If You're Not a Gator...Your Gator Bait!

Yesterday since the hubs was off work we decided to bring some lunch to the playground we frequent and spend some time together.  After we enjoyed lunch and played for a bit we headed over to the edge of the playground and walked around while the kids inspected sticks, rocks, and bugs.  They destroyed a couple of ant hills and watched the chaos ensue.  Eventually we made our way to the other side of the parking lot (which is not far from where we started by any means).

Hubby and I were chatting and watching the kids as they ran around the water.  Luke spotted a bird in the grass, wings spread open and sun-bathing.  He ran to try to capture it (yes, he honestly believes he will catch the things he goes after).  Sarah was climbing on a fence, and Patrick started running laps around the water, which is exactly what he always does.  In fact, the three usually have races around the water.

This time, as Patrick was running I saw him looking rather happy...then confused as he slowed to a jog...then wide-eyed as he came to a stop...then he turned around and ran back towards me.  Then in an alarmingly non-chalant way, my son shouts to me as he is running at full-speed, "Alligator."  My husband-at the EXACT same moment- said in an equally blase tone, "Oh, that's an alligator."

HELLO!?  Yes, we are desensitized to alligators because we are from Florida, but Come. On.  Patrick was literally within farting distance of that gator.  If not urgency, then at least a little pep in your voices, please.

Naturally I had to see for myself, and sure enough-alligator.  I really wish I had a way of conducting an informal poll...I'm curious to see how many others this has happened to.  You know, playing at the local playground and-whoops-stumble across an alligator.

Why I Do Not Bank at Bank of America

I am not a Bank of America customer.  Earlier this year we cashed some old savings bonds at one of their banks and I don't recall receiving a 1099 for our taxes so I had to call the branch to ask for guidance.  They gave me the 800 number to call.  My phone now says "29:13"...and counting.

So to benefit anyone else whom may find themselves on the crooked-neck side of the "hold" button, I decided to do a public service and compile a list.

Things to do While on Hold With Bank of America (...or Anyone Else)

• File your nails.  Actually-go ahead and give yourself a full-blown manicure...you'll have time.
• Sort through your junk mail.  Stand back.  Admire your work.
• Pay bills
• Write thank you notes that you've been meaning to get to, but never seem to find the time
• Clean the bathroom.  This is especially nice if you have boys...or just one very shy, extremely modest boy whom freaks out if his sister opens the door on him while he's peeing.  Cause then he will panic, causing the stream of urine to shoot all over the wall, into the garbage can, and flood the floor surrounding the toilet.   
• Write a blog post

If you feel you have been productive enough and your house has been straightened up, or if you simply have a life outside of waiting for Bank of America to answer your damn call, then I have the secret to getting a REAL, LIVE person to answer!  Just send $10 to the address below and I will share this secret with you!

Just kidding-I will divulge for free.  The only way to ever speak to a person and be taken off hold is to yell loudly at your children.  Don't fret-if it doesn't work immediately, just get more loud and sprinkle a profanity in there somewhere.  A service representative really WILL be with you if you follow my directions.  And then when they finally pick up you will not only look like a maniac, but also like a dementia patient because you've been on hold so freakin long you forgot what you were calling about in the first place.

Good luck and happy holding!   

(...43:17...)

Say "Cheese"!

Why does my friend text me asking for a photo of my kids at the exact moment they are literally covered in peanut butter and marker?  God is mocking me for not caring enough to ensure my children do not draw on themselves or eat peanut butter out of the jar with their bare hands.  Yes, it is one of those days.  And then people want me to send pictures.  So I'm scrounging through my old photos trying to come up with a decent group shot to send and...nothing.  Not ONE single picture of all of the kids looking clean, put together, happy. Either someone is about to fight, is dirty, or eyes are shut.

I glanced at the walls trying to find a family portrait.  None.  None since our third was born. I am currently looking up the portrait studios' phone number to book an appointment.

One picture of dirty, colorful kids coming right up...

Oh, Baby!

Since I have pretty much neglected my newest belly buddy I have decided to dedicate a few posts to baby...

Here I am, in the third trimester.  The holiday season is such a busy time that I told myself I would get my affairs in order "after Christmas".  Unfortunately it is now "after Christmas" and I am running low on time.  As in I have two months...60 days...8 weeks...YIKES.

