Glossary of Terms for Moms

Sleep - Lying still with eyes closed, and then jumping up at five-minute intervals to find a pacifier.

Date – spending one hour getting dressed up, two hours telling a sitter what to do, fifteen minutes changing your clothes again because someone wiped their nose on you, getting in the car with your husband and deciding to go grocery shopping because it’s really all you have time to do before the sitter has to leave.

Baby-sitter - someone who will watch your kids while you are busy calling her every two minutes.

Baby - a small human, who eats, sleeps, cries, and goes potty while you somehow nurture her on instinct until she sleeps through the night and your brain works well enough that you can care for her on purpose.

Pet – the cute little thing you fall in love with when you’re pregnant, and can’t stand after your child is born. (AKA: Baby’s partner in crime)

Toddler - Baby 1.2 - does everything that a baby does but has the added features of walking and eating things found under couch cushions. Can also return affection (if properly napped).

Child – Baby 1.3 – upgrades on Baby 1.2 including no more need for diapers, ability to feed himself, extremely funny. Caution: will repeat naughty words at the worst moments.

Teen - Baby 1.4 - comes out of nowhere and replaces your baby. Does everything that a child does, but skips the affection and nap, and instead will perfect the art of wearing a glare for an entire week – even while sleeping.

Grandparents – Spoil Babies 1.2-1.3, then laugh as you encounter Baby 1.4 (Teen Version).

Vaccinations – an experience which requires a person to hold her child down while strangers stick needles into him. Highly traumatic, and may also bother the child.

Camera – device which, when attached to a mom or dad, causes Baby 1.1 to blink and squint for the entire first year of her life.

Facebook – a social networking website

Facebook for parents – a social networking website for babies who have seized control of their parents’ minds, causing frequent updates of things most people take for granted, such as the ability to roll over, sleep, eat or smile. (note: especially dangerous when combined with camera)

Dinner Conversation

Warrick (9):  I know a spider.

Me (19) (shutup):  Did you sit down beside her?

Warrick:  Yes

Me:  You didn't get frightened away?

Warrick:  No.

Huston (8):  (giggles)

Me:  Did you eat your curds and whey?

Huston:  (explodes with hilarity, after trying very hard not to show that he thought his mom said something funny)

Warrick:  Why do you always have to ask all kinds of difficult questions? 

Huston:  Are you Little...uh...haha...Miss...uh...(indecipherable muttering, as he tries to remember the name of the story)

Warrick:  (dead pan look at mom) And I don't have a tuffet.

Emma (4):  Can I have cheese all alone? 

Me:  Yes

Emma:  Really?

Me:  Yes

Emma:  REALLY?

Me:  Yes

Emma:  REALLY?

Me:  Eat the cheese.  My head hurts.

Dalton (7):  (whispers) Donovan, do you want the rest of my food?

Donovan (3):  (shakes head no)

Dalton:  (puts it on Donovan's plate anyway) Here, you can have this.

Donovan:  I DOH HAAAAAN IT!!!!!!!  (Translation:  I don't want it)  (throws everything on his plate away, in case it got contaminated with the things that came from Dalton's plate)

Madilynn (5):  Why do we have to wear pants at dinner, anyway? 

Me:  If you want to take your pants off, just go ahead and get ready for bed.

Madilynn:  But why?

Me:  (rolls eyes because I know how many times a five year old can ask why)

Madilynn:  (asks why a few hundred times)

Emma:  (in an offended tone) Don't eat the mashed potatoes, they taste just like mashed potatoes!

Everyone Else:  GROSS!!!!

Just Say No to Drugs

Last week, I was driving around town with the kids and we passed a drugstore.  This prompted all kinds of questions about what a drugstore is, why it's ok to sell drugs if drugs are bad, etc.  My kids are a little young for the drug talk, but I just answered their questions honestly and hoped that it was the beginning of many open discussions in the future in which I would be super-mom and my children would ask my permission and respect my authority and never ever ever do drugs.

In the middle of this talk, I was pulling into a gas station, trying to find a place to park.  There was a police officer at a gas pump, which I drove around to get to my spot.  We were about three feet away from him, windows down.  My youngest daughter (who has no inside voice AT ALL), yells "Mommy, look!  A police!"

I kind of giggled and continued driving.  Just as a made it around the pump and was in full view of the officer, the son who was sitting nearest him hollered through his open window "Yeah!  Mommy!  Don't buy DRUUUUUGS!!!!"  I almost died.

