Let them eat cake

Why is it when you are bored, your body suddenly thinks this would be a perfect time to eat?  I mean, did the cavemen and women have a moment where they were just sitting around after dinner, and decided, "hey, you know what would be really fun to do right now?  Eat again!"  So now when we are sitting around bored we go back to that priamal time in our lives and eat.  At least I hope that is what it is, because it would at least be a valid reason.  We could say, "Instinct got me again! It is a primal instinct you know...."  You would think it would be the opposite.  You would think that since your body is burning fewer calories from being sedentary, it would not crave food.  Do you realize how thin I would be???   

Not that I sit around.  I mean, really.  I have told my mom on many many occasions how I need to install a spring to my backside, because every time I sit down, someone needs something, and I have to jump right back up again. I think the only time I sit down is after they go to bed, and then I am laying down as fast as possible, (with preferably graham crackers, nutella, and duck dynasty on.)  It is just that when I am following the crazies around, I am not really working up a sweat.  The exhaustion comes mostly from mental anguish, as opposed to physical labor. 

You also would think that the opposite would be true for toddlers.  You would think that by the amount of physical exertion they exhume, they would eat an entire cow for dinner.  But they don't. In fact, I can barely get them to eat a mouthful.  I would take it personally, except I have had multiple people that are not my husband/mother/father/family tell me I am a pretty good cook.

Let me paint a picture for you.  It is 5 oclock.  One of my twins, we will call her Thumbellina, comes up to me, "mommy, I am hungry."  My maternal instinct kicks in.  Need must be met!  So I start dinner.  I will use our most recent dinner that was NOT pizza or Raising Cane's (don't judge me).  I made homemade hamburger patties in homemade from scratch brown gravy, with creamy mashed potatoes, and green beans.  I am not a slacker when I do cook.  I try to keep out the processed crap, and leave that to the other days when we eat out.  Hey man, it is all about balance.  A day of chemical free, then two days of crap.  It is all good.
 I get all of this prepared, while my other twin, we will call her mini-me, because OH MY GOD THIS CHILD IS ME.  From the sassy talk, to the way she mothers EVERYONE around her.  She is my clone.  Any way, I digress. She comes up to me and says, "Mommy, I am hungry." 

"Alright baby, it will be ready in 5 minutes."  Then I hear a stampede of feet from the downstairs playroom, where my youngest, little man, and the Admiral come running up. 
"Dinner almost ready?" 
"Yes, in a couple of minutes."  So I am plating it up, cutting up peices (because when you have 3 toddlers you are Cutting. Food. Up. Forever.  Serisouly, by the time I get it all diced up, the food is almost cold, which is good because Thumbelina has a thing with things being "Too HOT!!') I call in his royal highness, the 10 year old, from outside. 

Dinner is served.

LET THE MELTDOWN BEGIN!  This particular night was the night of the infamouse "Call of Duty" fiasco.  But really, you insert any of his royal highness's recent issues, because this is a nightly thing.  Then please add Thumbellina blowing on her cold food, not eating, yelling at her dad who is next to her, "To HOT!" and he is trying to say to her "It isn't hot, it is fine now." but she will have none of it.  On top of this, add Mini-me's also not eating,  calling for "I need ketchup!  I need branch!" (ranch dressing, she calls it branch)  and me trying to answer and say, 'it is gravy baby, you don't need ketchup or ranch', and her just yelling more. So I give it to her, and then she won't eat it, because well, it is gross now.  Then on top of that cacophony, add little man, banging his spoon on the table, refusing to eat, and yelling "I no like it.  I no like it." and  "Potatoes." as he only eats the mashed potatoes that do NOT have my delicious gravy on them, and winging green beans at his sister.  All the while his royal highness is also not eating, and telling me how mean I am that I won't let him play call of duty.

When all is said and done, the only people who have had really anything to eat is my husband, because I have been up running around cooling off cold food, pouring ranch over gravy (GROSS!!!), and taking away little man's spoon, cup, green beans, and anything else he could launch.

Now, remind me why, again, is the dinner hour so sacred and important?  Because every night  I leave dinner,  not feeling closer to my family, but mainly thinking about lacing all of their food with Benedryl so they will just go to bed after, and I can lay down. 

The Call of Duty

Well dear hearts, I think I have finally arrived at the dreaded age, where I am the meanest, strictest mom in the world. 