I have yet to order my birth supplies (a homebirth requires ordering things such as lancets, umbilical ties, gloves, etc), nor have I dusted off the tiny baby clothes.  Also on my to-do list: organize photos, transfer videos from the handicam to DVDs, some MAJOR nesting cleaning, and plan a birthday party for my (current) youngest.

Yes, I have done this before.  I know the sentiments of mothers everywhere that the cleaning can wait.  Blah, blah, blah.  I need this stuff done.  I don't want to wait another two years to have time to do it because meanwhile there will be more and more piling up.  I'd really love to have a fresh start, and then in two years have just a fraction of the to-do list.  See?

Yep, these posts are mostly for me.  Getting my thoughts out and "on paper" so to speak will help me get crap done.  One of my biggest obstacles is that even though my kiddos hit the hay by 7:30 every night, I am too tired to be productive.  I literally just want to sit around, eat some bad food, watch some equally bad TV, and go to sleep myself.  If I could just muster up the energy after they go to bed to accomplish something on my list I'd be okay...but NOOOO.  So starting tonight I think I will dedicate an hour to baby preparations each night.  No, really...I will!

Back to the original statement: I have not properly blogged about this baby!  Partly because I am too busy with the rest of my life, and partly because time just ticks by unrelentingly.  But I am finally ready to let new baby take over my life.  First of all I am thrilled to finally get my homebirth I've always wanted.  With my first two I loved my midwives (CNMs) so much that I was willing to birth at the hospital in order to have them with me.  Then with my third I decided even though I thoroughly loved the midwives, it was time to have a homebirth.  It didn't work out due to insurance issues-ridiculous they can FORCE you to have a birth THEY decide on-and my son was born at the hospital.  I was bound and determined, even if it meant selling one of the other kids (just kidding), to have  it MY way this time.  No hassle of packing a bag (I always had trouble with that part somehow), no worries about childcare, no loud nurses hootin and hollering all night long. Just the peace of being in my own home with my family, being able to cuddle in my own bed, and shower without begging permission.  Ahh, bliss.

I'm currently at that stage where nature tries to prepare you for the sleep deprivation that comes after the baby is born.  Stupid nature must have not gotten the memo that I have been sleep-deprived for 6 years I don't need her interference.  First comes the moment of pure happiness when the children go to sleep and I get to raid the kitchen for all my hidden goodies.  The desire to do this is so strong there is no way I could fight it.  None.  After my treats and couch-potato combo the heartburn creeps up.  I know it's coming before I even start snacking, but it doesn't stop me.  No worries, however, because I have Tums stashed all over the house (and in the car).  The real show is while I'm warming the couch watching true crime shows...which is really an unhealthy habit considering the raging hormones.  I learned long ago, with my second pregnancy, that putting bowls of cereal, ice cream, or plates of cake on my belly as if it were a tray is a BAD idea.  How did I learn?  I was innocently eating a bowl of Lucky Charms and my daughter suddenly pushed the bowl off of my tummy and onto the floor.  And me.  And the couch.  So I don't sit food on my bump anymore, but I do put the remote or my phone there, and every night the show in my belly is better than whatever show on TV I'm watching.  It starts with the baby kicking the items off.  I poke him (or her!), he pokes back.  I "pet" my belly, he gets excited and squirms around.  You'd think after an hour or more the wee one would be tuckered out.  Nope, not MY kids.



Another one of my favorite things is letting the other kids "play" with their sibling-it really creates a bond before baby arrives.  The boys will lay their heads on my belly and when they get kicked they throw themselves to the floor and say, "Whoa!" like they have actually been karate kicked to the ground. Makes me laugh every time.  And my only girl, my eldest, insists that we call the baby "Baby Sarah".  It doesn't matter that there is a good chance we're going to have a boy-it's Baby Sarah or nothing!  On the other end of the spectrum I literally had a 20 minute discussion with my middle son about why Jack Sparrow is not a practical name for a baby.  It ended with him pretty angry and shooting my ugly looks.  This is new territory for me since when I had my last the other two were only 4 and 2.  They didn't have opinions about names, gender, or anything else.  They just knew another baby was coming, but in an abstract kind of way.

There.  Now I feel much less guilty about not showering attention on the bump.  Prepare to be bombarded with baby blog posts!  ;)

See, Kids? The "baby" Doesn't Get EVERYTHING!

