6:30 on to get up and get moving from the Pack-n-Play he was moved into sometime after the 5:45 awakening and Zach was yelling from his gated room that he had to pee.  None of these things are the way I like to start my morning stone sober, let alone slightly (okay maybe a little more than slightly) hungover.  But we are troopers and made it through the morning.  My final slap in the face was when I got in the shower to rinse off the grime, sweat (bowling is physical, people!) and powdered sugar (trying to cure my hangover with Powdered Donettes) and turned on the radio to the show, Retro Stars and listened to several songs that I enjoyed in college - on RETRO stars.  Yep, too old and too many kids for this sort of night. 
So, the moral of the story is...if you are going to go out and celebrate with your husband, spring for a hotel and an overnight babysitter.  That way you get to sleep in, enjoy breakfast at noon and maybe squeeze in a nap before you have to go home. 

Ben! Eat More Sandwiches!

Okay, I have to get this topic out while it is burned fresh into my memory.  Although, it might be one of those burns that I recall much longer than I wished I would.  Let me preface this to tell you that this entry is about poop.  However, because I know that discussing poop isn't everyone's (yes, I mostly mean Jeremy's) favorite topic, I am borrowing a trick from one of my favorite shows, How I Met Your Mother.  If you don't watch the show, you should.  Anyway, let's just say that I am borrowing a trick they use to discuss a topic you might not want to discuss in front of some people, so we will say that this entry is about "eating sandwiches".
We spent this Friday and part of Saturday at a great resort in Southern Iowa, Honey Creek Resort.  Everyone was tired upon our return, so we decided to start our bedtime routine a little earlier (say, like two hours earlier).  We had three kids in the bath tub and I was yelling at Ben to come up for his turn.  Then I thought, hmmmm, Ben said he was going to eat a sandwich about 15 minutes ago.  How long can it really take to eat a sandwich?  I better go check on him.  (We have had one other run in like this in the past - sometimes, Ben has a really hard time finishing his sandwich).  As I get to the bottom of the steps, I can hear him yelling, screaming and crying about his sandwich.  Uh oh. 
The next hour was one of those hours that you don't ever picture when you think of all the not-so-pleasant parts of being a mommy.  Sure, there are going to be fights, and spills, and maybe even some broken bones, but c'mon - a sandwich that is stuck?  What am I supposed to do with that?  I spend about a half an hour just being a cheerleader, lending moral support as best I can.  I offer suggestions as to different positions, distractions, etc. and give him a new Kleenex every five seconds as he needs to wipe away the tears and snot he has compiled while trying to eat his sandwich.  Then, he looks at me, crying, half screaming and goes "Mom, Jesus H. Chris it just hurts so much".  I just shake my head, wondering where to go with that one (yes, he said "Chris" - I'm sure he heard one of us say this at sometime or another and thought he was repeating it correctly).  I go to get him some water to help try to wash the sandwich down and honestly, I needed a break.  Fifteen minutes (and a different bathroom - he thought maybe a change of scenery would help) later, I'm starting to reach my wits end.  We have tried everything and Ben is literally begging me for mercy.  Please...can I help him, can we go to the doctor, can he take a nap, can't I just catch the sandwich, can he just wait until we eat supper and he watches some TV, then we can finish the sandwich?? At this point, he can't even stand up so I try to tell him while these ideas may seem appealing to him, unfortunately they are non-viable options.  So, then he says, please, let's just pray that God will take away my sandwich.  I love kids.  So, we prayed and he just kept saying "Hurry Up and Say Amen so God will take it away!"  He kept telling me, "None of these options are working!!!  I think I will just go to bed."  I told him - that is what got us into this mess in the first place - you have to finish your sandwich when you have the urge, not deal with it at a later date. 
Eventually, we finished the sandwich.  He told me, "mom, I think I am at the level where I will not get sick from my sandwich.  Thank you for coming up with that plan" (I will spare you the details of the plan).  Again, not something they teach in the parenting books...at least none of the ones I have read.  When I get around to writing mine, I think I will have a chapter dedicated to how to help kids finish sandwiches - complete with helpful cuss phrases and the correct prayers to say in order to get the help needed.  I hope I haven't ruined sandwiches for anyone. 

Give it the College Try

http://mommyandmex3-jlbrogan.blogspot.com/
That is the link to my old blog.  The blog I can't access.  The blog I can't access because I can't remember the password and even if I could remember the password, it wouldn't do me any good, because I no longer have access to the email account it was set up under.  So, alas, I must start new.

Maybe that is a good thing.  Call it a fresh start and I am cool with fresh starts.  I will try to update this blog a little more frequently, because I know, looking through my old one, I had a good time with it.  Plus, everyone knows I'm pretty witty. 

It is February 8th.  Tomorrow Ben turns six and Friday my husband turns 40.  Where does the time go?  I plan on this blog being a repository for funny and embarrasing stories about my kids and my life.  I'm sure there will be plenty.  Maybe I will even share an insight or two from my own brand of off-kilter, politically-incorrect, fairly ridiculous, yet somehow working school of parenting.  For example, today Zach was being such a turd that I have done all of the following with varied amounts of success:  sat him in a corner, pretended to leave the house without him, actually leave the house without him (only to the garage, don't freak out), took away his Mickey Mouse Clubhouse watching rights, promised him extra Mickey Mouse Clubhouse watching rights and rewarded him with Cheetos.  Who wouldn't want to parent like me?  Anyway, Wesley is crying in his crib as I am trying to be creative, so I better sign off for now.