You Can Find Me in the Corner of the Lovely Padded Room

I thought...

that I couldn't wait for the Easter Half-term holidays.

I envisioned the mornings I would be lying in my bed doing full body stretches sometime around, say 10 am, to be followed with lots of playing and picnicking.

I had a dream (Tangled reference)

of an overflowing bread box with no packed lunches being made.

BUT

Some idiot scheduled all of the boys for the first three days in a soccer school, so lunches were packed and bed stretching was postponed. With boys away, I was blessed with some insight of Miss Ky's future hoarding practices since she had more time to drag all things belonging to everybody downstairs.

The same idiot forgot the chant heard 'round the world during school breaks, "I'm bored! I'm bored! She's looking at me!" Fun times.

The biggest slap in the face?

Having Miss Ky home is different than having four boys home. 

This afternoon as I ran upstairs to brush my teeth (compulsive tooth brusher).
I hesitated to have a look at the brush-- thank the Manufacturer that I did!

My toothbrush is brown.

Not at the top,
no,  
someone rinsed it carefully after using it to do who-knows-what,
but down at the bottom of the bristles there's a new color that was not there this morning.

My gag reflex is in overdrive now.



Ten days and fifteen hours until that child returns to school, I think I'll start packing her lunches now...



If there were no schools to take the children away from home part of the time, the insane asylums would be filled with mothers.  ~Edgar W. Howe

 

Can't Buy Me Love

During the Easter holidays, we took the kids bowling on base.

Bowling is not cheap anymore, is it? I found myself echoing my grandmother, "When I was young, bowling was only 50¢ per game and my shoes were free!".
I was totally making it up, I can't remember how much I used to pay to bowl, but I do remember doing random yard clean up jobs to get the 25¢ required for an afternoon swim in the city pool.

Anyway, everything is now electronic at the bowling alley.

Turkeys run across the score screen (why don't we keep score manually anymore? Kids already don't know how to read a clock, but now we're taking away the opportunity to do math in a fun setting?), music plays at high volume over tinny speakers as disco lights flash.

It was in that setting that my youngest son, (nearly 7) asked, "Mum, what was that...uh, ...that...uh...thing with the bird on it?"

"The what?" I ask while looking around at all of the possibilities.

He stutters through the question again, clearly unable to pull the word free from his mouth that best described his object, "The....uh, it had a bird on it" and points to the counter that is now empty.

I realized then that he was referring to my change that had been sitting on the counter (what little of it was left after four shoe rentals, slushies and a few games). I had slipped it into my pocket before the oldest got any bright ideas with a candy machine staring him down...

The poor little boy wanted to me to tell him the name for the coin with a bird on it...




a quarter.




How sad is that? He has no idea what this coin is, poor little American boy growing up in Great Britain.



When I was little, the Tooth Fairy would leave me a quarter for my tooth... what's this kid getting?

Pound coins.



I'm not that sad for him anymore.

They Never Saw it Coming

At dinner

I asked each boy to pick his two favourite friends. Each kid willingly named two, except for the six-year old, who named four.

I told them to hold the image of those friends in their minds.

Then I picked out a really terrific event that each son could image he was going to-- with his two best friends.
One child was going to see a really awesome movie he's been talking about,
one was going to be a mascot-for-a-day for our favourite footy team and
the youngest boy was going to a fun zone area (with his four friends).

Me: "Now imagine I'm driving you and your two very favourite friends to that special event and Friend One says to Friend Two, 'You're really stupid'. Friend Two says, 'I am not stupid and you stink'. Friend One says, 'You always cry about everything' and crying friend replies, 'I hate you!'".

J2 says, "Oh... like me and A1".

Me: "Yes, like you and A1. Every day I can't wait for my three best friends to come home from their day at school.
I make sure I've finished all of my errands and all of my chores so that I can be standing up at the bus stops eagerly waiting to see your faces."

"I cheer when there's a snow day, I love school holidays, I LIKE being with you, but my best friends-- the people I love most in the world come home and call each other names and antagonize each other to anger or tears".

