Regrets, I’ve had a few…

As I sit here, hungry, waiting for my Outlook to restart and check for non-existent problems for a perpetual period of 7 minutes that really is 70 minutes of billable time, I cannot help but think about how crappy I eat when I am not on a diet.

And then, when I am exercising and trying to follow Weight Watchers or starve, one in the same, I do not think about the junk that I consumed just last week.  The crappy leftovers from the plates of my children.  The mediocre take out.  The large bag of Famous Amos cookies from Costco that I finished off because the kids didn’t like it. 

I am completely focused on a loaf of hot crusty French bread, a wheel of brie cheese, and a bottle of Merlot.  I can’t think of anything else.  I can even smell it if I try hard enough.  Why didn’t I eat that instead of all the cookies and the nuggets, and the ice cream, and the “anything that has butter on it or in it”.  Why did I eat such shit when there are so many better ways to get fat?

I want to get fat My Way next time.

Tailspin

There are socks all over the house.  I watch sitcoms during which fat nondescript housewife follows fat nondescript blue collar male around the house bitching about how he does not pick up his towels, socks, whatever, he further does not put the toilet seat down.  I have no memory of my skinny accented mother following my hard working, albeit overweight, white collar father around the house asking him to pick up or do anything.  I am sure she’d squat over a cold, seat raised porcelain god before disturbing the state it was in to ensure my father would not be bothered.  In fact, she often would be in the middle of dinner clean up, homework, kids, washing the ashtray, and bringing him tea and pistachios when he’d ask for a glass of water.  She’d bring that glass of water and then the vacuum to clean up the stray inner shell of the pistachios. 

I digress. 

My husband J’s athletic socks all over the house.  L is a mouse.  He pesters his brothers to be rats or cats or anything so they can play with him.  It is a club.   When they lose a tail, they get another one.  And another one.  And another one.  The discarded tails are in the kitchen, bathroom, toilet, front door, garage, several in the car, front door, on their scooters, on the steps, in the bathtub.   He is becoming a mouse.  He crawls around.  His imagination is wild.  He talks non-stop.  We had a play date today with a cool kid and his cool mom and she literally asked if he ever shuts up.  Seeing as how she too has a four year old and happens to be a teacher, it is an interesting observation indeed.

Should I love this imagination of his?  Should I embrace it?  He keeps asking me if I could just like the tails.  Could I just maybe wear one with him all day and be a mouse too?  I do sometimes because it just makes him too happy.  But now he is asking the guests if they’d like a tail.  Not a cold drink on a Pomona summer day.  A tail.   I think it would be fun to wear one to a NAWBO meeting.  “Hi there CEO of X.  Yes, I am the managing partner of a law firm and yes I have a tail on my gargantuan ass.  How are you?” 

One morning we were walking into school.  He forgot to take off his tail when he got out of the car.  This is the only time he takes it off and he never forgets to do so.  He sleeps with it, he puts it aside when he goes to the restroom (now that he lost one down the toilet.)  But, he voluntarily amputates his tail before going to school which I find fascinating…I have never had to tell him to do it.  Does he know other kids would tell him that it’s not a tail at all?  And so, another Mom sort of chuckles and says, “don’t you hate when the clothes stick together in the dryer.  L you have a sock stuck to your shorts.”  {{I chuckled too…like I would wash J’s filthy socks with L clothes.}} 

L glares and says:  “That’s NOT a sock, it’s a TAIL.” 

That is my tale.  And these are my mice. 

Off Target

And so today, I went to Target to buy a couple “last minute” items for Father’s Day.  Like, cards and something that my father can put on a shelf and ignore for another year.   Aside from Mother of the Year, I am also in the running for Wife and Daughter of the Year.  All is right in the world.  Mediocrity at its best.

Anyhow, I get there, catch my reflection in the mirror and decide that I would look less fat and awful, if I took the keys and cell phone out of my sweats and shoved them into my purse.  The improvement was nothing to write home about.  I put my purse in the cart and started my normal route around Target.  I will always walk by the $8 t-shirts and tanks of which I have so many in so many different colors, it is disturbing.  I then go by the workout stuff and the pajamas.  Anyhow, I did not buy any crap today that I did not need, at least not really.  I went by the toys and found some “make believe doctor” type toys that I knew J and J would love so I picked that up and then I grabbed the cart and went on my way. 

I headed straight for the DVD section where I was certain I would find something suitable for my father.  I did.  Threw said Clint Eastwood Western compilation into cart with fake medical kit.  I then walked over to the electronics section thinking that maybe I would find him some kind of handheld game that he could play without moving from the couch.  And then, I realized I had not checked my phone for the last several minutes.  And THEN, I noticed that my cart had no purse in it.  My purse was gone.  The little area where a purse should be wholly lacked a purse.  And honestly, I had NO IDEA how that happened.  And then, a red polo shirt saleswoman walked by and I must have looked pale and nauseated and frantic but she said nothing and walked by.  And I decided to retrace my steps. 

