That Boy ...

Hunter Bunter is the frickin' Energizer Bunny! I don't know how he does it, but you'd swear he's on crack. He could probably bottle up what he has in his blood and sell it to dopeheads like Whitney and Bobby. He can stay up til 1 or 2am with a nap or no nap and wake up at 6 or 7am, screaming, "Mom the sun's up, so get up." While I, in a zombie like state, reach to strangle him, but miss!

Hunter Bunter proud of his big boy underwear! In mentioning, his big boy underwear, I just thought I'd share a story about our toilet training experience. When his grandmother purchased these underwear, I told him if he pooed or peed in them I would throw them away. Thinking this would work. I came to my desk one morning to find pee flooding the floor and a nice long terd plopped on my desk. Well, he didn't poo or pee in his underwear now did he?

3 Man Fartin' Band

Geez! My boys and husband could create their own band with the variety of farts they provide. It is quite interesting, but stinky (as my husband is known as the "Green Fog"). They could title their record, "Stink." The songs could be entitled, "What's that stench?", "Pull my finger", "That's the night that I lost my sense of smell", and "It was the cabinets." My husband has turned my boys into farting machines and I find no humor in it. Hunter Bunter even asked my dad in church to pull his finger, he made a farting noise and laughed. They make music with it and force each other to smell it. One night my husband farted and Seth(ocrates) came around the corner running to tackle him and you'd swear there was an invisible force field around my husband, because Seth(ocrates) hit it and said, "Whoah! God that stinks Dad!" and fell down. Just a little sympathy would be nice for the woman who has to listen and smell the "3 Man Fartin' Band".

Breakfast Guest

My sister-in-law sent me this story about their experience in Scotland with some very large birds, I just had to share it with everyone. Had pictures, but of course blogger is not working with me. "I just thought you might enjoy seeing pictures of some surprise guests we had Monday morning. Ethan was in the living room watching cartoons, and I was taking a bath upstairs when they arrived. Ethan came up to tell me about the big black birds in the yard. I told him they where probably ravens, thinking (quite naturally) that he was exaggerating when he shouted "They're bigger than me". When he failed to get the response from me that he craved, he dragged Hayden out of bed and down the stairs to see them. At which point Hayden started to scream "TURKEYS, mom we have turkeys in the yard." Being of true cajun blood, both then decided that we should have turkey for dinner and let Savannah (the dog) out. I was finally able to convince them that perhaps the farmer up the road may take offense to us killing his escaped fowl. In the bushes behind the turkeys was a pheasant. The day before we had about 5 grouse running about the yard. Ethan says (and I quote) "What next cows and sheep?""

Get OUT!

10 Signs you need to get out more often: 1. The highlight of your day is your trip to the mailbox at least here the creditors may find you, but they would let you pee in peace. 2. You can get drunk on Starbucks Coffee. 3. Conversations begin with "What do you think I am doing?" 4. Mac-n-cheese has become your new favorite delicacy. 5. You can recite all the words to all Disney songs with feeling. 6. You catch yourself watching Disney channel even when your kids are not around. 7. Your children ask you if you have any friends. 8. You've run out of Bath and Body Works Eucalyptus Spearmint Body Wash, so you settle for Spiderman's Watermelon Kid's Wash instead. 9. You have more playdates a week, than real dates a year. 10. You take the time to think of 10 Signs You Need to Get Out More Often!

BOYS!!

My boys are from another dimension. There must have been some time space continuum I missed. I don't get their humor. Maybe I'm just a stiff and dry mom, but ending every word with BUTT is not as hilarious as one may think. Hunter Bunter is so similar to his dad, in that he laughs at himself. I sit there thinking they have got to be sharing some brain wave that I'm missing due to a bad connection. Hunter Bunter and his dad got into a name calling match (which I in no way condone, but is harmless - well I hope so, okay there goes the guilt again).

