A boy, permanent markers and mama’s window seal.😳😳😳 I can’t even…magic eraser, no plans and TGIF! Yessssss🙌🙌🙌
A boy, permanent markers and mama’s window seal.😳😳😳 I can’t even…magic eraser, no plans and TGIF! Yessssss🙌🙌🙌
Busy little boys and their unconventional toys! We get home around lunch today, let the dog outside to run around while we look for “f’owers”. He yells out “Mama I found a snake!” Yay buddy. Actually, that little guy is called a SLUG. Let’s not hurt him. “Ok mama. I won’t. I just ‘pay’ (play) wit him”
I spend the next 10 minutes rounding up the Shinese pup from the cow pasture. I think how the baby daddy has GOT to get me a barricade to go in front of the dang farm fence! She smells like a cross between my preteen son sans deodorant and a three year old Diaper Champ. Basically, that’s what all three of my kids bedrooms would smell like now if it weren’t for Bath & Body Works Plugins.
So! We finally get back in the house where both creatures are contained. I warm up lunch and come into the living room to sit, eat and chill for a few minutes.
What awaits me? Bennett playing with his Firetruck and “Mr. Snail” surrounded by his freshly plucked supply of flowers…ON MY FURNITURE. “Wook mama. He on my ladder see? We working.”
“Baby gross! Slugs live OUTSIDE and don’t need to be brought into mama’s living room” I said. “But he putting out ‘forwer’ (fire) wit me. We got to work!” (followed by the infamous firetruck grunt)
Mr. Snail is no where to be found. “Mama, he died.” Well where is he Hun? “I don’t know!” Gag me gross. I MAY have just turned Paw Patrol on and walked in another room.😏 We pick our battles. Mr. Snail will eventually shrivel up to nothing and be suctioned up by the central vac (unless the kid or the dog ate him).
I mean, two weeks ago he found a freshly dead spider, put him in a GLASS cup of water and tried to make him swim. Not ONLY did he do that, but my oldest son caught him DRINKING water out of the SAME cup with the dead spider still in it! That is an example of when one must intervene and REMOVE critters from their grasp.
Early into our marriage, I set a hefty goal of bringing FOUR children into this crazy world. When I shared that with my husband, he assumed the deer in headlights emoji face, shook his red head and wisely stated “Why don’t we start with one and see how that goes”. Like many high achievers, yours truly has been known to take on more than she could handle. Go big or go home right? I had never even changed a DIAPER but I was going to successfully pump out four babies in just a few years, get promoted at work, make six figures, be a devoted volunteer in the community and save humanity as we knew it. Totally realistic. Completely doable.
Therefore, you can imagine my frustration when the baby daddy and I had a hard time getting knocked up. Was something wrong with me? Was it those inhaled steroids I had to take as a kid for asthma? Was something wrong with him? Could we ever have kids? If not, could we adopt? Would he have to go to a specialist and study Hugh Hefner’s latest centerfold to determine if this was a possibility? Was I going to have to get on fertility medication and end up birthing a liter? Then, could I get a TLC deal with my own reality show? Hmmm…I’d have to come up with a catchy name. Something like “JAWS” to chronicle breastfeeding six kids.
A year and a half went by and no zygote. Because I tended to share most everything about my personal life with my close friends and even random strangers on the street, word got back to the baby daddy’s coworker. She had experienced the same struggle as us, but had success after applying information she learned in the book “Taking Charge of Your Fertility“.
She lent it to me and I eagerly started flipping the pages. It gave me a temporary action plan of which I had some control over. I would begin charting my temperature every morning for three months and bring to my next OBGYN appointment.
Let’s just say that sometimes TIMING is EVERYTHING. After two months of charting with that purple ovulation thermometer, a stress free week on a Caribbean Cruise and some divine intervention, we FINALLY saw those two pink lines every couple trying to conceive lives for. YES! Like any rational woman would do, I took 54 home pregnancy tests, including the “dummy proof” kind.
First Trimester: I craved citrus, had mild nausea and was annoyingly GIDDY. I drove my coworkers, customers, family and anyone on the other end of my fabulous flip phone CRAZY.
Second Trimester: I LOVED being pregnant, all food tasted EXQUISITE and I was still OBNOXIOUS. Over dinner one night we read the ultrasound card together of what our child would be. “It’s a…BOY!” The baby daddy was thrilled. A kid to carry on the family name.