Very somber faces.

Poor kids, only a few minutes before they thought I was getting ready to let them take friends on some really cool outing.

At least I know I got my point across.





Still in computer switch-over mode , so no 365 this week, but I will happily bore you with photos next Thursday! (my itunes is only missing some parts to some albums and we haven't touched the photos yet-- fingers crossed).
I do want to clarify: Never at any time have I ever been unhappy with my Mac baby. We've been loyal mac owners since they were called apples and took up an entire desk. This switch is to improve space and speed for my continuing education-- you know, just in case you're considering a Mac and think I've had any problems with mine.

PSF The Photo That Didn't Make The 365 Cut

Some days I shoot 40-50 photos. That was even before the 365 Project.
Other days I am looking through very sleepy eyes, aiming my lens at nonsense (that is a result of the 365). That's ok.

If I had to shoot only one subject for the rest of my life,
it would be my kids (kids does equal one subject, don't be so nit picky) and I'd never get tired of it. Luckily, they're used to me having a camera projecting from my face and can usually remain pretty natural.

"Natural" for this kid is silly, goofy faces--not all of them very attractive. His favourite thing is to wrinkle his lips, cross his eyes and getting irritatingly close. With his chest puffed out, he speaks in his best cockney, "C'mon then, c'mon then, wanna staht wi' me?"

I followed him around the winter wonderland our garden has become with the camera poised for that one glimmer of a natural, joyful smile.

I found it.

I could never get tired of photographing that.

You Had a Bad Day

Karma is attacking you from all sides and you don't know why.
So, you've slipped inside your too-tiny-for-your-family cottage and try to hide.
You take a few moments to post about your bad day because it's good for the soul to get it all out. You'll feel better.
But in the background you hear...

crinkle crinkle crinkle
tink tink tinktink tink tink
thump thump thump thumpthump thump

????

crinkle crinkle crinkle
tink tink tinktink tink tink tap tap
thump thump thump thumpthump thump

The day has been less than perfect, so even though you know the toddler is probably up to no good, you really don't care. Just about everything is cleanable since Magic Eraser came onto the scene.

crinkle crinkle crinkle
taptap tink tink tinktink tink tink
thump thump thump thumpthump thump

Oh... Miss Ky has found the Halloween candy... this is what six snack sized bags of Sugar Babies look like when they're converted to a tea party.
She's proud of herself and not tired at all after all of that running to clean up the wrappers. Addendum: While I uploaded this post and photos, she took her baby Einstein dvd out (the one I thought would hold her attention for five minutes), got the dvd player stuck in the "open" position, took the card out of our satellite box and got out some Wii games with the guitar saying, "I play Guitar Hero". She may have forever altered our surround sound, I cannot get it to make sound for the dvd anymore. She also took my baker's Torch out of the kitchen cupboard-- she had to climb to get it. Thank goodness I keep the fuel for it in a separate place!


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Officially a Terrible Two!

Our "Surprise!" child is TWO today

Keeps us on our toes.
Yells louder than her brothers.
Loves only as a little girl can.
Eats like she has a bottomless pit.
Instigates mischief.
Growing too fast for our liking.
Heaven's gift we still don't feel worthy of.
Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

All Things British- Fancy Dress

For those of you that have been worrying about me, I have survived the woman's version of the man cold. And hear me now-- I will never make fun of my husband's suffering again.

Ok, he's left the room now, so we can really talk.

Here's how it is. When I'm sick, sick enough to go down, it usually means the laundry, the school duties, life will be waiting for me when I get up. And today was no exception.
It looks like the laundry fairy threw up all over my laundry room-- and boy has she eaten a lot in the last few days.

I woke up this morning from my NyQuil-induced coma in a panic. I remembered that yesterday while I was down, I needed to be at Tesco's buying my child things for his Victorian lunch (I'll get back to that). So now I needed to bake. Quick-like. With four mini-beasts circling me all drooling at the smell of food. I baked corn muffins and cake brownies and prayed my head cold wouldn't attack again until after I got the kids off.

