Long Time No See

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I had no idea I hadn’t written in almost a year! It was right about that time I got a new job that has taken priority over fun writing, but I realized I miss it.

In the last year, my 19 year old has started college, the twins are in 1st grade, I’ve eaten Moby Dick’s weight in popcorn, and my guinea pig is kinda fat.

I’m mostly seeing if this thing (my brain and the website) still works.

But I do have one story from yesterday:

I was taking Tee to Sam’s Club to get his glasses (it took 4 prescriptions to find out that he sees like a bat without the luxury of echolocation) when I realized I forgot my Club Card.

Not that it mattered, my membership ran out 2 days after I got the glasses, so I would just be holding up what would be the closest thing to a fake ID I’ve ever had.

Tee was extremely worried that I would get yelled out, handcuffed, or possibly thrown in jail. I tried to reassure him, but his tiny grip on my hand as we walked in just kept getting tighter.

A crowd of people were in front of us at the door, and he yelled: “Do you PROMISE that we won’t go to jail if we don’t have our Sam’s Club Card?”

The crowd tittered, and once again, I said no one was going to stop me from getting in there and getting the glasses I paid for  a week ago.

We walk in. I tell the nice lady that I forgot my card but I’m only picking up glasses. She gave me a look of lemon flavored disapproval, but let me pass.

Ten seconds later an alarm (not related to my crime) started ringing.

I don’t think Tee will ever trust me again.

 

My Child’s First Car Accident…

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My 18 year old has had his own car since April and since then has been dividing his time between me, his dad, his girlfriend, and work. While I know he would rather be with the hot girlfriend over his parents, he is VERY good about making sure he spends time with all of us.

He works full time and travels to different stores within 3 counties. The other day, for no reason, I was thinking: “If Nate was in a car accident, how would anyone know to tell me?” Especially if it was one of the stores far away.

That night, I saw his dad’s name pop up on my phone and my heart sank. We get along fine, but don’t make a habit of calling each other.  I listened to his voicemail, and the first words were: “Carrie, call me back as soon as you get this. Don’t worry, Nate’s ok, but there’s been an accident.”

I’m obviously psychic and the first thing I did was wish I had called Nate when I had that weird feeling and told him to make sure he drove safely. I know, though, he would have rolled his eyes and said, yes mom, of course, etc.

He was going through a green light in his little Nissan when out of nowhere a truck pulls left in front of him and (when it was all said and done) did $7,000 worth of damage to the car and it is now deemed totaled. The driver of the truck wanted to do a hasty exchange of info and leave. Nate was all, “OH HELL NAW you aren’t leaving, we’re calling the police.”IMG_1580.JPG

(Someone obviously never told this guy to keep his mouth closed at an accident scene because he was all over himself apologizing and actually said he was trying to speed up to turn…)

Nate was very shook up, and when I saw the pics of the car, I couldn’t believe he didn’t get one scratch on him. Nothing! The airbag deployed, but just barely caught him on the chin. I was so relieved he was ok! His car was a mess but he was alive.

The first thing he says: “Oh man, I have plans this weekend, how am I going to get there?”

Me: “Um, you’re alive. Be thankful!”

Nate: “Yeah, I’m alive, but I HAVE PLANS!”

Me: “But, but, honey, you could have DIED!”

Nate: “Yeah, but if I died, I wouldn’t be wondering how to GET anywhere!”

Touche, my son. Touche.

My 5 Year Old Killed My Minivan…

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My twins have started Kindergarten and that’s a whole new ball of fun. The kids are wired, tired, and fired (up).

We had a three day weekend with Labor Day, then the next school day was Tyler’s annual hemophilia appointment, and we had to pick him up from school half way through the day. While we vowed to never, ever, ever, ever, not never, never, ever bring Andy to another one of those 3+ hour long appointments again, we had to this time because he threw the most epic of all hissy fits when finding out Tyler was going to get out of school early.

So we broke our never, ever, ever, ever, not never, never, ever rule and regretted it.  It was hard not to get all gritchy with him as he answered all the questions meant for Tyler , while jumping around and screeching he likes cheese, because it’s boring for everyone. Especially for Andy who does not have hemophilia and was ripped away from the awesome iPads in the waiting room of Akron Children’s.  Finally it was over, and we went home to a decent night.

Then Wednesday came.

Three days off from school, then leaving after 2 hours on Tuesday must have made Wednesday the LONGEST, most UPSETTING day of their ENTIRE lives. As SOON as I picked them up from school, they were crabby, bickering, and yelling, and that was just on the way to the car.

Because we’re in a parking lot, I want both kids to get in the same side. Unfortunately, it’s Tyler’s side of the car, and my little Napoleon HATES when someone treads on his space. He had a meltdown and wouldn’t let Andy cross to the other side without some kicks and yelling.

