Thor, the dog of Thunder

Hiding from a thunderstorm

My dog is completely worthless.  I am not ashamed to say it.  I am really not.  He just is.  It is not, however, due to any fault of his own.  It is our fault, the Admiral's and I.  We broke him.  If dogs had psychiatrists, he would be on the couch. 

We really probably should not have had kids, as badly as we messed up the first living creature we were entrusted with. 

Back at the tender age of 26, my husband and I were living in a really nice one bedroom apartment.  This apartment did not take animals, and we had discussed many times about wanting a dog.  So when our lease was up, we found another, equally nice apartment, acutally a townhouse (yes, I felt a little like Barbie.  Dream come true baby! Living in a townhouse, now all I needed was a string to pull up an elevator, and a corvette), and we got serious about this whole dog thing.  This was a huge commitment for he and I, so we did not take this lightly. We talked about the kind of Dog we wanted, and both of us decided that we wanted a Husky. 

As luck would have it, a co-worker of my husband's told him that he had just surrendered a Husky, pure bred, to the Humane Society a couple of days before.  So on Saturday morning, bright and early, we trekked down to the local humane society to get it.  We talked to one of the workers there who told us that unfortunatly, even though we knew the person who surrendered the Husky, they hold all new dogs for a week to make sure that they don't have any diseases, and even then, if we were not there when the dog went out on the floor, someone else could adopt him, and she was not able to let us know right when the dog went out, because she didn't know and it may be when she wasn't there.  (bucket full of help, this one).  We were so dissappointed. 

I love dogs and puppies, so I said to the Admiral, "Do you want to at least go back and look?  There may be something there." 

"Why not, we are here." 

We walked into the room where all of the dogs were, and right in the front, in a glass atrium, there was the cutest little teddy bear of a puppy.  Husky-who???  That husky was never to be ours, because immediatly when we went up to this puppy, he shook his little stuffed toy so hard he fell on his butt, stealing our little pea-pickin heart! 

The name on the window was "Thor".  We adopted him right then, and kept the name. 

He even looks like he needs a therapist in this picture

Now, I have TONS of puppy pictures, but this was before digital cameras were really popular, so I don't have any pics on my computer of him.

So how have we completely messed up this dog, you ask?  Well, he was a pretty brave puppy. Nothing seemed to rattle him.  So on July 4th, when he was about 7 months old, we decided it would be fun to take him with us to see the fireworks.  (Brillant right??)  We managed to get seats really close to where they were going to be setting them off.  (Even more brillant, aren't you glad we procreated?)  We spent the better part of the evening hanging out, with people petting our well behaved dog, and talking to friends.  We got our blanket all set up, and settled in to watch as it got dark. 

As soon as the first firework shot off, I knew we were in serious trouble.  He literally jumped up and threw himself off of the blanket, and pulled as hard as he could on the leash.  I smelled the nasty smell of poo and looked at the blanket, he had literally had the schmidt scared out of him.

I get up, realizing my precious boy was in distress, and let him lead me.  He was pulling so hard he was about to break his neck and my hand.  The Admiral shouted, "You take him to the van, I will get the stuff", as I ran (and dear hearts, I do NOT run.  Ever.  At all.)  as he pulled me, and I tried to lead him to the car.  I was really hauling butt now, running faster than I had or will ever run again, and he was still about to pull me off my feet. 

I get back to the car, open the hatch, and throw him in.  The Admiral catches up with us and gets in the car. 

"Guess that was a bad idea."  Umm, yeah.  It was. 

no man in a dress with a knife will sneak up on me!

We get him home, and give him a bath, (I will spare you the details of why, just refer to the earlier comment about his reaction to fear), and after it was done, we sat on the couch and looked at him.  He looked as though he had PTSD.  He was jittery, jumpy, neurotic and not happy at all. 
We knew then, that we no longer had the same dog we had brought home.  We had broken him.  His psyche was cracked, and it was our fault. 

To this day any kind of noise gets him all jumpy, and he growls this growl that would be comical if we didn't know it was because we broke him. (What am I talking about?  It is still comical. He sounds like a monkey, "Oooo, Oooo" What dog sounds like that??? ) He does not act like normal dogs either.  He gives us these looks like he is just tolerating us, and that if he had his way we would be eating kibble and he would be eating the meatloaf.  When I say this, I do not mean just looking at us.  I am taking looking at us as if he were biding his time until he can make his move.  Like this:

Just you wait.  Your kingdom will be mine.