I would not have held my heavy ass purse because there was perfectly good compartment to hold my purse. So, I figured I would go to where I was and see if someone there saw the bastard Pomona shit steal my purse so I could make a report to the police. Then I figured that all Pomona hooligans stick together and so why would anyone help.  I then cursed Pomona, sweat pooling in my still too tight underwire.  Not by the DVDs.  Go to the toy section.  Father-daughter still negotiating about a Barbie.  Pleased at this point that although I do not have a purse, I also do not have any Barbie heads in my house.  I glare at the father because he must be in on the delinquency whereby my purse is now with some gang member in Pomona. 

I am seething and fuming and upset that I have lost all my contacts and a few hundred bucks, all my credit cards.  My new giraffe wallet.   Totally irritated that I have to go to the POMONA DMV.  There is nothing worse than Pomona DMV, you go there to risk your life.  My newly opened Carmex.  My CAR KEYS.  I couldn’t even call Julio to ask him to pick me up because I HAD NO PHONE.  DAMN POMONA!

And I go up and down the aisles.  Aisles I did not even go in.  And there is an empty cart with just my purse in it.  My untouched purse, an empty cart.

Weinergate

Today, my year as president of my local NAWBO chapter ended which means that I have all kinds of wonderful free time to swim around in. I am not real sure what to do with this time but I am a little twitchy that not one email has come in and fallen into my Outlook NAWBO folder since about 2 pm. Holy shit. What am supposed to do with this freedom?

I could bill. That would be good. Probably would please J tremendously.

I would rather, however, talk about penises. And no, not Weinergate. I am over his penis and pictures thereof. I will also not mention opposing counsel who did not like my very thorough discovery responses.

L. has a song that he sings every night now about his penis. I wouldn't even bother mentioning it if it was one night but this has been a few weeks and it cracks me up. A song and a dance. And I have to control my smile and I can't even let my eyes smile because, truly, it's not appropriate. I mean really...how do they start so young with this fascination and how does the fascination manage to stick around to the point that it can bring down a sophomoric, albeit charismatic, Congressman?

I digress. After his bath when I am attempting to dry him off and dress him, he walks around the room and puts his penis on every object he can find and sings a verse:

I put my wee wee on Mooooommmy. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the bed. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the bookcase. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the dresser. Booty Shake.
I put my wee wee on the chaiiiiiir. Booty Shake.

And so on and so forth. I am pleased that he has such a strong handle on his vocabulary and likes to dance. I am little curious about the tune he sings the song to because it reminds me mildly of a porn soundtrack. It's definitely not from Alpha and Omega. Whatever. I would record because it is so funny but then he will think that dancing with his package is funny and special and then one day L Jr. will end up on Twitter and we know how that ends.

What's with boys and their members, really? Sigh. I think I know. I don't need answers to this. But seriously, this does not bode well. Imagine all three dancing like this or all four...crap, this can't be good. To be continued.

Stuck

I am very allergic to dogs and cats.  I remember going to my best friend Rachael’s house when she was getting ready to go to Homecoming with Diego in high school and her mother had like 32 cats in the house.  So, we ran into the house.  I ran up the stairs and she locked me in her pre-cleaned bathroom so I could help her get ready.  Within 15 minutes, I was sneezing every 30 seconds.  It is pretty gross but I am certain that the reason her hair stayed in place that night was because my sneeze mucous particles were distributed all over her hair as I was working with the hot curling iron on it.  We are still friends. 

By the end of Sunday, my nerves are usually worn thin and I am longing for Monday morning when I can wake up at the crack, go to Spin, and then come home and take my children to SCHOOL.  God bless school.  Anyhow. 

I went with my kids and husband to my in-laws house this afternoon wearing the only jeans that fit me anymore.  They have two Pomeranians that have taken over the house and usually I preload with Zyrtec and prepare to sneeze for a few hours.  The kids have fun with their cousins.  We all visit.  My MIL prepared some yummies for everyone to eat.  Well, as always, I walked into the house and within 15 minutes or so I was all stuffed up, losing my voice, rubbing my eyes, sneezing, coughing, etc.  It was way cute.

We got back home and the twins were experiencing a meltdown because (1) they wanted me to take off their boots, (2) their dad took off their boots, and (3) they wanted to take bath wearing their rain coats that they hadn’t taken off since 3:30 even though we were inside with the Pomeranian hair.  That just does not work.  And it’s Sunday.  And they need to go bed so that I don’t call 9-1-1 screaming 5150 repeatedly just so I can get seventy two hours of peace and quiet with a straight jacket on.