Gritting my teeth, I say: “Aww, I MISSED you guys!”

(I think they are starting to recognize sarcasm.)

So we go home, and Andy starts yelling: “I want that white stuff to eat.”

Me: “Um, what stuff?”

Andy (starting to get that melt downy look and tone): “That WHITE stuff with the apples!!”

Me (still not connecting the dots because he was just talking about Ninja Turtles): “What are you talking about?”

Andy (kicking and screaming): “Ohhh, you never know what I’m talking about! That white apples and candy!”

Me: “Ok, stop screaming at me! Are you talking about the apple surprise dessert?”

Andy: “YES. I WANT it NOW.”

Me (tongue bleeding, jaw clenched): “Sweetie, Mommy doesn’t just have whipped cream, Snickers bars, and apples lying around the house for that dessert.”  (But I should, it’s so good)

Andy: “AHHHHHHHH!”

Ok, how long have we been together now? 10 minutes and I’m ready for a break already! I get everything out of the car, except Andy who is not coming.  Fine, they have played in my car before, he will come in eventually.

He finally comes in 10 minutes later crying and snuffling. Obviously, they were tired and hungry, so I left it at that.

This morning, I cannot find my keys anywhere. I always put them in my purse, on the key rack, or just lately (copying the husband) keep them in the car. You probably know where this is going…

I look everywhere for those keys. We need to leave in 3.5 minutes to get to school in time. I opened the doors to my minivan and notice the automatic door isn’t working (someone probably pushed the “off” button again”. Then the hatch wouldn’t open (dangit, someone locked the doors again), and I noticed my security light wasn’t on (grr, probably blew a fuse).  Andy suddenly yells: “Oh there’s your keys!”

They were in the ignition.

I never leave them in the ignition.

Ever.

I fiddled and noticed the key was turned as far as it could go without turning on the car. I pushed it that extra bit and nothing. Dead, dead, dead.

“ANDY! WHAT DID YOU DO?”

Andy slinks into his carseat. “I didn’t put the key in there and turn it!”

Me: “I never said that’s what happened! Did you do this? Are you allowed to touch my keys?”

Andy: “No, it was probably Tyler.”

Tyler (looking completely confused): “What? Wait a minnit! I did nothing! I’m a good boy. I don’t touch my Mommy’s keys!”

Sigh. Luckily my oldest hadn’t gone to work yet and I was able to throw the twins into the car and take them to school.

On the way, Andy says: “So who did that with your keys might  have been ’cause they was mad and wanted to drive away.”

Me: “So it was you?”

Andy: “Um…well no, I’m just sayin’…but I will tell that key person not to do that ever again.”

Tyler: “Better tell him now, Mommy’s face is gonna ‘splode.”

Lesson learned: Never leave the keys in the car, and keep 5 eyes on Andy at all times.

I’m Leaving on a Train Car…

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I want to start off by saying I love my kids.

I do, I do, I do.

But they drive me CRAZY!!!!

I know I’m not alone in this. I’m pretty positive every single parent, at one time or another, has envisioned running away from home holding a plaid knapsack on a stick containing a few PB&J’s while whistling a merry tune as you find a nice train car to jump into and go far, far away.

Or do what I do and hide in a corner, suck on a thumb and rock myself.

I was a teacher. I took child psychology classes, learning development classes, I knew all the stages of anal, oral, and whatever else Freud liked to talk about, so you would think when my child is freaking out about something I would remember it was normal.

It’s so hard to remember that when they are screaming at the top of their high pitched lungs and telling you they hate you because their apple isn’t as red as their brothers.

(That was last night)

My oldest is 18 and is easy at this point, but he still has no idea how to clean up after himself. He can create mods on his computer games, and defeat any enemy he wants, but the concept of bringing dirty dishes to the sink escapes him.

My 5 year olds, well, they are another story. Every minute is full of wonder, such as: “I wonder who is going to have a meltdown next?”

The Terrible Twos and Threes are nothing compared to the Terrible Fives.  I find myself correcting more during the day than cuddling, and constantly trying to see into the future to know what may or may not cause a tantrum.

Eggshells. Lots and lots of eggshells.

One of the twins said they hated me last night because I wouldn’t give them a sucker with their dinner. I have never given them a sucker with dinner, but they decided it was to be, and when I nicely refused, it caused a serious row and I was flabbergasted. I’m often flabbergasted.

One of the twins has a broken arm and decided he wanted to wear long sleeved pajamas to bed. I said that wasn’t a good idea because a) the cast doesn’t fit into the arm easily, and b) it was 85 DEGREES.

Well, that made him more determined to prove that I was wrong and he proceeded to fit that cast into the sleeve one millimeter at a time. He was getting red faced and mad and kicking and screaming, and it took him 10 minutes to put on the shirt while I watched, defeated.