I have never almost never never bought drugs.  Apparently, our talk pretty much had the opposite effect of what I wanted.  My kids seem to think that it's ok to buy drugs from a drugstore (and possibly a gas station), as long as you don't take them, and as long as you NEVER do it in front of the police.

Awesome.

The Job

I have been separated from my husband for eight months, and living in my own place (as opposed to my grandma's house) for two.  It's been an interesting time for me, and I feel a little like I did when I was sixteen and trying to figure out Who I Am.  (side note:  I HATE people who feel the need to "Find Themselves".  This causes me great annoyance and displeasure.  I think people say they are Finding Themselves when what they really mean is that they are being Lazy at Life, Don't Judge Me Because I'm Only Experimenting and this May Not Be Me At All.  That being said, Finding Myself is exactly what I'm talking about here, but I don't hate myself for it, only everyone else.)

Biggest problem here is that I kinda' remember who I am as a "single" person, but that girl has been locked away since she was nineteen.  I have discovered that the nineteen year old me is a little too wild for the person thirty year old me has to be.  The good news is that, once I figure out how to merge those two people, I will only be twenty-five, which is totally sweet.

The first thing I have to do right now is Get a Frickin' Job, yo.  So that's going to pretty much consume my life until it's done.  I hate it.  I haven't had a real boss for ten years.  And to be honest, I'm not really great at being bossed around (this is part of the younger me who never bothered to grow up). 

I also despise working for women, because they tend to think under the influence of sentiment.
I also hate working for men, because they like to power-trip.

I completely despise being told what to do.

So, I need a job with no boss.  I'm really good at lots of stuff, including correcting grammar (not my own), texting, smoking cigs, drinking coffee and I can read fast.  I'm a fast learner, but I hate being taught as much as I hate being bossed, so DPMO.  I seldom cry at work, but I was voted Most Likely to Come After You All With Weapons at my last job, so it's kind of a wash.  I'm sure I'll be getting tons of job offers with this glowing resume. 
And I just noticed that, when I'm talking about going to work, I start using phrases borrowed from my dad.  What's up with that?

Church Buddy

Sitting at church, way too early...random thoughts...

This is so Funny, because I am constantly bragging about how non-judgemental we are at the new place, yet I am PETRIFIED to walk in alone. Does this have to do with the current situation?  Or the fact that I am wearing a Lace Shirt (cute when I left, but I don't wear girly stuff often enough to know what's acceptable anymore)?  Or possibly...that I feel nekkid without kids all over me?  I don't know.  But -- I need a church buddy who shows up On Time, because I can be late, but they can't, because, what if I'm there On Time (like today) and my buddy isn't here yet and I have to walk in ALONE?  (Dun dun DUNNNN)...that would be rife with Bummer and I hate that.  They can get here fifteen minutes early and wait in the car till I pull in, come to my car door (and they should open it for me, cause, of course, they're standing there anyway) (and they should tell me how cute I am and that the Lace Shirt is totally acceptable) and walk me in.  Hmmm....I wonder who would do that. 

Oh LOOK!  That girls looks sluttier than I do, I'm so walking in behind her.  I wonder if I can steal her prayer veil off her head without her knowing, because I left mine in my other car and I mean...it's not like any one's looking at HER hair....hmmm...

Dang it, I forgot to put on real shoes and I'm wearing flip flops.

Why does that one guy nobody knows always talk on his bluetooth in the hall?  It CREEPS ME OUT.  Because he's always behind me talking....and ya know, I know he's not talking to me, but then I think, well, what if he is?  I don't want to be mean.  So he says HELLO all loud, and I finally turn around and he looks at me like I'm the flippin' weirdo...so I sit behind him and look at him like HE'S a weirdo but he can't see me so it's PERFECT.  Because he's a little scary.  And I wouldn't make faces at him if he could see me.

GRAHAM....WALK FASTER! 

Oh...ok, time to turn off the interior dialogue, I guess.  (....but where are my KIDS?)

Favorito Amigo

Te amo, mi solamente,
You are the sunlight in my day.

You cause me to write corny things that rhyme,
I think of you every moment in time.

I love waking up to see you there,
You're beautiful dressed up and when you are bare.

I want you to always be here with me,
mi amor, my one, my only...coffee.

Puff the Magic Ford F-150

My Dad has a magic truck.  Actually, he has had quite a few of them. 