Third Trimester: I ate my way through the holidays and gained too much weight. Doc scolded me. Eh, oh well. Then I learned my pelvis was unfortunately small and he seriously doubted I could birth the baby without some surgical assistance. Do what? Then the back and abdominal muscles began stretching with discomfort, major heartburn, unsightly kankles, a lone varicose vein, Braxton Hick’s, thought I was in labor but got sent home, the “You’re HUGE” comments, his head bouncing on my pelvic bone, mood swings, etc. Get this thing out of me! Not so giddy NOW.
D-Day: It was a Saturday afternoon in mid March. Our parents were hanging out at a local park celebrating a Spring Day event. The baby daddy had grilled out and we were having a lazy afternoon. I stood up, started waddling and POP! “Um, babe I think my water just broke.” Confidently he stated “Naw, you aren’t in labor hun.” I guess he thought if I wasn’t clawing his arm off from pain or cursing his prior “Y” chromosomal possession that I was, in fact, NOT in labor. And he is the medical professional. Go figure.
My doctor wasn’t on call. Of course, right? I remember thinking how huge my nose was when I was wiping away the tears. All would be fine though. We were assigned a wonderful substitute in his absence.
I made it to 4 cm dilated when they offered me the epidural. I could handle it at that point but 4 was no 10 and who knew when they would be back around. I pulled the O2 mask off and yelled “Heck to the YEAH! HOOK THIS SISTER UP.” The only time I ever used Lamaze was when that needle was going in my back. My “happy place” was me as a size 4, laying in a hot pink bikini, looking 18 again, on a Jamaican beach, under a cloudless, sunny sky. Like THIS…ahhhhhh.
Fully effaced and fully dilated, I pushed for a little under two hours. The zygote turned zebra was stuck at +1 in the birth canal and it appeared he would be a permanent resident of my internal structures if we didn’t proceed to a stat C-section.
Alrighty then! Delivering at the same hospital where my husband worked meant that bringing our baby boy into the world would be like one big party surrounded by friends who had our backs. Except that the party stage would be my uterus and the only thing party goers could NOT see would be, ironically, my back. Before I could dwell too much on the weirdness, the party had started. I hear “Ok dear. You’re going to feel a lot of pressure” and VIOLA out came my first child!
You know how most birth scenes go down with the kid screaming his or her head off? Well, not my son. He whimpered a little and then got COMPLETELY quiet. And so the never-ending phobia known as “Mother Worry” began for me on a Sunday morning in that cold operating room. “Is he breathing?” “Is he alive?” “What’s wrong?!” He was just a curious kid and was taking it all in. Mothers worry about anything and everything I have come to learn.
Speaking of worrying, it was about this time that the baby daddy brought the curious bundle over for us to formally meet for the first time. I was so amazed that I didn’t even realize the cone head he was sporting from being wedged for so long. I remember he said two things to me. 1) “Hey, do you mind if I go walk with the nurse to take the baby to the nursery?” (Leaving me ALONE with my uterus on the table) and 2) “This baby is HUNGRY! You better get ready!” Oh man.
Next thing I knew, I began feeling a hot sensation on my right side and it was getting worse. “Um Alan (my CRNA). I think my epidural is wearing off”. Morphine administered. Check. Fist bump.
I kept thinking why the surgery was taking so long? Later I found out that I was the proud recipient of a cervical tear during the C-section and had lost a significant amount of blood. That explained why I had so much trouble staying awake after being rolled back to the room. However, I forced myself to stay awake long enough for the little piraña to latch on…every 1-2 hours…for FOUR days…because I was not yet equipped to provide the liquid gold he so desired. Barely born and already DEMANDING something from me. Three days later and several hormonal meltdowns, we were discharged to begin our life as a family of three.
In conclusion, being knocked up was a wonderful experience for me, until the very end. I mean, who really ENJOYS that last month anyway right? I quickly learned how to change a diaper, found that I had the ability to mass produce liquid gold and realized this was to be the hardest job I had ever held. On the job training is the best kind of experience though.
As I have just finished writing this, I am reminded that children are gifts that keep on giving. Why you ask? Because that same child that I just described being knocked up with 10 years ago just snuck out of bed to “snuggle”, the second just had a nightmare and yelled for me and my third just snuck out of HIS bed and crawled into mine. There you go. I didn’t realize that becoming knocked up ten years ago would alter my goals, motivations and life direction. A REM cycle is foreign to me, I get very little down time, being knocked up destroyed my rectus abdominals, but I am needed, loved and we have a king sized bed.:)
Nothing thought provoking this morning. I want to crawl back into bed. HOWEVER, I just opened my laptop to find these two meme creations that my son left for me. Hot mess. Note to self…password protect!
