A Lecture, a Lesson, and a Tulip

When cooking dinner, I get a lot of "ew, I don't like that Mom!" or "I don't want that!" and sometimes just plain "NOoooo's!" from my kids. Young picky eater's combined with my complete cluelessness with a spatula means I probably hear it more often than most. Today though, I HAD HAD IT! My girl's had been playing with friends for almost three hours, close to one hour longer than was allowed. I finally call over to my neighbor's house and am told they are on their way. I try not to be too hard on them when they are late, after all, they can't even tell time, but they are supposed to at least remember to ask their friends' mom's if they will tell them when it's time to go home. Madisen told me she forgot (convenient aye?), and I give a quick not-quite-lecture about the importance of coming home on time. When they follow me into the kitchen and see I'm cooking dinner, automatically the "I don't want's" and "ew's" come out in full swing.

"Out of My Kitchen!!" I demand. Sometimes it just gets that way right? A mother hen should feel appreciated by her little chicks every once in a while gosh darn it and today they better get ready to appreciate!!

Madisen start's out with a "but Mom, I "
"Nope, out"
"Mom, but I just"
"Nope, you were late, I just spent an hour cooking for you so you wouldn't be hungry, and I am not going to hear it tonight!"
the whine starts---> "No, but, Mom, just, I"
"No, I'm tired of this, you should learn to just say thank you for dinner, and eat it and I'm not going to put up with it tonight, so GET IN YOUR ROOM NOW!!"
tears rolling---> "but Mom (sob) I made this for you (sob) so you would be happy!!"

Do you ever get that feeling like you've been punched in the gut? I look at her hands holding out a little Popsicle stick with a blue construction paper flower and some random thread taped around it with "Mom" written in crayon. Ouch.

She was already running crying to her room when I recovered from the mom-shame. My daughter is forgiving. Thankfully. After a more gentle lecture than originally intended both Madisen and Shea came out to dinner a few minutes later officially humbled.

But not more than me.

Ah, that little one. This must be why the Lord sent me such a loving forgiving child. He knew I would need it when my temper and quick words get the best of me. I taped her flower to the computer monitor in a feeble attempt to make her see I appreciate it. After all, it is pretty darn sweet even if it did come with a hard lesson. Aren't little kid gifts the best?

Quirky Food Fights

My kids are quirky. It's quite possibly Andrew's fault. They have issues with what they will allow themselves to eat. Pete still does not allow his foods to touch each other on his plate. Maybe he's afraid they will fight. Either way I've decided my next two examples are obviously directly descended from Andrew's blood pool.

I served the boy pizza tonight for dinner. He kept picking up his piece and then dropping it and crying. It almost looked like he didn't like the thought of his hands getting messy in the sauce. He was so frustrated I decided I would help him out by lifting the pizza to his mouth for him. Still he would cry and push it away. Dumfounded, I turn to Pete for help and he looks at me as if I'm missing something big here. He takes the pizza, flips it upside down so the sauce is out of view, and the boy picks it up and happily munches away. "He always eats it upside down, you didn't know that?"

Nope. I'm the idiot.

This next example happened last week in the car, and thankfully you all know I'm not one to pick on Pete or I might tell you, that again , this directly reflects Father parenting. I would never tell you that.

Madisen to Shea:

Q:Why are you're toenails all short and gone away?

A: Oh, because I eated them.

Don't you find it odd that one of my children will happily munch on something he found stuck to the bottom of his shoe and not bat an eye, but cannot stand to place pizza in his mouth unless placed precisely in the right way?

