In the Mind of My Babe

Lil Bit has one heck of a vocabulary for a 2 year old.  She speaks in complete, lengthy, and highly expressive sentences.  She was a late walker which has been attributed to the fact that she was an early talker.  She loves to read books and identify things she sees.

I'm not sure where she got the genius gene from, but she definitely has it!

Tonight we were doing some picture identification.  I though I would share a few of my favorites with you.  Seeing the world through her eyes puts an enormous smile on my face, and I hope it will for you too!

"Dinosaur"

(It's really an alligator)

"Nutcracker"

(King)

"Happy Birthday to Sissy"

(Birthday Cake - we celebrated her sister's birthday most recently so that's what she remembers!)

"Santa Clause is coming to town"

(It's an elf - get it?!)

And my personal favorite

"Ball for mommy to play" accompanied by hands moving in a knitting motion.

Sometimes I'm shocked by my own kid.  She kinda rocks.

Love, hugs, and blessings,

The Mama

Gag.

As a mommy blogger, there will undoubtedly be times when the bodily fluids and functions of my children will be the focus of my attention.  This is one of those times.  Consider yourself warned.

It takes a lot to turn my stomach.

I'm the one who will watch bot fly removals and surgeries online just because the gross out factor is pretty cool.

Today though, my threshold was challenged to the brink.

My youngest is my "bloody nose kid".  The first time I tried to leave her at the Y daycare, I got pulled off the treadmill before I could even push start because she had a bloody nose.

I ran up to the childcare center, fearing the worst, only to find some crusty nastiness on her finger from where she had gone-a-diggin' for gold.

I figured if that's all a bloody nose involved, then it really couldn't be such a big deal.

Heh.

Today, while busting it to get to the kids before I got the "naughty note" for late preschool pickup, I looked to the backseat and found my little one covered in blood.  Think a bad vampire movie.

To say I freaked out would be a total understatement.   I was able to identify the source but couldn't figure out how to stop it.  I thought that a passerby would call DFCS on me, or that she would start choking on the blood pouring from her nose.  So I reached over the back with my sweatshirt covering my hand and stuffed it up her nose while I drove like a madwoman trying to get to the school.  Yes, one hand on the steering wheel, the other directly behind me trying simultaneously soothe both her AND myself.

Two minutes later we were in the parking lot, nose still flowing, and I'm looking like I just left a murder scene with both me and my child covered in blood.

I got into the school, found a teacher to help me get the nose to stop, and got her semi-cleaned up.

Then I picked up the kids, and as I was talking to the teacher, I looked down to see a half-dollar sized booger blood clot in my son's hair.  Lil bit had sneezed.  I hadn't paid attention.

Now THAT's "grosser than gross".

The teachers had to take over because I nearly lost it right then and there as I became possessed by uncontrollable gagging.

Give me Bot Fly larvae any day... but THAT, well, thanks but no thanks.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Princess Camp... and Reality Camp

My parents sent our oldest to Princess Camp at their private country club last week.

She loved Every. Single. Second.

"Camp" only lasted Tuesday through Friday, but it took less than the first four hours to turn the diva dial all the way to overdrive.

On Wednesday morning, I asked The Princess to please make her bed and pick up her room before she got picked up for camp.

I was promptly informed that "Princesses have servants and do not have to pick up their own rooms."  She went on to explain that most of the "princess girls" at camp have real people who come make their beds for them.

After picking my jaw up off of the floor and reminding myself that she is only four years old, I quickly informed her that a) we do not have "people" who come  clean our rooms for us and b) (most importantly!!) I am the Queen, and The Queen trumps all.

Following some brief discussion which resulted in her new understanding that we would NEVER be revisiting this issue again, she went to pick up her room.

I ignored the "yes ma'am, your majesty" remark despite smart undertone dripping from it.  Sometimes we just have to pick our battles and my message had been clear.  At least she was making her own bed instead of turning her brother into her servant (as I would have likely done at her age...)

On Thursday, I decided that we needed to take the lesson one step further.

The Princess learned how to vacuum her own room.  Don't worry... it is a self propelled Dyson and she barely complained.