Meanwhile, I am going to pee in my pants. I hold it and hold it and hold it …until every one is bathed sans rain coats and in bed.  I run to the bathroom with snot running down my face and pee almost dripping out and I grab a Kleenex and try to rip off my jeans simultaneously and the Kleenex catches on the zipper of my only fat ugly pair of jeans and the zipper fails.  Totally fails.  With Kleenex stuck between each crevice of the zipper mechanism.  No more jeans.  Big fat ass.  I am all stuff up.

And that was the makings of my Sunday evening breakdown.  I cried.  A lot.  Things just aren’t going well.

Good Night. 

The Review that Made the Cut

So this is what I think I will go ahead and post as my review…is it better?  a little less psycho?

Dear Potential Employer:

Our family worked with Aline for almost two years.  She started out being really great, she had a good relationship with the kids, and she was mostly very reliable.  However, she began to slack off over time.  She spent a lot more time on her cell phone texting and calling friends…even when the kids were awake and in front of her.  She also stopped interacting with them as much.

On what turned out to be her last day, I was concerned about something that happened that could have only happened if she was not paying attention to my kids.  I guess she did not like that I questioned her because after I went back to work, she texted me that she had left my house and was not coming back.  In other words, she left my kids unattended and texted me to end a two year relationship with my family.   

My advice:  Try another nanny.  She is not trustworthy, ethical, responsible, or mature.  I would be very concerned about leaving any kids in her charge.

The Ex-Nanny Chronicles: The Heartbreaker.

See, the other day I wrote a review of this ex-nanny so that I could post it on Care.Com. And then, J read it and told me that the only person who would write a review like that is completely insane and no potential employer would ever regard it in their decision making. Sigh. Well, for whatever it's worth, it made me feel better to write it.

Perhaps that's a lawyer thing...writing a mean letter makes you feel better? Now, though, I feel worse because I still want to post a review. Maybe I will edit it a tad and take out about 6 paragraphs...? Or maybe, I will just stew. Any thoughts, friends?
**
Dear Potential Employer:

If you are considering hiring Aline, the first question you should ask her is what she's been doing since she left Brazil. She has been working for me full-time for the better part of 2 years, on and off. You should then seriously consider the fact that she has failed to obtain a recommendation from me after such a long relationship. That ALONE should disturb any potential employer. Sadly, my experience with Aline ended in a very negative fashion.

Don't expect any loyalty, maturity, work ethic or decency from this nanny. Perhaps, she'll care for your kids and they'll be fine but she will have very little respect or honor for the parent/nanny relationship. In fact, the only reason that I have given her 2 stars is because my children appeared happy and unharmed during the two years they were in her charge. But, perhaps this was only a function of the fact that my husband and I worked from home and kept an eye on things.

On the day she left, I had questioned the fact that she had clearly been ignoring my children. A toy which had no reason to be destroyed was in a hundred pieces. An open magazine and her cell were on the table. She had obviously been ignoring my kids while she amused herself reading about celebrities and texting her boyfriend. After I questioned her about it, she answered me that they had been "playing". Um, seems to me that her entire job was to pay attention to the kids. No one in their right mind would have allowed them to "play" in this fashion.

I let the issue go even though I had a few choice things to tell her because Aline had already told me this would be her last week and I wanted to keep things friendly. Frankly, you expect people to slack off a little during their last week on the job. Sadly, this is all you can expect from people anymore. However, I was very disappointed in the fact that she would allow my kids to destroy a toy when they had managed to keep the toy in one piece for several weeks. Perhaps it was her grasp of English but she seemed to think that I was accusing her of destroying the toy, but really I was wondering what SHE was doing that allowed her to so thoroughly ignore my children that they could have done such an enormous amount of damage. My boys are normal toddlers - so, I am not disturbed by what they did. Toddlers take things apart. I, do, however wonder what SHE was doing when she was supposed to be taking care of them.

Next thing I knew, I was working in my office and I got a text that she had left my home, that she had "no guilt" regarding what happened to the toy, and she wouldn't be coming back. Heartless. Isn't that lovely? Isn't it lovely that the moment I questioned her care of my children which was her only job, she would jump in her car and LEAVE my children unattended after having a relationship with my family for TWO years.

Frankly, I now must also question her intelligence. Would an intelligent person allow children to act without regard for themselves and their belongings without a second thought? Would an intelligent person sacrifice their only job reference in this country? Probably not.

