The Almost Syndrome

Mommy, are we there yet? Almost

Mommy, is it time for a nap? Almost

Mommy, did I smack you across the face with my light saber? (sigh) ALMOST

The almost syndrome. Motherhood often finds itself at the mercy of the ALMOST. Equally at the mercy of the ALMOST are the children at the receiving end of the ALMOST. ALMOST. ALMOST. ALMOST. ALMOST. ALMOST. ALMOST. Did it stop sounding like a real word yet?

I sit here and think about how often I use the word almost. Last week for instance. I almost peed my pants when my husband and son returned from Walmart and I discovered that the boy had somehow managed to get past me wearing shorts and cowboy boots. Not that I have anything against either one. And let's be honest, he was going to Walmart. But...he also has a rash covering his entire body because he somehow contracted 5th disease. Yay! If someone's mother only ALMOST took their kid to school with 5th disease then my son wouldn't have contracted the crazy, red, splotchy looking disease. Stop staring at me! And my son! So help me! Phew. That felt good :)

I almost didn't eat that donut today. But I did.

I almost did not freak out when my air turned up to 74 today. But I did.

I almost did not watch the entire Samantha Who series on Netflix in two days. But I did.

I almost bought a basketball hoop at a garage sale for $25. But I didn't. Blurg you husband!

I've had an entire day of almosts before. It's not a pleasant kind of day. It's the kind of day where you almost get out the door on time, but one of the lovelies goes poop and you have to clean it off of you, their legs, their ankles, their back, their neck and their hands (because somehow in the clean up they managed to reach down and grab a handful of the wretched stuff)...making you 20 minutes late out the door. Shucks. ALMOST!

Then comes lunch. A blessed part of the day...usually. Until an appointment shows up and you don't get to eat until 2 at which point everyone has eaten without you, so you eat in your office by yourself. ALMOST!

And then work is over and you pick up your kids. You've planned ahead and have the meal all planned out. So you get home and start cooking. Everything is almost ready and the children start falling apart. The baby only had a half hour nap at school so he is grumpy and hungry and falls completely apart while you're trying to feed him pasta that he DOESN'T WANT TO EAT! So you give up and take him to bed. Meanwhile, your four year old (also tired and hungry) is falling apart because...actually, who knows why...and is sobbing in the bathroom. Also meanwhile, your husband is at the store because you almost remembered to buy bread for the dinner, but you didn't. So you have sent him out and are now regretting that decision because everyone has had a meltdown while you are just trying to feed your family a nice dinner. ALMOST.

ALMOST. Such an unpredictable word. And sometimes rude.

But it doesn't count if it's an ALMOST. So just declare a do-over and start again :)

Lovesandboys,

Bekah

Lola. Period.

I feel ashamed. And sad. And horrified. That it has been exactly 9o-ish days since I have posted. To my 5 faithful readers. I am sorry. But I am more sorry that 3 months have gone by without even a word written about the funny-ness that is my life. The children. The husband. The dog. There is always some sort of chaos. Trust me.

For example. Two days ago the air conditioning in our house went out. I was home with the boys that day and realized the house was getting gradually warmer. At first I was deep in the throes of denial and thought it was just because I had made scones and the oven had been at 425 for a good hour. Combined with the fact that this is Vegas and it's exactly 210 degrees outside. As the day went on the house got warmer. And I got grumpier. I decided it was best to call the hubs.

So I did. And he called our Home Warranty. And they called out a repairman. Who couldn't come until the next day. Sometime between the hours of 8am to 6pm. Lovely.

One sleepover at my sister's house and 10 scones later...our air was fixed and all was well with the world again.

Until Lola started her period. At my sister's house while I was at work. (insert evil mwahahaha here). My sister said she had PMS. Poor Lola. Poor sister. Lucky me :)

The boys are big. Baby Z turned one while I've been away from this lovely blog. One. Did I mention he turned one? Remember how I just gave birth to him yesterday? Seriously. He is still cute. But feisty. Yep. The sweet, laid back, easy-going Baby Z has now entered the "scream and throw a fit when he doesn't get his own way" phase. It's SUPER FUN! Lots of thrashing and crying...mostly from me. He's just strong willed and super smart. That's what we tell ourselves anyway. It somehow makes us feel better. For a minute.

Yep. Parenting. It's a challenge. And each day is filled with that one question every parent is seeking the answer to...

WHAT THE CRAP AM I DOING? :)

More to come. I need a scone.

Lovesandboys,

Bekah

Tennis + The Ice Cream Man = MAGIC

Today we "played" tennis with the children. All of them. The boy, Baby Z, Niece and Nephew. It was interesting. Have you ever played tennis with a baby on your hip? I have.

I use the term "played tennis" in the loosest sense of the word. There was a lot of running after the balls, missed hits, re-dos, do-overs and wanderings into the desert in search of tennis balls gone missing. But it was fun. Except that I forgot to feed Baby Z before we left. So my usually incredibly happy, non-cranky baby was fussy and sad and WANTED HIS MOMMY! That's what he shouted at me from the sidelines (in his head anyway...I just know it). Poor baby. I am quite certain that I will win Mommy of the Year for 2011. What? That's a real award isn't it? So I played with him on my hip for the last half hour we were there. My left bicep is bulging with muscular-ness.

When we first arrived we had the entire court...there were two of them. And then some older men arrived and started staring at us. So I offered to move us all to one court so they could have the other. They were appreciative. I'm nice.

They were almost as bad as we were but my nephew was very impressed with their skills. Just after I thought to myself how cute these two old men were and also how bad they really were at playing...he busted out (loudly, I might add) "whoa...they're good." I am pretty sure I saw one of the old men smile. They played better after that. Maybe they're tennis self-esteem got boosted. That would be swell. Cuz they were cute. And nice. And retrieved the 4,678,987 tennis balls that we sent into their court. Thanks old guys!

And then we were leaving and I heard it. Actually the boy heard it first. The ice cream man. Suddenly, I felt like I was 6 years old again and was filled with joyful glee that the ice cream man was coming. The kids and I...ah hem...I mean JUST the kids were all jumping up and down yelling "It's the ice cream man!" Suddenly I found myself looking at the husband asking for a treat from the ice cream man. I'm pretty sure I didn't need his permission but it sure felt like it in the moment. I love when I get to feel like a kid again.

Everything about the ice cream man is the same. The emotions. The smile it brings. The need to buy a deliciously cold treat. The music (hum it with me). The snow cones. Ahhhh...the snow cones. So we got ice cream from the ice cream man (it was actually a woman but ice cream woman just doesn't have the same kind of ring to it). It was before dinner. Again...I'm holding my breath for that Mom of the Year Award. :) It was delicious.

I love tennis. And more importantly...I love the ice cream man. It was a magical time.

Lovesandboys,

Bekah

The Drive By Glance

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I was wandering around an almost closed Target. The site that was before me was not ok. I suddenly realized I rushed out the door without one thought of my appearance.

-Disheveled pony tail

-Stained t-shirt

-Yoga pants (please note: I have done yoga twice in the last month...and they're a bit tight...probably because I have only done yoga twice in the last year...I mean month)

-Flip flops

It would have been embarrassing if I had the energy to care. But I just didn't.

I was in the clothes section, looking at all of the new cute spring time things they put on the shelves and onto plastic hangers and that's when it happened. The drive by glance. Ugh. Target, on purpose I am sure, hides their mirrors. They are nestled in between racks of mini skirts, too tight t-shirts, and shelves of cardigans. To make matters worse, I was in that front section of the Target clothes. If you're anything over a size 8, you know the section I'm talking about. The part of the clothes that is the closest to the door, you know...where all the cute stuff is?...it's sized for one demographic only. The teeny-bops (that's what my dad calls them. It used to drive me crazy...when I was one of them. Now...I see his point. Well said dad!). I am a teeny-bop NO MORE! I have birthed TWO CHILDREN GOSH DARN IT! This girl's got some hips. So I shop from the middle back (you know...in between the teeny-bops and the maternity), and I'm ok with it. But tonight, the long dresses were in that front section. And summer is coming. Let's be honest...it's my summer wardrobe option of choice.

And that's when the drive by glance happened. Just after I finished looking at the dresses. I wasn't feeling too bad when I left my house. How can one glance, into that darn mirror, change my opinion in a matter of seconds? I got over it. In a matter of seconds. But I was still very aware that I should leave the store immediately...before the townspeople came rioting...but I finished up my shopping with my head held high(ish). There were only like 3 other customers in the store...AND 1,000 workers who all decided to be nice and ask if I needed anything. They probably felt sorry for me. I'm pretty sure I heard one of them whisper "Ahhh...bless her heart"

I would like to say that I will NEVER go to Target like that again. But I am quite certain that I will :)

Lovesandboys,

Bekah

She's No Muerte...

Muerte was the name of our first dog. He was extraordinary...and part human. He understood full sentences. He knew when it was appropriate to bark and when it wasn't. He didn't need a leash. He knew our names. He was loyal. He was cuddly...but not needy. He was independent. He went everywhere with us. He was a "chihuahua" (in air quotes because he was very un-chihuahua in mannerisms). He was family. He was one of a kind. He was awesome and His name was Muerte. That means death in Spanish. We realize this. It's sort of an indicator of our sick sense of humor.

He passed away last June. I was 8 months pregnant. If you know anything about being pregnant you understand why this is an important fact to point out. He had liver cancer. Ugh. I hate cancer. He was only 8 years old. Poor dog. Poor us. It was one of the saddest days we've ever had.

The boy in particular had a very hard time with this. And still does. Every once in a while he will ask me, "Mommy. Has Jesus made Muerte better yet? Can he come home now? I miss him." Oh...so sad. He was in LOVE with that dog. The first day that we brought the boy home from the hospital he was in his bassinet next to the couch. And Muerte sat on the arm of the couch right next to him and didn't move. He had immediately accepted the boy as family and had made a vow to protect him...at least in my mind that's what he was doing. It was unbelievable. For the next month or so, Muerte did not move from the boy's side. He went everywhere that the boy went. Good dog.

So...when he passed it was VERY difficult on all of us. We weren't even sure what to do. The boy was so sad. We were sad. So...we thought getting another dog might help. So we did. Her name is Lola. And she is NO Muerte. She is the same breed...a deer head chihuahua. We got her for free (that story is crazy but not for this blog).

She's cute. She's sweet. She barks at inappropriate times. She's cuddly...and NEEDY. She's almost the exact opposite of Muerte. For months I called her "not Muerte" instead of by her name. Perhaps this played into her neediness and insecurity. She just has no self esteem. She crawls up to my face and looks at me with these "do you still love me?" kind of eyes. Perhaps she's not so different from a lot of girls seeking relationship? Is that weird? That I just took it there? Oh well. If you're reading this and you're one of THOSE girls. Just stop. Have some self pride and self worth...for the love of all that is good and holy! :)

I'm trying my best to love and accept her into our family. But she's no Muerte...

Poor Lola. She has no chance of matching up to him. She could try a little harder though...yeesh. She doesn't need a leash though! So that's good. Hmmm...

Lovesandboy,

Bekah

PS – maybe it’s because she used to be a showgirl…

Cheese Chips

I ended the day with cheese chips. They are delightful. And somewhat embarrassing.

Recipe:

1 Handful of Lays Potato Chips

1-2 Slices American Cheese

Take that handful of tato chips (sigh) and place them on a plate, spread out evenly. Tear the american cheese into pieces and spread out on top of the chips. Microwave for 30 seconds. Eat it.

American cheese is the key to this super fabulous (and a tad bit ghetto) recipe. Good ol' american cheese. It's processed. It's yellow. It's melty goodness. You don't need to judge me! You don't even know me! :) Go ahead and judge...I love my cheese chips enough to ignore the judgmental stares...

It was a tasty end to a lovely day.

The day started off at 10:30 am. That's right. 10:30 am. I am happy about this. The boy had a sleepover with his best friend and the baby only woke briefly at 8:30 for a quick bottle and then went back to sleep...allowing the love and I to sleep until 10:30. Perfection. Sweet, lovely, NEEDED, perfection. The mom of the boy's best friend, called us at 10:45. This was either because she was concerned that we would not return to pick up our boy, or she was calling to see if we still wanted to go to the snow as we discussed the night before. Phew. It was the latter. I'm thankful we are such great friends or CPS might have gotten a phone call.

So...we went to the snow. The boy and the husband had a blast. I had a blast watching them. For a minute. Until...

*A brief side note to any other parents out there: DO NOT bring an 8 month old to the snow. There is no where to put them down (so that mommy can go sledding) and they get bored, cold and fussy pretty quickly. And my baby is practically a saint. Just trust me.

So. That was interesting. And now we know. But it was still fun. Because that's how we roll.

And then everyone crashed in the car. Except the love. He was driving. God bless Him.

Naps, dinner and a movie...was the rest of the evening for the boys.

Nap, dinner and a movie (Adventures of Sharkboy and Lava Girl...which kind of deserves it's own blog. Seeing it NEVER, would have been enough for me), made cookies for the boys and then I ended the day with cheese chips. You should try them. You're welcome in advance.

Lovesandboys,

Bekah

Poots

Poots. That's what we call poo, poop, poo poo, feces...in this house. It started with my nephew and has just kind of stuck. We all say it. All the grown ups included...

Two days ago, I arrived home in the evening. Pulled Baby Z out of the car like any normal day. And then it happened. I felt the warm squish against my skin and froze. Gross. And then I smelled it. Ick. And then I looked down. Yep. Poots. All over my hands. On this particular day there was poots on my hands, on my arms and a big hershey kiss left on my shirt. Husband was not home...thank you love! So my hands were covered in poots, I was carrying my purse and the diaper and bag, a baby dripping with poots and somehow needed to get in the house and shut the garage door. I was so thankful for the boy! He was a champ! He helped me get in the house, got a towel and washcloth for Baby Z and a big ziploc so I had a place to dispose of the mess...making faces and gag noises the whole time...but at least he helped :)

The poots was everywhere. Awesome.

So I got him cleaned up. Bathed. Clothes rinsed out...which in and of itself is a spectacular task. The chunks run down the drain and you feel yourself gagging...just trying to hold it together. Then I got myself cleaned up and both boys in bed...an hour and a half after we got home. Exhasuting.

So...last night. I arrived home and pulled Baby Z out of the car like any normal day. This time I was more cautious. The memory of the previous evening was still lingering in my brain. So I carefully lifted him out of the car. This time I smelled it first. And then I felt it. Ugh. Seriously? Two nights in a row? Two poots nights in a row...and both of them without the husband? How does he get so lucky? And tonight...the boy stayed with his daddy. So...no help at all. Awesome. Poots everywhere. Again. And tonight...it was all in the car seat too. So I did what any good wife would do. I decided that I would leave the cleaning of the car seat for my love. I wouldn't want to rob him the opportunity to bless my life. You're welcome husband :)

So...I got baby Z cleaned up. Again. It was fantastically gross. And smelly.

Off to eat lunch! :)

Lovesandboys,

Bekah