He worries when we get on the road when it is snowing, because our vehicles could never possibly make it down the road when there is the slightest bit of frozen water anywhere on Earth.  In Oklahoma, icy roads do become a problem, because it happens so seldom that our state isn't really equipped to take care of every road every time.  So, as far as that goes, my dad is probably right, in a vaguely over-protective sort of way.  HOWEVER, it's lucky for all of us, because his magic truck can ALWAYS drive on ANY road.  And the truck before this one, all the way back to my grandpa's old Chevy (even though it was a Chevy, which is clearly a lesser truck).  That truck is the only one that won't slip, slide, or roll, and it also impervious to the slipping and sliding of other vehicles.

One time, when I was a teen, my dad's truck magically drove itself around for 200 miles, then parked itself back in our driveway, and told my dad that I did it.  The thing is, I had my own car, which I loved, and no reason to steal my dad's...but my dad insists that the mileage was 200 miles higher than it was when he went to sleep that night, so that's how I know it's magic.

My dad takes very good care of his yard, and he mows religiously, more religiously that he does religious stuff.  (Not really, but just as much.  It's serious business.)  If other people park in my dad's yard, they leave The Ruts.  So, when the driveway is full (which happens at least weekly) and people start parking in the grass, it causes my dad to start shaking his head and snorting and pointing to a parking spot over there.  If the offender doesn't move, my dad will chase them all over the yard and tell them all about The Ruts and The Lawn, and how they need to quit tearing up his yard, even if that means they just go home.  BUT....Puff is allowed to park in the grass.  Puff drives all over the grass.  Because he never leaves The Ruts.  Because he's magic.

Puff has a friend in Laffeyette, and they have a pen-pal thing going, only instead of letters, they exchange a little Mr. Bill doll.  If that doesn't proove he's magic, I don't know what does.

The Chicken Killer

A few months ago, my oldest was wanting a dog.  As in, every time he caught my eye, he said, "Can we get a dog?  When can we get a dog?  I really, really, reeeeeeally think we should get a dog."  I did what I could to put him off, considering the fact that we were living in my grandparents' house and it didn't seem like an appropriate time to take on another mouth to feed.  He finally wore me down, and we got a puppy.  The cutest puppy in the world.

I also enrolled the dog and the boy in puppy classes, because I thought it would be good for Warrick to be doing something a little social, and the pup needed to be Well Trained because I don't have the time, motivation or energy (or money) to deal with the destructiveness a puppy brings to the table. 

So, somehow, this dog has been the best pet we have ever had.  He rarely chews anything, he house trained himself, he's very clean, he loves the kids, he adores me (which, of course.  Who doesn't?) (don't answer that), and he's very cute.  He barks appropriately most of the time, although he is scared of toilets, bubbles and anything that makes a noise when he touches it (which, hilarious when he tried to eat this Christmas penguin thing the kids got out and it started singing and dancing...the dog is only six months old, but nearly had a stroke).

We moved into our own place a month ago.  The fenced yard was a major selling point for us, because, ya know, kids and dog...they need boundaries.  Our landlords live next door, their daughter lives on the other side of us, and their son lives behind.  They are Very Nice People, and they have all kinds of random farm-type animals.

The first week here, our beloved dog went next door (to the daughter's house) and killed a chicken.  Like, as if he had a List of Things To Do, and that was on it.

Doggy To Do List
1. Get my Own Yard
2. Pee on all the trees
3. Bark at the toilets
4. Murder poultry

Warrick got the dog home, then went to the neighbor's house and apologized, even offering to pay them back or work for them or something to make it up.  (Bragging point:  I did not tell him to do this, it was all done before I even knew about the chicken-killing, so my son pretty much wins.)  After this, we established a schedule for the dog that kept him either in the house or in the fence at all times.  This worked for a week, until Donovan (the three year old of DOOM) let the dog out of the house and then kindly opened the gate for him. 

I noticed the door, couldn't find the dog, and just knew.  Now, the thing is, it was raining that day.  Not kind, gentle, soft rain...no, it was pouring (if you live in OK, it's the day people were being rescued from the giant ocean that used to be OKC).  I had just changed into my baggiest, most comfy sweater, that is at least eight sizes too big for me (the sleeves go to my knees), because I had already gone out and been soaked, so I was cold.

I saw the dog right as he was crossing into the neighbors' yard.  I yelled for him and he looked at me and you could see him making a decision...."hmmm...the Woman I Adore would like for me to come back, but SCREW THAT, these people have CHICKENS!"...and off he went.  And I chased him.  Through the first half of the yard, which was literally two feet of water, and the second half, which was about six inches of mud.