We call this portion of last week's programming "Reality Camp."

Camp ended on Friday with a performance which included princess waves, simple ballet, pint-sized hip shaking and finger pointing, and even the token "Pageant Pouty Face". 

Yes, the lines between Princess Camp and Pageant Camp became disturbingly blurred at one point during the recital.  

Regardless Mini-Me had a wonderful time and has spent every day for the last week telling us how much she loved Princess Camp and wants to be a real princess when she grows up.

From your lips to God's ears, kiddo.

Love, hugs, and blessings,

The Mama

To Pass The Time

My four year old is desperate to learn how to read and write.  And while I'm not the greatest teacher in the world, every once in a while I do have a stroke of genius that I think would be beneficial to share.

My mom is an educator and I am the fortunate recipient of many of her teaching tools.  Most recently, I acquired several boxes of sight word flash cards just begging to be used.  I also got a box of old magazines that she had been holding on to for me.

Lightbulb!!!

I pulled out the box of cards and tried to start going over them with Mini-me.  After two words, her interest was gone.

So, I went back to the one word she actually remembered.

RED

Then I pulled out a magazine from the big box of crafty potential.

I grabbed a red pen.

I set her on a hunt.

I put the flash card with the word red in front of her, and had her go through the magazine and find and circle all of the things that were red.

She's still doing it!!!  It has been a whole five minutes - which is a lifetime considering my child has the attention span of a flea.

What good ideas do you have to help keep the brains of your wee-ones working through summer vacation?

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

The Alarm Clock

The house is so silent, you could hear a pin drop.

Then, it happens...

"Cock-A-Doodle-Do!!!!! Mo-mmy!  WHERE ARE YOU???"

And in an instant, naptime is over and the whole house is awake, thanks to the Mohawk Monster who has decided that in order to wake everyone up, he needs to channel Old Mac Donald and his farm animals.  

Love, hugs, and blessings,

The Mama

MOTY Nomination, Please

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I deserve another MOTY Nomination.

MOTY, in case you're new here, is the Mother Of The Year award.

I have three kids.  On any given day, I should be able to give you their names.  You might get lucky enough to catch their birthdays if the stars are aligned correctly.

Their ages, however, are an entirely different story.

I worked myself into a tizzy thinking that my youngest daughter was a delayed walker.  I panicked when I realized that she was 18 months old and not walking.I had visions of Physical Therapy, leg braces, medieval walking devices, the whole nine yards being in our future.

I made the first available appointment with the pediatrician that I could.  I did research online and looked up all kinds of options.  I prayed to the heavens and skies above that everything would be okay.

Then I took her to that first available appointment I got.  My blood pressure was up and my palms were clammy.  The Husband even went because he was concerned by my level of concern - which normally stays pretty even keel when it comes to my kids and their development.

And sitting there, reading her growth chart and thinking that she was terribly behind, it hit me...

My daughter is only 16 months old... Not 18 months old.

No, wait... what???  Oh.  My.  God.  I am THE worst mother in the world.  I don't even know my own child's AGE!!!

In my defense, math or anything number related for that matter has never been my strong suit.

(I know.  I know.  I'm shaking my head at myself too.)

If you know anything about kids, two months - hell, two WEEKS - can mean a world of difference in the development of a child under the age of two.

Fortunately, it appears as though Lil Bit is right on track and is focused on her verbal and cognitive development more than her gross motor skills right now.  Which is fine with me....  Just as long as she doesn't get my mad math "skillz," I think we will all be okay.

Oh, and she will be walking soon.  And it will likely be BEFORE she is 18 months old - but the "for real" 18 month mark, not the imagined one that I had created in my wee-little brain.

Yes, I know.  I'm ashamed of myself too.

Maybe this is a sign that I am in desperate need of a vacation.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Lessons in Boredom

About a month ago, The Husband and I moved the digital cable box from the den television to the TV in our room.  It was an attempt to help remove TV from being the desired form of entertainment in our house because the stand alone unit only has about 19 channels on it.

It has been largely successful, except for the fact that lately my offspring has started staging an uprising every afternoon around 3:00.  They want their Sprout, and they want it N.O.W!!!

