If I EVER...

If I ever attempt to step foot inside a Wal Mart again, please, PLEASE stop me.

I think I've had about a dozen posts on here that are related to my (ahem) experiences at Wally-World...

Here's another one to add to the list.

A little background:  the Mohawk Monster is going through a phase I like to call "The Thrilling Three's".  Don't be fooled... there is absolutely NOTHING thrilling about this phase.

He screams.  He whines.  He pouts.  He pitches temper tantrums over things like the type of cup he has his lemonade in.  On Saturday, he threw himself down inside the UGA stadium because he wanted chips and I wasn't able to give them to him RIGHT. THIS. VERY. INSTANT!!!!!

It's not pretty.  In fact, it's downright ugly in that OH-MY-GOD-WHY-CAN'T-THAT-WOMAN-CONTROL-HER-DEMON-CHILD-OFFSPRING-CALL-AN-EXORCIST kind of way.

Yesterday he was in bed at 5:30.  Yes, I said Five-Thirty.  He had thrown the millionth tantrum of the day and it was truly in both of our best interest that he be sequestered to the safe and fluffy confines of his bed.  He had books.  He wasn't being harmed.  And yes, I fed him first.

So anyway, today at Wally-World, we had another award winning meltdown...

Apparently, I am THAT mom.

We're in the line to check out.  My children are total suckers for the impulse buy items in the checkout line - it literally takes every fiber of my being to get through the line as quickly as possible without raising my bill by $100 just in impulse purchases.

Then, it happens... The Mohawk Monster sees **GASP!!** a Mater truck from the movie, Cars.

Now, the truck is only three dollars and some change, but I can't say yes every time my children ask me to buy something.  It just is what it is.  If I gave in every time, they wouldn't just be brats - they'd be spoiled brats (not that I'm saying they're brats, of course!).  And quite frankly, he didn't deserve the car since he had already had multiple meltdowns throughout the morning.

I told him, "not this time," and in an attempt to quickly divert his attention, I asked him to please help me with such-and-such.

Bad move, Mom.

He instantly switched himself into a complete tantrum, unleashing his fury on his little sister (who not to my surprise swatted right back at him in self defense) and threw himself into a screaming lump in the back of the cart.

All eyes are on me by now with the pleading "can't you control your heathen child" look, and of course, the cashier felt that it was her obligation to provide me with parenting advice at this point.

"Hon, you just need to go give that child some lunch and put him to bed.  He just tired and needs some food and a nap."

I curtly yet politely replied, "He already ate.  He's just being three."

"Mmm-mmm," she replied in disagreement.  "You need to feed that boy and give him a nap 'cause he's just plain 'ol worn out!  He'll be asleep the minute he gets in your van."

For the record, I do not own a van.  Not that I don't want to... but I'm just saying.

Apparently she couldn't translate my death stare, because she continued.

"You just need to calm yo-self down.  Count to ten.  You's was like him once too, I'm sure.  It's hard.  There's Mc Donalds, and toys, you'd be pitching a fit too.  Just get him some food and a nap.  It'll be all right.  Just give 'em what he wants.  He'll settle on down."

Mohawk Monster is now screaming at what I'm certain is the absolute top of his lungs.  I'm pretty sure DFCS is being called somewhere.

And as I grabbed my bags and hurried out as quickly as possible, I accidently caught the glance of a creepy old man who had been staring at me in my tennis skirt the whole time; he winked, nodded, and grinned (toothlessly!!!) in my direction.  I thought the stretch marks and screaming children would be enough to discourage frighten anyone from giving me the once over.  Apparently not.

Ew.  Icing.  On.  The.  Cake.

I have GOT to remember that I hate Wal Mart.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Giggles and Boobs

I've been giggling to myself all day long.  Not about boobs though... I'll get to that later.

My mowhawk clad half-pint reminded me once again this morning that I need to censor what comes out of my mouth.

As he struggled to put his jacket on, the little one hissed something to the likes of, "I'm so freakin' cold!"

Wait... WHAT???

I really didn't think that "freaking" or "freakin'" was that bad, until it came out of the mouth of my two year old!

To make sure he really said the PG13 version, I asked him to repeat it.  Again, in a slightly sharper weren't-you-listening-the-first-time tone, he hissed, "I'm SO FREAKIN' cold!!"

Note to self: Censor. Censor. Censor.  Freedom of speech (A.K.A. freedom of foul language) should not be allowed in front of impressionable preschooler ears.  There is a time and place for everything after all!

In other news and on a totally unrelated note, some of you may know that I'm a huge supporter of breastfeeding.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not a total boob-nazi.  If it works for you, great.  If not, then so be it.  It has to work for both BABY AND MOMMY!  But at the end of the day, breastmilk IS nature's perfect food for babies.  It just is what it is.

Shortly after the earthquake in Haiti, a flood of Facebook messages lit up my news feed with information about breastmilk donation for the babies who had been affected by the disaster.  If you read my post the other day, you know what  a hard time I've been having processing the devastation.  I immediately contacted the numbers to get more information and find out if it was a legitimate call for help.  I am still nursing our youngest child and figured that it might be small, but that donating milk would be an easy way that I could help the littlest victims.

I was disappointed to find out that the calls for donations are not legitimate.  Unfortunately, because of the highly perishable nature of breastmilk and the immense difficulties that crews are facing getting supplies to victims of the quake, there are no donation banks accepting milk for Haitian babies affected by the disaster.  Furthermore, I learned that if the potential donor is nursing a child who is over the age of twelve months, her milk is not eligible for donation.  Boo.

And while we're here, let's take this moment as an opportunity for some education.  The WHO (World Health Organization) recommends breastfeeding for the first six months and up through two years of age.

Over the past decades, evidence for the health advantages of breastfeeding and recommendations for practice have continued to increase. WHO can now say with full confidence that breastfeeding reduces child mortality and has health benefits that extend into adulthood. On a population basis, exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months of life is the recommended way of feeding infants, followed by continued breastfeeding with appropriate complementary foods for up to two years or beyond.

Source: http://www.who.int/child_adolescent_health/topics/prevention_care/child/nutrition/breastfeeding/en/index.html

Furthermore, evidence suggests that breastfeeding can reduce the risk of breast cancer - which unless you are new to this blog, you know that I am also a huge advocate of breast cancer awareness.  This fact has not been a deciding factor in whether or not to breastfeed my children, but it is an added bonus.

After pregnancy, breastfeeding for a long period of time (for example, a year or longer) further reduces breast cancer risk by a small amount. Source: http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/factsheet/Risk/pregnancy 

So yes, I am still nursing my 15 month old.  And yes, I would be more than happy and willing to donate milk to a child in need.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

Friday Funny

Have you ever randomly called the phone number on the back of a candy bar wrapper?  


I haven't either.

But a friend of mine did and encouraged my husband and I to do the same.  Let me assure you, it did not disappoint!!!

Today's Friday Funny is brought to you by Nestle Crunch.

Give this a try!

Call: 1.800.295.0051

Wait 10 seconds.  Do not select a language option... And listen...

Their "Funner" menu offers information on Cooties, lets you listen in on a game of backyard catch, and more.  Get your Friday Funny smile thanks to the good folks at Nestle.

The YouTube video below isn't mine, but I provided it for you just in case you were too scared to actually call the number yourself!



Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama

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

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

LOVE This!!!

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