She is the exact kind of person who places no value and has no regard to a long relationship or a good repoire with her employer. Aline collected her Christmas present and large bonus and went on vacation for a week. A vacation I permitted because I assumed she'd return. Well, dear friends, the woman emailed me on the Tuesday (during her vacation) preceding New Year's Eve to let me know that the next week would in fact be her last week working for me. Not even 2 weeks notice...on a HOLIDAY week no less! How appropriate. Collect your bonus and bail? Aline is a real class act. AND THEN, come ONE morning and leave without saying goodbye and TEXT that you are gone merely because your employer had the "audacity" to question the below standard level of care of the kids.

Who DOES that? Can you imagine the kind of person who would be so rude and inappropriate? After treating her as part of my family and paying her timely for TWO years, she summarily left MIDDAY with a TEXT. Seriously? Heartbreaking. She'll screw you, folks. Have no doubt about it.

{{To be fair, please understand that this relationship was good for a long time. She used to care about the kids and what she was doing. I am not a negligent parent and would not have kept her on for this long unless she had some good qualities. However, that clearly changed and her actions upon her departure showed me that perhaps she was clearly not the person I thought.}}

You can't trust this person. Keep her out of your homes, out of your lives, out of your childrens' lives. She has no moral compass and I hope I never have to cross paths with her again. She is the worst kind of employee and hopefully the only employment that she manages to obtain when comes back from Brazil is one where disrespect, a low IQ, and a below average set of values is the norm...a telemarketer perhaps?

Big, Fat Breaths

Sometimes Lulo is so cute, I call him ugly a la Shug, "you sho' is ugly".

And he is so skinny with little chicken legs, so I tell him to move his big, fat butt.

I know that this is probably not a great idea because one day he will call someone who is morbidly obese "big, fat, and ugly" and I will be really, really embarrassed but for now...it's one of the ways I joke with him. He seems to be saying it in jest too. Also, when he calls me big and fat these days, I like to pretend it's a compliment even though I am approaching maximum density.

Anyhow, I did not breast feed and my general opinion on breast feeding can be left to a whole different post. However, I think this may be why Lulo has not gotten the right word for "breasts" down. He keeps calling them "hips" and I have not wanted to correct him because (1) it is funny and (2) I really don't want him walking around saying the word "breasts" or other related euphemism/slang term to every female on the planet.

This is all relevant because tonight, after I tucked him in, he told me I had "big fat hips". And I said, "what is big and fat?" And he pointed to my "breasts" and I thought this was going nowhere good.

So, I told him, "these are not hips Lulo, these (pointing to actual breasts) are called breasts. THESE (pointing to actual large ass) are hips."

He says "THOSE TAKE BREATHS. HOW?" Eyes bulging.
"No, no, not breaths. Breasts."
"How do they take breaths?"
"They don't take breaths, they make milk."
"When do they make milk, how?"
"Um, uh, good night Lulo. Go to bed now."
"I want to call them hips since they don't take breaths. Big, fat hips."
"OK, Good Night."
"Good night."

Selfish

He's always been a good sleeper. He used to go to bed with less difficulty. He didn't used to need an escort to the bathroom. He didn't complain about the air conditioning being on. He didn't imagine noises or manage to find the movement of hangers in my closet to be a disturbing sound. He used to just go to bed. Now, there is a whole slew of nonsense that accompanies his bedtime rituals before nap and at night. I think it is worse because of the two flights of stairs to get to the little face that now can peer over the banister. Or maybe it's just annoying to take someone to pee only to have to run up again to escort him to poop not 3 minutes later. And then go up again to hear a "secret".

It's really irrelevant. Because after all that time getting him to go to bed and then finally, impatiently threatening his life if he comes out of bed again, I go in there around 10 p.m. I remove the door prop, I fix his blankets, I put all the askew body parts in place, and I kiss his temple. I suck in a deep whiff and fill up all my senses with his smell. I fill up my lungs with the newborn scent that somehow still accompanies him and the mildewy sent that resides on his stuffed elephant. I am, at that moment, aware of the warmth that rises from him and enjoy it. I don't miss him. I don't want to hang out with him. I don't want him to wake up. I really really don't want him to wake up. I just want to be there with him. Breathing him in. Enjoying his peacefulness. Appreciating his long limbs and how he developing into this little boy. Accepting how lucky I am to have him there, like that, as he is.

Make a Lovely Light

A friend of J's stopped by tonight because J had volunteered me to draft a stern letter to a clothing designer who is refusing to produce his daughter's dresses (yes, plural) for her Sweet 16 birthday party.

So, I am talking to the guy, who was the sweetest, most down to earth dude to ever. He was in messy clothes with dirty hands and tired from a hard day doing manly man's work. And then, to my shock and amazement, he utters the words..."two of her three dresses will not be ready and the quinciniera is only two weeks away!" Well, dear me.