Today, my oldest started telling me how "baw-red" she was.  "But Mama," she followed me around whining after three games of Candy Land, 45 minutes of coloring, a dozen stories, and a lovely princess tea, "I'm so, so baw-red!! I have NOTHING to do! I need to watch Sprout!"

The Mohawk Monster quickly followed suit.  "Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama, MA-MA, M-A-M-A!!! I boed too, I boed too!  I need Spout!"

Now, I don't know about you, but I distinctly remember my dad telling me that I didn't know the meaning of bored and to go find something to do.  This "something" usually involved going outside so that he didn't have to listen to my whining anymore.

It's raining so outside wasn't really an option.  Instead, I decided it was time to teach the lesson about what being "bored" was really meant.

"Your rooms, now!" I ordered

They giggled and fled to their rooms expecting a new game.  I'm glad I am taken so seriously around here.

I instructed them to sit on their beds and do nothing for 15 minutes.  I told them that this wasn't a punishment, but I wanted them to learn what bored really meant.

Mini-Me laughed and with a defiant head toss, hopped onto the end of her bed and grinned.

"I can do that.  That's easy."  How does a four year old have such a smart mouth at such an early age?? I think my parents would call this something along the lines of payback, but I'm not 100% sure about that one.

The Mohawk Monster burst into tears.  I knew he didn't get it, but if he was going to follow in the steps of his sister, he was going to take part in the lesson to be learned as well.

I set the timer and went about cleaning up the kitchen.

90 seconds in, Mini-Me was softly whining in her room.  "This isn't a very fun game."

Five minutes in, Mini-Me had started asking if she could get up and the Mohawk Monster was sobbing "Dis a not fair! Dis a not fair!!!"  I haven't yet figured out how to handle that lesson, by the way.  One thing at a time.  The Mama must pick her battles.

I proudly stood my ground, however, and when the timer went off, they both exploded from their rooms and started playing oh-so-politely together in the playroom.  I haven't heard any complaints of boredom in the last 30 minutes and surprisingly, the word "MINE!" has yet to be uttered.

I think they may be afraid of the consequence that The Lesson of Mine might bring.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Donuts at Midnight

We had a midnight funny happen in our house last night.  Well, it was not so funny at the time, but the writing was on the wall and I knew it was going to happen.

Our oldest daughter loves donuts.  I can't blame her... I ate chocolate donuts every morning for breakfast while I was pregnant with her.  Yes, I gained 70 pounds and I deserved every last ounce of it.  At any rate, it's in her chemical makeup to love donuts...  especially Entemann's Chocolate Covered donuts!

When we were visiting my mom last night, she gave Bells 3 mini chocolate covered donuts that were special "just for her".  The minute we got home, my mini-me had me put her "special donuts" in the fridge next to a cup of milk down on one of the shelves that she could easily reach.  As soon as I kissed her goodnight, I came out and told my husband that I knew she would probably be up at 5:00 a.m. informing us that she was ready for "breaksmast".

What I couldn't predict was that the 5:00 a.m. donut craving would actually come at midnight!

I knew she had come in wanting her donuts.  And I knew that she had told me she was going to get them herself.  What I did not know was that it was the middle of the night.  It didn't dawn on me until I heard the chair scraping on the tile floor in the kitchen that maybe I should check to see what time it was.

Of course, I sent my husband down to coax our chocolate donut muncher back to bed.  He wasn't very happy with me sending him to the cold kitchen in the middle of the night.  And Bells was very offended by the fact that I had told her "yes" when my answer should have been "no".  I could hear her distress mounting as her pleading and bargaining attempts failed.  Finally, however, she complied.  My husband came back to bed and grumbled something about my promise, my responsibility.  I lovingly ignored him.  After all, the situation was resolved and everyone was nestled back in bed. 

Should I have gotten up and helped? Probably.  But my insomnia is pretty out of control these days and any precious moments of sleep I can get are not only welcome, they are wholeheartedly embraced.  Unless there is a major natural disaster or one of my children is in serious, non doughnut-related distress, I'm not getting out of bed or disturbing my Simply Sleep induced slumber.