(and yes, those are my Corgi legs in the background).  But all in all, he is worthless.  He is blind now from cataracts, so he can't see to even pick up food off of the floor well, and with three toddlers we have a LOT of food on the floor.  He is deaf,though I think he is faking it so he doesn't have to do what he is told. because miraculously he will hear "Treat" or "Walk" and he is all of a sudden the picture of youth.  He sleeps most of the time, and granted, he will be 13 in December, but he could at least sleep in the same room as the family, and do his damn job of being 'mans best friend', be just goes off and sleeps somewhere alone.  (Probably because little man won't stop trying to ride him like a horse, or touch his penis, I get the draw Little Man, his penis is very fluffy but leave it be.)  He eats diapers out of the diaper pail (GROSS!!) , drinks from the toilet, drools on the wood floor, and sheds like you would not believe,  I could have knitted ten dogs from the amount of hair I have swept up in the last two years.  (If I cared to and if I could knit).  And his fetish for "burying his food" in the corners of the house has gotten out of control.  If this dog was a person, he would be a hoarder. 

He is supposed to stay off of the couch.  As you can see he also obeys well.

But he is ours.  And our kids adore him.  And one day he is going to pass on, and it is going to devastate this family like you would not believe.  My oldest son grieved for weeks over the death of our guinea pig that he had absolutely nothing to do with and never took care of so it usually fell to me (He actually asked me what we were going to do about it when we moved.  Like I was going to exhume the body and take it with us!).  So what is he going to do when this family pet passes of whom he has walked everyday, cleaned up poo, and fed for the last few years?  I shudder to think of it.

Until then, I have Thor's issues to deal with.  And though he has his moments, he is mostly a good dog.  When he isn't barking at nothing.  Or stealing the babies' food.  Or eating off of the counter.  Or when I have to  clean up a diaper that he shredded to pieces so he could eat the contents of it (GROSS). Or digging through the garbage.  Or staring at me like he wants stage a coup and take over the world.  Other than that, yep.  He is ok.

Domestic Enemies of the Home Daycare mom

I love the blog Rants From Mommyland.  It has to be my absolute favorite.  I started reading it (Thank you Jen Hatmaker for mentioning it in YOUR blog), and it made me laugh, and finally helped me to  find the funny in this day to day mom stuff.  They have a series called, "The Domestic Enemies", and they have all kinds of different types of moms represented, Military moms, single moms, premie moms, all kinds.

I read the "Domestic Enemies of the mom of multiples, and giggled a lot, because as a mom of twins,  they nailed on the head.   I read the "Domestic Enemies of the mom of a Large Family", and having four kids, again, nailed it.  But I believe my situation has it's own set of challenges.   I felt a little left out,  because they did not have one that particularly catered to my situation.  I am a stay at home mom who also happens to run a home daycare.  In and of itself, SAHM's have a tough life.  I don't care how many kids you have.  Big or small families, each have it's own set of personal challenges.  So I give you, "Domestic Enemies of the Home Daycare Mom"

1. School functions: 

My oldest son is in elementary school, and is in the fifth grade.  Could there be any more opportunities for me to feel like a loser mom?  I mean, there are constant emails coming to me saying " Opportunity to volunteer in your child's room"
"Class party, volunteers needed"
"Volunteers needed for reading"
Yeah, like me walking in with 5 toddlers in tow is going to go over well.  I can see it now, 'Ok Johnny, read the first word to me.  Hold on a second, no no, don't pull the pictures off of the walls Little Man, sit down.  Quit pouring your juice on your sister's head.  Ok Johnny let's... wait a minute I need to change this toddler here. He pooped."  The same would go with class parties.  Not only would you have 25 school age kids going nuts with the sugar rush from the millions of cupcakes and sugary treats that everyone just has to send in for parties (what is wrong with fruit people?  Really? Yes, I am THAT mom.  Suck it.), but then I would have 5 sugared up LOUD toddlers running, screeching, tearing pictures off the walls, and dumping anything off of shelves that they could get their hands on. 