Ok, so, I don't run.  I hate running.  And I'm wearing giant clothes.  And running (ok, tripping and crawling) through water and mud, yelling at the dog.  To make matters worse, I hardly know these people, and they have a HUGE picture window overlooking their backyard (or mud pit), and Warrick couldn't think of a name for the dog.  Why does that matter?  Because, when he was trying to name him, he said, "Shucks, I can't think of anything." (Shut up, I have no idea how he learned to talk like The Beave)  "Oh...I know, I'll name him Shucks!"  So, back to my story, here's what the neighbors were seeing...new woman next door with the six kids wearing hobo clothes, running (even though, obviously, this person has no business running) through the water and mud in their backyard, yelling "Shucks, no!  Shucks!  SHUCKS!", as if I have just jumped out of Mayberry and haven't learned the new slang.

The dog looked at me a few times and went back to merrily chasing the chickens all over the yard.  The chickens were terrified, making all kinds of racket and alternately trying to fly and run, which was counter-productive because they mostly just fell on their faces.  The dog slipped under this tiny hole in the hen house, and I'm thinking this is good, because the chickens will run out, and he'll have to squeeze back through the hole and the chickens will have time to get away.  Not so much.  I crawled in there after him (a one-foot high opening over mud), just in time to be the only eye-witness to the latest strike of the serial chicken killer.  I grabbed the dog, dragged him out, yelled at him (Shucks!), spanked him (shut-up, dogs get shot for this in the country, he needs to know), and hauled him up to the front door to say sorry.  The entire time, he's got this huge grin on his face, tail wagging, and not giving a flying flip how much trouble he knows he's in.  You can just see him thinking that was TOTALLY worth it, baby!!! 

It did not occur to me to go home and change or anything before I knocked on their door to fess up.  So there I am looking like someone who got caught in their comfy clothes by the fashion police and sentenced to death by drowning in mud, holding the most unapologetic dog EVER, and telling these poor people that my dog (who still won't stop grinning like a 13 year old boy who just discovered nekkid ladies) has murdered another of their chickens.

The Chewing

So, if I had to pick a pet peeve, I think it would be Hearing People Chew.  At least, that's what it would be today.  Other days it could be Bad Drivers, Gossips, Other Peoples' Kids Screaming, My Kids Screaming, and most of the time it would be Pretty Much Anything My Ex-Friend Greg Does.  But today, it's the chewing thing.

I made a Ruling today that no child would be leaving their room until it was clean.  I made this Ruling shortly after lunch, before I remembered that I had been up till five in the morning and didn't have the stamina to enforce said Ruling.  Most of these situations end after about one hour of my kids screwing around, then two hours of me furiously "showing them how" (read: doing it for them), but not today...I was just too tired.  So they stayed in their rooms all day long and didn't get anything done. 

How does this tie in with the Chewing Peeve?  Hang on, I'm getting there...

Because they weren't allowed out of their rooms, they didn't get anything to eat after lunch AT ALL.  But, about an hour after dinner time, I started feeling guilty and let them out for dinner.  They were starving, and I made tacos (their favorite). 

Most evenings, I cook something fantastic that my children won't eat, and dinner is spent in loud conversation sprinkled with mommy yelling at everyone to eat their food.  BUT, when it's something they like, it's a normal dinner with normal conversation...

BUT...

If they are starving, and it's something they like, and I'm too angry and tired to yell about anything, well, that leads to chewing.  My daughter made the most massive taco I have ever seen and I was rolling my eyes wondering why she thought she would ever be able to eat that much.  Two of her brothers saw it and couldn't be outdone, so they made tacos roughly the size of Texas.  I was simmering in my chair, just waiting for the day, nay, the WEEK, to be over and thinking up a good lecture (to be delivered after sleeping) on why we don't put more food on our plates than we can eat.  I was wrong.  The three who made giant tacos finished them and asked for more.  The other three made smaller tacos, but ate way more of them than I could count.  But, since they were all starving, there wasn't time for talking or manners....which left....Hearing People Chew.  Six people.  Six little kids.  With only a basic knowledge of manners.  Manners that go away when they are starving.  I nearly fell over dead.  It was awful.  If I hadn't had to run to the store before I put them to bed, I would still be sitting in that chair shell-shocked from all the chewing.  YUK.  I don't ever want tacos again. Maybe next time I will puree them into smoothies and I won't have to deal with the Chewing Thing.

To top it off, I put the stuff away after dinner, but the boys got it back out to make one last snack before heading back to their room.  Then, Sweet Puppy came in, climbed onto the table (he's a little new at the whole being-in-the-house thing), knocked over a new bottle of taco sauce and feasted on ground beef and cheese.  He's outside, now, because I have no desire to see what sort of disgustingess he manages after a meal like that.  Also, he's got taco sauce all over his head.