Don't worry... Bells has forgiven me.  I woke her up with a "breasksmast" of donuts and milk at a more reasonable time of 6:45 in the morning and she was a very happy camper.  I apologized to all offended parties.  And I humbly accepted her finger wagging and reprimanding without laughing (at least not in front of her).

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Wordless Wednesday

This is Chewie. Chewie likes his hoodie sweater. He also has an identity crisis: he thinks he's a cat.

Yes, Chewie is sitting on top of a table.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

My Son, The Playa'

My brother, the one who goes to school at UGA, brought his girlfriend to my parents' house for dinner on Christmas day.

Now, in all fairness, she is beautiful.  However, I'm not sure I expected my two year old to fall in love so quickly!

From the moment he laid eyes on her, my son was smitten.  He spent the better part of the evening doing everything he possibly could to get her attention.  He was charming, sweet, and pretty much claimed her for his own.

While we were sitting at dinner, my brother asked N if he had found a girlfriend.  N replied "yeah" and shot a coy smile at his new found love interest.  My brother jokingly said, "yeah, well I brought her here."  N cut his eyes at my brother as if to challenge him.  Yes, the two year old was taking on the twenty-two year old.

Someone said, "N, do you know what that means?"  After pensively sitting for a moment, he stared the girl straight in the eye and in a very matter-of-fact tone responded, "Yeah, I need to drive!" He then turned and shot my brother a look as if to say, you better watch out.

Oh, I believe we have trouble on our hands.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

God, Forgive Me!

Nap time has become a monumental struggle around our house. Despite the stress it can cause me, it is mandatory that the kids have "quiet time" following lunch before we start our afternoon routine.

Today was particularly difficult in that the 2.5 year old preferred to yell the ABC's at the top of his lungs instead of napping which resulted in the girls not being able to sleep because he could be heard throughout the air vents all around the house.

As I debated whether or not to get in the shower or go tell him to quiet down for the millionth time, it dawned on me... if I can hear him, HE CAN HEAR ME!!!

I sat for a moment, prayed quietly, and kept my eye out for lightning as I bent down to the air vent and in my best "manly" booming voice bellowed:

"NOAH. THIS IS GOD."

And he replied:

"hewo???"

And I responded:

"NOAH. THIS IS GOD. GO TO SLEEP."

Now, I know what you're thinking (or at least what my Deacon father and Seminarian brother are thinking). Jenn, if you didn't already have your ticket to hell secured, this has certainly sealed your fate... But I promise you, it was purely innocent and a last ditch attempt to take a shower alone - preferably before midnight.

And you know what, it worked. For about twenty seconds. And I just couldn't help myself.

"NOAH, THIS IS GOD. YOU NEED TO BE QUIET. LISTEN TO YOUR MOMMY AND GO TO SLEEP."

Nearly a whole minute passed. I could hardly contain stand my excitement as I thought that he really HAD gotten it this time!

Then I heard the ABC's start again in a very quiet whisper.

"NOAH, I'M PROUD OF YOUR SINGING BUT IT IS TIME TO SLEEP. LISTEN TO YOUR MOMMY AND TAKE A NAP. NOOOWWWWWW!"

Then it also dawned on me that my very impressionable and highly sensitive oldest child could probably also hear me.

I crept down the stairs and peeked in her room to find her face buried in the covers. Concerned that I may have scarred her for life, I went in to check.

She peeked out at me with a sheepish grin and said, "shhhh." I asked her what was up and she replied:

"Mommy, God called Noah and told him to go to sleep. I have to act like I'm asleep now because I don't want him to call Isabella."

This could either be very good, or very, very bad.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Photo Session

I have some of the most awesome friends in the world. My friend, Sabrina, also has three kids who are about the same ages as my kiddos. She graciously came over today and took some pictures of my babes.

Anyway, in order to not muss the beauty of the pictures she took, here is a sampling of my precious little ones.




(Please don't use these pictures or share them without my explicit written permission... or I may have to will hunt you down... and it will NOT be pretty. You do NOT mess with Mama Bear. Get it? Good.)

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Finger Fail

I think I resnapped my tendon. Yay me.