2. Doctor appointments:
Yes I understand the importance of doctor appointments for well child check ups.  But really doctors offices?  Can we not offer some after hours appointments at least one or two days a week?  No parent in their right mind is going to want me to take their kids into that petri dish just so Little Man can get the once over, and a "come back in a couple of months for his flu shot."  Lord knows what kind of scurvy my kids would pick up when I am outnumbered 5 to 1, and can't be constantly on point to keep Thumbellina and toddler #2 from licking the floor.

3. Homework.
As I have mentioned before, my oldest son has ADHD.  So his medicine is good for about 10 hours.  He takes it upon waking, which is about 7am, and then is good for school all day.  After which he gets saddled with at least an hour's worth of homework per night which also requires the desired focus that the medicine gives him.  However, when he gets home, we are on  a ticking time bomb.  Those meds wear off at about 6pm, and he doesn't get home until 4.  So homework HAS to be done right after he gets home, or we have no focus.  And trust me, trying to get my ADHD kid to do homework off meds is not the happy fun time you would think it is.  Now, he mostly can do these things by himself, and then I just check it for mistakes later, but sometimes, and all too often for my taste, he needs help.  Try focusing on helping him with math that I wasn't able to do when I was in 5th grade, let alone with 5 toddlers running around making noise at 50 decibels, for a child that doesn't want to do this in the first place and just wants to run off to play Minecraft all night.  I can't tell you how tempting it is to just say, "Go build your castle honey, math is overrated anyway."

4. Teacher Work Days
I decided before I started doing my home daycare, that I would only watch teacher's kids.  This way, when my son is off of school, we have the day off together.  This works awesome for summers, holidays and spring break.  This does NOT work out for days that teachers have to work too.  Not only do I have to run my daycare, but then I have the regular responsibilities of being a mom to a 10 year old too, with him running in and out of the house during nap, (SLAMMING THE FREAKING DOOR), and wanting sleepovers!  "I am sorry that I need to sleep tonight and do not want to feel like I need to make pancakes for you and your friends in the morning because you don't have school tomorrow.  I need to make money so you can have shoes."  But does the 10 year old appreciate this?  Hells to the no he doesn't.

5. Getting sick
Do you know who takes over for me when I am sick?  Nobody.  So when I get sick, it not only affects my job, it affects the job of the people I work for, and all of the people they work for!  So when I am sick enough to call off, we are talking I am on death's door. This is also true for when my kids are sick.  So if they just have little colds, I have to deal with the regular day to day stuff, and my poor little whiney sick child.

So there you have it.  I often dream about a job where I get regular breaks, and don't have to wait to pee until they are all strapped into a high chairs so that they cannot kill themselves because I am not in the room with them, and can go for at least half a day without someone wiping their nose on my shirt, or drooling on my shoulder, and can have personal time off WITH pay and paid vacations.....wait, what was my point?

Well that was a waste of a $10 hamburger

My oldest son, your royal highness, was a puker.  He was born about 10 weeks early, and so his little digestive system just had a lot of trouble keeping up with his growing, so he had reflux pretty bad.  Now when I say reflux, some of you might think "oh, he spit up a lot.'  No.  He did not spit up a lot.  We are talking Exorcist pea soup vomit Every. Single. Feeding.  He could hit the wall from across the room.  We did not use burp cloths, we used bath towels to cover ourselves.  And when I would pack a diaper bag, I would pack an outfit for him, and myself, because I knew I would be changing too.


As he grew older, we noticed a pattern with the refulx.  If he was going through a growth spurt, it was way worse than any other time.  In fact, by the time he was 2, the only times he would vomit would be during a growth spurt, or if he was a little too active after a meal.  The other nice this is that by the time he was two, he could already identify when it was coming, and would yell "Gonna frow up!"  and run to the bathroom, 9 times out of 10 making it into the toilet
(VICTORY!!). 

When Your royal highness was about 3, my husband, the Admiral (as I have said before, he really wants to have a wistle like the Von Trapp family), was getting relocated to Louisville Kentucky.  I was a teacher, and needed to finish the school year, and we had a house to sell as well.  So until we could sell our house, he would commute to Louisville Sunday night, stay in a hotel for the week (thank you Staybridge, we love you so), and then come home on Friday night.  Every other week, he would stay down there, and we would go down and stay with him at the free hotel, eat food the company paid for, and see the sights of Louisville.  We actually really loved this time, and even though I don't miss him being gone all the time, I really loved hanging out in Louisville.  Kinda like a mini vacation every other week. (No housework, no cooking!) 