Have I ever told you that when we moved here, I felt like I was coming home?
There's a number of reasons I've felt that way, but this time of year I'm reminded of something else.

I grew up LOVING Halloween. Living in a small town, we were safe trick-or-treating into the dark hours, really safe -- some homes actually gave treats like popcorn balls and caramel apples. We carried pillow cases instead of those silly little miniscule buckets and came home with them filled. The best part of Halloween night was coming home with first place of the costume contests. And I usually did. I say usually, because there was a fierce competition going on between my mother and another woman, both seamstresses. One year, my mom got REALLY perturbed with me because I announced to the class that I was going to be a bride. To my mom, it was a betrayal, and that year, I wasn't a bride after all. Despite this sick obsession (that somehow escaped my attention), I love getting dressed up.
When we moved here, you know, moved "home", one thing I was alerted to was the term "fancy dress". We began receiving "fancy dress" party invitations. Halloween or Fancy- I don't care, just give me a costume (me in glitter, soft fabrics, sleeky legs in stilettos= a costume)-- yeah, count me in.
However, I wasn't being invited, my kids were! Like I'm going to rent a tux for J2 to play football in or buy Miss Ky something glittery to get finger paint all over. whatever you crazy people.

A fancy dress party is a costume party. And the Brits like costume parties. I'm in Heaven-- I can buy costumes year round. There's even a special time every year, Book Week, when the kids dress up like their favourite book character. Many birthday parties are themed around pirates or princesses. There's more... like contests for example. Currently being held in the UK is a contest: Dress up like Angus from ACDC and you could win a trip to see the band! (If you're dressing like Angus regularly, you need a free trip to the fashion police station).

So what the heck is this post about anyway?

I'm trying to tell you in my own rambling, I've-had-too-much-NyQuil way, that I love living here. My kids are having some of the greatest opportunities of a lifetime.

J2 left for school today in a victorian get-up and was driven (by coach) with his classmates, to a victorian school where they had lessons, played games and ate their lunches of crusty breads, cheeses and chunks of meat (and a small cake) all wrapped up tidily in a tea towel.

The coach driver asked me, "You're not going?"
"No, I hung around and gave them lots of opportunities to ask me, but they just didn't"
"You have a costume?"
"Of course, doesn't everyone?"

Don't YOU have a tudor costume hanging in your wardrobe?

Well you'd better think of getting one if you intend to visit for any real length of time-- it's not just tea and biscuits over here!

WW-- Eight is Not Too Old For Daddy's Lap

When Brains are Lactating

This is T, see T's beautiful eyes? (go ahead, click on it, you know you want to) It's hard to talk to her and not lose one's train of thought because of those eyes. I don't have those eyes, so I have no explanation for her inability to speak coherently in my presence.



We were at T's for tea (t?) on Sunday, when she leaned over to me and simply said, "If you would prefer, we have breast milk".




It was one of those moments when several thoughts whip in and out of the brain.
Hers was grasping the horror of the words that had come rolling out of her mouth even though she knew they weren't the right ones.
Mine was wondering what caused the Freudian slip-- are my breasts looking engorged? That would be sad since I haven't breast fed anyone in over a year. Next thought was the season's finale of Grey's Anatomy--which disturbed me--Oh my, does T fancy me, was she looking at my breasts?!
These thoughts were instantaneously brushed aside and the two of us laughed so hard that J2 was pointing at her and saying, "She's going to wet herself!".

I had on my plate, a roasted chicken leg. There was a plate of chicken breast meat on another plate in the middle of the table. She meant breast meat, but it was too late. A forever giggle was planted.

Monday night, the children and I were eating garlic chicken and potatoes when A1 perks up, "Remember when Miss T said 'Do you want breast meat?' hahahaha (insert child's attempt to laugh for real)".
J2 added, "Breast meat! She was laughing so hard. hahahaha".