I thought I had arrived there a few years ago, when my then eight year old son, whom we will call "his royal highness", had decided that his bedtime was WAAAAAY earlier than his friends, and how could I do this to him?  I was ruining what was certain to be his untarnished elementary school reputation.  ALL of his friends had bedtimes way later than his, and we were just mean to make him go to bed at 8:30, when ALL of his friends went to bed at 9:30.  This tirade was followed by notes from him, that were left after bedtime, slid under his door, with pictures showing multiple stick figures in various stages of sadness, and a box labled:
"Can I please stay up until 9? Check yes or no"  with the corresponding boxes underneath.  He was courteous enough to leave a pencil with the note for me and my husband, whom we will call the Admiral (he was in the Navy, and is always saying how he wants a whistle like the Von Trapp family), so that we could check these boxes. 

I relented after Christmas that year, because since he was constantly leaving notes, he OBVIOUSLY wasn't going to bed, so I would give him what he wanted, and just use it as leverage when I needed it. (You will go brush your teeth now, or you are going to bed at 8:30). 

I didn't know then that I had teetered on the edge of meanest strictest mom.  I, however, was not there yet. 

Last night, I reached the precipice. 

My son, of whom I will divulge, has ADHD.  This presents it's own bevy of challenges in and of itself, but the thing that mostly affects us is the crash after his meds wear off at about 5 o'clock.  I need to preface this with the fact that the Admiral and I, as a parental unit, are big into family dinner hour.  We have dinner, almost every night, as a family.  I had this growing up, and I think it is very very important.  I will say, out of 100% of the time, 95% of the nights, more than one child has a complete and total melt down.  This, however is a post for a later time.  Back on topic.  He is crashing nightly, and I am trying to have a family dinner with 3 chatty toddlers, a tired but appreciative husband, and a son, who, nightly, looks like Eeyore on a bad day. 
The food is never good.  School is boring.  There is nothing to tell.  He didn't do anything all day.  He doesn't feel like rehashing the day.  You can practically see the storm cloud over his little red head. 

On this particular night, he was extra aggitated.  So we ask, "what is wrong honey."

"My friends all want me to play Call of Duty, and I told them I can't, but they said, 'it isn't that you can't, you just don't want to.'  I told them 'go ask my mom' But they didn't believe me."

Now, I understand this may be a hot button issue with some parents.  But as for me and my family, I will not let my kids play any video game that is not labled for their age.  I am sorry I just won't.  And I REALLY don't do shoot-em-up games, because personally I feel like they don't really teach them anything.  It is not constructive, it is destructive, and that is just me.  I am not saying you should not let YOUR kids play, but for me, this is our rule, so nanny nanny boo boo, it is freaking free country, I do what I want.  I will damage my kids how I want, you damage yours how you want.

The Admiral takes a gentle approach:
"are you mad at your friends because they said that, or us because we won't let you?"

This was apparently the gateway he needed, because for the next 5 mintues straight, this kid, who barely speaks at dinner, is yelling, frothing at the mouth, going on a tirade about how we are the meanest and strictest parents in the whole school, and everyone gets to play but him, and demanding to know when will he be allowed to do it.

The Admiral calmly pulls out his phone, and looks at the rating on the game.  "It is rated M for mature.  So when you are mature."
 "When will that be??"
"Probably when you are about 16"
Liken the next phrase from him to be like the phone call the mom makes from A Christmas Story to the mom of the kid Ralphie blames for teaching him the f-bomb.
"What....WHAT....WHAT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"  followed by crying of various intensity and pitches. 



He eventually calmed down, when the meds were out of his system.  So I will attribute most of the tantruming to hormonal imbalance, to which I know a little bit about, so we are usually pretty easy on him for these outbursts, because 95% of the time, this kid is really a very very good kid.  It is just the medicine that makes him a bit cray-cray.  I get it.  I didn't go through 3 pregancies and not learn something about hormones.

So how does this differ from any other tantrum?  How does this make me the meanest mom of all, you ask?  Well, because the grudge carried over to the next morning.  He was STILL FREAKING TALKING ABOUT IT!  Oh my word people.  How could I abuse my poor child so bad, by not letting him play call of duty??  How have I become this parent?  This heartless person you see before you, who will not let his 10 year old play a violent, blood laden video game?

Meanest. Strictest. Mom. Ever!

But it is a title I will proudly wear right now.

FIne! I will eat the cupcakes myself!

I have recently discovered that I am insane.