So one weekend when we were down there, we weren't able to stay in our usual Staybridge (curse you Thunder over Louisville for all of the tourists!)  so not only did i NOT get my biscuits and gravy, we had to stay at a Holiday Inn Express.  Where there is no separate living area, no bedroom with closing door for Admiral and I (so no nookie after your royal highness went to sleep), or movies rated anything but PG as YRH was 3 feet away!

We decided on this particular weekend to visit the Hard Rock Cafe.  I know, I know, overpriced hamburgers and milkshakes.  But it was something to do. So we let YRH get the works, cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake.  He loved it!  We had a great meal, everyone was happy, we walked around and looked at all of the drums, (The Admiral is a drummer), and it was a lot of fun!  After dinner we browsed Barns and Noble, bought a couple of new books for YRH and I, and went back to the hotel.  After an hour of bugging us, we agreed to take YRH to swim in the pool. 

It was great, we had the entire place to ourselves.  The Admiral watched from the side, he was on call so in case he got a call, he wouldn't have to shower before he went.  So he would throw YRH in, and I would catch him.  After a bit, I took YRH to the middle of the pool, and was holding him while he floated a bit. 

All of a sudden, he coughed. 

Now there are a couple of different kinds of coughs that he does.  There is the "got something in my throat" cough, the "got a cold" cough, and then the dreaded "Schmidt is about to get real messy real fast" cough.  It was the dreaded cough.  Schmidt was about to get real messy. 

I start running for the side of the pool.  WHY DID I GO IN THE MIDDLE OF THE POOL?!?!?!  This child has reflux!  I just fed him the explosive combination of grease and milk products!  What the hell was I thinking???  I am running, in water as fast as I possibly can. Have you ever ran in water?  It is like a bad dream!  You are running and running as fast as you can, and not getting ANYWHERE!   I look up at the Admiral, he has a deer in the headlights look on him.  I was getting closer, I could feel his little tummy getting ready to wretch, his abs were getting tight.  I was four feet away.

Three feet...

Two feet.....

BLECH................  Barely used cheeseburger with extra ketchup and pickles, french fries, and chocolate milkshake poured out of this child, at a rate I didn't know possible, right into the pool in front of me.  I froze, and watched in horror as it fanned out around me like an oil slick, getting wider and wider.  I felt him start to heave again and literally threw him up to the Admiral, who caught him, and aimed him at the floor away from the pool. 

But it was too late.  Chunks of cheeseburger bobbed merrily around, apparently happy to be free from digestive juices.  I jumped out of the pool, and grabbed a towel, wiping myself down.  I grabbed more towels and wiped up the floor and quickly threw them into the used towel bin.  We stared helplessly out at the pool.  It had completely spread the entire length of the pool. 

"We have to tell the desk."  I told the Admiral.  He looked at me like 'Tag, you're it."  And picked up the boy, wrapping him in a clean towel.  I slide on my flip flops and start for the door when I see them.  Two women, about 40 something, in bathing suits, coming our way.  My stomach dropped.  "OH GOD NO!" I said.  I ran to the door, knowing full well my face was beat red. I smiled nonchalantly, "Um, you ladies weren't going in the pool were you?"

In a thick accent "No, we were going in the hot tub. Why?"

"Umm, my son just knda, sorta, puked in the pool."  They looked at me with a combination of pity, and 'ew gross'.  I pass them and take off for the desk. 

The girl working the desk was I think about 16 years old.  Not even kidding.  I think this was her part time job, and she was just looking to make car payments so she could cart her friends around after school.  So I said, "Hey there, my son just puked in the pool.  Not sure what you guys do about that."  She looked horror stricken.  She turned her head side to side, i feel like she was looking for an exit.  She said, again, think accent, "Oh, well, my managers not here right now."  Poor poor little thing.  This was an emergancy I don't think she was prepared to ever have to take care of.
"You may want to come with me, you are probably going to have to close the pool honey."
Very unsure "Okaaaaaay."  and she followed me all the way to the pool.

The look of utter bewilderment, confusion, and frankly gross-ed out-ness was extremely plain on her face.  I couldn't take the embarrasement any more.  I waved Admiral to come over to me with YRH, and turned to her, "Sorry.  Just so completely sorry." And we walked as fast as humanly possible out of that pool area, and practically ran for the elevator.  Once in the elevator, we were dead silent.  YRH was almost asleep on Admiral's shoulder, and I was shivering from the cold, and complete and utter mortification that I felt.  Admiral looked over at me as we neared our floor.
"You know, we can never stay at this hotel again right?"
"Yep."