Innocence.

Aaaargh, Don't Tell Me Ye Missed It!

You didn't miss "Talk like a pirate day" yesterday, did you?

Shiver me timbers, this is a nerdy family.


and their nerdy friends
And that weasle-y looking wench in the stripes be me-- Aaaar!


"There! That's what I think of ye. Before an hour's out, I'll stove in your old block house like a rum puncheon. Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an hour's out, ye'll laugh upon the other side. Them that die'll be the lucky ones." Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson

WW~Funny Farm CEO

A child is a curly dimpled lunatic. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

There's a Write Way and a Wrong Way to do Things

Dear Son #2,

This is a writing instrument. It can be very useful
when your mind is full and your paper is blank.
You can capture forever the thoughts that were torturing
your sleep or teasing your humour.

You can also use this to draw things. Beautiful landscapes,
cherished faces, super heros and award-winning cartoons.

You can do that, you know.

This can also be very handy when you're plugging through
your facts in math, or when you'll need notes to jog your memory of a fast-talking teacher expounding on important
information you may someday hope to remember.

It is sometimes a toy.
When placed over the middle finger and under
the two fingers on either side, you can snap it to impress your friends.

Those are the right ways to use a pencil.

Never, ever at any time should you ever use it to remove an eyelash from your beautiful chocolate eyes!

On the PhotoStoryFriday Bandwagon

Pure joy
2005. My son's band entered a Battle of the Bands contest, without ever having played in public before.

Our whole family sat outside (in the New Mexico sun) through performances from band after band.
Some we really enjoyed, some not so much so. One heavy metal band was SO loud, I had to put a bouncy castle between the bandstand and myself and still hold my ears. It was terrible. That statement may make me sound old, but believe me, I like a good head banging tune as much as anybody else-- just not so loud that my teeth start cracking.

As the sun began sinking deep into the clear afternoon sky, my son got more and more nervous. At one point he was desperate to find a place to throw up. I considered joining him. I was nervous too.

I liked their band. I'm the weirdo parent that would encourage the band to play in our house and would allow all of my furniture to be moved out to make room for the amps. I liked the songs they wrote and often sang along (picture a 40-year old woman toting a baby on her hip and singing Blink182 loudly as she dusts), but I was nervous because they entered a contest to compete with people who were making their livings performing.
I was so proud of them for entering and equally anxious for them.

Their turn finally came. They performed. J1 was on drums and vocals.
On the song he sang lead vocals, his headset went a little nutty on him halfway through the song. He kept drumming. He kept singing.


When they were finished, relief was palpable. J1 was reduced to just a smile sitting on a sweaty teenage body..



Three more bands played.
The sun set.
We had been tapping our feet and bobbing our heads for over 7 hours. Now we had to just sit and wait.

The results were in:

1st place: a local band, well-loved with quite a following.

I was holding a sleeping toddler, so I handed the camera over to my husband and asked him to get in front of the boys. I told him to be ready. I don't know for what.

2nd place: another local band, but this one plays cover tunes in lounges.

And finally, The People's Choice-- determined by the crowd (who had to pay to vote)...

That first photo is the boys hearing that they won. They won the cash prize. The cash paid to say, "I think these guys rock!". They won a few hundred dollars and only $20.00 of it was from us.
I won a new respect for the fearlessness of three teenage boys who suddenly saw opportunities they hadn't imagined before. And a great shot despite the red eye.


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Blog Blog Go away, Come again Another Day

Blessings of the Day.

Every morning, whether it's raining or shining, I wake up to fresh air. Air filled with the scent of damp, fertile earth and oceans of blossoms. Occasionally during the spring, it's a little too fresh-- as in animal freshness -- but for the most part, the air is sweet. I never give it any thought. I rarely take a moment to just breathe.