For a parent with small children, silence is GOLDEN. The constant noises of crying, whining, hitting, slashing, jumping, electronics, Sponge Bob, Mickey Mouse, CARS, biting, passing gas, “Mama I need…”, “Mama I pooped in my butt”, “Mama he hit me”, “Daddy” “Mamma!”, etc. can leave the most together of parents frazzled, grumpy and ALWAYS exhausted. With my first child, I was a naive girl that thought I could prop my feet up and relax when my toddler would play quietly. Don’t believe those Johnson & Johnson commercials. Those little angels turn into escaped convicts when they get alone and quiet. Often times, they are considered armed and dangerous.
Silence is golden fellow parents or parents to be, unless you have a toddler. Looking back on my old pictures, I realized that I was able to bust my youngest child with the camera so much more than the other two. Why? I can think of three reasons.
#1 – I worked full time with my first two
#2 – Technology: Cameras versus smartphones
#3 – My handling of the mischief. “Wreck-it-Ralph” mom versus “Frozen” mom (Let it go)
Uh hum…I present to you a few of my favorites collected thus far.
Toddlers love to color EVERYTHING. I remember my oldest got ahold of a black permanent Sharpie when he was two and marked up my ENTIRE KITCHEN. Think wooden cabinets, expensive tile, doors, etc. My boys don’t do anything half way. Fortunately, “Goo Be Gone” and a few magic erasers helped to get most of the ink off. I still have a few spots left to remember that moment. I recall being furious and shedding a few stressed out tears. I’ve mellowed out quite a bit since then. My youngest has colored himself every day for the past week and even got my floor. Tasmanian devil strikes again.
This primarily applies to my daughter. Her claim to fame was getting into my makeup and emptying out all my bandaids for “dress up”. At least it wasn’t ruining permanent carpet. 🙂
This only applies to my oldest two. Bailey, the Geriatric Maltese, was an avid lover of Kibbles ‘N Bits. I tried all the healthier options on him but only this brand would do. Consequently, dog food bowls are generally just the right height for a toddler to help themselves. They looked like chipmunks feasting on acorns and would run, full mouth and all, through the house to hide from me. Gag me gross! You learn to develop a tough stomach. My oldest also ate BUGS but, unfortunately, I was too alarmed to get a picture of THAT.
You walk out of the bathroom for five minutes and you will return to a “Toddlers Gone Wild” scene. Bath water everywhere, bubbles overflowing, random objects in the bathtub with them, etc. Don’t let your camera get wet!
Salt, salad, pantry, party in the laundry basket, etc. Need I say more…
They all LOVED that dryer. What was especially alarming about my youngest is that he liked to climb into the dryer and SHUT THE DOOR. I distinctly remember putting a load of laundry up in my closet and not being able to find him! Frantically, I rushed outside to make sure he hadn’t wandered off and then paced from room to room with no luck. All of a sudden, I heard this little, whiney voice coming from the laundry room. “Hey mama. I in heewer.”
In conclusion, silence is golden for a parent with small children, but not so much if the child isn’t actually ASLEEP. For what it’s worth, I’ve learned to capture the moment as a humorous one instead of a frustrated, assume the fetal position, suck my thumb in the corner one. These are snapshots of innocent creativity (well SOME of them) and I choose to laugh. Life is short and we can’t take our Sharpie stained cabinets with us when we leave this earth anyway. Memories, however, are timeless. 🙂
The baby daddy and I have spent the last seven years with our eldest playing baseball at the ballpark each spring. My husband has served faithfully as an assistant coach through 2 years of T-ball, 3 years of Coach Pitch and is now in the second year of Kid’s Pitch. I’m the party mom and cheerleader WHEN I actually get to WATCH the game. Some have it worse, some have it better. Either way, here is what I have learned this far.
“Top 10 Baseball Park Lessons Learned To Date”.
#10 – T-BALL IS HILARIOUS! I mean, the kids could just stand out there on the field and be adorable. They swing a million times before they make contact with the ball, they run clockwise versus counterclockwise around the bases and run in the SAME direction when a ball gets hit or thrown. Furthermore, they play in the dirt, pick their noses, throw dirt at EACH OTHER, wave at family in the bleachers, and they are still ironing out their coordination skills. For example, my all time favorite of my eldest was watching him learn to run to first base. Y’all…I wish I had a video. Imagine a cross between a marathon runner, a British Guard and Ace Ventura. Now picture a version of all three of these movements combined but completely UNCOORDINATED. EPIC.