Then next day when we came down to check out, we saw a sign on the door of the pool area,
"Pool Closed"
And the pool was completely empty.
Because of us, they drained the pool.  

Every. Single. Night

Bedtime has become the bane of my existence.  I have very much a love/hate relationship with it.  Not for my own bedtime, but for the crazies.  I don't work out anymore, because I am spending at least 20 minutes a night doing cardio by running up and down the stairs. 

Let's just take the little gem of last night.  After dinner (of which no one ate.  Jerkfaces...)

  6:30
 I take the kids into the playroom, and promptly get on my Kindle to play on the Internets.  Do not judge me people, I am a SAHM (stay at home mom), as well as watch two toddlers on the side.  I play with these children for 12 hours a day, engaged, creative and educational play.  So after dinner, you are on your own peeps.  I will be happy to intervene if it gets to Lord-of-the-fly-ish, but otherwise, it is good for a little independence.  So, on the Kindle, and reading my favorite blogs.  My ten year old has gone outside to play in the neighborhood, so he is good to go for another two hours.

7:00
I change all of the crazies into pajamas.  The same feelings well up inside me everynight.  Sort of like Christmas Eve.  I get all excited with anticipation that in one short hour I will have only one child awake, but it is the one that is old enough to wipe his own butt, dress himself, get his own snack, and do what I tell him without me having to literally chase him.  Then 30 minutes later, IT IS ME TIME!!  Instead of  "santa's coming", it is "Bedtime's coming!  Get ready everyone!  Bedtime is almost here!  It's the most wonderful time of the day!!!"  Every night, this optomistic excitement.  Even thought i know better!  

7:30
We head up out of the playroom and into the kitchen for snack time.  This is low key, and everyone is usually chatty and in a good mood.  Chocolate milk will do that to you. 

7:45
Upstairs to brush teeth.  This is usually chaotic.  We have one stool in the bathroom for three kids.,  My thought was, Mini me is tall enough to see in the mirror now, Little Man needs me to do it for him so he is on my lap, but Thumbellina needs the stool.  However every night it is the game "King of the Mountain", and three toddlers try to climb on, someone always gets hurt and it is a disaster.  Every. Single. Night.  You would think I would learn by now to get another couple of stools in there, but I never think about it until we are in there brushing and by then it is too late. 

7:50
Send girls into their room to pick out a book.  Take little man into his room to read a short book and then snuggle for a moment.  Then he has this little OCD thing where he has to give me 5 high fives, then 'pound the rock' five times, then a hug and kiss.  I can fast forward 20 years already and see him touching the door knob 4 times, spinning around, and touching it again 4 times before bed.  Oh Lawd this boy is going to need therapy.

7:55
Read to the girls, then give them each a hug and kiss good night.  Then before I close the door,
"DO NOT get out of bed, DO NOT touch the light switch, and DO NOT touch your sisters things.  If I have to come up here, I am taking your lovies.  (they each have a pink bunny they love so much so this IS a huge threat.  But one I have to use EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.)  Good night.  I love you both very much."

8:00
To quote Dr. BIll Cosby "Let the beatings Begin!"

For twenty minutes, the Admiral and I take turns running up and down the stairs to yell at, threaten, coerse, plead with, chastise, and punish our daughters.  My excitement over the prospect of a peaceful night wains, and is replaced by frustration, and exasperation.  Every. Single. Night.

"Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom"
"Daddy sissy took my blanket."
"Mommy sissy spanked me on the butt."
"Daddy sissy said she is the boss of me. and I said NO YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!  But she said, 'yes I is,'.  Tell sissy she is not the boss of me."
Or various degrees of squealing, and giggling have to interupted. 

Every. Single. Night. 

8:30
Your royal highness is sent up to read for 30 minutes before bed.  He ALWAYS gives me a full on groan that would impress an elephant.  Then there is the requisite "PLEASE just 5 more minutes.  I just want to finish this ___(insert activity of choice here)  Plus I didn't get to have a snack.  I am STAAAAARVING."  Now with any other child I would say, 'sorry for you,  you should have thought of that before' but with his ADHD medication he is really underweight, so we have to let him eat whenever he is hungry.  But I always give him a great deal of crap, hoping that having to be hassled would be enough to not try this again. It never is. 