So, because I have watched a couple (dozen) episodes of Sweet 16 on MTV, I jokingly say, "is she making her entrance on a horse?" And he says, "no, an ELEPHANT." And I had no words, for the first time in 15 minutes. Apparently, the dress in which she is making her "grand entrance" on the elephant is one of the dresses that won't be ready. You can't just go buy one of those dresses at the mall, he explains. OhhhhK.

After realizing that he wasn't joking, I ask him a few lawyer like type questions. Tell him he ought to have a Plan B, etc. etc. Then, I once again make a little jokey and I say, "so, are you buying her a Porsche to drive off in." His eyes got big and he said, "how did you know?" She will indeed be driving off in a Porsche from the first private event ever held at one of the Fairplex buildings.

The weird thing was he did not seem like one of those over the top, ridiculous Dads on MTV's Sweet 16. He had a twinkle in his eyes. He was tired and hard working and in love with his little girl. He was proud to his core of how she has overcome her learning disabilities and is competing in her classes, how she is now the Vice President of her high school class, how she is a good girl who is far exceeding his expectations. I don't know. I didn't get irritated despite being flabbergasted by a show of excess that I typically mock. I liked the dude.

Anyhow, let's just stick this on my list of why I like having boys. I can just go paint balling with them and let them drive off of the junkyard with a car that they can rebuild. Now, that's a Sweet 16 I can look forward to.

Driving with Joe Friday

We were driving home from school today taking the many twists and turns up the hill to my house and I was in my own little zone. I have, after all, gone up and down this his 12,000 times. Luk was mowing on a cookie in the back; I was thinking about how much needed doing when I walked in the door.

And all of a sudden Luk says, that was a STOP sign and you didn't stop. I was like, "um, yes I did." He said, "no you didn't, S-T-O-P is STOOOOOOOOOP and you didn't."

So, "Um, Uh, I slowed down."

"That isn't stopping. S-T-O-P, STOOOOOOOP!"

Frankly, it's too soon for him to be commenting on my driving and I didn't appreciate it.

You Can Take the Boy Out of Egypt But You Can't Take the Egypt Out of the Boy

Today, I went to go retrieve the boys from school. I got the twins first because Lulo was still eating lunch when I spied him.

When I got to the twins classroom, they asked me if the boys had slept alright the night before. I said that they had. She said that they were "out of sorts" and whiny. She then mentioned that maybe they were getting sick or something and to keep any eye out.

She also mentioned that Juju got frustrated and when the teacher turned around...he took his shoe off and chucked it at her.

Nice. Sigh.

Four

When I was pregnant with Lulo, the pregnancy was uneventful (other than the typical puking and the first time Mommy nerves.) Giving birth was as smooth as it could go. Recovery was fast. The OB told me that I was made to birth babies. Lulo was a hearty 9 lbs, 6 ozs. He ate (formula) like a champ. He smiled early, walked late. He slept on a schedule at 6 weeks. He played and jabbered quietly in his bed when he woke up. We had our moments but he was such a good baby that I was ready to try again when he was 10 months old. I was so, so dumb.

The minute after everyone left his first birthday party...I puked and puked and puked. I was pregnant again. Of course, that was the twin pregnancy...a pregnancy that made the 2nd year of Lukas' life a total blur. I watched him from afar as my Mom took care of him for several months while I was hospitalized. I think I will be making up for this lost year my whole life...for now...Lulo gets away with more, he is my Mama's boy. I am strict with him but he has a special place in my heart. I can tell already that we are alike in temperament, humor, and attitude. That means one day, we'll be at war. Sometimes we already are. But, damn, I like that kid.

Tomorrow my Lulo turns four. He has his moments but the other Moms tell me how smiley and polite he is. Isn't that rad? Everyone says that every time they see Lulo...he is smiling. I can't be messing him up that bad. He is a crack up who smiles all the time. The teacher is impressed by his focus and his memorization skills. He is a good kid. I am a lucky Mama.

Funny Little Things That I Want to Remember about Lulo on the Eve of his Birthday:

• He bites his lower lip when he is doing crafts. We've been doing little ones before bed lately. He thinks so hard but is so proud of his creations.
• He is still obsessed with elephants.
• He still sucks his thumb.
• He "reads" books alone when he wakes up in the morning.
• He knows his alphabet and numbers, is trying to read, knows every animal. Every. Animal. Scarlet Macaw, Tapir, Sloth, Pygmy Marmoset.
  
• He likes to sleep in his underwear. No more shorts or pants.
• He has to wear socks that are really stretched out. The older and crappier, the better. He calls them "cool socks".
  
• He asks me to tickle him. Then begs me to stop, over and over.
  