Every morning I wake up to the antics of my quick, lively children-- whether or not I want to. And there are days I don't want to. Take yesterday, when I heard them down in the dining room giggling and hiccuping in their hysterics while I was dressing... only I discovered they weren't in the dining room. They were on the trampoline in the back garden. All four of them, in their pajamas, outside at 7 am. My poor neighbors. I bet there's mornings they don't want to wake up to my lively children as well.

Every evening, I hear the "silence" of a house that's truly lived in: the washer spinning and making it's "preparing for take off" noises -- the occasional 50p coin clanging against the door, the dishwasher humming away at a plethora of uneaten food holding fast to our mis-matched dishes, the sigh of my computer as I pull it out of the deep sleep.

That may not be quiet to you, but after a day with toddler that can call dogs from miles away, and boys bickering over whose Match Attacks cards were left in the toilet-- that's quiet.

And in that quiet as I look back over the day, I have my moments of "I wish I had...".
None of which ever includes, "...spent more time on my computer while my bottom half grows larger".

So today, you're receiving this post through the magic of blogger scheduler. The heavy breathing Mac Baby isn't coming on. I'm going to attend A2's recognition ceremony for the Museum Club he participated in; say good bye to a great guy retiring from the Air Force and kiss grubby little faces (my children, not my husband's military friends) while letting the unswept dog hair swirl around our play. I will enjoy the noise and the quiet. for one day.

Surely I won't suffocate if my mouse is removed from my hand and connections to this addiction is severed for just one day....

Just breathe....

As The Stomach Turns

I have had the crap-tap-papiest day. Queen Neg-o-tivity at your reading displeasure here.
No really. I want to post something cheerful, and I have a million pictures to share, but wouldn't you rather hear from the real me? (That's your cue to turn back now).

I woke up to this email :
"bad things are happening.
i need to call you as soon as i can, so be ready.."
From Son #1.
The child who may or may not turn 20 this summer. It was sent at 4:35am my time, and I responded by 7am.

And then I waited.

And then I sent this:

"In the future:
could you please at least summarize what you'll be calling about, because as you let me sit, I am imagining every bad scenario there is. Remember recently when you sent me information on what stress does to your body? Well I suffer with stress too. I have stresses you don't even know about, so if there are bad things happening, spit it out so that I can start processing it instead of sitting here worrying while you are probably asleep."

And then I waited.

I didn't go shopping. I didn't leave our house.

Maybe I should clarify why I would sit around at a young man's beck-n-call.

I have hinted at this in the past, only hinted because I didn't feel like it was appropriate to sling mud on my blog. I'm slinging now. Forget slinging, I'm wrestling in it-- me and all my size 14 glory.

J1 is involved with a girl whose parents may be a few fries short of a Happy Meal. The Dad is the one that frightens me the most. By 3 pm today when he still hadn't called, I was pretty sure the Dad had killed him. Even though it was only about 8am his time.
I took a break from email watch to fetch the other boys from school and when I returned, I had email!

Only, it wasn't from him. It was a NASTY gram from someone I consider a pretty decent friend.

I have to explain more... (read my mind will you, my hand is cramping).

When Son #1 no longer had a job and was forced to look back into college, he just packed up and went. No job, no home. Truthfully, he drove over to check out the school, talked to a few people and then decided he would do it. Within a couple of weeks. This friend of mine offered him a place to stay. I assumed it was until he got everything lined up and got an apartment.
I encouraged him to hurry, not take advantage of their generosity, and then I talked to the Hubby about maybe slipping her and her husband cash to cover any additional expenses he would cause.

I didn't ask her to do this.

Maybe she somehow felt she "owed" it to me, since we flew her over here to England.
Yes, that's right... I emailed her (when Hubby was playing Army) and told her I was about to have a nervous breakdown and she replied, "I'll come over, I have time off for a family reunion, but I'll come help you instead". I was so thrilled she would do this for me. The Hubby emailed, "I'll pay her way if she can come help you".
When I suggested that to her, she said, "I'll pay half".
Isn't that great?
And then she asked us to book it since she couldn't. And then she bought a business. And then she was broke (could no longer pay half), regretted telling me she would come (she really wanted to be there to gear up for the business she'd be taking over), spent the entire time wanting to be in contact with her husband (to discuss the new business) and wanted me to drive her to charity shops (to get the scoop on them-- yes, she bought a charity shop).
She informed me she wasn't interested in seeing sights, "Been there, done that," and so my children, who were without their father and pretty near without their mother spent the beginning of their summer break sitting in the back seat of a car while I drove her to shops.