I was really busy putting away Christmas decorations and cleaning so I asked the kids to find something to do.  The two older kids went and got their baby albums...and Luke asked, "Where's mine?"  Oops.

Should I tell him that my firstborn has a scrapbook from 0-6 months, another from 6-12 months, one from 1-2 years, and then albums on top of those?  Should I point out that my second child does not have any scrapbook at all, yet has photos from his first two years neatly organized into albums?  And then explain that I was shorthanded (literally...I needed an extra hand!), and too tired to process photos of him, my third?  I did TAKE the photos...I have a dozen memory cards somewhere in this house. I also had a million from his first few months on my phone, which was stolen (I blogged about it) before I transferred them.  I have not printed a single picture of this child.  Ever.  He will be three in April and he doesn't have a picture of himself...unless you count the Christmas card photos...

Nah, I didn't tell him all those thoughts that flashed through my mind in less than 3 seconds.  Instead I handed him an album of Patrick's and passed it off as his.  He believed me and said, "Aww, that's me", and I have to admit I felt really bad.  I'll get to his pictures soon...REALLY, I will!

THAT'S Why You're Supposed to Call First...

Why do people ALWAYS show up when it is the very least convenient?

It never fails:
The children are playing peacefully with their educational, environmentally friendly toys.  Their hair freshly washed and combed, teeth sparkly-white, clothes wrinkle-free and clean.  The house is immaculate, smells nice, and a pie is in the oven.  WHY can't people unexpectedly drop by to witness this?  (Okay, yes-the answer is admittedly because "this" has never actually happened, but there are times that the kids are not fighting and we all look presentable at least.)

No, no.  People want to show up when we look positively homeless.  Case in point:
Yesterday I was sitting in the carport happily neglecting my housework and watching the kids play.  I was wearing the worst of the worst, last-resort-laundry-day clothes, my hair had not yet seen a brush...and I looked the BEST out of all of us.  The youngest was your typical RV park poster child, complete with snotty nose and chocolate-smeared face.  He was in head-to-toe cammo, and his "shirt" was actually pajamas.  The middle child was in shorts on a chilly day, and nothing else.  My daughter did her own hair hours before, and had played hard since, making it look like I stuck her head in an electric mixer.  She was sitting on her bike, fruitlessly pedaling and not going anywhere since the chain was dangling pitifully and obviously broken.
I did not have time to rush everyone inside, turn out the lights, and pretend we weren't available when the lady whom lives down the street slowed her car down to a pace that only meant one thing: she was stopping at our house.  Let me explain that this isn't our cute, friendly old-lady neighbor from right next door.  This is a woman we rarely talk to, and has earned herself a spot on my list of Top 5 Gossip Mongers I've Ever Known.  The way I was positioned she could not see me and I couldn't see her.  My truck was blocking me since I was sitting in a chair in front of it.  Before I saw her I heard, "Where are your shoes?" and "Where is your momma...you're running around outside alone?"
During our "small talk" I had to repeatedly ask child #2 to stop swinging an extension cord around like a lasso.  And child #3 was pushing a stroller around (and by "pushing" I mean ramming it into the wall at top speed repeatedly), which wouldn't have been a big deal except that it is very loud, and when pushed inside a carport the sound is echoed.  It was basically a white trash three-ring circus.

To make matters worse, I couldn't get out of my chair to either distract the kids or for us to walk away from the commotion because I had my legs pulled up to cover my big belly buddy.  We have managed to keep the pregnancy from most of our neighbors (only the cute little old ladies next door and across the street are in on our secret).  So I looked like a fabulous mom with my out of control, misbehaving, unkempt kids while I jut sat there stupidly.

Gotta love people you barely know dropping by unexpectedly.  :)
...It's ALMOST as bad as the Mormon boys knocking on your door while you're having a dance party with little kids in the living room and as you shamelessly do The Sprinkler they are staring dead at you through the window.  And you only notice them as they walk away shaking their heads in a "that poor, lost soul" kind of way.  Seriously-women whom have small children should be exempt from unannounced visitors!

Okay, I do feel better now.  

Bad Day...Disney Style

We went to Disney since daddy got two days off in a row.  Our friends were going to be there the second day so we all hung out together, and I even decided to stay an extra day and catch a ride home with them.  I thought the munchkins would sleep in a bit after staying up past their bedtime and running around the Magic Kingdom all day, but alas they sprang out of bed at 5:45.  