But he showed me.

They also like to lie, now, which is awesome. I will say: “No, we are not going to the McDonald’s play area, it’s 9PM!” and they will say: “You’re mean. You said I’m a stupid boy and you hate me!”

WHAT?? NO I DIDN’T! “Yes, you did, you said you don’t love me any more and that I’m just a stupid head.”

<facepalm>

I’m exhausted from all the work my brain has to do to deal with them sometimes. Yelling doesn’t do anything but make everyone more frenzied, but sometimes being calm makes them think their behavior is ok. Forcing them to say they’re sorry when they aren’t, or don’t even understand why they should be sorry, is difficult, as does knowing which battle to fight or give up on.

Every generation goes through this, and I think it’s because we aren’t given enough insight into what children go through in their little brains. They are testing the waters, seeing what they can do, not realizing they are slowly sending their parents into mental zombie land.

There should be a pamphlet that is sent to us on their birthdays so we know what we’re in for the next year. Things like: “Five year olds often have no clue what the heck they really want, and reverse psychology works amazingly well at this age. They will also think they need everything they see on every commercial, especially the “As Seen on TV” ones.” (Thanks, Snackeez)

I also think there should be hotlines for each year of age and when the kids start going nutso, we can call the 1-800-5yrolds for advice.

Operator: “Hello, this is the 5 year old hotline, how can I help you?”

Me: “Um, hi there, my 5 year old won’t come downstairs because I refuse to carry his blankie for him.”

Operator: “Do you have a plaid knapsack on a stick?”

Me: “Why, yes I do.”

Operator: “Fill it up with sandwiches and find yourself a train car.”

 

Try to Argue with 4 Year Old Logic…

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My 4 year old twins are hysterical. The stuff they come up with makes me laugh so hard, it hurts. One reason I became a teacher for the elementary grades is because the younger students are (mostly) innocent and look at the world from a different perspective. The way they try to make sense of things is so beautiful and they often have a logic that would make Mr. Spock (R.I.P.!) crack a smile.

Last night, the kids went to bed a little late. The husband and I were pretty tired and just ready for them to sleep. Andy has a cold and REFUSES to use tissues (gag) and his eyeballs were the size of basketballs. He NEEDED to sleep. We told them they needed to be quiet. No talking. Just go to sleep.

We weren’t downstairs for more than 3.5 minutes when we heard thumping, and giggling, and loud talking. The Twinion Conspirators are at it again.

“Wuke, I am you fodder!”

“Noooooooo, don’t cut my hand off, fodder! AHHHHHHH!”

“I have to! It was in da movie.”

“Nooooooooooo!”

I race upstairs, and open the door. They do that thing that must be instinctual for little kids where they flop down on the bed and instantly play dead, like I didn’t see them just jumping around like loons.

“Boys, didn’t we say you needed to be quiet? Tyler, Andy is sick, he needs rest. You are so loud, we can’t even hear the TV!”

Andy won’t stop giggling, probably from the Zyrtec and Nighttime Dr. Cocoa medicine combo.

Tyler looks at me, dead serious: “Mommy, you said we couldn’t talk, but our toys need to, so that’s why we’re talking so wowd. They need to play, not us!”

I’m dumbfounded and impressed. He was right, we didn’t say the toys couldn’t talk.

“Um, ok, well can Luke and Darth Vader keep it down?”

More Andy giggles.

Tyler sighs a deep, why-do-I-put-up-with-her? sigh and says: “We will try, my princess mommy. Dark Vader IS evil you know, and wikes to get us in trouble.”

I wish I were a celebrity so camera crews could follow these two around and capture all of these moments. Then I would make a documentary and show it to every girlfriend.

IMG_0321 (3)

 

Sweet Dreams are Made of…Something I Have No Access to!

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I have always had funky dreams. In color. Bright vivid color.

I had a recurring Freddie Krueger dream from the ages of 15 to about 35 where he was chasing me up an oil rig (which RIGHT there tells you something is wrong, because I’m afraid of standing on a step ladder with only 2 steps), and right when he’s about to grab me with his shiny metal knife fingers, I turn to him and say: “I love you, Freddie” and he disappears until the next time I have the dream.

I’m sure a dreamologist would have a field day with me, but I would be afraid they would commit me to a hospital of no return if I shared too much.

The other night, I wasn’t feeling great, took a few Motrin and went to bed. I started talking in my haze again, which just delights the husband. So much, I’m pretty sure he puts down whatever he’s reading and stares at me, silently giggling while I spout off about whatever.

So that night, I was POSITIVE that our plecostomus, (nicknamed Plucky) was making “NUM NUM” noises while licking the algae from the tank. He likes to do it full on stuck to the front of the aquarium so you can see his tongue thing moving all over. The tank is about 10 feet from the bed, and I started giggling like a loon in my sleep because he was so into the lickage. I wake myself up half-way from my laughing and I hear Jeff say (in an “aww, that’s my crazy ass wife” tone”: “Whatcha laughing at sweetie?” I tell him, then fall back to sleep.

