Kids and the Zombie Apocalypse

Out of all the scary monsters, I like zombies the best. Many of you already know that I am kind of a chicken shit (re: My Dark Secret), but I'm learning to face my fears. From "Night of the Living Dead" to "Dawn of the Dead" to "Shaun of the Dead," The Hub and I have seen our fair share of cheesy and scary movies. We are die hard "The Walking Dead" fans. We've spent countless hours talking about how an outbreak could possibly happen. We also have a pretty decent zombie apocalypse survival plan. We've discussed what we'll need, where we'll go, how we'll get there, and who we want on our team. On the surface, we look pretty prepared. But, let's be honest here. If a zombie apocalypse ever happens, we won't survive. We have kids.

Top 7 Ways Our Kids Will Get Us Killed in a Zombie Apocalypse

1. Food: If I have a hard time convincing my kids to eat regular food, there is no way I'm going to get them to eat grubs and wild mushrooms once our supplies run out. "Honey, eat your squirrel before it gets cold." I can hear the whining already... and so will the zombies. Mark my words, I will be bitten while searching for the last remaining box of Cheerios.

2. Volume Control: Ever try to watch a movie with a 3 year old? How about sit through a family wedding with a fussy toddler on your lap? How often can you make a phone call in peace? Now consider what it will be like when you are hiding in an old abandoned house with a hoard of zombies near by and even the slightest squeak will call attention to your location. Do you really think a three year old will sit quietly for mommy? Not mine. Even if I bribe her with the last Twinkie on earth, my noisy kid will give us away.

3. Speed: It takes an average of 20 minutes to get the kids out of the house and into their car seats on a regular day. If we need to leave our safe house during the zombie apocalypse, our kids will still lose a shoe, forget their blankie or favorite toy (which will cause tantrums galore... see #2), or fuss about sitting in their car seats. A zombie could easily bite one of us on the butt while we're struggling to buckle a seat bealt. Some of you will say, "Forget the seat belts and get in the car!" With zombies crowding the streets, seat belts are of the utmost importance. Haven't you seen "Zombieland?"

4. Hiding: Both my kids are scared of the dark. They cannot go to sleep unless we plug in four nightlights and turn on the hall light. If we do that during a zombie apocalypse and we might as well hang a "All You Can Eat" buffet sign over our front door. We're so screwed.

5. Going Unnoticed: If my kids see a zombified neighbor stumbling down the road, they will yell out, "Hey Mommy! Look! It's our neighbor! Hey neighbor! Let's say 'hi' to our neighbor, Mommy!" They do that all the time to me in the grocery store, especially when I just want to get a gallon of milk and get the hell out of there without being seen in grungy sweatpants and with a make-up free face.

6. Agility: Kids fall down. A lot. I'm not sure why kids have such horrible balance, but I've watched my kids fall down while standing still. If we have to make a mad dash and our kids are running with us, I guarantee one of us is going down. You see it all the time in the movies: A cute klutzy girl twists her ankle and some poor chump goes back to save her from the clutches of the undead only to become zombie chow. Well, our kids are the cute klutzy girls and we're the poor chumps.

Photo Credit: www.makemelaugh.com

7. Combat: We went to a birthday party at a bowling alley/arcade this past weekend. It had a large room for laser tag and both girls wanted to give it a try. The Hub took the girls into the dark room armed with oversized vests and laser guns. Our younger daughter clung to The Hub's leg and screamed. Our older daughter became disoriented and got lost behind a neon painted partition and cried for her daddy. He was so distracted with finding his kids, he was unable to ward off the crowd of seven year olds shooting laser beams at the target on his vest. If the laser tag debacle is any indication of how our kids will handle a battle with zombies, bite me... it's over.


So while it's fun to daydream about surviving a zombie apocalypse and believing we are smart enough, strong enough, and brave enough to outlive the masses, I really hope it doesn't happen. But, if it does, I hope it doesn't happen for at least another ten years. The kids should be ready by then.

Crying Wolf

I've been a mother for over seven years, but I still don't really know my kids' cries. People say that when you become a parent, you'll learn that your child has different cries: A tired cry, a hungry cry, a sad cry, a fussy cry, a scared cry, a dirty diaper cry, a bored cry, a pain cry... the list goes on. When S was born, we jumped at every noise. If she sighed a little differently while sleeping at night, The Hub and I hovered over her and watched her chest rise and fall, just in case that particular sigh was her last breath. Morbid, I know. But, these are the scary thoughts that plague the minds of new parents. With time, you're supposed to figure out the different types of cries. Each baby is different and each baby produces unique sounds. I'm here to report that it's not always that easy. Somehow, I failed to acquire the ear for cries.

S would cry everyday about something. She would cry if she woke up too early or too late. She would cry if she didn't like the meal we served her. She would cry if someone looked at her too long. She would cry at the end of her favorite cartoon. She would cry at bath time and bedtime. It was like living with a toddler with PMS. I'll admit, I'm an emotional person, but even in my lifetime, I've never cried as much as she did those first three years. During one especially emotional month, I asked her pediatrician if she needed Prozac. He assured me it was "just a phase and she'd grow out of it." He was right. Around the age of four, S stopped crying everyday. 

The problem now is that her cries are inconsistent with the cause of the cry. If she has a serious crash on her bike, she might shed a few quiet tears. If we turn off her cartoons, S will reenact Sally Field's cemetery break down from Steel Magnolias. I just can't judge the severity of the problem based on her reaction. Recently, S was running down the hall with our dog, Bailey. Bailey is a 65 pound pitbull who truly believes she is a little lap dog. 

Me: Stop running down the hall, S.
S: Bailey and I are playing chase and having fun. I'll be careful.
Me: Seriously, stop running. You'll get hurt.
S: I won't get hurt, mom. We're just playing.
Me: Fine. Don't come crying to me when you do!

BAM! 

S: (calmly) Mommy? I fell down and hit my face.
Me: See?! Told you so. Go sit down.

S was really quiet and I started to feel bad for not checking on her. So after a few minutes of gloating in my mommy wisdom, I checked on S. It turns out that Bailey suddenly turned in front of S mid run and tripped S. S fell forward and smacked her face against the door frame. The few minutes I left her alone on the couch, a goose egg bump formed on her cheek and within a few hours, she had a dark purple bruise that covered her eye and half her face. S barely cried.