• He is starting to play with his brothers and really incorporating them in games and make believe.
• He sings and makes up little songs. He has a nice voice.
• He says "I am having a tough time" and "I need a break". Really.
  
• He loves sweets, fruits, and vegetables. He is picky about meats.

I love you, Lulo. These have been a great four years. I will always work to be a better person because of you.

Maybe One Day

This morning, I just needed to go diarrhea and not have two little midgets fighting and ripping the doorknob out of the door to get in. I needed to focus on the diarrhea and the heat that was rising up my torso. The burn in my stomach. The accompanying nausea. To not be able to go diarrhea in peace anymore, it's just not a good turn of events. I couldn't really put it off or hold it until I had some help. When you have to go, you have to go. And then after banging at my door incessantly, while I suffered, for about four minutes. I began to hear them throw toys around...grab for things to high for them. Make a mess. Fight with each other. And then, that was almost worse because someone losing an eye while I had diarrhea would also be a poor direction for the day to take.

How do you explain that to the ER? I left my three children under the age of four to kill each other because I did not want a pool of poop on my floor that belonged to me instead of them.

I haven't been well since Sunday and I am not pleased.

Come Home Now.

My husband and I have our own practice that does not require us to "go into an office". I think this is a blessing the vast majority of the time - no commute, a very lax dress code, easy snacks, and short visits with the kids when I choose.

The downside of course, is that sometimes, sitting back to back with my husband every day, five days a week, is less than joyful. I think couples are meant to be apart sometimes. He is a good person and I like him but you just can't hear the same person's voice all the time. It's going to get less interesting at some point.

Of the two of us, I am actually the one that gets out more. I go pick up the kids from school. I do the grocery shopping. And, I am the one who does the "networking". I have a leadership role in a local organization that has me out and about usually once a week. So, he gets to be "home alone" much more than I do. It's nice to be home alone and when J leaves I sort of savor those days. I still do everything I normally do but it's like a little break from his commentary, the tap tap of his keyboard, the buzzing of his cell phone, the telling me to get off Facebook and bill...you know what I mean?

Well, today, he was gone. All day. He left at 10 and still is not back and it's 7:30. I miss him. Is that weird? I sort of got sad during the kids' bedtime when I was doing it alone. It is now doable to put all 3 kids down by myself. But, it was sad. He has this fabulous energy at bed time where we run around dancing and he flings the children onto our huge bean bag and he wrestles with them. The kids pretty much adore him and watch him like he is a hero. They laugh from their bellies when he is there. Frankly, my fling onto the bean bag was sorry...at best. I think I also hurt my wrist while flinging our heavy boned 39 lb twin. No bueno. I also don't do good "voices" when we read and my tolerance for nonsense is low.

I really like J. I am lucky not just for the short commute down the stairs but the short commute down the stairs to see J, who works hard into the wee hours and yet still makes appearances for snuggling with the kids and putting trains together with Lulo as his prize for being "respectful" and sharing with his brothers. It's nice to have J around - I want him to come home now. I am all done with being "home alone."

The New Routine

Is it weird that I still get extremely nervous and aggravated when the children decide that they are going to be difficult at bed time and they cry for no reason? I mean, I have 3 kids under 4, I should be used to the noise, the whining, the tears. But I get annoyed. Really annoyed. I am so dedicated to routine. I hold it dear. I hate when it gets all weird and changes. J says I have control issues. I do. I have them. But dude, I don't want crying over nonsense. If you cry, something better be wrong. An organ better be somewhere it should not be. There better be poop. Something. Otherwise, I just get angry. I have to deep breathe.

Their bed time is my me time. Selfish, yes? When I put them in their room in their crib, don't get out...don't cry. Just go to bed, what's the issue. I am so over them sometimes.

Yesterday, the twins lost their mind. They were crying and crying when we put them down. There is this now, long drawn out routine when it was always two books and then in the crib, Goodnight.

Now, it's little by little the twins added weird little things to become this ridiculous amalgam of lameness. I don't get it. How did we get here? How do I get out of this? I am started to hate hugs.

The New Routine that I HATE:

• Bath
• Books (2)
  
• "Cholito Dance" (the first addition - a ridiculous dance so termed by their father whereby the children all march out of the room and dance around a huge bean bag we have)
• Fly (the second addition - their father grabs them all and flings them onto said pillow about 32 times - each day someone is injured mildly by a plastic toy or by a limb of someone else.)
• Cholito Dance back to the room
• Mr. Knickerbocker Song and Dance (Hey Mr. Knickerbocker boppity bop...)
• Ladybug - I honestly have no friggen idea how this started but I fully blame our last ridiculous nanny. There is a door stopper thing on the door and the kids call it a lady bug and we have to hoist them up to close the ladybug...every. damn. day.
• Light - Everyone has to turn the light on and off - and then if someone does it more than once - they both do.
• Crib.