The Pluckster in his "King of the Tank" pose (ignore the poop)

The Pluckster in his “King of the Tank” pose (ignore the poop)

I had a total of 426.5 dreams that night, and the following were the highlights:

1. Gary Coleman and I were playing chicken in a pool with Will Smith and Philip Seymour Hoffman (Arnold was on MY shoulders).

2. I was attacked by the rhesus monkey from the movie “Outbreak” but since I had 13 bananas in my pocket I distracted him and ran away.

3. We won 18 billion dollars in the Powerball and when I was waving the ticket and screaming: “OH YEAH, WE’RE RICH BITCHES!” a gust of wind took the ticket and two days later some 19 year old frat boy claimed the money.

4. I was a featured clarinet soloist for a John Williams movie, and right when I went to play the reed broke into my lip and I had to get it removed at the hospital.  I was not asked back.

5. I sat down on an oatmeal pie and was stuck to my couch for 2 hours and had to call the police to unstick me.

6. I flew to Scotland with my mom and took her to dinner. We forgot our wallets and they threw us into Loch Ness for not paying.

The rest of my dreams are just too crazy to write down.

I Gave Birth to a Sensitive Skeleton-Loving Scientist

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So I am the lucky mom of 3 boys, a ginger, a blonde, and a “might be dark-blonde-might be brown” brunette. All three are left-handed.

I am right-handed, and completely useless when it comes to teaching them how to write, eat, draw, throw, and generally anything that involves the left side. Luckily, my husband is left-handed, so when they go to Kindergarten, he can do all their homework with them.

HAHAHAHA

So out of my three boys, Tyler, the younger twin, is probably going to be a scientist, engineer, doctor, or Destroyer of the Universe. I’m ok with any of those scenarios.

I was a teacher for many years, and between teaching in the classroom and music lessons, I’ve had students from ages 3 to 55, and I’m not sure I’ve ever met a young one more interested in how things work. He LOVES to take things apart, put them back together, take them apart, put them back together, ad nauseum.

He’s like my husband in this respect, except (as far as I know) my husband doesn’t fall to the floor wailing, screaming, and kicking if he can’t figure out how to put a lid back on, or is unable to squeeze a 9 inch Batman toy into a 3 inch helicopter cockpit.

The anger. Ohhhh, the anger.

When he was little, he used to bang his head on the floor repeatedly when something didn’t go his way. It would be scary to see for any child, but he has hemophilia, and the lumps he would cause himself to get would make him look like a rhino. It’s really hard to convince people that your two-year old did that to himself, and you’re not an abusive monster.

On top of that, it looked like I beat him and not his twin. I probably should have put prosthetic horns on the other so they would match. They ARE twins, after all.

As serious as this child is, he has the sweetest smile, and at almost 5 years old just made it to 30 pounds. His nickname is “Teeny Tiny Tyler” which he thinks is funny. He was tiny when he was born and the NICU nurses ironically nicknamed him “Mr. T” which has been his usual name ever since.

He looks up to his “older” twin at the same time he tortures him. Andy has taken to writing Tyler’s name on a “bad list” whenever he gets mad, and Tyler sobs uncontrollably when this happens. He won’t believe me that Andy actually has no power over lists, but there it is.

He is amazing in so many ways. His giggle could make Ebenezer Scrooge crack a smile. His excitement for simple things from a sip of strawberry milk, or an oatmeal pie is contagious. When he’s sick, he doesn’t complain, he just thanks us for taking care of him then orders us out of the room so he can sleep.

He bruises easily and they can become quite ugly, but he doesn’t complain about pain. His brother, Andy, on the other hand, needs a band-aid for everything (one time for a paint stain he insisted was blood). He is a rule follower, likes things to be a certain way, and knows instantly if I took a different road to our destination.

His arms and legs flail when he runs, and it’s amazing he has any balance whatsoever. He loves watching Goosebumps, ParaNorman, and other “scary” shows, and absolutely loves to play with his dad’s Halloween decorations. So much that even in March we have a plastic witch, pumpkin, and a skeleton toy that’s as big as he is that he carries around and takes to bed with him.

Right now he is moping around the house because he broke the arm of his “skellington”…my husband is sad too seeing as how he’s had that thing for about 25 years.

photo (5)

I want to hold and hug and protect this little tiny thing all the time, but he’s way too macho for those kind of shenanigans. He does tell me I’m the “best girl ever”, so that’s definitely enough for me.

I’m lucky to have the crazy kids I do, even though they drive me nuts.

Face it, they are a product of their environment, and I might just be certifiable.

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