My oldest decided it was her responsibilty to potty train her little brother. She is 3. He is 2. Being the good big sister she is, she took off his clothes and diaper this afternoon to "teach him" how to stinky in the potty. (I was cleaning the kitchen... or facebooking - I think we'll go with cleaning the kitchen). The only problem: he had already made a stinky. In his diaper. And the offending diaper was now on the floor. Of our living room.

It wasn't until he walked up to me, announcing his "stinky pride" with dinglers on his booty that I realized I was about two minutes too late to avoid a major disaster. I had to throw him in the shower.

Slippery, soapy, poopy 2 year old + poorly fitting finger splint + not-so-happy-mama-fully-clothed-in-shower-with-said-poo-offender = resnapped finger tendon.

I had enough trouble getting my doctor to believe I really hurt my finger just gardening. And that was the first time around. What are the chances he will buy this event? Slim to none.

Major Fail.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Cuteness Overload

What's not to love?!?!


Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Hollywood

I frequently joke that I'm giving my children plenty of fodder for their therapy sessions that are inevitable later in life.

I think, however, that they are giving ME a reason to go to therapy... particularly my mini-me.

Yesterday, I was decoupaging the dresser that is going in our youngest daughter's room (pics to come, I promise!!!) when Mini-Me came up and announced that she was going to Hollywood.

Minutes later she came back fully clad in her "Hollywood Clothes" and had changed her name to Holly. Holly Hollywood... get it? Remember, she's three.

Anyway, this is what was staring back at me when I whipped around to question the name change.

Pose. and. all.

Now, her hair is a mess because she's in a phase where she wants to wear it "down like Aunt Kat". (Thanks, Kat, but could we start wearing ponytails and hair clips for a while?) But what kills me - KILLS ME - is the pose. This is her "model pose". She has even perfected the hip pop!

Really? REALLY???

I have no idea where she got this pose. None. It certainly wasn't from me.

All I can do is hope that all of this Hollywood going, name changing, hair copying business gets out of her system now or else I am in for some very serious trouble - and very expensive therapy bills!

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

The Apple and the Tree

Jennifer is a very common name for my age group. Apparently, there was some book or something that helped it rise in popularity. And while I now mostly go by "Jenn" to those who are closest to me, I vehemently opposed being called anything short of my full three-syllable mouthful when I was growing up.

I will never forget when I was in Mrs. Bell's first grade class. There were four of us named Jennifer, and someone needed to take on a shorter version of "Fair Lady" in order to make our teacher's life easier. I immediately raised my hand and said, "My name is Jennifer. Period." From then until I went off to college, no one dared call me anything other than the full J-E-N-N-I-F-E-R for fear being on the receiving end of my Gemini wrath. Of course, when I flew from the nest for the first time, I not only changed my haircolor and the number of holes in my body, but also shortened my name. Little did I know that EVERYONE who was formerly Jennifer now goes by Jenn as well. However, that is neither here nor there.

For anyone who ever doubted whether or not history repeats itself, you need not look any further than my blue-eyed mini-me.

On the way home from running an errand the other day, I addressed my oldest by the name "Bells", something I have been doing for quite a while. Rather than respond to my question, she asked me, "Why do you call me Bells?" I answered by telling her that it was my special name for my special girl.

I was promptly corrected and put in my place.

"Mommy," she said with an exacerbated sigh, "My name is NOT Bells. It is I-SA-BEL-LA (carefully enunciating each syllable). THAT is my special name and THAT is what you need to call me."

I couldn't help but laugh and agree with her. The apple certainly doesn't fall far from the tree, does it!

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Wordless Wednesday

Then...



And Now...



Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Color Me Crazy

What do you get when you combine nine napless kids under the age of five with three tired moms and a bunch of white shirts and fabric dye?

Sheer, unadulterated insanity!!!

Things started well... the girls were prepped and ready to go:


And I obviously had the best intentions of getting some pictures of everything...

But about three minutes after this picture was taken, all hell broke loose.

The three babies all started screaming. The toddlers were over tired and just plain done. And the girls were, well, typical independent girls.

I think that my friends and I personified the phrase "It takes a village..." yesterday.