#9 – BRING CASH. Once your kids get a whiff of any deep fried, high fructose corn syrup, sodium loaded GLORY it’s on like donkey kong. Some moms are real sticklers for healthy food and super strict with their kids. My personality is one of picking my battles, opting for fun memories in moderation and throwing an extra fruit serving the next meal. To each her own. In addition, I might get 10-15 minutes of sitting on the bleachers if I fork out cash for the dang corn dog, french fries and blue slushy.
#8 – YOUR KID WILL GET HIT WITH THE BALL It’s inevitable. It’s a devastating thing to watch your little slugger go from a confident batter to a timid one who steps out of the box and starts striking out frequently. This happened to us and has continued into this season. We have begun a more competitive environment, competing for positions with younger kids that have invested in yearlong travel ball. This is the timeframe when ball might not be very much fun for a parent or a child. It should also be the time, in my opinion, for development of a child’s ability, not playing the same players in the same positions just to win or to promote certain players. When your child comes homes from a game with tears in his eyes and says “Mom, I’m just not that good” or “I asked to play this position but I don’t get to”, and they put in the extra practice time, it’s rough. Parenting gets stepped up a notch at the ballpark folks.
#7 – YOUR KIDS’ BOWELS COME ALIVE AT THE BALLPARK. Never fails. They eat ALOT, run around…BOOM! Code brown. Tonight at the ballpark I had one tugging on my shirt for 10 minutes to go potty. I see my son at bat, wait another 15 minutes for potty time with that kid and then I come out to locate the third. Which brings me to #6.
#6 – YOU MAY LOSE A CHILD My three year old is so fast. So fast that I can literally look away for three seconds and he’s GONE. I’ve considered a leash, taser, shock collar, etc. Tonight I FINALLY exited the dreaded park bathroom with child #2 to return back to the game. We are winning. Yay! Where’s the wild child? Uh oh…thought the grandparents were watching him. Mental note made for handcuffs and a shock collar for next Thursday’s game. And this leads me to #5.
#5 – MAKE FRIENDS WITH ALL THE BALLPARK MOMS YOU CAN. Case in point…right before that panic attack almost set in because I couldn’t find my child, I see one of my mom friend’s running towards me. “Are you missing a child?” she says. “Oh I knew where he was! Did he run around towards your way?” I joke. She gets it. “Yes! Please tell me you have his crazy self.” He had wandered over her way because he wanted to go play on the playground. I then take him to the playground where I am subjected to code brown #2. “Mama, I pooped in my ‘biaper’.” Sigh…I get his bag. Dang it! HOW am I out of wipes?!?! Oh yea…the push pop.
#4 – ALWAYS PREPARE FOR THE INEVITABLE. Diapers, wipes, mosquito repellent (if applicable), band aids, Benadryl, Xanax, antibacterial gel, Lexapro, bloody nose, etc. Don’t do as I do, do as I say. You’re welcome.
#3 – A CHURCH LADY WILL GO ROGUE. For anyone reading that is not from the south, this happens a lot down here. They are the first ones to say how blessed they are and invite you to their bible study but then as soon as a ref makes an unfavorable call or a coach disses their baby…HORNS I SAY!. The HORNS come out! I remember recently, one lady was SCREAMING across the ball field about how the game was “rigged”, that the coaches were “cowards” and on and on. Some have terrible things to say about the opposing team members. They are just babies. This brings me to lesson learned #2.
#2 – YOU MAY GO ROGUE AND GIVE NEW MEANING TO THE TERM “REDNECK”. For the most part, I am too distracted to go deep southern. However, sometimes I hear an opposing coach talking NASTY to a kid and mama bear is ready to POUNCE. I may not know the coach or the kid but grrrr. lt can happen to the best of us. Count to 10.