Anyway it went something like this:

Husband: Monkey Boy
Hunter Bunter: Monkey Boy BUTT (laughs at self)
Husband: Silly
Hunter Bunter: Silly BUTT (laughs at self, dad as well)
(Now turning into a joke)
Husband: Scratch my back, BUTT
Hunter Bunter: Knock, Knock Who's There? BUTT (laughing hysterically)
Husband: Okay, Power Ranger
Hunter Bunter: Power Ranger BUTT BUTT (laughing with tears)

This went on quite awhile until I BUTTED in!!! Oh! God I'm doing it, too.

Can't Take Him Anywhere

To anyone who may know my husband, they know without me saying He is as Cajun as they come. We are sitting in Olive Garden having a nice dinner, surprisingly without kids due to some sad circumstances, but anyhow a night away and out comes "They sure do have a lot of wine here." Now that may not sound bad, yet he is kind of loud about it. Then he proceeds to say again, "Look it's everywhere." I'm sitting here thinking he can't be serious. The waitress then comes for our order and he makes an inquiry about the salad, "It's the big one right." As if we haven't been here a hundred times or so and he doesn't know it's a big salad. He then asks, "What kind of salad, do you serve here?" Again, normal questions but you have to understand, he asks the same freakin' questions every time. Thank God, we don't get the same waitress or I would just have to tell her he has amnesia or something. So, we are sitting waiting for our food and he blurts out, "I don't have a spoon, if I owned a joint like this everyone would have a spoon." Stating this as if he is making a promise to America, "I vow to improve our children's education, decrease taxes, and to have a spoon in every restaurant." What next? "They probably make a pretty penny here, huh?" We are now questioning The Olive Garden Restaurant's success. I don't even begin to answer any of his questions or respond because all I can do is shake my head and think why do I take him anywhere. So, now we have gotten our meal. I'm praying conversation is going to improve that maybe he is just lacking oxygen and nutrients to the brain, maybe we can talk about something a little more serious or at least important. Wrong!!! Again, loud and proud, "You know this is going to go straight through me, I hope I can make it to our house." @#$%, please God save me from my Cajun husband. I eat thinking if I just hurry, maybe he won't say anything else and try as I may to change the conversation he still keeps coming with the one liners for everyone to hear. "I hope you have enough money for this, because I don't." Ugh!!! What's sad about this is, this is not the first time. Once in a nice department store, he looked at a pair of shorts and loudly stated, "$25 for a pair of shorts, I can go to Wal-mart and get them cheaper than that." And another time in Chuck E. Cheese, "The pizza at Pinnochio's is so much better." Or the time we were in a fancy restaurant and the waiter began to place a napkin on his lap and he yelled, "whoah, buddy I ain't like that."  To make sense of it all would take a century or more, but he knows he is so embarrassing and enjoys every minute of my cringing, hands in front the face, wide-eyed, sinking under the table reactions; thinking God just strike me down now and he just laughs - laughs at himself. If only everyone thought they were funny, maybe they could all be as wonderful as my husband is.

Oh Guilt! You Haunt Me So!

Guilt, by definition in the "mother guidebook", an overwhelming feeling that you have somehow or another affected your children in a negative way through their upbringing and will spend eternity blaming yourself for all the wrong paths they take. Guilt, something all mothers live with. You'll feel guilty that you may not have given them a wholesome breakfast, or sent your child off to school, but not before yelling at them, spending all day writing and reading blogs, watching mindless TV, telling your child that Power Rangers doesn't play today,  or telling your hubby that due to your lack of sleep most of your body parts won't function properly so don't ask me for anything tonight.