8:45
"THUMBELLINA!!  Quit talking to your sister.  She is asleep.  Leave her alone and close your eyes." 
Every. Single. Night. 
This child is a night owl.  She is so tiny for her age, so I keep telling her if she goes to sleep she will grow bigger, because a body can't grow without enough sleep. She just looks at me as if to say, "I am good mom. I like my height, let's party."

9:00
Kiss Your Royal Highness, and make him put the book down.  This wasn't a problem until Harry Potter came into his life.  I completely empathize.  Not too long ago this girl was staying up for 24 hour stretches to finish the books.  All I have to say is , Half Blood Prince?  Finished it in 28 hours, straight.  Oh, yea baby.  I did. So I don't get too mad when he says, "I just have to finish this page."  Usually I want to be all, "What is going on now???????"  But I resist.
Pass by the twins room, finally quiet.

Total times up and down stairs, 8.

And a whoosh of air comes out of me, I snuggle on the couch with the Admiral, and the night is finally ours.

Until is isn't.

Your royal highness has varying degrees of issues that sometimes just cannot wait until morning.  I hear shuffling of feet on the carpet above our heads.  some of the better ones were, 'I forgot my jacket at school, and it is really important to me.'; 'what if there is a fire? What will happen to my Legos?'; and 'Are there tornadoes in this part of the city? Because I really am afraid of tornadoes.'
Tonight's
issue:

"Mom, why is my bedtime so early?  Other kids get to stay up, and they are mean to me because my bedtime is so early."  (I am guaranteeing that this does NOT happen, but maybe if he tells me he is getting picked on I will change his bedtime.) 
"I can make it earlier if you don't get back in bed."  Retreating feet are heard.

And NOW the night is finally ours.  That is our bedtime routine. 

Every. Single. Night.

Who the hell is Annie?

Sometimes having a conversation with my little ones can be hilarious.  Other times it can be terrifying.  Kids can be more terrifying than a good scary movie, because when it comes to ghost stories, kids can sell it WAAAAY better.


I will never forget when my twins were infants and we brought them home from the hospital.  We used to live in a Tri-level house in Dublin Ohio.  It was a GREAT little house, perfect for our little family.  After the twins were born, and then the subsequent son resulting from too much time in bed due to the flu came along, it shrank in size.  We LOVED this house.  Luuuuuuved it.  We loved our neighborhood, our neighbors, and the layout.  It was a great house for three people.  Not such a great house for six.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

 When we first moved in to this house, BK (before kids), we swore the place had a ghost.  We would notice little things moving, doors closing, and hear creaks like footsteps from upstairs.  Normal old house kind of things.  However, the dog would just stare up to the top level and growl from time to time. This was unnerving. And the Admiral would swear that the rocking chair would rock all by itself when he was home alone.  Nothing too freaky but stuff we would just chalk up to "our ghost". 

Fast forward to the week I brought home Thumbelina and Mini Me.  As infants, they would stare at this place on the wall every time I would sit on the couch with them, or change their diaper there.  The same spot, every time,  both of them.  The spot was on the wall that backed up to the top level.  The Admiral would say, "Oh, our ghost must be there.  Kids have that sense you know."  So it was a running joke. Anything unexplained was the ghost. 

I don't think the ghost thought this was funny. 

My oldest son did not like his closet door open when he would sleep, so he would always close it.  So I asked him, mind you he is 8 at this time, "why do you have to have the closet door shut? "

"I don't like the scary guy that is in there."  (sound of record needle screeching)  Wha-WHAT?  What scary guy is in my kids closet??? 

"What do you mean baby, there is no one in there.  You are just seeing shadows."

"No mommy, there is a guy in there. If I keep the door shut he doesn't come out."  HOLY SCHMIDT!  WHAT?!?!?!  I calmly tell my precious boy that it may look like it, but there really is no one in there and he is just seeing shadows.  As I am telling him this, I am really just telling MYSELF this, because HOLY CRAP  am I freaked out.  But now I can't sleep, because I am afraid of a man coming out of my closet, and unless that man is Ryan Reynolds, we have a serious problem. 