Now at this point, everyone wants numerous hugs - numerous like 1200. Like, I leave and they cry for more. I can't hug them anymore. Yesterday, I barely survived. They cried for more hugs and then more and then more and then more and then when we let Jojo cry....HE CLIMBED OUT OF HIS CRIB. Really? REALLY? Do you wanna go there after all those damn hugs? I am so done with this routine. It's ridiculous. I want out.

The Family "Vacation" - Part III

After I was not able to survive another night sharing a suite with my own children*, we headed home after Sea World.

*I do realize that there are, of course, people all over the world who fit 32 people in a suite the size that we had. And in that square footage they manage a kitchen and no indoor plumbing and further manage to continue to reproduce so that in 10 months there are 42 people in a suite the size we had. But, yo, I am in America and I believe in charitable giving to improve the quality of life in said 42 person space so let's just move on shall we.*

So, anyhow, we decided after spending $54 at the WAP on a inedible lunch that J and I ate because we were hungry and that the children did not at all, we were NOT going to eat lunch at Sea World. I had enough snacks to feed the entire Sea World population that day so we figured - large breakfast, lots of snacks, early dinner. We expected everyone to sleep on the way home as it was a two hour drive and I woke everyone up about 15 minutes before reaching our dinner destination to aid in the transition of sleep to wake.

Let me just say, I am the mother that I would have balked at 3 years ago. I am that mother. I have never, in my whole life, seen such rotten, misbehaved children in my life. And to my utter shock and embarrassment, they were mine. Lulo really was the only one who ate but that really did not make him any kind of a superstar. The twins were difficult...even about the bread. They always eat the bread. They kept ripping of their shoes and then insisting that we put them back on. THEN. STOP. TAKING. THE. DAMN. THINGS. OFF.

Lulo kept getting up and down in the booth. Both twins insisted on getting out of their high chair which I have a strict "no way in hell" policy about that has something to do with The Breakfast Club and anarchy. J acquiesced and released Juju. And so, of course, Jojo wanted out. I pulled him out. Both high chairs toppled as I held Jojo. Jojo was pinned underneath one by his feet as I tugged at him. A party of 10 watched and waited as I tried to get Jojo out of his toppled high chair as my back spasmed and Juju crawled under my butt while he was fighting with Lulo over a polar bear. Then they all went under the booth and crawled around in gum and sticky floor and some E. Coli and Staphylococcus. They took turns going from one side to the other and then back and would take a break to fling a fork or knife or napkin or bear or penguin or shark and then proceed to cry about it.

Yep, I was that mother. It was really bad. Meanwhile, I was fuming, wondering how it was possible that I did not have a brain aneurysm yet. And our youngish waitress kept exchanging pleasantries and I really just was not able to be nice anymore. It was bad. So, so, bad. So bad that I didn't go to Pinkberry next door after dinner and I was jonesing for another hit of their Original flavor which my friend Mini has told me is laced with crack and I just couldn't go. All I could do was walk, head down, with Jojo in a fireman's carry in my arms, and the diaper bag on my back, and Juju in J's arms and Lulo dragging behind and buckle them in their car seats and get the hell home.

We got home and I drank rum and coke and tried to forget that those children were mine and I was that mother. It didn't work...I still remember and I write about it here to remember it forever.

A Family "Vacation" - Part II

We couldn't hack the weekend. Let's just get that out there.

The intention was to drive to San Diego on Friday and go to the Wild Animal Park. Go to the Hyatt at Mission Bay and spend the night. Our first night as a family in a hotel. Then, wake up the next day, go to Sea World, head to the hotel whenever we were tired. Stay another night at our hotel and come back to our oasis in Pomona.

At around 9:30 pm on Friday night, our first night with three kids trapped in a hotel suite, I looked at my J and said, "want me to see if I can get us out of paying for tomorrow night so that we can go home after Sea World tomorrow?"

First, because he knows better, J coached me for 20 minutes on the fact that whether we could get out of paying for an extra night was irrelevant and lectured me on how I should talk to the front desk...because you know that I would have said "Yo, this hotel sucks, and you suck, and I wanna go home." Anyhow, I was able to call and finnagle us out of the second night and they waived our parking fees. Wasn't that nice? Aren't I so capable? Go me. An average mother...an above average negotiator.

Now, lest you think that the experience was a nightmare. It wasn't. The boys were actually boys. I was just done. Well done. And really, I would not have survived the second night. We had a good time at the WAP. We got to the hotel. We went to the pool. Juju went down the pool slide so may times...he would say "Again" before he even hit the water. We splashed and played. We ate dinner at the hotel - they actually ate fairly easily. We got to the suite that I had outfitted with two cribs and a roll away bed. Oh, and that is where the fun began.