Don't you also find it odd that another one of my children refuses to eat ice cream, but has found a way to become self sufficient by eating parts of her body? I would never point fingers, but for the record, I am decidedly weird-food-quirk free, where Pete is afraid of a battle against lasagna and a cucumber. Just sayin'

Plunger Promenade

There are some purchases that just shouldn't be made on their own. Sometimes it's necessary to pull random things off the isle and onto the cashier belt in order to cushion your embarrassment. Last night, I didn't feel like cushioning anything. I had no shame. The day was awful, one of those Jodi and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day days. I kicked it off bright and early breaking my dishwasher disposal by bombarding it with leftover stinky potato peels. Turns out disposals don't like spud peels anymore than I do. I call my husband and he asks me to stop at the store to grab a cheap plunger to suck the peels out of the sink. Because I’m miserable with allergies today my eyes were bloodshot and swollen and my nose was full of mucus (stupid pollen), I decided to swallow my pride and buy the darn plunger sans any random item cushion. Let the cashier think what she will. I scoured the store for any sign of a plunger. I didn't dare ask for help; wandering the isles alone with a clearly-sick face and asking for a plunger wasn't really my cup o’ tea. Strangely enough I found them next to the kitchen cleaners in the far back corner of the store. Hmm. With plunger in hand, I wonder how I'm going to make it to the checkout this way without running into someone I know because this is one of the worst possible and therefore most likely times I would. I avoid the isles and skirt through the baby diaper and swimsuit section; head low, object behind back. I appear to examine a tankini while the last person in line finishes up. When I rush forward and place the plunger on the belt, I find I don't know what to do with my hands. I can imagine what she's thinking, so how do I act casual? How do I stop my face from turning so red and for crying out loud, how do I get her to hurry the heck up?! After she rings me up for the $3 vexation, she has the audacity to ask me if I need a bag! Of course! I'm not trudging the rest of the way out to my car exposed like this! I hastily grab the sack and turn to leave. I pass the next check-out over, and see someone who curiously resembles me, awkward stance and all. I pass slowly and peek over at her single item purchase: Pregnancy test-no other items. Our eyes meet after she spots my plunger handle. I give her the courtesy look-away, and keep moving-- cowardly deciding to never again go the brave single purchase route- no cushion.

---

CSI: Jodi Robs Walmart Checker

It's good that we are all such close friends around here. This way I feel like I can spill my deep dark secrets. Like the fact that by day I participate in thievery. Hold that thought.

It's no wonder I despise grocery shopping. I never make it all the way through without incident. Today was a relatively short shopping trip, I had a list and everything. At about the half hour mark, the poor boy had fallen asleep in the cart seat. We had no jackets with us to cushion his poor little head (darn this warm weather), so in order to lessen the times his forehead clonked on the cart handle, we decided to skeedadle to the checkout.
Now, recently Andrew and I have come across Dave Ramsey and his book "Total Money Makeover". We've been following his wickedly simple advice, which in part involves using envelopes for expenditures like groceries. So on my way out today, I grabbed the little "grocery envelope". In order to head off a tantrum storm, I allowed my kids to talk me into an extra box of plain pasta (apparently the thought of anything but elbow macaroni was just unbearable to Shea). Plain pasta can't hurt, right? It's a dollar a box, Jack's ready to clunk his noggin again, let's avoid the whine/mom explanation/fit fest, grab another box and just get the heck out of here.
So at the check out, get this: I'm $0.73 cents short. Are you kidding me? I do a quick inner debate to decide whether I should use the debit card, or just put something back. Trying to stick to the budget, I grab the macaroni, and ask her to take it off.
The young checker smiles sweetly and refuses, stating she'll just give me a dollar. I try to quickly explain (the line is piling up behind me) that, no in that case I'll just use my card, after all, I have the money, I just didn't want to bother with the debit card when I was so close. To my horror, she pulls one straight from her own pocket, takes my cash, and rings it up.
Here was my dilemma: She looked so happy to be helping me out, that I just didn't have the heart to argue with her. However, I had the money and didn't like the idea that she pulled one from her own pocket when I really didn't need the tantrum avoiding pasta. And the part I'm most unhappy to admit, is that my pride was hurt more than anything. I was so embarrassed knowing everyone in line thought I couldn't pay for my food.
The whole drive home I felt horrible. What if she needed that dollar for her lunch break? Did the fact that I have no backbone mean I just robbed the poor checkout girl?

I've learned a few things from this experience:

If I'm using cash at the store, bring a calculator for crying out loud

There are wonderfully kind people in this world

Always carry coats for the boy to crash on if necessary, and

Pasta is evil.