Most of all, my guilt lies in what I may slip up with every once in awhile. Did I say something that will scar my child until late adulthood? Will he or she carry that emotional baggage with them and seek counseling for me telling them to "Shut-up" while American Idol was on, instead of "Be Quiet, Please!" Why do we torture ourselves with such thoughts? It's called anxiety or worry, but I'm going to give it another name for light of humor - Inyamama. So, when I'm spinning in a downward spiral of tears and my little one asks me why - I can turn around and say "Mommy has Inyamama. It's all in ya' mama's head, baby don't worry"

Blossoming Conversations

My three-old son has to stop coming to the bathroom with me. He now believes I pee out my butt. What do you tell him? Any advice would be nice. All I could think of in the moment was, "No, mommy pees out her flower." What!!! I don't know what to say. How stupid! I'm sure this one is going to bite me back soon, since he does know what flowers are. I can hear him saying to the kids in the park, "See these flowers, my mommy pees out of them." Great conversation starter.

Heck on Liberty, Give me some Space ...

In the room, in the living room, in the kitchen, outside, in the laundry room, in the bathroom - I feel as though I'm being raided. It's just such a coincidence that my children are right there every step I take. It never fails that when I leave one room that they migrate to that room. I love having my children around, but sometimes I feel I have a magnet on my butt that pulls them into every room I enter. When I realize one is distracted I make a mad dash to the bathroom, lock it, and pee in peace. It's a race, a race for space. How far can I get before they realize I'm not there? And it's not just my kids, I think my husband is in on the game, too. Especially when I'm on the phone. It's like a silent alarm goes off and one sends out the morse code to the others to say "Breaker, breaker mother goose is on the loose. 10-4. We are sending Jack and Jill up the hill." And as you desperately send out the SOS of mother sign language to go to the other room or quiet down, they look at you like you are some mad woman that needs to be committed.

SuperMoms

Got sick last week and you swear that WWIII broke out in my house. I was running a fever of 102 and was laid up in bed for a few hours. My mistake thinking the household could run without me. My mistake thinking at least the house won't be torn apart. Hello, what was I thinking? When I awoke from my world of feverville filled with hallucinations - I found a fingerpainting of lotion on my bathroom mirror and another display of art using the medium "Ivarest" (maybe you've heard of it - it's the newest trend - poison ivy cream) in my shower. Did I dare venture to the rest of the house - of course - let's get it over with. Streamers of beautiful white toilet paper decorated my living room and brightly colored fruit loops lay on display on the kitchen floor. A white blanket of snow on my tabletop, looking quite similar to powdered donuts, and a wonderful structure built of VCR tapes lay on the floor. Now how could I get mad, I may have the next Picasso or Michelangelo under my roof. This expression of art of course was cleaned up, but I wasn't asking myself what will I do with this child. I was asking myself why didn't I ever hear of stories like this from my mom or other moms. Do you want to know why, because Moms don't get sick! At least they didn't long ago. So, to all those moms of long ago - please tell me what you drank, what you ate, what kind of air were you breathing, or heck did ya smoke somethin' - give me the secret of Supermom before my next Art Show.

No Easy Street Here ...

Living near the Big Easy, definitely doesn't make life easy. I look at my little girl's smile and I wonder if she realizes what she has in store for her as she grows up. The position of female is a hard one to fill. In her smile, I remember what joy it was to be a kid - naive, oblivious to the world outside our town, our home, our room. The enlightening teenage years that brought pimples on your face and dreams of crushes to your doorstep. Ah! those puberty years full of crushes, heartbreaks, restraints, and freedoms. Then comes the hard part, being the one who grows up to bleed for a week, bloat up like a hippo, and have breakdowns every 5 seconds. And when she's not PMSing, she's later bearing a baby, facing stretch marks & the reality of - there is no turning back now. Of course then there is the big, huge, enormous duty of a mother beginning with labor and delivery.  Yet she smiles, because the blessing of childhood is she doesn't know. She's happy just laying there without knowing the world outside her playpen. Her pleasantries come from friendly faces, smiles, strange baby talk, cuddling, farting, bottles and love. It doesn't matter that before she knows it she'll be the one cleaning up after the kids full of vomit and diarrhea or picking up after her husband, paying the bills, cooking, volunteering at school, taking the kids to the park, baking cookies for the bake sale, and coaching or cheering on her big star's team. It doesn't matter, because right now she's just Claire Bear and hasn't realized the path set before her. On second thought maybe she's just smiling because she does know and will enjoy every bit of it as I have. I then smile realizing the journey on the beaten path was worth taking.