#1 – BASEBALL IS JUST A SPORT. Most kids will not go on to be the next Babe Ruth or Hank Aaron and it’s OK if mine doesn’t. I’m not going to let him quit because he is scared or backing down from good, old fashioned, hard work but it’s OK if he has other interests he is more passionate about. Children are their own individuals and have their own unique abilities and journey. It’s our jobs as parents to help them find their way. So if my son strikes out the next game he is still AWESOME. He will be successful. Maybe an engineer, a boy bander or an outside salesman. Just make sure your daddy gets the ESPN channel and take me to the hair salon son. I WILL die a brunette. He knows we will always be proud of him, strike out or homerun. 🙂
As many of our close friends know, we ADORE our fur babies. Like many of you, we love them so much we consider them our family and occasionally let them eat baked chicken off of our plates. This past summer, we sadly had to say goodbye to “Bailey the Geriatric Maltese”. He was my faithful, four footed friend for 14 years.
This neurotic little guy was my roommate before the baby daddy and I got married, so they ended up having a love/hate relationship. He didn’t like having to share his mama and it took the hubby awhile to get used to a white, sissy fur ball growling at him every time he went in for a good night kiss. 🙂 The kids were a little sad when he passed but they got over it quickly. After all, he was MY dog and a GRUMPY old man in his older years. His claim to fame was living up to the “severe separation anxiety” diagnosis a vet gave him and dry humping my leg when company came over. We all have our battles, right?
Fast forward six months later to Christmas. Baby girl was DYING for her own puppy. So badly, in fact, that when her daddy told her he didn’t think it was a good time to get a dog, she had a full on diva darling meltdown…for WEEKS. Remember, girlfriend is an avid adorer of all things animal related and she had her heart set.
Let me fill you in on a little secret. BABY MAMA wanted the dog just as badly as her daughter. So what does a fine, upstanding wife do in this circumstance? Well, use it to her advantage to get her way of course. Mwahahaha.
NOW! Where to find our new family member? We needed a small house dog that was somewhat hypoallergenic. No luck finding a rescue pet and I didn’t want to pay $1000 for a dog. Also, no puppy mills, inner breeding, ringworm, etc. Consequently, I called our veterinarian’s office and they alerted me to one of their client’s that had puppies for sale. Long story short, they were a precious family and we fell in LOVE with “Bella the Shinese” (a Shih-tzu/Pekingese mix).
Then my son started begging for HIS own dog and Bella was having adjustment issues. She had a brother available. Baby mama caved. We brought “Bo the Shinese” home two days later.
Although more work with the potty training, Bella became ALIVE once her brother arrived and she never had another restless night’s sleep. That is, until a few weeks ago. 🙁
The Tasmanian devil angel child and I were inside the house and the baby daddy was playing Nerf guns with the oldest two in the back yard. The pups were on the back porch playing. I would even look out the window periodically to check on them because that’s what overprotective maternal beings do. They NEVER left each other’s side.
All of sudden, baby girl burst into the house with Bella in tow, sobbing the most gut wrenching sound you can imagine. “What’s wrong?!” I yelled. “Bo’s dead mama! He’s gone!” she cried. I then noticed she had blood on her leg and arm. I quickly realized it wasn’t hers. No one was in the backyard. “Stay in here and do NOT come out” I said as I rushed outside, heart rate increasing and hands shaking. What was I about to walk into?
Immediately, I knew. The baby daddy and the eldest were on all fours around a lifeless Bo on the grass in our front yard. My son was crying and beating the ground. My husband, a medical professional, was doing everything he knew to do to save our fur baby and was doing CPR on his little chest. He whispers to me “He’s gone babe. He’s gone.” I’m screaming inside but stoic on the outside. That’s how a parent rolls sometimes. It was so bad that our kind neighbor came out to check on us. He thought one of our biological kids had gotten run over by the car. We still don’t understand how he got out of our sight and away from his sister.
Like so many of us that lose a pet under unfortunate circumstances, it was a very hard week. None of us slept, the kids cried at school, Bella was very quite and subdued and our youngest kept asking “Where Bo mama?”
As terrible as it was (and is because we always miss those we love then lose…humans or animals), the kids learned a valuable lesson on how to grieve. I have the baby daddy to thank for this. I have to admit I was paralyzed in that moment but he just knew what to do. He gathered the kids around Bo and told them that he didn’t suffer, that they should pet him and tell him goodbye, that he was with God and even found this wooden post for them to decorate for his grave.
While he was placing the pup in his final resting place, my two oldest sat on the couch and, unprompted, placed their hands to their chest and prayed for their little pup. Between salty tears running down their cheeks and trying to console one another, they asked God to take care of him and thanked him for being such a good dog.
In that raw moment and thinking back to that surreal scene when my better half was doing chest compressions on a 7 pound fluff ball, it hit me. A manly dude, the baby daddy has a kind, selfless heart and that’s a ginormous reason why I married him. Isn’t it easy to forget the reasons why we fell in love with someone in the middle of the chaos of living? Furthermore, despite imperfect parenting, my kids were going to be ok.