Don't get me wrong. I had crazily low expectations about how the night would go. No illusions of sleep even entered my head. The boys were all together in one room for the first time and it was actually kind of funny. Lulo would yell about how he was trying to sleep and they wouldn't let him. The twins were pushing my buttons telling me they were poopie...but of course, they weren't. But, then, Juju was. Then Juju was singing "Last Christmas" by George Michael. And then Jojo joined in just to sing the word "special". Special indeed. Then, Luk had to pee. Then, they all wanted to get up and it was anarchy. Then, I had a mental breakdown that I am certain Room 2106 heard and J explained to me that I really am not fit to be a mother.

Then, I ended up sleeping on the couch in their room until everyone crashed. First, Jojo, then, Lulo, then Juju. Juju kept messing around asking Lulo if he was awake or not and the first 12 times Lulo would say "MOOOOOOOM, Juju won't let me sleep". OMG, they can never share a room. An evening like this is not likely to repeat for at least a year or twelve. There is no way I am doing this hotel nonsense again.

I was so gross from the heat that day and gazelle petting and what not and I couldn't shower because I didn't to want to wake up the kids and reignite the shenanigans. I couldn't really talk to J above a whisper. I couldn't get internet access on my crackberry. Vacation my ass...my nerves were raw, I was tired, my wine bottle stashed in my duffel bag was just too far away, my feet were dirty and there weren't any of my disciples around to wash my feet, the poopie diaper was making the whole room smell and I couldn't locate a plastic bag without making noise.

It was then that I called the hotel from the balcony to negotiate our release. Lulo woke up at 4 am to pee and I brought him into "our" portion of the suite as partitioned by a sliding door. He had a total cow about the rubber lizard he was sleeping with and wanted me to obtain it from the room with the twins. So, there we were arguing about a rubber lizard at 4 am. There was no way, on God's green earth, that I was going to sneak into the twins room and wake them up to find his rubber lizard. No way.

Anyhow, bottom line. We came home after Sea World and for the first time, we got off the freeway at Fairplex, I saw that grand Ferris wheel turning in front of my house, I saw the Pomona hoodlums, walking down the hill...and I smiled. I heart you Pomona because you aren't the Hyatt and we all have our own rooms.

A Family "Vacation" - Part I

We decided to go to San Diego for a long weekend (Friday to Sunday) with the kids. Stay at a hotel. Go to some Theme Parks. The next few posts will tell the tale. This is Part I. There is no particular logical order.

***

A friend told me that to avoid the constant nagging of a child asking for stuff at store to tell them, when you walk in, that you will not get them anything if they ask for it, but you will get them something at the end of the day if they don't ask and they are well behaved. I thought this sounded reasonable. So, I tried to drill this in Lulo's head.

And it worked. Sort of. Instead of asking me for various stuff and plastic toys constantly on Saturday, Lulo waited until he knew the day was dying down and asked, about 20 times in 30 minutes, whether I was forgetting something.

Sigh.

Salt, Pepper, and Piss

Today, we were eating a forgettable lunch when J leaned over, grabbed an unruly white hair growing out of my head, and ripped it out. I am graying. I am graying so much and so fast that J is noticing it at lunch. And honestly, J wouldn't notice if I was bald so this was quite monumental. The good news is he did not rip the gray hair out of my chin. The bad news is that I seem to be keeping pace with President Obama in how quickly I am graying this year.

I think that the amount of gray hair is directly proportional to the amount of interrupted sleep I have experience since Lulo decided to stop peeing and pooping in a Pull Up. Now, he comes out of his room any number of times a night and very early in the morning to pee exactly 2 drops of urine....or sit on the toilet singing or...sit on the toilet playing with his little friend (which is another post). Meanwhile, he announces the experience in his whiniest, loudest most horrible voice such that it echos in the stillness of the house at all hours:

I.
Need.
To.
Go.
Pee?
Pee?

And he says it, over and over again until someone comes and watches him pee. And he pisses with glee and goes back to bed. And I lay there, seething, feeling another hair go white...waiting for him to come out of his room not even 18 minutes later to say again:

I.
Need.
To.
Go.
Pee?
Pee?

Did I not read every damn sleep training book? Was he not on an predictable schedule? Wasn't it so lovely when I could put him to bed at night and wouldn't see him until I was good and ready in the morning- exercised, showered, caffeinated? Did he not play quietly in his room until I retrieved him not even 3 months ago? Oh sigh.

I need to figure out this gray hair situation because if this will happen in triplicate once the twins are potty trained, I won't handle it well.