(Side note, I do not believe in ghosts per say, but I do have a very very overactive imagination that does things to me sometimes. I tend to read a lot of spooky stories, and watch zombie movies and shows.)

So, nothing else besides the normal freaky crap ever happens at the old house after that.  I think that the holy water, crosses, and threatening the non-existant scary man in the closet of bringing in of an old priest and a young priest made him keep himself out of our daily life.  I don't think left he dog alone though, because our dog is a giant wuss, and quite frankly it is fun to mess with him.  If I were a ghost, I would mess with him daily.  Heck, I am NOT a ghost and I mess with him daily.  And dog lovers out there, do not give me dirty looks or messages, this dog is spoiled rotten, does nothing to earn his keep, and quite frankly messing with him is the only thing he is really good for.  But that is a whole other post. 

So now we are in our new house.  It is brand new, built by us, has no squeeky floors, and no doors that shut all on their own. Peaceful and quiet.  Lovely. 

...Until the conversation I had with Mini Me last night. 
"Did you have a good day today baby?"

"Yes mommy.  I had a fun day.  After nap (sidenote, I split the twins up for nap or they party and don't sleep), I woke up and played with Annie in my closet."

"You played with who?"

"Annie, in my closet.  We had a tea party.  We were princesses."

Smiling, I think to myself, oh, that is so sweet, she has an imaginary friend!  How cute is that?  "Aww, did you make up a friend?  Did you pretend you have a friend Annie?"

"No, she is the girl that lives in my closet.  She and I were princesses together."  (insert music from the movie Psycho....")

Quit licking the toilet!

There are many many things that we say as parents that we honestly never thought we would say.  Words that we never would have dreamed would have been put together in the same sentence.  I would have to say, if I was my teenage self, (pause a moment here while I look back at my teenage self, long for that body that I didn't appreciate and how hot I was, and how athletic I used to be.  Wait, I was never athletic, but hey, this is my flashback, so it doesn't have to be 100% true.)  I would look at myself now, and totally make fun of me.  I would never believe the things that I do, wear, or say, were really me.

Back in the good ol days, I would never have felt comfortable talking about the things I freely talk about today.  I would have been mortified to admit my kids were shouting "Are you pooping mommy?  You gotta poop???" in the Lowe's bathroom when I was there with them alone, and just couldn't wait to use the bathroom until I got home.  And no, I was not pooping.  But to three toddlers, anything you do in the bathroom is poop.  And poop is always hilarious to them. 

Back in the good old days, I would never have admitted to my kids, publicly, in the bathroom at McDonalds at the beach, that yes indeed, those were my breasts that they were looking at, and pointing at, as a line of spectators waited outside our stall.  But this is not the good old days, this is now.  And now humility is gone, and I have no sense of self preservation or modesty when it comes to life.  Here are a few of the gems that I have said to my kids lately.  My high school self would be crawling away from me, dying from embarrassment.

"Stop licking the toilet."

"No, that is the dog's penis, you may not touch it, he may bite you."

"That is a very pretty dress on you Little Man, yes you are very pretty"

"I don't know why your princess Tiana doesn't have a front butt, it looks like they painted underwear on her."

"Quit squeezing my breast Thumbellina, those belong to me. You may not touch them"

"Yes your royal highness, my goal in life is to make you completely miserable.  They make us sign a paper before we leave the hospital."

"Please put the grasshopper down honey, he wants to see his mommy. (she puts it down and it is obviously dead now) Honey I think he is sleeping, we need to leave him be."

"No, you may not lick the floor at Target."

"Please don't eat your band-aid.  What do you mean that isn't yours?!?!?!"

"We do not ride the dog like a horse, he is old. I serisouly think you want bitten."

"We do not push our sister's head down in the water.  That is called drowning, and murder."

Those were all just said in the last couple of weeks.  I want you to realize, most of these were said very seriously.  And as I said before, I would have been embarrassed before.  But now, it is really just another day. 

And that is why we don't open the windows

If I were one of my neighbors, and I was walking by my house, and I heard some of the things that I am sure they hear coming from my windows, I would have to call Child Protective Services.