But I'm not bitter. Because she was my friend and even though she didn't come over to give me a break and help with the kids, she did think about it and it's the thought that counts.

So the email I got today?

She informed me that the girlfriend's bipolar mom has been calling her house and "J1 has done this and J1 has done that"-- a smear campaign like you have never heard.
Whether or not my son is a childmolestingpornstarpyschoticabuser or not (and he's not-- I just picked those words), would you email a friend like that?

Can I go back a little further? Like how my entire family lost our safe-haven, our comfort zone, our refuge from the world because we gathered behind her son when he went head to head with our Bishop? How we stood next to that family as they took on the Stake Presidency and later the Mission Presidency? Never in a hundred years would I have said, "Friend, you need to slap that rebellious kid up-side of the head and tell him as long as he's living in your house, he needs to abide by your rules and your rules are: 'Take the stinking face piercings out, put on a white shirt and go to church' ".

Nope, didn't say that at all.

But today she informs me that my son is the vilest human being ever (because Psycho Mom said so) and they need him to move out now. Via email.

I am 5000 miles away. I am in a different time zone.
He, on the other hand, is right down the hallway. She couldn't tell him that?! When she was the one who gave him the place to stay?!

So. I spent the day angry, sad, hurt, angry, frustrated, and worried. I snapped at children that had no idea what was going on. I cried at my husband. I left one nasty message each for thoughtless friend and bipolar Mom. I relocated my son to another state. Yes, an entirely separate state.

All from my quiet little village in England. This pretty much could be the season cliff hanger...

PSF I've Got a Secret....

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

February 2005. I am sitting in our "Formal" living room in Alamogordo, NM. Alone.
With HUGE news that I couldn't share with anyone. So I captured the moment, to share later.


Maybe the next photo will shed a little more light....

We had orders to move to England and were in the giddiness period of planning all the things we'd do and see -- with our four children, the last now house broken and more independent.
The Hubby decides that it is absolutely the time to visit the snip doctor, "I can just see us getting over there, you getting pregnant and then not getting to see England".

His timing never has been stellar.

I had this crazy dream. I woke up, shook it off and went back to sleep. I had it again. This time when I woke up, I knew I was pregnant. And knew she was a girl.

The Hubby also said, a few times in the past, that I "always tell (him) about the babies too early" (and as long as I live, I will never understand that comment-- it's your child, you want me to tell you when I'm screaming in the delivery room?), so I didn't tell him.

I took two tests. I went to the base clinic for a third, a blood test. And then I sat. and waited. He's lucky I was about to burst and gave him the news on Feb. 14th.
My next choice was April Fool's Day.

After a few minutes of hysterics (he thought I was telling him the funniest joke I had ever played), he asked me "Are you ok with this?".
I was. I was giddy. A new baby to add to our lives.

What did we ever do to receive so many blessings?

And today, as this little blessing has ripped apart two books; dumped out an entire box of packing peanuts; stepped in and then sat in dog poo just before we had to leave to see A2 get an award at school; destroyed the morning breakfast table that I am STILL trying to get cleaned up and is currently wrestling me for the keyboard,

I am trying to remember that joy.

We Support Safe Eating

Setting: The Grockle Family dinner table.

Attendees: All but the big one-- #1 son.

Meal: Tacos and Spanish rice (say it with me, "Tack-ohs" which cracks me up. We're supposed to say, "Bah-Nah-Nah" and "Pah-jah-mah", but they say "Tack-oh").