My younger daughter, B, (age 3 1/2) has one cry. On a scale from one to ten, it's an eleven. It doesn't matter if she's a little moody or seriously injured, her default cry is that of a wild animal being skinned alive. She will tilt her head back, close her eyes, open her mouth, and wail. I believe she is part banshee or we have a Death Metal frontman somewhere in our blood line. It's a blood-curdling noise and will turn your hair white. No joke. I really should buy stock in Nice and Easy 118 Natural Medium Brown. 

Basically, B "cries wolf." Every "bad" situation is an emergency. Every moment of discomfort or pain is of epic proportions. It's go big or go home. I can only hope that B will turn off the daily waterworks around her fourth birthday. 

That is why I can't figure out my kids' cries. Or screams, for that matter. When they are playing in the other room, I'll hear some serious shrieks and a desperate call for MAMA! I'll jump up and run to the room, half expecting to see blood or an exposed bone. 

Me: WHAT? WHAT IS WRONG?!
Kids: Oh Hi, mommy!
Me: What is going on? Why did you yell for me like that?
B: We're playing Monster Attack and S is the mommy* and I'm the baby and S is trying to save me from the monster.
S: Yeah, mom. Why are you so upset? We're playing nicely like you told us to.

*Due to the high frequency of confusing a cry for the pretend mom with a call requesting me, I added Rule #264:

Whereas, We have taken into Our Royal Consideration the need for active imaginations and play to further our offspring's overall development, let it be known from this day forward, all imaginary maternal guardians will be addressed as "Mother." Her Majesty The Queen of the Household (your real mother), shall only acknowledge and respond to "Mommy, Mom, Mama, Ma." Any person in violation of said rule will be hung from their toes and given cold oatmeal for breakfast.

In order to make sense of my kids' cries and screams, I have devised this chart which shows the appropriate cry/scream for any given situation. Before anyone decides to have an emotional reaction, they must first refer to this chart and adjust their intensity accordingly.

There better be a Honey Badger in that room or you're all in big trouble!
(Click on chart to enlarge)

I know that once the kids become more proficient with the English language and learn to better articulate their feelings, I will be able to decipher their needs with ease and accuracy. I encourage the girls to "use their words" and calm down when trying to explain what happened to make them so upset. It takes time and patience... something that I still work on everyday. I have learned to not react to every cry and scream right away. Unless I hear glass breaking, smell smoke, or worse, complete silence, most times, my kids are okay. We have health insurance so when the inevitable trip to the ER happens, we're covered. Like their bodies, they are growing into their emotions. I try to remember what my pediatrician said whenever our household is in the midst of emotional chaos: It's just a phase and they'll grow out of it.

... Until they become teenagers.

Photo Credits from Chart

1. cryface.tumblr.com

2. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/98/Oww_Papercut_14365.jpg/230px-Oww_Papercut_14365.jpg

3. http://freefunnyshit.com/viewcaption.php?caption_id=249&type=full

4. aboutus.lego.com

5. http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/R7C-feQm6GM/hqdefault.jpg

6.  http://ivn.us/editors-blog/files/2012/05/honey-badger.jpeg

Giving Thanks

I was the first one to wake up on this cold Thursday morning, Thanksgiving Day. I am thankful for a quiet morning. I set up the coffee maker and fed Bailey. I am thankful that this dog is healthy and does not like to eat socks. I let Bailey outside and noticed all the cars parked in my neighbors' driveways. I am thankful that I don't have to cook today and that I love my in-laws who invited us to their Thanksgiving dinner. I stepped on a toy in the living room. I am thankful that no one is visiting our house so it doesn't matter what it looks like today. I am also thankful that I stepped on a soft toy and not a Leggo.

My daughters wake up. Within minutes, they are arguing over cartoons and who gets the warm blanket this time. I am thankful that my kids don't know many struggles beyond sibling disagreements. I am thankful that they are allowed to be children. There are too many children who have to deal with scary, painful, heavy, lonely situations that force them to grow up fast and become hard.

My kids: What do we do on Thanksgiving?

Me: Well, we make a big feast and spend time together as a family and be thankful for everythi...
My Kids: So we just eat all day?!

I am thankful that we will just eat all day. 

Me: Why don't you make a list of all the things for which you are thankful...

S (age: almost 7) is thankful for:

Mom
Dad
Food
B, my sister
Puppies
Santa Claus
The ocean
America
Sunshine
The Earth
Technology
Love
Water
Friends
Heros
Ukuleles
Rainbows
Books
My grandparents
My aunts and uncles
My cousins
Bees
Mrs. Stuffy (her stuffed bear)

B (age: 3 1/2) is thankful for:

Green lollipops
Popcorn
Playing Mario Bros. on the old Nintendo with S
Bailey
My sister
My blue blankie that S can't have
Water to drink
Playing pre-school games on the computer
That I get to go to school soon
Balloons... Can I have a balloon, mama? I really want a balloon!

I am thankful for my funny kids. I have no idea why S is thankful for a ukulele...

The Hub is thankful for:

Healthy family

A wonderful (super hot) wife(!)

My freakin' job
Local breweries
My garden
Thai food

That UGA is ranked #3 at the moment and has a chance to play in the BCS championship game for the first time since 1980. GO DAWGS!

I am also thankful for:

The Hub (my super hot best friend)
The kids
My parents
My extended family and friends
My ability to laugh and make others laugh
Strong coffee
Under eye concealer
Beer
Yoga pants
For always having a story to tell
New adventures

Happy Thanksgiving to you all! I am thankful that you read my blog!

I am thankful for my little sisters!
... and my keen fashion sense.
Photo credit: Edward Pauksta 11/1984

Lies I Tell My Kids

This past Sunday, The Hub was off working a side job with his dad. The girls and I were bumming around the house. I usually don't do any housework on the weekends, but since The Hub wasn't home, it really didn't feel like much of a weekend. In fact, it felt more like a Monday, but with an extra kid to entertain. I decided to get a jump on the next week's chores and vacuum the carpet. My kids like to pretend that the vacuum cleaner is a scary monster out to get them. Most days, I play along and chase after them yelling, "Get on the couch before you get sucked up!" This time, I wasn't in the mood to run around. My eldest daughter, S, wasn't either. She was reading a book and was pretty annoyed by the noise. However, my youngest daughter, B, is always ready to run around and scream, so when I plugged in the vacuum, she was already standing on the couch and preparing to battle the vacuum monster.