I read a recent blog from a very talented writer and mom, Jen Hatmaker, who said, "some families are sweet, and some families are spicy.  We are a spicy family."  I think that is very tactful.  I would, however,  want to add another type of family to that.  Screamy.  We are a screamy, loud family. The thing of it is, not all of the screaming is bad.  In fact, it can be downright sweet.  Mini-me was screaming out of the window the other day to her brother, "I LOVE YOU!!!!  I WILL MISS YOU WHILE YOU ARE AT SCHOOL!!!!  WAVE TO MEEEE!!!!  I AM WAVING AT YOU, WAVE TO MEEEEE!!!!!!"  as he climbed aboard the bus, ducking his head, pretending not to know who these crazy people are.

I didn't realize until today how bad we must sound from outside.  We have our windows wide open, because it is amazingly awesome outside.  Cool enough to be cool, but warm enough to still be in a t-shirt.  I was changing the diaper on one of my toddlers I babysit, when I heard Mini-me and Little Man go upstairs.  Well, they are not supposed to go upstairs without me, because the first place they go is your royal highness's room, and wreck the millions of dollars worth of Legos that he has squirreled away up there.  So I screamed "GET DOWN HERE", because I physically could not get up to get them without getting poop everywhere, and letting a toddler go sans clothing.  They didn't listen.  So I yelled again, "YOU GUYS!  GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW! I AM GOING TO COUNT TO THREE, AND THEN YOU ARE GOING IN TIME-OUT!  ONE.......TWO......." and I pause dramatically to give their little brains a moment to process that, hey, mom means business and I better get going.  Also to give me one more second to get some pants on this kid.  "THREE!!!!  THAT'S IT!  TIME OUT!!!!!"  I have to run up 5, YES 5, flights of stairs (our new house has tons of room, but holy crap, the stairs are killing me.), to snatch these varmints and bring them down to the playroom for time out.  Oh, and the yelling does not stop there, because they are screaming like I am murdering them when I put them in the time-out spot.  Nothing coherent, just massive wailing. 

Then I have your royal highness yelling for me "MOOOOOOOOOOOM!!! WHERE IS MY BACKPACK!  I HAVE TO GO LIKE NOW!!!!!"  So I yell back, over the wailing "IT IS IN THE OFFICE!!!  DON"T FORGET YOUR LUNCH!"  I cannot go up and talk to this child, because I am dealing with an F5 meltdown here in the playroom.  So yelling is what I have.  Then the time-out is over, and the wailing subsides, until one of my toddlers I watch snatches a toy from Thumbelina, and she, instead of letting go, and telling me that the toddler took her toy, holds on to it, as she is being dragged across the floor screaming, "NOOOOOO!!!!  I HAD IT!!!!!  AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!  MINE!!!!!!!!"  So I go over, and get the toy back for her, and tell her to stop screaming and just ask for help.  "Mommy, I needed help."  So I say, "No, you have to ask when you need the help, not after."  And two seconds later Little Man and Mini-me are doing the same thing wrestling each other, BOTH of then screaming at the top of their lungs over a toy, which I may add, WE HAVE TWO OF! "NOOOOOO!!! MINE!!!!!"  "NOOOO!!  I HAD IT FIRST!!!!!!"  So I break it up, and in frustration yell, "IF YOU SCREAM AGAIN,  YOU ARE GOING IN TO TIME-OUT!!  NO MORE SCREAMING!!"  I pray that it is true, because I would love to put myself in time-out right now.  How would that work?  "Sorry kids, I can't be bothered right now, I am in time out.  Go away, and leave me be for 37 minutes."  I like that idea!  But I digress....

I didn't really think about it, until I noticed the open windows. 

Oh. My. God.

 People outside, (and there are a lot of people outside waiting with their kids at the bus stop.  30 kids, most of them have parents that are out there watching them go on the bus...oh man.)  what are they hearing of this?  I mean, my voice can carry.  I was field commander in high school, a vocal major in college, so I know I can project my voice.  I am sure they are thinking we are a bunch of hill-jacks!  I want to run out there and yell, "I PROMISE!  WE ARE A LOVING NORMAL FAMILY!  WE ARE NICE PEOPLE!  IT IS OK TO GET TO KNOW US! I SWEAR!"  Then they would all look at each other and say, "I think that is just how she talks!  Look, she is yelling again!"  They would avoid my eyes and walk away.  So that would not help.

So I guess what I need, dear hearts, is a little advice.  How do you have 5 levels, 5 toddlers, a 10 year old,  maintain open windows, and NOT sounds like you are completely nuts?  Any advice???