We filled our bellies with "free continental breakfast", and left for the parks.  The air inside Disney gates is different; it gifts one with the ability to see through a child's eyes and it's called The Happiest Place on Earth for a reason.  Unless, of course, you are ME.  Then you can expect a day slightly less magical...

We met up with our buddies at Hollywood Studios and stopped for lunch at the Commissary.  Something went wrong in the kitchen so while our friends got their food, poor Rick was stuck waiting amongst a growing mob to get our meals.  During the time he was waiting the rest of us were sitting at the table chatting.  There was a family of two girls, a mom, and dad sitting to my right and out of the corner of my eye I noticed the mom looking at me (a feeling I am all too familiar with), and I turned towards her just in time to hear her say "...he squirted it on me...".  And then I noticed she was covered in mayo.  Literally from head to foot.  It was on her clothes, up and down her back, and on her legs.  Luke was returning her stare and was holding an empty condiment packet.  My jaw dropped as I slowly put the pieces together, and I started apologizing.  Luke was just sitting there nonchalantly without a clue what the fuss was over.  He had some on his shirt, but nothing compared to his poor victim.  He was playing with a packet of mayonnaise, and obviously he bent it at such an angle that it burst open and shot across the aisle onto the mom.  I couldn't bring myself to tell her that it was all over the back of her head in her hair.  After a minute or two she pointed out that it was even in the plant on the other side of their table.  We all laughed about that.  No wonder Americans are overweight; how much mayonnaise does one packet contain!?

After lunch we decided to see the Indiana Jones stunt show and immediately afterwards I asked Luke if he needed to go potty, to which he answered very convincingly "NO".  The other kids went to go on a ride, and my kids stayed with me.  The adults were talking when I heard Sarah screeching, "MOM!!!!  MOM!!!!  LOOK!!!!!!! OH NO, MOM!!!".  She was pointing at Luke, who had the "oh no" look on his face, and a puddle forming at his feet.  No one would have noticed if Sarah hadn't so kindly informed the surrounding area with her screaming and pointing.  So in front of all the people around us, who were staring, I moved the stroller into a position to hide him somewhat and stripped off his wet clothes to change him into his spare outfit I always bring, but never have to use.  After wiping him, changing his clothes, and putting his wet clothes into a bag, I started weighing my options.  His shoes were completely soaked, dripping wet.  I could either leave the park, buy shoes, and come back (by the time I did that I may as well stay at the hotel since it was getting dark already), or I could let him be that kid who runs barefoot in Disney (no), or I could spend my life's savings on shoes at a store on property (sigh, my only real option).  Off we went in search of shoes...which happens to be surprisingly hard in December in Disney.  Many castmembers informed us that after Summer, when the flip-flops run out of stock they are not replenished.  Yay.

We finally found one store with some shoes left.  As I was gaping in helpless horror at the price tags, Luke helped himself to our Coke and promptly dropped it.  Coke splashed everywhere and I tried to cover the huge lake of sticky Coke with the stroller (to avoid causing someone injury) while I ran in search of paper towels.  The young woman behind one of the counters got a roll of paper towels and a trash can and came over to clean up the mess.  I was on the ground helping her, explaining that this was my last trip to Disney World after having passes since my middle child was 2, and I was having a hard time dealing with it.  ...And that this was not the way I wanted to end my visits.  Then I pointed out my barefoot, mayo-squirting, Coke-drenched child and told her we were there searching for shoes, but that they were $35, and I couldn't bring myself to spend that amount on shoes, even if they were really cute Mickey Mouse shoes.  Then Luke grabbed a $20 pair of flip-flops and ripped the tag off right in front of her and I just looked at her with pathetic "I'm sorry" eyes.  She said to hold on a minute, which I did because I felt downright defeated, and I was right in the middle of asking God if He was ruining my last Disney days on purpose to help me not miss it, when she reappeared and handed us the flip-flops with no charge.  I was able to see the Osborne Lights once more because of the awesomeness of the Disney family.

Lots of other little things went wrong (my relentless, excruciating back pain, boys' bloody knees, rain...), but I will look back on those days with fondness and a smile.  Because there's no such thing as a bad day at Disney!