Wednesday, June 29, 2011
So, the Fourth of July weekend is coming up, and you know what that means...mattress sales. Which is actually great timing because I find myself in need of mattresses. The two big girls have been in those little toddler beds since they were old enough to fall out and be fine ("Ok sweetie, the new baby will be here soon, and I know you just got walking worked out, but mommy needs the crib, so you get a big girl bed!"). The blonde was recently jumping on one, and of course I holler "don't jump on the bed, you'll break it!" and to both my pleasure and current dismay, it actually broke. I say pleasure because this one incident has been the backbone to many of my threats concerning things getting broken due to improper use, such as the bed, and has been so succussful as a deterrent against bad behavior, it has been more than a little abused ("Don't just throw your shoe on the floor, you'll break it! Remember the bed?!") Anyways, the girls may have learned a lesson, but the bed is still broken. Now, we face the big girl bed dilemma. Do we get the blonde a big bed because she's older and is the one who has been sleeping on a broken bed for longer than any responsible parent would admit to? Or do we get both of the big girls new beds to avoid any throwdowns on the brunette's part? This is where I am, when suddenly, it occurs to me that we have a double bed frame in storage, and I propose to my husband that we just buy one mattress and the girls can share a bed! Money saved! Room spared! And it's cute! Plus, I have always thought the pioneers were cool, and as I recall from my Little House on the Prairie days, Laura and Mary shared a bed, and they loved it! That, I think, is more than enough to justify the motion for sharing a bed - if the pioneers did it, our kids can do it. And, I'm sure this explains my husband's reluctance, it only brings me one step closer to the fantasy Amish-with-cable life I have always imagined for my family - home grown food, fresh eggs, homemade adorable clothes for the girls, the kids sharing a big bed with a quilt I made yesterday thrown neatly over the top, so they can rest their little angel heads while I catch up on Teen Mom as I finish churning the butter...perfection. Nevermind that we live ten miles away from a Nascar racetrack. But, of course as if on cue, right as I'm getting to the fresh butter, the blonde screams from her room that her sister is trying to get in her bed and THUNK "I had to push her out!" Okaaay....maybe not.
Monday, June 6, 2011
In two days, we are flying back to visit our family and friends in Colorado. And by "we", I mean "me and the girls". Needless to say, I am having a bit of anxiety about our pending travels - I have never flown alone, and I have never flown alone with three children four and under, one of whom will be sitting snuggly on my lap. This is where all the childless travelers roll their eyes and think to themselves "if I have to sit by a crying baby for a four hour flight or if any of those kids kick my seat, I'm going to lose it!", and simultaneously, all the parents are thinking "I hope they serve drinks in coach." Well, no, they don't serve drinks in coach, and I'm not so bad a parent that I'd travel inebriated just to ease the stress of hauling Cinderella backpacks and hoping I remembered to charge the portable DVD player before we left. However, I have to say to the childless travelers, I'm with ya. If I have to sit with a crying baby for a four hour flight or if any of those kids kick the seat, I'm going to lose it - I've already had at least three nightmares about forgetting juice boxes and my kids taking names because of it ("No, please don't open the emergency hatch! I'll find you some juice! Please!"). I really don't want to end up being THAT LADY on the plane with the kids out of control - and I know for a fact I've seen THAT LADY before, and while now I totally feel bad for her, at the time it was like "come on, just give it a cookie and make it be quiet". I understand that not everyone thinks my kids are as adorable and brilliant and hilarious as I do, so in general, I try to encourage quiet knock knock jokes and hand dances rather than full on costumed numbers in aisle 7. The miracle is that as a result, despite their screaming bloody throw-downs at home, my girls have started to notice that old people like well behaved kids in public, and so now they feed off of "what sweet girls you are, are these your sisters?" from old ladies, and so wherever we go, it's like they scan the premises, lock on the blue hairs, and emanate angelic-ness in hopes of someone coming over to gush over their fancy outfits and big blue eyes. So, in hopes of avoiding any meltdowns or babies stuck under seats like the trip to Mexico of 2008 (now that was a long flight), I have decided to just pray my heart out that our flight happens to be filled with a retirement community trip from Florida to visit Black Hawk. Yes, please fill every seat with a geriatric angel who has either lost enough hearing that they won't notice any bottom-of-the-raisin-box screaming, or someone who misses their own grandchildren so much that even kicking children are adorable since they have bows in their hair. And please let my children notice all the silvery waves across the aisles so that they in turn may put on their best "This is my sister, and we're holding hands" show. As for the drinks, a Coke will do.
Friday, June 3, 2011
In short, I married my high school sweetheart when we were in college, and had our first daughter before our first anniversary. Being married was new enough, and now we had the responsibilty of being parents tossed in before we could even buy ourselves a beer. And we sure needed one sometimes. But God must have thought we were managing pretty well, because when our first was ten months old, we found out we were pregant again. (Apparently you CAN get pregnant while nursing!) And again, when our second daughter was ten months old - SURPRISE! (Apparently you can also forget that you can get pregnant while nursing.) So now, five years, three daughters, and ten years worth of growing up crammed into our lives, we are bonafide grown-ups. So much for traveling the world and stumbling upon myriads of unique life experiences. My consolation is this - we will travel the world after out kids move out, and we will not only still be "young", we will know better than to stay in hostels and fork up the money for a nice hotel and fine dining...it will be awesome. In the mean time, I am finding that while seemingly ordinary, this suburban lifestyle has afforded me plenty of "unique life experiences". How many people can say they caught a child's poop in their hands to avoid having to wash the sheets again? My husband can! And while he probably doesn't brag about it at work, I think he's awesome for it. I hate washing sheets, and he knew it (he's so dreamy!). Now especially I am given an opportunity for experience - relocation through work has moved our family from Colorado to Florida. We have left behind our family and friends for alligators and Confederate flags. Well, I've only seen one (of each), but they were big, so it counts as at least three. So, here I am, sweating myself a bra with Wow Wow Wubzy dutifully entertaining my children so I can sneak those chocolate covered pretzels out of the back of the fridge and eat them without anyone noticing. Judge me if you will, but this only happens after four o'clock. Before then, I'm all about leaving the TV off, eating healthy, being socially and environmentally responible, and all that jazz, but I got to say, come four, the remote and a bag of Cheetos just naturally find their way to my hands. Don't hate. So there you have it - not the course I had imagined, but is it ever?