A rubber goes flying across the table and lands on the Hubby's plate.
We all crack up.
It's A1's rubber (the 8 year-old), he has carried it all over the house since he got it at a birthday party, but tonight Miss Ky, who has been released from her high chair prison, lofts it onto Dad's plate. And we laugh.
Only in England would this be funny...

Your All Things British moment for this week:
Rubber=eraser, because it rubs out the mistakes you make in pencil.

And since we don't have that "Back to School" shopping frenzy you suffer in the States, the school freely hands these out and not one parent is upset by it.

Other People

Other people,
throughout the world
are reverencing the day.
Or buying eggs
for the splashing
of wondrous colors.
Some are buying cellophane grass
that will wrap around
the hoover on Monday.
Other people,
have hand painted
tulips, chicks, cards of love.
But not me.
Today
on this first day of Easter Break.
I painted my children.
As a bunny?
No
Colorful like an egg?
No
Other people have certain iconic images
to help them recognize this time.
But my child has his own.
A2 has pestered me since last night to paint his face to look like Darth Maul. He has a birthday party to go to in the a.m. I hope I can get it all off by then.
DON'T FORGET!
Give away details will be posted by Monday!!!

Five Children and Counting, People!

Alright, Kathryn's got me all wound up with her post about stupid people and their thoughtless remarks-- So post number 99 (you hear that Flea, I catch on quick to this counting thing, don't I?) is a serious soapbox, whinging ramble-- get out now while you can!

I am a mother of four boys. add a little girl, but I had 3 years of being a mom with four boys.

I wore that title like a badge of courage-- with pride.


I didn't have one stinking easy delivery.
The first was 24 hours of hard labor with forceps, the second was long but I managed to have a little control throughout-- well, until I nearly bled to death and they whisked me out to surgery while my poor husband held his (first) few-minute old baby.
Baby 3 was in a military training hospital and I just want to say right now, for the record, Doctor in training that checked me to see if I was dilated anymore? I'm really sorry for the Linda Blair impression and I'm sorry you felt the need to cower in the corner for the rest of the delivery, but back labor hurts and you really should time your checks (and cut off one half of your monster-sized hands) before touching a woman that's already twisting her head all the way around. deep breath
Baby 4, I was determined NOT to lose it at any more doctors and made many pre-labor plans to be sure it would go my way. But my doctor, who had agreed with my plan, had no control over the nurse from hell. Hard labor was much faster, and if I had known it wasn't going to go on for 12-24 hours like the others, I might have been braver and not begged my husband to get me away from that mean witch. But once again, I went into Post Partum very disappointed with myself.

I had four sons that I worked hard to get.
And then the comments came. Like Kathryn mentioned, they're always in front of the kids.

So, you trying for a girl?
No, you trying for a brain?

Patricia Heaton (Everybody Loves Raymond) once said that comments like that irritated her because she thought it implied her family was incomplete (she also had four boys).

Can I tell you how complete my family was with four boys?

That must be yes, because you're still here.

We danced to Disney. We sang.
Baby 2 could sing the entire first verse of the Star Spangled Banner--perfect pitch-- at the age of 3 (we lived on an Air Force base, where it's played daily over the loud speakers and Sept. 11th had just happened).
We frequented the library and the kids knew what a wolf fish looked like before they were three (now that's a skill that will carry you through Kindergarten).

I had my share of good times, like the time I went to answer the door and the two boys in the bath (yes, I know) played sinking ship and bailed all of the water out of the tub. When that water ran out, they moved on to the toilet. When I shut the door and started heading down the hallway, my feet went "slosh slosh slosh", a sound not frequently heard inside. Those boys were fast.
I also experienced the grocery shopping nightmare every mother should have at least once. The one where a child pulls something from the bottom of a pyramid display (WHY do they build those in a place where kids frequent?!)

I've cleaned every bodily fluid you can imagine off of places they shouldn't have been, and extricated children from places you wouldn't imagine they could fit. 'nuff said.