So, did I just commit robbery? What would you have done?

There Once Was a Daddy Who Lived In a Shoe

One time, when I was five years old, I was getting ready for school. I was trying to put on my shoe, but it wasn't fitting. It felt like a sock or something was shoved against the toe. I got my dad to help me, and he couldn't get it on either, which was weird since the matching shoe fit fine. He pulled my foot out and out crawled a ginormous daddy-long-leg.

Creepy eh? Daddy long-legs are huge anyway, but to a five year old ack! He was big enough that I did not squish him when shoving my foot against his body. The creepy bugger held his own.

Yesterday I was putting on one of my shoes and I felt something suspicious when I put my foot in. I jerked it back out and threw the shoe on the ground. Upon close (hesitant) inspection, I found the shoe to be free of any creepies.

I still couldn't put it on for an hour.

Soggy Scone Bandit

The Setup:
A young, vibrant, intelligent, brunette, multi-tasking (yay, mom plug!) mother was readying herself for the shower when the phone rang. Leaving the water running, she steps out of the room to answer it.

The Crime:
Mother notices the pre-made scones for the family's weekly go cheap and easy navajo taco dinner have gone mysteriously missing.



The Evidence:
A chair left carelessly near the scene of the crime, and pulled against the counter indicates the bandit is disadvantaged by an unfortunate lack of height.



The Capture:
Ah, brilliant strategy used by the bandit: ducking into the running shower to throw us off of his scent so he can consume his soggy goods.

Unfortunately for this duck, his number is up.



The Punishment:




Mom's Motto: Go tough or go home. He'll never think of attempting this again.

This one is for Julie!!

Andrew was really hungry this evening so he decided to grab some pepperoni from the fridge

He started to eat it, but:


Thankfully I was there to stop him.



I almost made this mistake yesterday, but fortunately caught sight of a crucial message printed on the back:



Crucial message ^^^

Whew! That could have been uncomfortable! So thankful for safety messages! So is Pete:

Hey! Check out my new writing gig! strollerreviews.net

Wicked Sugared Conversations

A few of you know about my battles against yummy sugary food. I have a strong opinion that it's of the devil. You may remember my posts here and here, supporting my argument. I know there's some of you who still think I'm some crazy lady who thinks food speaks to her. To prove my point, let's just remember the most evil of them all: Valentine's conversation hearts. Despite their slight chalkiness making most people question whether it's candy or an antacid, I believe them to have come straight from H-E-double-hockey-L's. I've lived almost 28 years, and still have not ever grilled up a plain chicken breast, only to see it embossed with "Kiss Me" across it's flesh. Never has my unassuming green salad spelled out "I love you" in carrots, nor has my rice cake flat out demanded "be mine". However, I have had some squishy green spinach try to come close to "I Do" only to shlop onto my plate, plainly stating to me: "Please Don't".





I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Happy Sappy

Get ready to read a pretty sappy post. Remember you were warned.

I saw a friend of mine I hadn't seen since we moved this past friday night. I actually saw quite a few friends I hadn't seen in a while which was super-duper awesome, because they know how to party (can you say Leatherby's?) Anyway, she gave me an awesome compliment, saying how when she's having a bummer day, she comes over to read my blog. I was seriously so flattered, and humbled. When I first started writing, I had no idea anyone besides my mom would even be interested in my stories. (After all, they're usually about me embarrassing myself in some way). I now have several awesome friends who come over to read regularly, some who I haven't even seen in ages. There are even some who I've never met, who read regularly, which, to me is incredible. I'm not bringing this up to brag or toot my own horn, I am just trying to thank every one of you who leaves comments of encouragement, or those who just stop by to quickly read. Your comments have given me the confidence to accept the Newspaper job which was offered to me, and also apply for other writing jobs (one I was hired for so far! ). I would not have any kind of confidence to do the thing I love most if it weren't for your caring words. So please feel comfortable leaving comments, I love to hear from you. To sum up my thanks I just want to say:

Thanks for giving a hoot!! You guys are the best!!