Save the Drama for Your Mama!

While observing my godchild, Kyla and her sister, Kaydi, in their true form today for Kaydi's first birthday; I realized what my sister has in her home - TOO MUCH ESTROGEN! I think I have a lot to learn on handling girls. You'd think because I'm a girl myself (as my three old has informed me that I don't have a "birdie" I just have a butt - guess I'll be locking those bathroom doors now) anyway it seems that I would know how to handle girls. But I don't! I'm quite known as the tough mom and I stick it to them. I don't think girls respond well to, "Get over it," or "Do we need to cut it off? No, then you're fine." Those words are much more traumatic to them than to boys. My boys find it quite funny when somebody is hurt in some wicked way, so cutting off their arm they fell on might actually be fun. When a boy cries it may be for a moment, when a girl cries break out the orchestra, maybe a movie and popcorn - you are going to be there awhile. Trust me no belly bubbles work here. Let it be known - she wants to be heard and heard she will be. Can't say I'm that different though. Just ask my husband, he hears it quite often. But these are the most beautiful girls - emotional outbursts and all I could ever ask for - besides I can return them anytime I want.

Partners in Crime

Partners in crime. Where there are puddles - we will splash, where there are cries - we will scream along with, where there are corners - we will draw, where there is anything of value - we will be there - to break it. My boys are quite the adventurers and let it be known loud and proud (probably a maternal gene). Hunter is my second kid - In 2 seconds, he can manage a number of things - finding the hidden markers that I can't remember where I hid them and drawing his best impression of Picasso on the dining room wall, tables, chairs, & numerous other household items; managing to climb on a few cabinets to jump off the sofa and roll on the floor where he placed fruit loops, and finally able to pull out every DVD we own being sure to scratch each and every one of them along the way. Seth is the philosopher. His theories on life have become quite enlightening. Just this week, I was informed that his legs were getting older because he is now seven, so he can no longer get me the remote or turn off the light whenever I want him to. He also let me know that his sister doesn't just cry for nothing, she has a reason - "she's a baby, I'd cry too." They've adjusted well so far to having a baby sister - they've actually cut down the noise one decibel, and only require me to get up and discipline them every 10 minutes, instead of every 5. Progress!

Estrogen!!

Finally, estrogen in the family. It's been long awaited but her arrival has brought such joy that all the tremendous pain and agony over her pregnancy, labor, & delivery was well worth it. I just ask that my husband doesn't ask me for more kids or I will have him surgically implanted with my uterus. Claire is such a wonderful change to the norm in the family. I've already taken a picture of her in every outfit I can find due to the fact that I'm lucky if my boys put on any clothes at all. The birthday suit is the trend here. I look forward to the girly things, that's if my husband doesn't get to her first. Nonetheless, I will enjoy what girly things I can now, cuz all she can do is just lay there and take it like a lady. (HA!HA!)

My First Blog Adventure

This happens to be my first adventure in the "blog world." I just thought it would be quite interesting to share with others about the loads of motherhood (fatherhood is welcome as well). Sometimes it's just nice to know you are not the only one going through a crisis. That you are not the only one having a nervous breakdown before dawn or the only one thinking was I under the influence when I signed up for this. Don't get me wrong, I love my children (I have 3) as anyone can tell you, but sometimes late at night, or in the morning, or basically anytime I just wonder if I'm really qualified for this. So, in ending my first post I say to all those parents out there you are not alone. Let others know what you are going through you'll be surprised to know they may have had to take a Tylenol PM also.