I am not talking like chop you into little peices, Hannibal Lector crazy, just not your normal stay home mom.  I guess I have known it for a while.  I never really fit in with the other "Muffy and Buffy" moms that lived in the neighborhood.  I actually overheard a couple of moms one time sighing over how they were just so frustrated that they had to declutter the house before their maid came over to clean for them.  My first thought was, "umm, you have a FREAKIN MAID!"  and my second was, "YOU HAVE A FREAKIN MAID!!!" I am gonna be honest.  I actually burst out laughing at them.  They looked at me funny, and I said, "I am sorry, I just....YOU HAVE A FREAKIN MAID!!!!!  I am happy when my mom comes over and dusts the floor while she is there, because she can't stand the dog hair tumbleweed that is happening.  How horrible can the whole de-clutter process be?"  Needless to say they moved their conversation elsewhere.

Another clue that I was not your typical SAHM, was when it came time to sign up for my son's classroom for volunteers.  Let me explain.  I have 4 kids.  3 of them are under the age of 4.  Let me repeat that.  THREE OF THEM ARE UNDER THE AGE OF FOUR.  I am in a constant state of "who is poopy? who needs to go to the potty?" at the moment.  I have snot on my shoulder 24/7.  But I am here, at curriculum night, with my at the time 4 month old giant baby (he was 10lbs when he was born, so add 4 months, you get the point) in the car carrier, while my saint husband is at home with barely one year old twins and the 8 year old.  The teacher says "sign ups for classroom volunteers for parties are in the corner."  Another mom that I know ran, RAN to the corner, and sat in the chair, holding the paper with her arm around it like someone was trying to cheat off of her during a test.  When I finally waited through the line to look at the list, she had signed up to be a part of EVERYTHING.  Well, I thought, good for her.  I looked at the "send in with student" part.  I figured I would send in cupcakes or something.  I signed my name, and it told me I would  contacted about items that were needed.

 Fast forwarding to the Harvest party.  I was never contacted.  I emailed his teacher and she said whatever I wanted to bring in was fine with her.  So I bought a halloween style cake mix, and make a bunch of my sons favorite funfetti cupcakes.  I was watching them cool when I though, I have absolutely no way of taking these in without  having to take everyone in with me.  So I called the aforementioned mom (the test taker) and asked her if she would mind, since she was a SAHM with both of her kids in school,  taking these cupcakes that I made in to the party.  (MInd you, the fact that I stayed up late to make these, sacrificing what little sleep I was already getting from having 3 kids under 2 was showing just how much I love my oldest, though he appreciates none of it)  This is the actual conversation:

ME: Hey there (insert mom's name), I made some cupcakes for the kids for the party, but with the babies, I just don't think I am going to be able to deliver them.  Would you be able to pick them up and take them when you go in?

Her: (pauses for a long beat), uuuuummm.  Did someone ask you for cupcakes?

Me: No, but I had signed up to send in stuff, and I never got an email asking what was needed.  So I asked the teacher and she said to make whatever I wanted.  Can you do it for me?

Her: (pausing again).  Uuuuuummm, what kind are they?

Me: (getting irritated) funfetti.  I already checked, there are no nuts or chococlate in them, so I figured most kids could have them.

Her: (pausing for a longer time)  uuuuuummmm, you know, I think we are good.  I think we have enough stuff, you don't need to make anything.  ________ is allergic to eggs anyway so he wouldn't be able to eat them.

Me: (trying to maintain composure) I already made them, I just need someone to deliver them.  If you can't that is fine.

Her:  No it isn't that, we just don't need your cupcakes.

She might as well have said it like this.  We just don't need YOUR cupcakes.

Me: (sighing a huge sigh instead of cussing her out)  Well, what DO you need?

Her: I dunno, maybe prizes or something.  But you really don't have to do anything.  I know you are so busy.

Me:  Well, if I have time to make cupcakes I THINK I can manage to run to Wal-Mart and grab some freaking stickers.  I will send them in with my son tomorrow, don't you fret your pretty head about how they get there.  Bye ________

I have to say I was a little hurt that they didn't want my cupcakes.  But again, I am not like other SAHM's. I am a little crazy. I tend to think for myself, have an opinion, say things directly, and swear on occassion.  I don't fit into your typical yuppy mode of the other mom's that live here.  (I should not say here, I should say there.  We have since moved.)  But that is not the reason I am crazy, people.  That just makes me delightfully offbeat.

I am crazy because I have 4 kids.
3 under the age of 4.
One who is pre-adolecent.
Two toddlers I babysit on the side.
A freakin dog that is useless
A husband who loves me and I really shouldn't completely neglect


And I just started a blog because my friends asked me to.

Welcome to my crazy.  I hope you enjoy the ride.