Wonder Where She Got That From?

This past week Madisen has been driving me crazy with the question: "Really?" It seems after every thing I say to her, a "really?" follows whether necessary or not.
"Madisen, I need you to clean up your room before going to a friends"
"Really?" yes really.
"Yes, you will be 11 when your sister turns 9."
"Really?" yes. really
"We're leaving to the store, hop in the car"
"Really?" For crying out loud! Really!!!!
Yesterday I was putting laundry away and she came in and told a whopper of a story, that lasted several minutes about what sort of valentines she was going to make, and who she would pass them out to at school. I listened for a while, but had my mind on other things, and just sort of tuned out. When she was done, she seemed to expect a response. Guess what genius return I heard myself come back with? That's right folks.
"Oh, really?"

Yes, Mom. Really.

Losing it on the Cute Coat

The day started out well. I had plans to go to my daughters school for Parent Teacher Conferences. An outing! A blessed, blessed outing. A reason to don more than a sweatshirt for the entire day (or week as this has been a very "inside" kind of week). To celebrate my coming out of hermitism, I pulled out the cute coat. The only coat that has any shape to it for on this day, my friends, I am driving farther than the bus stop. And who knows, I might see someone! Hurrah! So I hop in the car with my little boy, feeling good, and ignoring the fact I forgot to change my housecleaning, light colored, almost-holey-but-not-in-a-fashion-kind-of-way-jeans(after all I am in my cute-coat and I think they counterbalance to produce some sort of mid-grade hotness right?) and we're on our way. I pull up to the school and debate whether I should park close to the office where I have to check in, or the classroom where I will be leaving from. Office won out, although, close is relative: the only spot open was as far from the office that close could be. The Boy had a mild fever this morning as a result, I believe, of teething. For those of you who don't know him, let me just explain that The Boy is not a small child. He's a thick and tall little eighteen month old. So I'm carrying my chunky, but cuddly, fevery little boy and we tromp across the asphalt to the office. The boy is starting to get heavy, but he's so cute, and besides, genetics from my father's side has equipped me with appropriate Mamma hips. We finally pop in the office only to be told that it was unnecessary and they send us on our way to the classroom. We get to wait outside because Previous Mom obviously has no regard for other people's failing arms. I can't put the boy down because he has now taken a turn for the worse and is obviously feeling pretty crummy. So we stand outside in the frigid weather, me clutching the 30 squishy pounds to my body in hopes I won't drop his hot weight on the frozen concrete. Previous Mom really likes to talk. Ugh. Oh yay! 15 heavy minutes later, Mrs. E open's the door and P.Mom walks out. THEN IT HAPPENED!! The Boy (I'm sorry there's no nice way to say this) lost his breakfast. All over himself, his poor stuffed puppy, and yes cute-coat. Sad.
"Um, I think I'll reschedule. . . " I manage, and Teach laughs and says, " Okay, well, at least you weren't inside! Ha ha!" Hmmph. Cute little joke. She hands us a couple paper towels and takes the next Mom in line. Off comes the boy's coat and into the dumpster it goes. Fortunately cute-coat is not a casualty, so it gets crumpled up into a ball. Now I no longer have a 30 lbs toddler clinging to me, I have a 100 lbs (at least he feels that way now) ticking time bomb, turned outward just in case, and leaning slightly over cute-coat which has now turned pathetically into barf catcher. We get to trek across the never ending lot this way. What do you know? I did see someone today! Lot's of someone's loitering in the massive parking lot who were fortunate enough to see my my ample derriere sticking back at a funny angle so I can lean over ToddlerTime Bomb, who needs to lean over cute-barf-catcher. Thankfully we made it home without another episode. Once we get home, I stick the boy in the bath while I stretch out my gumby arms. When he's dressed, I lay him on the couch for a snuggle with his squishy 30 lbs, and droopy eyes. I decide tonight is a cereal for dinner night, and we both drift to sleep. Him dreaming of Mom of course *wink* and me: dreaming (of course) of a new Cute-coat.