As I made my way around the room, B was running back and forth between the living room couch and the foyer. It's too complicated to set up exactly how "what happened next" happened without pictures and video replay, so I'll just give you the Reader's Digest version. Basically, B tripped and landed face first into the foyer tile floor. The impact was so great that her head actually bounced back and slammed into the floor a second time. I've heard that people will swear that time slows down when they witness something horrific. I tell you now, it actually happens. It was the longest half second of my life and I couldn't do anything except stand there and watch. 

B jumped up, cupped her mouth with her little hand and screamed. I ran over, picked her up, and pulled her hand away from her face. Blood. Blood everywhere. 

Like this, only with a little more blood.

I am a firm believer that things that reside on the inside of the body should stay inside the body. Blood needs to stay inside the body. When I saw it gushing from my daughter's face, I felt a little faint. Okay. A lot faint. I fell back onto the couch with B still in my arms. S, was already buzzing around asking a ton of questions about what just happened. Fighting the urge to completely black out, I quietly asked S to grab a wash cloth and run it under some cold water. B is wailing now because she sees her own blood pooling in her hand. S returned with a wet wash cloth in record time. She was so fast that I actually took a second to praise her for following directions and moving with such speed. Right before I started wiping the blood off my little girl's face, I took a deep breath and said with a smile, "It's okay, baby. I promise. Everything is okay." I just lied to my daughter. I had no idea how bad her injuries were and I doubted my ability to maintain my composure if her injuries were really gruesome.

Once I determined the blood was not coming from her nose, I moved to her lips. They were extremely swollen but they were not cut. Oh shit. It's her mouth. Keep in mind, B is still screaming at the top of her lungs. I gently pull back her top lip. I don't see her top two teeth. I see a lot of blood, but no teeth. Oh. My. God! Wait! Wait! Nope, they're still there. They were just covered with blood. Turns out that B bit the inside of her upper lip with her two top teeth. It was a pretty gnarly gash, but not bad enough for stitches. Her teeth were a little wiggly, but not enough to warrant a trip to the dentist. Her top lip swelled to Angelina Jolie proportions. It took about an hour and two icy pops to stop the bleeding and the crying, but B was fine. I didn't have to make an emergency room visit, no stitches needed, and no teeth in a cup of milk. It really was okay, just as I promised. My lie ceased to be a lie and I was relieved.

After I came down from my adrenaline rush, I thought about how I told my bloody kid that everything was okay. I didn't know that it was. For all I knew, it wasn't okay and I was terrified that she did some major damage to her grill. I lied to keep her calm. I needed her to stay still and let me poke around a very sensitive wound. Freaking her out with the truth would have made the situation that much worse. They say, "A lie is a lie." Fine. I lied to my kid. Even when I tell them not to tell lies, I told a lie. In fact, I tell them lies all the time. Truthfully? I don't feel bad about it one bit. I can justify each lie...

Lies I tell my kids to keep them safe and healthy:

• "Broccoli makes your hair grow super long and super fast!" Actually, any food they don't want to eat at the time can work here. You would be amazed how many foods have super hair growth properties. I even go as far as to "measure" their hair before and after dinner, just to prove my point.
• "The Tooth Fairy does not pay full price for rotten teeth!" If the Tooth Fairy has to shell out money to get those baby teeth filled, she does not shell out quarters for those teeth when they fall out. I'm not above scaring my kids into brushing their teeth.
• "The ice cream truck driver is actually a monster in disguise trying to catch kids and eat them." I save money and the kids don't beg for ice cream treats when that creepy old van covered in faded Good Humor stickers drives down our street. 

 RUN KIDS! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Lies I tell my kids to keep the peace:

• "Yes, I'd love to read Elmo Saves Christmas to you again!" ... for the twentieth time... in July.
• "Marathon of Dora the Explorer? Count me in!" I didn't want to watch The View anyway.
• "No, monsters don't live in your closet. Go to sleep!" Of course, this is a big ol' fat lie. Monsters do live in closets and under the bed and in the basement and the attic and the toilet... See: My Dark Secret
• "No. Sorry! I don't have any gum." Yes, I do. But, it's my last piece and your sister will want one, too. I also don't want to cut gum out of your hair later.
• "I just got a text from Santa Claus. It says, 'I am watching you fight with your sister. I am not pleased.'" This lie takes a bit of planning, but as long as both kids still believe in Santa, I'm using it. I replace The Hub's caller ID picture on my phone with a picture of Santa. All I have to do is let The Hub know that the kids are misbehaving and he sends a text to my phone. 100% satisfaction guaranteed! 

Santa just sent me ANOTHER text...
He says he saw you pick your nose and he wants you to stop.
It's gross.

Lies I tell my kids to encourage them:

• "You did a beautiful job on my nails!"

I have my own personal manicurist. Jealous?

• "I can't believe you beat me in Candyland again!" I only let them win until they start the first grade. After that, it's official rules only. I don't want them to believe (1) They will win every game and (2) that I really suck that much at Candyland. 
• "Oh honey, this picture looks just like me! It's beautiful!"

S drew this portrait of me for "Muffins With Mom" day in Pre-K. (Spring/2011)
There are so many bits of awesome in this picture.

I know there are people out there who will argue that I am teaching my kids that it's okay to lie. Sure. Okay. I can accept that. I believe that white lies are part of living in polite society. For example: Let's say your favorite aunt gave you an ugly sweater for your birthday. Like most folks, you will say thank you and that it's a lovely sweater. But, you're either going to return the sweater, re-gift it, or only wear it when your dear ol' aunt comes around. You just lied. If you were honest and told your aunt that you have no intention of ever wearing that hideous piece of wool crap and that you worry about her fashion sense, you would most likely hurt her feelings. You would also look like a real jackass. I don't think every scribble put on paper is a masterpiece, but when my 3 year old daughter, B, shows me her latest attempt to draw a flower, (or is that a horse... oh, wait. I see it now... it's an airplane) I tell her I love her work and I'm proud of her for trying so hard. Then I tell her to keep practicing. I know that if I told B that she lacks artistic abilities (like her mother), she would stop trying. I would rather have a fridge full of flower-horse-airplanes then no art at all. 

I know that little lies may cause some serious damage. I know because my mother told me a terrible lie when I was a child that caused irrevocable trauma to my psyche.  One night, I was pushing my food around on the plate and sulking because, yet again, my mom was forcing me to choke down a giant mountain of peas. I really hated peas. When she realized that all her threats of going to bed hungry or not getting a dessert did not shake my will, she resorted to guilt (like any good Irish Catholic mother would do). 

"Terese, just take one little bite. Just one and then you can leave the table." 

Fine. Just one bite. That's it.

"Good girl. But, wait! You just ate the little kid pea. What about her mom and dad? They're still on the plate! You just made the little kid pea an orphan! You can't separate the family, Terese! Can you hear the mommy and daddy pea? They're saying, 'Oh no! Our daughter is gone! We're so sad!'"

Oh no! Okay, I'll eat the mommy and daddy pea, too.

"But, what about the grandparents?"

To this day, I have to eat every pea on my plate or I will feel extreme guilt for breaking up the family.

Well played, mom. Well played.

Be Happy, Dammit!

I'm a big fan of expressing one's feelings, no matter if they are happy, sad, mad, or scared. I think it is healthy to let it out. People need to belly laugh and sob. Nothing gets the blood flowing like a good horror movie induced scream. I believe that a tantrum can decompress a person. (See: Mommy Tantrums) However, if you are in a funk for too long, you start to become a real grump. You complain a lot. You cry a lot. You yell a lot. You lean to the negative. People generally don't like to be around cranky people. They'll pat you on the back and say, "Cheer up, buttercup," but, eventually they'll find ways to avoid you in the office break room or ignore your phone calls. People will stop trying to console you. People will start complaining about your constant complaining. Nobody likes a sad sack.

So, what is a gloomy Gus to do? For those suffering from the case of the blues (not to be confused with real depression... consult a professional, please) and are ready to switch things up a little, I have found that making yourself be happy can help lift your spirits. I have prepared a list of time honored ways to make you happy whenever you are sad. Of course, by now you know that I'm not going to tell you to smell the roses or pet a cat. Don't get me wrong, those are fine examples if you're into that kind of stuff. I prefer the sillier side of life and rely on laughter to get me through the rough times.


Smile Like an Ass

When was the last time you smiled? Give it a go. Does your face hurt a little? When you stop smiling, does your mouth immediately sink back into a frown? If you answered yes, then you need to make yourself smile. Simply smile. Put a huge grin on your face and leave it there. Then relax your furrowed brow and show some teeth. Keep your face in that position. Who cares if the people around you think you've gone mad? Give them the biggest Cheshire Cat grin possible. This works three fold: One, you're smiling. Two, you're working out your face muscles and it won't feel so unnatural the next time you smile. Three, if you are around someone who is causing your bad mood, your creepy smile might make them slowly back away from you. Triple win in my book.

Look how happy he is!
Photo credit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Shining_(film)

Embrace Your Inner Morgan Freeman (or Mike Rowe)

The Hub and I can fill a whole day with laughter by pretending we are narrating someone or something's life. Watch your family pet. Narrate their every move. Narrate what they might be dreaming about while they sleep. Ever wonder what they are thinking when they seem to be staring into your soul? Speak for them. Use a funny voice. Use a normal voice. Think through your pet. It gets really funny when they are grooming themselves. This can also work with your kids, the next door neighbor, that lady walking down the street in spandex, the lobsters in the grocery store tanks, or the ants scurrying out of a kicked-over hill. The world is your personal Discovery Channel show.

I quoted them verbatim. 

Make Fun of Something

You know what makes me happy? Making fun of a Tyrannosaurus rex. The guy was so unbelievably huge. He had long sharp teeth. He could crush you with his foot. The T-rex was a very scary animal. Unfortunately, the T-rex couldn't give high fives. He could not play patty cake. He could not flip pancakes. He could not tie his own shoes. He couldn't open his own beer. The list goes on and on. Oh, don't worry about hurting his feelings. He's dead.

Photo credit: http://thazing.com/t-rex-love/

Dance Your Cares Away

Break out your favorite tunes and dance. Now is the time to finally learn how to do The Worm. Hone your booty gyrating skills. Go out to the parking lot and do your best Tawny Kitaen cartwheel on your car. Let the music move you and vogue. Don't be a wallflower. Warning: If you choose to dance in front of your kids, they will most definitely call you out on your busted moves. Don't let them harsh your happy. Their generation's most popular move is called "The Dougie." Whatever. We had "The Carlton." 

I am such a bad dancer. I can't even do "The Carlton." No lie.
Photo credit: http://www.divawhispers.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/carlton-dance.jpg

Be Stupid Excited About Everything

This started out as a way to trick my kids into doing their chores. I would raise the pitch of my voice, jump up and down, and say, "Yay! It's time to set the table!" "I'm so excited! Who wants to dust?!" "I know a super awesome game! Let's sort the laundry!" Just by making the request sound like the most exciting activity ever, the kids' faces light up and they do whatever they had to do with gusto. It was so effective, I decided to try it with other mundane aspects of life. "Hurray! It's leftover night!" "I'm so excited that it's Monday!" "I just paid all my bills! Yay for me!!" Just by making it seem great, you can trick yourself into thinking it is great. If you do it enough, it becomes second nature. You'll notice that it's easy to get excited about the little things because, as you all know, it's the little things that count.

"I'm freaking excited!"
Photo credit: http://dannijo.tumblr.com/post/7886225512/even-though-im-clearly-not-eligible-for-the

When In Doubt, "Fart" It Out

Who doesn't giggle at the sound of flatulence? The Hub has the amazing ability to emulate any fart noise. Whenever I'm in a foul mood, he'll try to make me laugh by making fart noises using his hands or mouth. If the kids are cranky, he'll blow raspberries on their bellies. He'll wait until I bend over to pick something up and I'll hear a 'toot' sound come from behind me. The sound of 'breaking wind' is a silly way to break the tension. My sister, Aunt D, has requested a recording of his musical stylings so she can get an instant laugh whenever she needs one. Her next birthday present? Check.

Photo Credit: http://cheezburger.com/4787042048

Laugh At Yourself

Did you just trip over your own feet in public? Discover too late that you tucked your skirt into your underpants? Spill your hot coffee in your lap while stuck in traffic? Before you get mad or embarrassed, step back and try to imagine what you looked like to someone else. Chances are whatever just happened to you was freaking hilarious to anyone lucky enough to witness it. Why let them have all the fun? Laugh at yourself. It was funny. I bet you've spent hours on YouTube laughing at videos of other people and/or animals falling down. You watch comedies to laugh at how someone else deals with embarrassing situations. Everyone does funny things. Enjoy the fact that you just made someone laugh (and thankful they didn't do what you just did). During my wedding ceremony, I tripped on the long skirt of my strapless wedding dress and almost exposed myself to the entire wedding party. My sister, Aunt J, literally guffawed at what she just witnessed. Yeah, it was embarrassing but her laugh at that moment is one of my favorite memories from that day. Sometimes making someone else laugh will get your giggles going too. 

Photo Credit: http://www.worth1000.com/entries/557507/tripping-on-marriage

I'm sure it seems like I have the mentality of a 9 year old boy when I tell you to make funny faces and fart noises to get happy. Sure, I'll be the first to admit that I am a goof ball, but really, all I did was give you real life applications to the age old advice on achieving happiness. People tell you to "put on a happy face" (smile like an ass), or "exercise will improve your mood" (dance), "laughter is the best medicine" (Fart noises, making fun of T-rexes, laughing at yourself), and "fake it until you make it" (be excited about everything). See what I did there?

Photo Credit: http://iseewhatyoudid.com/owl-sees-everything/

I read somewhere that "finding your inner child" and remembering what made you happy when you were young will bring joy to your life when you're stuck in the serious adult world. How do you find that inner child? You go outside and do cartwheels in the front yard. You make silly faces. You laugh at "inappropriate" things. You get excited about the little things. You act like a clown in front of others. Kids know how to be happy. Basically, we have to manifest our own happiness. Yes, adult life is hard. There are times when absolutely everything is going wrong and it seems you can't catch a break. There will be times when you won't be in a good place in your life no matter how hard you try to correct the situation. But, if you let it consume you and bring you down, it makes the whole situation that much worse. Your spirit needs some joy and even if you laugh just a little bit, you might catch a glimpse of the good that's still around you. I tell my kids that it is good to feel angry and sad but don't let it be who you are all the time. Lately, I've had to listen to my own advice and try to refill my cup of joy. The best part is that by making myself happy, I've made my loved ones feel happy as well. My problems are still here and I still have to deal with them. But, I know when I look back, the memories of laughing until it hurts will overshadow the memories of sadness. Isn't that what it's all about? 

Earn Those Poop Stickers, Girl!

Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that B, age 3, is potty trained!

I swear, I only mentioned it once... maybe twice.
Three times, tops.
photo credit - http://some.ly/peOw6S

Yeah, I know. Big deal, Terese. B is your second child. B is a girl. Second born girls are easy to potty train because they just watch their older sisters and copy them. That's what they say, right? Well, that's what they said to me when I expressed how NOT easy it was to potty train my second born daughter. Truth be told, I didn't potty train my first born daughter, S. I was working full time when she was that age and the daycare did all the hard work. They told me they felt S was ready to start potty training. They told me to get her some training pants. They introduced her to the potty. They set her schedule. S would come home and tell me when she needed to use the potty. It took a while for her to graduate from training pants to big girl underpants, especially at night, but eventually, she mastered it. 

So about a year ago, when other mothers were talking about their adventures in potty training their kids at age 2, I decided it was time to give it a go with B. I pulled out S's old training potty. It was a Winnie the Pooh potty. Yes, I giggled at the name, too. I purchased some training pants (Pull Up's.) I set up a chart to track her progress with stickers. Guess what? B wasn't interested. She didn't want to potty train. I remember hearing that you should not get upset if your child does not want to use the potty at first. Leave the little potty chair where she can see it. Eventually, she'll want to use it.

For the next year, the sticker chart stayed bare. The Pooh potty sat in the corner of our hall bathroom, collecting dust. I continued to purchase diapers. I repeated my mantra, It will happen one day. I re-introduced the concept of potty training every month. B rejected it every time. At one point, when I asked her why she didn't want to use the potty, she told me she loved her diapers. At $20 a box, this terrified me. B would get very mad if I brought up the subject. Fearful of screwing up my kid, I didn't nag her about potty training. On the outside, I was easy going about the whole situation. Eh, it'll happen before she leaves for college. If not, she can buy her own diapers then. In my mind, however, I obsessed about it. All I thought about was potty training. I would dream about potty training. I would secretly not like other moms who had potty trained kids B's age or younger. I would search the Internet late at night, looking for advice and training tips. I asked others how they trained their child. I tried every trick in the book. It didn't matter what I did, B did not bend.

The one thing that really drove me crazy was when people would ask about her potty training progress. But, they wouldn't ask me. They would ask her. 

So B, why are you still wearing diapers?

B, why don't you use the potty like your big sister? 

B! You're not potty trained yet?

Why hasn't your MOMMY potty trained you yet?

Here's a public service announcement, folks. Don't do that. It's not a fun party conversation. It puts the mother and the child on the spot. Especially if you don't know the child or the mother. I don't know how many times some stranger would come up to us while at the grocery store to comment on how awesome my daughter is only to poke and prod about her potty training success, or lack there of. Think of it this way: How would you feel if a stranger came up to you and questioned why you haven't lost those 10 lbs you've been trying to lose lately? I hope you would say, "What's it to you, jackass?!" instead of turning red in the face and say what I said when faced with the potty training question, "We're working on it. Thank you. Have a nice day." Damn politeness. Why do I have to be polite when others are so incredibly rude? Perhaps, I am doing them an injustice by not calling them out on their social indiscretions. Perhaps, I'll address that another time.

Two weeks ago, Thursday morning, B woke up and declared that she wanted to "Ride the Potty Train." Okay. Sure, kid. It's not nice to toy with your mother's heart. I played along. She asked me to put the sticker chart back up on the living room wall. She wanted to wear her Minnie Mouse big girl underpants. She stated very clearly that I was not to talk or ask her about "Riding the Potty Train." I was only there to help her on and off the toilet, assist in the messy wiping jobs, and to make sure her underpants were on correctly. B was going to do this all by herself.

B potty trained like it was her job. The first time she peed, she yelled, "I get a pee sticker, Mommy!" The first time she pooped, she yelled, " I get a poop sticker, Mommy!" I cried. I shed big tears of joy. I was so grateful every time she called me to help her get on the toilet that I swear I skipped to the bathroom. B only had three accidents since she boarded the potty train. We added a new sheet of paper to the potty chart because she covered the first page with stickers. Remember when I talked about my 30-somethingth birthday wish? Well, I got my birthday wish this year. B potty trained. Hell yeah, people. Hell yeah.

My favorite piece of art in the house. 

Now here comes the lesson part:

B did not potty train until she was ready to potty train. She didn't follow a schedule. She didn't buy into the bribes or the peer pressure. She woke up one morning and decided she was ready. It had nothing to do with me, the Hub, her big sister, that nosy lady at the grocery store, or our family and friends... it was her. The last two weeks, I have cheered and danced like I won the lottery. I proudly displayed B's poop stickers on the wall in the living room, showing them off as if they were Olympic gold medals. I smiled and sighed in relief when we passed the diaper aisle without grabbing a box. But, I can't take the credit. I still don't know how to potty train a child. I have a sneaking suspicion that a child potty trains themselves when they are physically, mentally, and emotionally ready. And that applies to most things in our lives. You can't lose weight until YOU want to lose it. You can't give up an addiction until YOU want to give it up. You can't write the next great American novel until YOU want to write it. You have to want it, want it in the very worst way, so you can find that drive to actually do the hard work to reach your goal. No matter how much other people want it for you, it is your wanting that gets you to your goal. No matter how minor or major the goal is, you have to work for it and you have to want to work for it. The want is what gets you a page of poop stickers on the living room wall.

What is it that you want?

Fourth of July, Fireworks, and Kovtapyroergasoiphobia

Happy 4th of July! There's nothing like the 4th of July... The day when the people of the United States of America come together to celebrate the adoption of the Declaration of Independence. On this day, 236 years ago, we declared our independence from the Kingdom of Great Britain. We sing our national anthem and other patriotic songs with pride. We wave the American flag. We wear red, white, and blue. We thank our soldiers. We watch parades. We grill meat. We drink beer (as any good American should). But, most importantly, we blow stuff up. Fireworks are, by far, my favorite way to celebrate the 4th. I just love watching the bright and colorful explosions light up the night sky. The boom makes my heart jump. It's beautiful. It's powerful. It's worth sitting in traffic for hours to watch a 30 minute pyrotechnics show.

My daughter S said her first word on 4th of July. The Hub and his brothers were setting off small (Georgia legal grade) fireworks in the front yard. He lit a little sparkler and walked by S, who was in my arms. She called out "Dada" and reached for the sparkler. Even though she said dada before she said mama, I was still excited. When S was two years old, I took her to the our town's firework show. The Hub was working the night shift at an emergency animal clinic, so S and I met up with my brother in law and his family. We found a parking space about a 1/2 mile away from the court house lawn. S and I walked hand in hand through the winding streets, people watching, and talking about how excited we both were about seeing some fireworks.

Once the sun set, S and I sat on our blanket and stared into the sky. BOOM! We both jumped, but then, the first explosion always makes me jump. BOOM! S looked around at the crowd. BOOM! S looked back at me. I looked down and noticed an odd expression on her face. If she had a better grasp of the language, I'm sure she would have said:

What the holy hell is going on?! Do you people not see the massive fire balls exploding right over our heads? Why are you just sitting here?! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!! 

S jumped out of my lap, grabbed the blanket and yelled, "We go now!" I laughed a bit and said, "Baby, the show is still going on. Don't be scared. It is pretty!" S put on her shoes. "We go home, now. Let's get out of here!" S started walking away from me with such determination, that I had no choice but grab our stuff and follow her. S, fists clenched, moved as fast as her little legs could carry her. Every time another firework exploded in the sky, she picked up speed. S never once looked back. I had to sprint to catch up to her. I grabbed her hand and she lead me back to our car. She knew exactly where we had parked.  She hopped in the car and buckled her own seat belt on the first attempt. She did not relax until we pulled into our driveway. I looked back at her and said, "Okay. We're home." She let out a huge sigh and said, "I don't like fireworks. Never again."

S eventually got over her fear of fireworks. (There's an actual name for the fear of fireworks. It's called Kovtapyroergasoiphobia. See, you learned something new today.) We've seen a few firework shows since then, but she sticks her fingers in her ears and jumps with each explosion. B, on the other hand, loves fireworks... almost as much as I do. This year, we're lighting some sparklers and little noise makers in our front yard. S is perfectly fine with that.

Photo Credit - Katie Moss

Migraines, Mayhem, and Miracles

I woke up this morning with a migraine. Anyone who has ever experienced a migraine knows that it is not pleasant. My migraines occur behind my right eye and spread to the back of my neck. My vision blurs and my teeth hurt. I am light sensitive and any noise louder than a whisper sounds like a jackhammer next to my ear. A really bad one involves the feeling of nausea. Basically, I'm rendered completely useless until it passes. In a word, it sucks.

Yep... that's about right.

While writhing in immense pain, I start daydreaming about drilling a hole into my skull to relieve the pressure. It's an ancient process called trepanning. I know it's not 100% safe, but at times like these, I'm pretty much game to try anything to feel better.  The Hub is wary about drilling a hole in my skull. I'm sure there are tons of husbands who would jump at the opportunity to drill a hole in their wife's head, but he's not one of them. I guess I should consider myself lucky.

Please, don't feel sorry for me. It's my own damn fault... kind of. My migraines are very predictable and completely avoidable. I know this. I did this to myself. A combination of three things gives me migraines:

1.  I have a gluten intolerance and too much gluten in my diet triggers these demon headaches. My dumb ass devoured two pieces of pizza last night with the belief that two little pieces wouldn't hurt me. I was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.  
2. Lack of sleep. The hub went out with the guys last night and I couldn't fall asleep until I knew he safely returned home. (I inherited this disorder from my mother. I don't think she slept more than 4 hours a night when my sisters and I started driving and dating.) 
3. Monthly hormones. I'm sure everyone reading this blog is past the age of puberty and I don't need to go into detail. 

Say it with me folks, "Getting old sucks."

Last night, the trifecta of triggers occurred and I set myself up for a very painful experience this morning. Completely my fault. But, I'm still going to complain about it. It's my blog, I can do that.

Usually, I can fight off an episode with an OTC migraine pill but, I forgot to replenish my supply after the last one. I was forced to rely on some good ol' fashioned home remedies: laying down in a cool, dark room with a cold compress pressed on my forehead. Right before I retreated to my bedroom, I explained to the girls that I was in a lot of pain and needed a few moments of alone time. They know when I have a migraine when The Hub is at work, I am border-line possessed and mean business. They each gave me a hug and promised to entertain themselves while I was away.

I doubted B's word since she has a meltdown when I leave the room (as explained here). Sometimes, she surprises me and does exactly the opposite of what I expect of her. They did entertain themselves... as well as everyone within a mile radius of the house. Today, the girls formed their very own Heavy Metal Rock band. S cranked her electric guitar amp to 10 and made sounds I didn't know a guitar could make. B was beating on her toy drum a la Animal from Dr. Teeth and The Electric Mayhem.

Animal's Drum Solo

Both were perfecting their Death Metal screams and growls. This, of course, excited the dogs and they joined in with barking and howling. The neighbors gathered outside our house with their folding lawn chairs and beer coolers and some punk kids formed a mosh pit in our front yard. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.) I was in migraine hell. I tried to call out and tell them to turn it down but they couldn't hear me over their concert. The thought of getting out of bed made me feel dizzy. I did the only thing left to do. I prayed. It went something like this:

Hi God. 

It's me, Terese. How have you been? I am very grateful that my kids are entertaining themselves. I usually encourage exploring all forms of art and want them to become the biggest rock group since  the Rolling Stones. I don't want to be greedy but, for the love of you, I beg of you, please let all noise making objects in my house spontaneously combust or grant me a few hours of reversible deafness... my vote is for deafness because the kids are content right now and I don't really want to deal with sad children with broken instruments. I think my head is about to explode. Please grant me the strength and foresight to move my head off the pillow and away from the freshly laundered bed sheets. I am out of detergent and I'm pretty sure blood and brains will stain the fabric if not treated immediately. Also, you know I hate doing the laundry, so that would be a big blessing in my book. Now that I think about it, please do not let my head explode. I'm not sure I can count on the Hub to know how to remove blood and brain matter stains before the cops show up and think he drilled a hole in my skull. I promise to cut back on saying bad words and never eat pizza for as long as I live. Have a nice day. 

Your pal,  

Terese

Suddenly, the noise stopped. My ears were still ringing and I could hear the girls' sweet voices from behind my door so I knew I wasn't deaf. They were still happy so I assumed the instruments were intact. It was a miracle. I relaxed and waited for the pain to subside. An hour later, the migraine was gone and I could get up and leave my cave.

The living room was thrashed. Toys and game pieces were everywhere. The girls were in their princess dress-up clothes and their little faces were covered in my make-up. They were quietly having a tea party. They looked up and cheered, "MOMMY! You're all better! Do you want some tea?" Any other day, I would have been irritated by the catastrophic state of the room, but I was so relieved that my pain was gone that I graciously accepted their invitation to slurp some pretend tea. I'm learning to pick my battles. The girls did give me an hour and that is all I asked of them. I'm grateful for that. We'll clean up later.

My Personal Paparazzi

It's 11:30 p.m. on a Thursday night and I'm just getting started on my weekly blog.* It's not that I don't want to write more often, but once a week is about all I can manage right now. The kids are finally in bed and I just dried the last dish from dinner. It's not like my day is completely filled with activities or errands. To be honest, I didn't accomplish very much at all today. I started a few chores and paid a few bills. I remembered to brush my teeth this morning. My day was filled with assisting little people: making meals, cleaning up after the meals, combing the house for a lost toy, helping S sound out words while she read, changing diapers, kissing boo-boos, chasing after Bailey when she snagged a doll head from the playroom, and a few other tasks I can't recall at the moment. Some days, I am a rock star homemaker. Most days, I can't figure out where the time went and why I can never get all the laundry done. Then it occurred to me. I can't walk through the house without being stopped to do something else. It is nearly impossible to start and finish a task with two little kids and two big dogs constantly following me around the house. I can't remember the last time I was able to walk from one end of the house to the other without my canine shadows, a kid hanging on my leg, or hearing my name called as I pass the living room. I am so popular at my house. Everyone seeks me out and wants to be near me. I hear Mommy!! so much that I've considered changing my name to Penelope Jane Von Unterhosen just to change things up a bit.

I love how celebrities complain about the lack of privacy in their off-camera lives. They lament about being ambushed by paparazzi when they just want to enjoy their private island beach vacay or buy another designer handbag. Celebrities are people too, right? They just want to go about their daily business in peace. You're preaching to the choir, baby. I wouldn't have any unopened mail stacked up on my kitchen table or two inches of natural hair color showing if I had a little privacy. What I wouldn't give for a few extra private moments in the shower to shave BOTH legs. I get one leg done and I hear a little voice scream from the other side of the door. I rush out of the shower, conditioner still in my hair, in a panic, convinced that someone broke a bone or is bleeding from their head, only to discover the scream was in protest over whose turn it was to play "teacher" for the stuffed animal classroom. It happens all the time.

I remember my mom getting so upset when we called for her while she was in the bathroom. She used to say, "I swear someone put a sensor on the toilet seat because you always call for me the moment I sit down!" I thought she was exaggerating. Now, I think she was on to something. As soon as I close the bathroom door, someone calls for me. It's like the very moment I enter the bathroom, the kids realize they are dying of thirst or absolutely must get the board game down from the shelf or the world will cease to exist. B will stand outside the door, gnashing her teeth and wailing that her mother abandoned her. She'll try to reach for me by sticking her fingers under the door. It's very dramatic. When I open the door, B immediately stops crying and says, "Hi mommy! You found me!" Then, she merrily runs off to play.

That's not the only time I am desperately needed. My kids seek me out anytime I answer the phone, sit in front of the computer, open a book (other than a kid's book), or watch the season finale of my favorite show, just to name a few. Basically, anytime I am doing something that I want to do. I've tried to reason with them. I'll say, "Mommy is going to [insert activity here] now. Is there anything you need before I start?" The answer is usually no. They lie. I've also tried to sneak off when they are distracted and not call attention to my absence. They know. They always know. I'll wait for nap time, but if I'm in the shower, I swear I can hear the kids yelling for me and I wind up checking on them anyway. People tell me to just ignore them. They have to learn patience. I'm afraid the one time I ignore their calls, the headlines will read:

Kids Burn Down House While Mother In Shower.

To add to my frustration, the reverse happens. When I'm the one calling for the kids, they are never around. It's like they suddenly go deaf. Even when I'm in the same room, I have to shout their names or clap my hands to get them out of their trance. I have to repeat myself constantly. S will get so involved in whatever she is doing that a satellite could crash through the roof and she wouldn't even notice. It's unreal. She can hear the crinkle of a candy wrapper from a mile away when I'm trying to sneak a piece from her leftover Halloween candy stash, but not the sound of my voice mere inches from her ear. When we are at home, B hangs all over me. When we are in public, I practically have to handcuff her to me to get her to stay close. I just don't get it.

I know what you all will say. Enjoy the attention now, because one day, they'll grow up and leave you or prefer their friends' company over yours ... or some other depressing, guilt-laden truth. I have noticed that S will spend more time alone in her room than with me. She is starting to figure out how to entertain herself and take care of her own needs, like picking out her clothes or getting her own breakfast. There are times when I seek her out just to chat or get a hug. Don't get me wrong, I want her to be self-sufficient, but not so much right now that she doesn't need me around. On the other hand, B is still very dependent on me, so S's newfound desire for more independence is appreciated. I don't mind helping my kids out with anything. It's my job right now. I like brushing their hair and reading stories. I don't mind cutting their food and tying shoes. I love their little "thank yous" and hugs that follow. I love their excited cheers when I come back from a rare solo outing. I miss them when they are not around. Granted, it takes longer than a bathroom break to miss them, but if I'm away from them for a few hours, I really miss them. My main complaint is about their impeccable timing... and a little about needing some "me time."

In a completely random conversation, S asked me if people get bathroom breaks in heaven. (I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.) I told her I didn't know, but I guess we'll find out when we get there. Luckily, she was satisfied with my answer. I hope you get bathroom breaks in heaven. I hope you get your own personal toilet without sensors in the seat to alert the angels that you just sat down. That sounds like heaven to me.




*I started the blog last night but couldn't keep my eyes open past the first paragraph. I started writing again this morning at 8 A.M. It took 3 hours to finish due to 26 interruptions. Yes, I counted. I really hope you enjoyed reading it!

A Penny for Your Thoughts...

I made a point, from day one, to never "baby talk" to my daughters. I spoke to them like they were adults even before they uttered their first word.* I'm used to the weird looks shot in my direction when I use four syllable words with people under the age of four. I love words and I wanted them to know as many as possible. Once S reached the age of three, I discovered the joy of conversation with little kids. They want to tell you everything. They are forming opinions and making observations. They try to be as descriptive as possible. They are figuring out our language and how to use it. When my girls say a word incorrectly, I'll tell them the correct pronunciation. But, I'm not going to lie. I LOVE it when kids mess up words. It's adorable and funny. I don't encourage it but I do try to remember it so I have funny stories to share later.




Here are a few of S's (age 2) Greatest Hits:

You can't hug a "porky nine" mama. They have "stickies" that pinch you.

Look at the "Squeal!"

Is that a chicken frog?!

I have to use the "Toe-Let."

Don't you be mad to me!

As of this past Sunday, B (3 months shy of age 3) started a real conversation with me. Before then, I could only pick out a few words and most of the time, she was asking for something, rather than telling me something. But, Sunday, while watching a baseball game on the television, B launched into a 20 minute conversation about what she saw on the screen and I understood every word:

B: That guy hit the ball with the stick because that guy threw the ball to the guy with the stick because they like to play the baseball.
Me: Who hit the ball?
B: Look mama! Did you see? That guy over there threw the stick and run over there because he hit the ball with the stick because that guy with the hat on his head threw the ball...

It was a 20 minute "Who's on First?" reenactment. I loved it.

B also started saying things like:

I love popsicles. They are "de-wishes"

What's that smell? That's disgusting!

Can you open the "re-frid-gator" door for me?

B also started the "why" phase this weekend. S never really asked "why" when she was younger, but then S is more a rule follower. B is more rebellious and questions my authority all the time. I try to truthfully answer B's why's as much as possible. Sometimes, it seems as though she is not listening to my answers so I'll mess with her a little:

Me: Go brush your teeth, B.
B: Why?
Me: Because you need clean off all the food bits from your teeth.
B: Why?
Me: Because you want sparkly and healthy teeth, don't you?
B: Why?
Me: Because if you don't, your teeth will rot and fall out of your mouth. You'll never be able to chew your food ever again and the tooth fairy does not bring quarters for rotten teeth. Capisce?
B: Capisce.

I've tried playing the "why" game with her but she usually wins the first round and I just give up.

Me: Why did you jump off the back of the couch again?!

B: It's fun.

Me: Why are you wide awake at 3am again?!
B: I'm done sleeping.

Me: Why don't you want to use the potty?!

B: I like my diaper.

Me: Why do you eat chalk, crayons and the occasional rock?
B: It's yummy!

Me: Why do you put pencils in my water glass?

B: They were thirsty.


I'm a chatter box. I admit it. I am also very animated when I get into telling my stories. I hope my girls embrace their storytelling gene. They come from a long line of boisterous yarn spinners. Unfortunately, S is starting to get into trouble for talking too much during class. I understand the challenge of keeping quiet. There you are, emotionally invested in the intricate set up of your story and the teacher interrupts you right before the apex to continue her lesson. So, instead of "pulling cards" when she talks during class, I'm trying to channel her need to share stories into journaling. If she has a story to tell, I ask her to wait until she is at home and write it down. Then you can share it when people are ready to listen.

Perhaps that's why I started a blog.



*S's first word was "Dada." Second was "shoe." Third was "Mama." B's first word was "Mama." I stopped keeping track of B's words after 'Mama." That's the only word that counts, amiright?!