We miss the little guy but I’m pleased to report that fur baby Bella is back to her old self and the kids have developed this overprotective, hovering nature towards her AND their baby brother (except when he is trying to bite, scratch or slash them with a sword. In addition, she gets baked chicken for dinner much more frequently. 🙂
To all you pet lovers out there that get it, thanks for listening to one of our many moments that teach us.
My boys had (and have) a hard time saying “st”. The convo gets a little dicey in public when they ask for chicken or fish sticks. 🙂 What’s the craziest thing that’s ever come out of your kiddo’s mouth? Seriously, share away…
(This fine, upstanding image can be accessed through my Pinterest account under “Meme”)
Three Kids & a Baby Daddy’s Baby Mamma
P.S. Don’t be all church lady and not hit the “Like” button. You know it’s funny.
Confession – We’ve been tardy all of 5 times the month of March! This is not the norm I assure you. Daylight savings…sheesh. In my defense, our tardies have been in the 8:01-8:02 range and there has been major construction on the road. However, technically kids are supposed to be in their classrooms seated before the bell rings. Soooo yeah…I’m failing at punctuality and mornings have been a mess. YES, I do everything I can the night before.
So how can one have an hour and half each morning to get three kids up, dressed and in the car and STILL be tardy? There are, surprisingly, MANY.
For example, today Offspring #2 decided it was more important to play with fur baby Bella and mark dates off her calendar than to brush her blond locks and attach her size 3 sneakers to her 10 piggies.
It went down a little something like this…
“Kids we CANNOT be tardy again! You have a whole 45 minutes to eat, dress, brush teeth and get bottoms in the car. Chop chop! Make it happen or those little iPads you see right there are going POOF.”
Older two are dressed within 10 minutes but the Tasmanian devil child is still asleep in MY bed because he is in the habit of sneaking under the covers around 3:00am every night. The battle of wills begins with me stripping off pajamas and him kicking while I wrestle the darn “choo choo” pull up on over his cute little buns. Phew! He’s ready.
Fast forward until 5 minutes pre departure time.
Baby girl is KILLING me.
“Brush your hair child so help me!
“What do you mean you can’t FIND your brush?! You just SAID you were BRUSHING your hair.”
“Where are your shoes?”
“Never mind. Here they are! Put them on in the car.”
I begin brushing her tangled mop. She’s screaming for maximum diva effect, Tasmanian devil child hits her in the head with his firetruck and yells “stop it sissy!” Oh it’s on now.
Finally…I open the back door and then fur baby Bella runs out. Geez! Ok, fur child is back inside, everybody is in the car and the beast child is contained in his car seat. Baby girl is holding her shoes and sobbing “I hate my life! You don’t understand the ways of little girls!”
Me – “Baby! Mama loves you but all I asked you to do was brush your hair so we wouldn’t be late and you had like 30 minutes to do it.”
“You don’t know what’s it’s like to have long hair like me! You aren’t a girl and you don’t understand me!.”
(Insert deer in headlights emoji)
A) I had long hair as a kid (it’s long NOW)
B) Last time I checked I was, in fact, a girl.
Eldest child throws his hands up in the air and gives me that “seriously?” look. I look back at her “Seriously?”.
20 minutes later we arrive at school. As the car comes to a halt, I cheerfully proclaim “Mama loves you! Have a FABO day! Yay! 5 minutes to get in your seats. Smooch.”
The toddler and I then round the corner. He lets out this massive sound and proudly states “Mama, I burp”.
At least we weren’t tardy!
Tonight I’ve got…
One with a 104 temp (flu suspicious aaannndddd we are a really close family)
One with this tangled mop (HOW does it gets like this EVERY DAY with CONDITIONER?)
and then one armed with a ball point pen
I may be hiding in the bathroom right now with the door locked. They are now banging on the door. I will get them all to bed, stay up all night checking on the infested one and drop the non fevered ones off at school ON TIME in the morning. I can do this because it’s my job and I am a TOP PRODUCER. At least this illness that may flood my house like a tsunami is temporary. Hair detangler gel and a wet brush is within my grasp. I also happen to have AMAZING eye makeup remover and a cotton ball for the mini beast’s extremities.
Oh man…breathe…hand is on the bathroom door. It’s go time woman. You’ve got this…