I have sat crying in emergency rooms for two skateboard injuries, high fevers, jaundice etc... and cheered for brilliant (my opinion) musical performances by trumpets, bass, drums, guitar, cornet, and the tuba.

I've taken on men bigger and meaner than me (yes, they do exist) when they threatened my children's self esteem and respectfully offered my polite "Yes Sir" and "No sir" in Motor Vehicle Court standing next to the teenage driver from hell.

I was feeling like my life was pretty complete. But you can't tell a store clerk that.

No, I stand there with my mouth gaping open at the audacity of the last question asked and watch as they move on to the next customer. I mumble all the way home.

Comments like:

"Wow, those are a lot of kids." and "You know what causes that don't you?" (Yes, which is why I try to do it as much as possible, so could you please hurry it up, you're cutting into my baby-making time here)
Oh, and the one I've enjoyed most over the years is, "My, quite a gap between your first and second, isn't there!"
Now, what if I had miscarried several before getting baby two? I didn't, the Hubby had to do a lot of sweet talking to get me to go through THAT experience again. How unkind would that comment be?

These lapses in judgement probably aren't intended as badly as we accept them.

In fact, most of the people offering up their stupidity are doing so as a gesture. Proof that they aren't judging the freak show happening before their eyes (you know, the woman with the amazing nine-armed octopus grabbing at every candy displayed on the 5 shelves at the check out with the cashier staring at the bar code on the shampoo as if it will tell her why the price isn't scanning).

And while we fume and think of the comebacks we should've given during dinner or throughout and entire episode of CSI, they've long forgotten that they ever saw a frazzled woman in the store with four hairy little boys hanging from her every limb.

Just last week I was standing behind a woman in a shop on base. I had heard her voice several times saying, "Don't touch that." "Get down from there." "I told you to stay by me", but it fell on me like elevator music.
I knew it was happening, but really paid no attention since it was my 30 minutes and 21 seconds of child-free shopping.
While I stood in the line to pay for my items, I only vaguely noticed that the woman and two boys were in front of me, and her friend was purchasing her things. About the time she said, "I'm just going to take them outside while you finish up and then when you're done, I'll come back in", I realized that she had been struggling to keep these two little boys composed.
I hadn't really noticed them before then, but now the woman had burst into tears and was trying to laugh it off telling her friend that going out with them just stresses her out...

I felt so bad for her. I stepped closer, put my arm around her and said, "I don't think I have ever left the commissary NOT in tears."
She thanked me.

What I wanted to tell her, but didn't because then I was feeling stupid standing there with no children, was that her boys hadn't disturbed my shopping at all. I thought their little faces were adorable and they were just doing things little curious boys do. She couldn't see the joy or wonder (and mischievous grins) on their faces because she was worried about how they were behaving and how it would effect others around her (something I do and live regretting EVERY single night since I became a Mom).

So, Moms (and Mom's to be) (and women waiting to be Moms) unite!
Let's be proud of our shop destroyers, and these wonderful little guys who talk too loud and play at inappropriate times.

And the rest of you...

If I don't know you, it's NOT o.k. to ask me sensitive questions about my personal relationship with my husband (ie: insinuations that maybe he's NOT the father since the child has a different hair color) and you really should be concentrating on the price of that shampoo instead of educating me on acceptable birthing numbers. And now if you'll excuse me, the planet still has a couple of square feet that needs to be filled....

Thievin' Thursday

The way I see it, between Thievin' Thursday, Scrolling Saturday, Wordless Wednesday and Monday Missions, I only have to think a couple days a week-- AND if I'm feeling grey, I just skip those days.
I am thief-ing an email I sent to the Sexy Guy while he was deployed.
This email was sent to him between one titled "I'm Done" and "Church wasn't so fun today".

27 May 2007 19:48:46 BST
a story in pictures
One afternoon, a silence fell upon the house (rare, I know)


The End.




Bonus for those of you that are still here:

How could you NOT know something was wrong???? I can't get five minutes alone in the toilet, but this woman apparently had two years of uninterrupted time.