I swept in and dealt with the babies and as many of the toddlers as I could manage while my creative and patient counterparts dipped and dyed the white banded bundles.

The volume in the house was deafening. And I'm pretty sure that I, at least, looked haggard and somewhat hilarious with my child nursing, a baby in the crook of my knee, and a third one on my other arm. I was able to captivate the attention of two of my three toddler charges by having them tell me about the toys in the backpack. My own toddler, however, had to be sent on a wild goose chase looking for airplanes. Don't ask... it is the ONLY thing that will keep his attention or deter him from a total meltdown when he isn't getting his way.

And when all the shirts had been dyed and the diapers had been changed, the power went out.

I swear, you couldn't make this stuff up if you tried.

Exit The Mama.

And as if we hadn't had enough, the nine month old decided that she wanted to choke on a strand of her sister's hair within minutes of pulling out of my friend's neighborhood. It was unpleasant to say the least.

Within ten minutes of walking through the door to our house, I had all three stinky kids bathed. Dinner consisting of Steamfresh broccoli and one cent Publix hot dogs was quickly served.

Bedtime came early last night.

I do have to say that the one shirt I managed to get done before all hell broke loose turned out surprisingly well.

This is her "style girl" pose. I have no idea what that means, but I have a feeling I'm in serious trouble.

We made it home with three other shirts, but sadly my son's is nowhere to be found.

Here are the other ones that my friend Jackie did for me while I juggled the wild ones:


I'm going to add my touch to them with some fun Urban Threads embroideries.

Upon reflection, the tie dying itself was fun. However, next time I think that I will do it minus the children and plus a bottle of wine.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Unitled

Dear Family,
First of all, let me tell you how much I love you. I adore you. I love you more than all the stars in the sky and all the grains of sand on the earth combined.

That being said, I have just a couple of simple requests.

1. Could we please work on the tattling? I mean, really... is it necessary to tell me EVERY SINGLE TIME one of you looks at the other one? It isn't a criminal offense. And the wrath of The Mama will not come down on your beloved sibling simply because he/she looked in your direction. I also cannot control the extent to which the dogs look at you.

2. I, you are not moving to California on Monday. Nor can you skip ages 4 through 12 so you can immediately become a teenager. Furthermore, simply becoming a teenager will not entitle you to a spring break trip. If anything, this will prevent you from EVER SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY on spring break. And for the record, repeatedly asking will not make me change my mind. And while I find it impressive that you have grasped the concept not only of States and Ages, but also of alternatives when one door closes, the window for you to move Hawaii in lieu of California will not be opening anytime before you are 18. I also commend your persistence. Asking more than 70 times in the course of three hours is impressive. But I will not be worn down... yet. Oh, and you cannot marry your brother. Or Chewie. I'm just saying...

3. N, your creativity is amazing. However, I really don't want to have to remind you again that your slice of pizza is NOT a golf club. Chewie's head is also not a golf ball. Scruffy is not a tractor to be ridden on. Your baby sister is also not a toy to be dragged around the house, although for the life of me I cannot figure out why her blood curdling screams every time you touch her have not alerted you to this already. And the way you say Sowee is adorable, but no matter how cute you are, you cannot repeatedly hit Sissy in the head and say "sowee" each time. It doesn't make it hurt any less, or prevent you from getting in trouble.

4. Hubs... really? Watch the news? Cars has played six times in the last four days; Tinkerbell has played twice. And when I get online, I'm much more concerned with my Farmtown skills than with the fast track on the crap train that our country is heading down. I need less stress in my life, not more. Google reader and Facebook are my bff's. It's not that I'm a space cadet. But lately, I need my happy place when the house gets quiet.

5. Dogs, please remember that YOU ARE DOGS!! You are not entitled to eat the food that I feed my human babies. And children, I appreciate your generosity, but please don't share your sandwiches and pop-tarts with the four-legged friends in our house. I clean up enough poop as it is.

I adore you all.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Murphy's Law

Wouldn't you know it!!!

Hubs leaves for Miami for a week tomorrow. N came down with some rash grossness in the last 24 hours.

Life will be so much fun this week!

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama