When All Hell Breaks Loose.

To see what happened right after the Road Warrior walked out the door for his last trip go to my new site...http://www.roadwarriorwife.com. It's still in progress, but it's getting there!

Another One Bites the Dust...

Well. Here we are. Months since my last post and where is roadwarriorwife.com is no farther along. That's not entirely true. It's farther, it's just invisible to the naked eye. I've ditched 3 different hosting platforms and two web-development tools. I'm throwing in the towel on "fancy" for the summer & going to put the site back up without any bells and whistles.

In the meantime...another roadwarriorwife couple has bit the dust. What do I mean? Second divorce of the year from a couple where the husband travels a lot. The travel factor may be a coincidence but it's nevertheless unsettling. It's sad. It's depressing. And I fear there are more to come. I am studying couples with a different viewpoint. We. Are. Entering. That. Age. Please tell me you know what I mean? The blush of new love has worn off. The kiddies are slightly more self-reliant. And couples across the country are looking at each other with fresh eyes. Who is this person I married? Many of us can still happily say "yes, this man has changed; I have changed; but yes, I still love him." And others... well, others are saying "no... as a matter of fact, no." But I have to wonder... are they saying to "no" to their spouse, or "no" to the reality of everyday life in your late 30's?

Where Have I Been?

Has anyone noticed? It's been weeks since I've updated the site. I know it looks like I'm slacking off, but I'm not. I'm working of version 1.2 of my internet fame. A "real" website. It's not pretty, but it's there. Go look: http://www.roadwarriorwife.com. You know after my kids & husband, the next great love of my life is food. So this one is for the foodie in me. And the foodie in you, too. Are you thinking you're not a foodie? Not interested in cooking? All the more reason to come to the site once it's up and running. And it's definitely for all of us who struggle to feed our kids interesting meals that don't require hours in the kitchen. Summertime is coming, you know! And those of you who are lucky enough to live close to Trader Joe's are REALLY going to love me. I'm a big fan of taking a base product from TJ's and giving it a little "somethin' somethin'". So hang in there with me...please! In the meantime, well, be well and try not to starve to death while I work on the solution to all of your mealtime dilemmas!
P.S. For those of you hoping for entertaining stories of the kids, they are in abundance as always. It was quite the eye opener to attend church with Caitlin last week & watch as she blatantly lied in Children's Chapel. She didn't bat an eye. Cool as a cucumber. Didn't care a whit that her own Mama was right in the room. I wasn't sure if I should crawl under a bench and hide, or yank her out into the hallway and read her the riot act. I guess I could have read her the riot at under a bench???

Valentine Jealousy?

We had a new experience on Valentine's Day. I went out to check the mail on Valentine's Day, and found something extra in the mailbox. Not just the usual Valentine's from grandma & grandpa, but a special one for my girl. And not from her daddy. It was from a B-O-Y. And not another kindergartener. A first grader. (Guess she's following her Mom's example of lusting after older men.) And not one of our neighbors. This boy lived on another street, which meant he asked his Mom to drive him to our house to deliver the Valentine. Boy, this kid was smooth! Quite impressive for a first grader! It was sweet and I think Caitlin may have blushed a bit. But it made me feel very funny inside- how could my girl be old enough to get a surprise Valentine?And was I, dare I say? A bit jealous. Perhaps. Being married is great. (Excuse me while I digress a moment- I am writing this from Starbucks and Ken & I's wedding song just came on the music system- how ODD is that??? In case you're wondering, it's Frank Sinatra, "I've Got You Under My Skin" Bizarre. Really, really, Bizarre.) So anyway, marriage is great. But after ten years there's minimal  mystery. I know who my Valentine is and hopefully will be for the rest of my life. No more wondering if that cute guy at the gym is going to put a card on my car. No more wondering if the cute guy at Starbucks will be there today or not. So yes, I am woman enough to admit a tad bit of jealousy. But you know what? I won't miss the drama of secret crushes and unrequited love. I'm going to enjoy living vicariously through my six year old. And if someday my little guy wants to deliver a surprise Valentine, I will happily do it for him. 

Advanced Mommy Skills 202...

Sit down and close your eyes. This next part is going to take a bit of imagination. (In other words, the picture didn't turn out well, so I couldn't post it.) Imagine you are at a hockey game with your family...three of you are very happy...the youngest member (aged 3 1/2) is not. Imagine the noise...the chanting...the mayhem everywhere you look. Now imagine you are 3 1/2 years old. You are very, very tired. Your pleas to go home five minutes into the first period are to no avail. Now imagine crawling onto your Mommy's lap and cuddling up in the midst of all that chaos and falling asleep because you are so very, very tired. Now imagine free t-shirts being tossed from the rafters above. All around your Mom the t-shirts are sailing past into the hands of the crowd. People are pushing and grabbing for the t-shirts. And calmly your mother reaches out and plucks a t-shirt from the sky, without ever disturbing your slumber. 

Of course the story above is true. It's too goofy not to be. In the midst of Sunday's hockey game, Ryan decided he was tuckered out and crashed on my lap. I actually did get a picture, however there is more bosom showing than I feel comfortable posting. But it did get me thinking about advanced Mommy Skills. That is, the amount of things you can now simultaneously accomplish that defy the laws of physics and gravity. Grabbing a t-shirt with a sleeping child was one of my more skillful accomplishments. But my real refinement of these skills came when Ryan was a newborn. My personal favorite was walking up the stairs while nursing Ryan to answer the call from a then 2 1/2 year Caitlin - "MOOOOOOMMMMMMY....I have messy poop. I need HELLLLP..." As I continued to nurse Ryan and assist Caitlin with her hygenie needs, all I could think was "is this really happening? am I really the same person that used to "do" lunch and get manicures?" The event was so horrifying and funny at the same time that I immediately called a working Mom friend of mine. She (fortunately? unfortunately?) was not at her desk, so I left her a lengthy message explaining "why leaving small children with a nanny and going to the office is a brilliant idea." She was so amused by my voicemail that she saved it for weeks and played it any time she was having a bad case of Mommy guilt. So today, cheers to advanced Mommy skills. Cheers to helping with spelling words and building Lego dragons at the same time. Cheers to simultaneously making tomorrow's lunchs, moving a load of laundry into the dryer, and still knowing when your children are up to something bad! 

What's a Girl to Do?

So one of my sister's is pregnant with her first baby. Very exciting. Especially since it's been 3 1/2 years since we've had a new baby in our family. And extra exciting because my sister is "AMA", also known as "advanced maternal age". You know how these things are- you spend years trying NOT to get pregnant. And then when you do decide you're "ready" (whatever the heck that means- was any of us truly ready???) to have a baby, you suddenly starting praying like a maniac that an egg and sperm will successfully meet and implant. Everything sounds fine and dandy, right? And it is - as far as the baby's health & my sister's health & all the really important stuff goes. And I'm planning to go see my sister. This is no mean feat because she lives in ski country. In non-ski season a visit requires a cross-country flight and a five hour car ride. In ski season you can fly cross-country, connect to a puddle jumper and then drive 1 hour to her house. Much better. BUT...there's a complication. A rather serious one known as "Mom". Or the soon to be grandma for the 11th time. My Mom has not flown on a plane in twenty-nine years. Did you see that? TWENTY-NINE YEARS.  That's a long time folks. A serious enough phobia that you don't just say one day "hmmmm, I think I'll go fly cross-country today." And that's not her only issue. The poor woman has never been a great traveller and age has not helped. She can no longer make the 2 1/2 hour drive to my house. For a while she would come visit if I picked her up and brought her back (as long as we could stop at least once for a cigarette break). But we've moved from "moderately advanced travelling phobia" to "severely advanced travelling phobia." She won't come to my house anymore. This is not good. For lot's of reasons, predominantly because my Mom smokes in her house & I truly feel like I am suffocating in her house. Not good at all. But I am digressing from the real issue. My Mom has stated her intention to get on an airplane to see my sister's new baby. Great. Fantastic. Makes me believe in miracles. Except (and you all knew a monkey wrench was about to be thrown in, didn't you?) that my Mom wants to fly with someone for her cross-country flight. Someone like me. Yikes. I love my Mom. Oh, do I love her. But I can't do that. Anything but that. A kidney donation sounds preferable. I want to be there for my sister; not babysit my Mom through plane aversion therapy. I have a horrible vision of the trip. A vision that involves my Mom panicking in California when she realizes it's time to get on a puddle jumper and refusing to get on the 2nd leg of the flight. A vision of me and my Mom driving from California back to South Carolina to get her home. So what's a girl to do? Six weeks until the trip. Do you think I can successfully avoid answering my Mom's calls for six weeks? Can I accidentally on purpose tell my Mom the wrong trip dates? How am I going to sleep at night if I lie to my Mom. What's a girl to do??? 

Missing...

Disappearing socks make sense to me. I don't like it but I understand how we end up with stray socks. The washing machine eats them. They got shoved under the couch. I accept lost socks as a way of life. But I am starting another list of "Things That Have Mysteriously Disappeared." There is no rhyme or reason to this list. It keeps me awake at night. (well not really, but it would be funny if it did) Are you ready? 

#1. (with a bullet) Kitchen tongs. I kid you not. I love my kitchen tongs. So much that I have (had) two pairs. And now there is only one. Where could the others be? Is there a mysterious burglar out there with a fetish for kitchen tongs? It's a mystery to me. 

#2. Caitlin's Bitty Baby. A much loved baby doll. So loved that she was not allowed to leave the house for fear of getting lost. The strategy did not work. The doll is gone. I did not panic until we sold our house and moved 2 1/2 years ago. As we packed I thought surely we would find the missing baby. Nope. We've contemplated filing a missing persons report because clearly she has been Baby-napped. 

#3. Spoons. Once upon a time I had 12 spoons for my everyday flatware. Now I have 9. Where on earth did they go??? Stolen by the same thief with the tong fetish???

There is another list. It is called "Things That Are Annoying to Lose, but Are No Real Surprise."

#1. Jackets. My kids hate to wear 'em. Take 'em off at every opportunity and dump them on the nearest chair. Or on the ground. Mostly on the ground, but I like to pretend they gently place them on a chair. No surprise they often don't make it home. 

#2. Hair clips/ Bows/ Rubber Bands. Not much to say about this. They walk out the door in the morning to the bus stop only never to be seen again. 

#3. Clothes from the dry cleaners. Mea culpa for using a inexpensive (cheap) dry cleaner with minimal English speaking skills, but it's still annoying. 

What's on your list? Add it to the comments below... 

Are MId-Life Crises Optional?

I hit a new milestone this year. I officially know someone going through a mid-life crisis. In the interest of preserving their anonymity and our relationship, I will keep the details vague. But I will say it started off innocently enough with renewed interest in a childhood passion.  One day everything was fine; my friend had a new hobby. The next week it seemed, she had gone AWOL. Her hobby consumed her life. Husband and children were left to fend for themselves. Long term friends were jilted in favor of her hobby. She is not having an affair; at least not of the sexual kind. But her husband and children are missing a part of her. Per the Internet version of Webster's Dictionary known as "Wikipedia", a mid-life crisis is: a "term...to describe a period of dramatic self-doubt that is felt by some individuals in the middle years of life." Self-doubt? Hell, I was an expert at that emotion. Isn't that the definition of modern motherhood? Did that mean I was halfway out the door from my family and didn't realize it? Who approves mid-life crises? Where do I submit my application and do I need a note from my mother? And more importantly, do I get to trade in my SUV for an obnoxiously bright sports car? Too bad psychologist Carl Jung defined the age range as "between 40 and 60". I've got to hang in there for a few more years until I qualify. But actually, I'd like to skip the crisis. I've worked really hard to put away the self-doubts of my 20s. And I would miss my husband and kids too much. Can I just play hooky for a day or two instead? 

T.V. Time

In my perfect world, Caitlin and Ryan would never watch television. 

Or all shows would not only teach 6 year olds how to do quantum physics, but also how to be kind to their younger brothers. If you haven't guessed, I'm not a fan of television. There is a reason why it's also known as the "boob tube." My post-college television set used rabbit ears. No cable for this girl. (It's not as crazy as it sounds. I didn't need cable to watch Ally McBeal.) In our early dating Ken demonstrated love for me in many ways. He is a man who loves sports. Basketball in particular. After driving five hours to visit me for the weekend, we settled in to watch the college basketball Final Four tournament. Although his face paled when he saw the rabbit ears sticking out of my t.v., he gamely settled in on the couch to watch a slightly fuzzy championship game. Yes, it was love. 

And then we got married. Clearly, his first priority was appropriate electronics. Interpreted as: DirecTV (non-negotiable so he could watch Steelers games), TiVo, and of course every channel known to man and some channels that may only be watched by little green creatures on Mars. I fought hard against TiVo. It was a waste of money. I would never use it. Any TiVo junkies out there are laughing their asses off at me right now. Because they know I am hooked. I now rate TiVo as life changing. I kid you not. TiVo ranks on the same level as the warming drawer in my kitchen. It doesn't seem like a big deal...until you have one. (BTW, I inherited the warming drawer with the house, but if you ever have the space and funds to put one in your kitchen they are indispensable. It's extra nice for hardworking  Hubby- no more cold dinners when he works late.) TiVo eliminates annoying commercials for me - the thought of watching American Idol without TiVo makes me break out in a sweat- and protects my children. For years the only shows "on offer" in our house were educational. Sesame Street, Bob the Builder, and Dora the Explorer filled brains and t.v. time. Our household was blissfully unaware of the finer character development occurring on SpongeBob SquarePants. The advent of kindergarten burst my sheltered little bubble. Some brilliant educator thought teaching kids to read was a good idea. Without even asking me first. (Don't panic, of course I am 100% kidding.) Caitlin was thrilled and naively, so was I. I lacked foresight. Suddenly Caitlin was very interested in recording her own t.v. shows and broadening her viewing horizons. I am getting questions I am not ready for. The word "cheerleader" caught her eye this morning. Too bad it was prefaced by "Girls Gone Wild: Horny Cheerleaders."  I hope Ken  forgives me if he comes home to rabbit ears on the t.v. again. I'd gladly let my kids watch SpongeBob just to avoid explaining what "horny" means to a six year old!

The Fairness Game.

How do you feel about treating your kids fairly? My husband, Ken, and I are a house divided. Fortunately this is not a source of serious contention, more of interesting discussion. As the younger of two children, he and his brother were always treated exactly the same. If Ken had five presents under the Christmas tree, then his brother had exactly five presents under the Christmas tree. If Ken got five dollars for the movies, his brother got five dollars for the movies. And so forth. It was very well publicized in his house that everyone would be treated fairly. It was a noble effort, but somehow I think he and his brother still let out the age old whine "it's not faaaaiiirrrr". I strongly suspect those were the words uttered by Cain right before bonking Able on the head with a rock. I, on the other hand, was raised with no such pretenses. The youngest of five children; there was no time for calculation of equal distribution of goods. At least not if my mom wanted to get dinner on the table.  If I needed shoes, I got shoes. If my sister did not need shoes she did not get shoes. If my brother was invited to Six Flags with a friend, I was not automatically given a spending budget equal to the admission price of Six Flags. I wish I could say it didn't bother me, but it did. Sometimes it felt, well, unfair. As Mick Jagger sings, "if you try sometimes you might find. You get what you need..." And indeed, I did always get what I needed or what was appropriate. And annoying though it was (because of course I had a lot of things I thought I needed and it was horribly unfair that I did not have them), I thank my parents for being strong. I cringe for the current generation entering the workforce. The job market is terrible and the economy worse. Raised in a time of prosperity, there is a blissful naivete. What is life like in the workforce? Well, if you expect fairness, it can really suck. Promotions go to ass-kickers, business deals are won because of "connections", and sometimes companies lay people off. This can be a tough lesson to learn if  you were not fortunate enough to have Mrs. Jones as your English teacher in high school.  If you had Mrs. Jones like I did, you were ready to obey the rules. I can still flash back to the moment when I realized fairness is subjective.  My English class had a term paper. The instructions were clear; the paper must be typed  handwritten. If handwritten it must be on unlined paper. Guess...who did not use unlined paper? Guess who failed their (beautifully written) term paper? Annoying? Yes. Frustrating? Yes. Was the failing grade fair...unfortunately, yes.  That was the day I quit whining about "it's not fair." I learned a deep respect for the power of "the boss." Are you wondering what is my point? Don't get sucked into the fairness game. It's a waste of time.  Find a different game instead....like Blokus. Now that's worthwhile. 

What IS That???

I AM HUNGRYYYYYY!!! So says a crabby 3 year after smashing his french toast into his napkin with an evil glare. Do you believe him? I didn't. Off the food went into the trash. That mad him mad.I tried to get a picture of him pitching a fit, but that REALLY made him mad so I stopped. Shoulda taken a picture of the french toast in the trash instead. 

Is Karate the Answer?

I have mixed feelings about organized activities for kids. They always seem like a good idea at the start.  The kids start off with great enthusiasm and interest. This interest inevitably fades during the weeks. I know I can't be the only one who has prodded her children along "c'mon, c'mon, let's go!". And all the while, I am wondering why. Why am I nagging them? I really don't care if my 3 year old goes to "sports 101". Okay, I do care. I hate to waste money. But... I've got plenty of other things to nag him about. Starting with teeth brushing. Or the ever popular toilet flushing/ hand washing combo. Moms across the country have different "activity management strategies." There is the a) endurance building Marathon Mom. Simply put, this Mom schedules an activity every day. No down time. No time for whining because you're already off and running in the car. These Moms consume vast amounts of caffeine. There is also b) Mall Mama. As in "I'd rather be at the Mall than shuffling my kids to activities". And there's me. "Motivatin' Mama". I keep hoping with enough positive mental attitude (good ol' P.M.A.) and chocolate chip granola bars the activities blues will fade away. I can't say it has worked. 

And then I found karate. Not only is it close to my house (very important), but Caitlin and Ryan have consecutive classes (extra important). The first few lessons were fantastic for everyone. The kids were hooked. And more importantly, I was too. For the first time, I DO care if we go to karate. This is something I can believe in. For a 3 year old boy, it's channelling energy in a positive way. Also known as "learning how to demolish boards; not your parent's house." For a 6 year old girl, it's so much more. I love ballet for girls. I love gymnastics for girls. But. (you knew this was coming, right? This article isn't called "is ballet the answer?" ) Ballet and gymnastics put a lot of abuse on young bodies. And a lot of abuse on body-image. I worry about body image for girls a lot. I'm not crazy; there are our anorexic 8 year olds in our world. That is crazy. But karate...karate is for big people or small. Or tall or short. Or pretty or ugly. Yes, I was thrilled. And then week 3 it started. The whining. The "I don't wanna go. I don't like karate." Into my special Mommy zone I went. The zone where no whining penetrates. I smile pleasantly and nod and keep moving the kids along to the car. And magically at the karate parking lot smiling children pop out of the car and race to the front door. 

Our karate studio goals are to "internalize lessons that improve self-confidence, goal achievement, and school grades." Whew. That's ambitious. I'm surprised they're not trying to find a cure for cancer at the same time. Or maybe that is part of the black belt program. But for today, let's just hope I'm building the foundation for self-confidence. That will get you far in this world. I'll put up with a lot of whining to instill that in the kids. 

What's Your Heaven?

I hope I don't offend anyone with this. I probably will, but I'm going to write it anyway. Ever since Ryan, at 3 1/2, asked me "Mama, what color is heaven?", heaven has been in the forefront of my mind. He was not pleased with my answer (all different colors), but he is pleased that I told him he could see dinosaurs in heaven but only if you want. His sister, Caitlin, will not be having dinosaurs in her heaven. Uh-uh, no way, nohow. See, to me, that is the wonder of heaven- it is different for everyone. Please don't ask me to quote what verse in the bible says this, it is simply what I believe. So Ryan's question got me to thinking, "what would my heaven be like?" And it dawned upon me in a burst of divine intervention (I'm sorry, I know I will offend someone with that, but it makes for more interesting reading), my heaven focuses a lot around LAUNDRY. But before you start thinking how shallow I am, hear me out. I hate laundry. Not because the actual task is that bad. It's really not. But because it takes away time from my family. It's a time sucker. Sorting, getting out stains, removing rocks or hairbows from pockets, folding & putting away- what a waste! At the end of dinner my belly is satisfied and I've enjoyed time sitting with my family. At the end of a load of laundry, there is just another pile freshly created. So if I'm very, very,very kind in this world, I hope in heaven there is no laundry; just empty laundry baskets. I think God would like me to spend more time just hanging out and less time doing busywork. And if I'm only mostly kind, then at least I hope everyone wears flip flops and there will be no more washing and sorting of socks. Hmmm... maybe that I should put "bare feet 24X7" on our list of retirement goals... 

The Winter Doldrums

It's official. I am either really, really old OR I am in the winter doldrums. I got a new broom today & I am beside myself with happiness. See, I am blessed with a house full of hardwood floors. They are beautiful and I love them. I am also blessed with two small children, who, albeit cute, are messy. I am also blessed with a husband who is also cute, but also messy. Are you starting to understand my problems? No rugs mean nowhere (and I do mean nowhere) for crumbs to hide. Every one lays on the floor in it's glory for my bare feet to feel in the mornings. And because of my allergies I can't even get a dog to help me with the crumbs. I had other brooms, but they were annoying. Almost a waste of my time because of the amount of crumbs still mocking me on the floor. It was enough to make a girl crabby. So I went to the guru of cleanliness...Martha Stewart. I figured anyone who would use eight different kinds of paintbrushes and toothbrushes to carefully dust the moldings on her picture frames would have a solution for me. And she did. My solution arrived today (pictured above) and it is fantastic. Of course being a Martha Stewart recommendation it wasn't cheap. But after calculating the amount of money I've wasted on crappy brooms from Target + the pain and suffering from another broom that didn't work well, it seems like a bargain. Have broom, will sweep with happiness. Life is looking up. Yep, it's the winter doldrums for sure. 

Damn, It's Good to be Wrong.

I was wrong. Completely and totally, and I admit it. Uggs are not terrible, they are terrific. Okay, I backstep a bit- I was not completely wrong- they are still kind of ugly. I am convinced that is why they are called "uggs". I resisted them for years. Was curious about them, but highly skeptical of anything so coveted by the teenage crowd. Must I relive all of the terrible clothing choices I made as a teenager? I constantly struggled between a desire to wear the "in" clothes and express my personal style. Extremely hard to do if you are still trying to decide who it is you are, much less develop a fashion style. And it's tremendously hard  to be a "hip" Mom with two small children and find clothes that are a) age appropriate, b) cover the appropriate body parts and c) are somewhat figure flattering. So given these factors, I thoroughly rejected Uggs when they became popular a few years ago. Flash forward a few years and it is a whole new world. The Bus Stop World. The morning scramble no longer ends in a warm (or soon to be warm) car, but at the end of the driveway. And it is windy. And f0r the past few weeks, cold. My tootsies needed something quick to pull on and most of all warm. Uggs to the rescue! My life may never be the same again. And my tootsies are finally warm. 

5:24

I am in a deep and dreamless sleep. In the background is noise. Slowly the noise trickles through and becomes words... "Mama, can I go to kitchen?" Hold on here, give me a minute. I open my eyes, but it is still pitch black. I sense more than see the presence of a small child. A small child who is clearly not sleeping and has no intention of going back to sleep. It is 5:24 a.m. This is not a good day. It has been a week of these early risings: 5:37/ 5:41/5:59.  No... those are not the times we ate dinner in our house this week. These are the times my "Sweet Baboo" (a.k.a. "Ryan") has been waking up. Let me tell ya, he is in danger of losing the "Sweet" from Sweet Baboo! I found 5:59 particularly cruel. 6:00 is somewhat civilized, but one minute earlier is just wrong. There are children who sleep. A lot. I had one of those with my eldest, Caitlin. Life was good. She was happy. We were happy. And then there are children who do not sleep. And that is not good. Ryan is one of those kids. It was apparent almost from day one that he was not very interested in sleep. There was too much going on and he did not want to miss a thing. At age one he went through a particularly long streak of early risings. For the first few weeks I would stumble into his room and turn on soft music and attempt to rock him back to sleep. He would indulge me and snuggle up to my shoulder. Just as I began to ease my way out of the glider he would pop his head off my shoulder and give me a huge (and very awake) smile. The expression on his face was clear "you're kidding, right? I'm not going back to sleep, we've got a whole day ahead of us!" With great enthusiasm and conviction, Ken & I tried to teach Ryan the ways of our household. Small children go to bed early, ideally 7:30. Ideal wake time is 7:30, however if you must arise earlier, browse the selection of books in your room until a qualified adult comes to retrieve you. Caitlin was on board with this plan and it was very satisfactory. Ryan, was not on board. And he was vocal about it. And, unfortunately, the kids' rooms are right next to each other with minimal insulation between their rooms. And the only thing worse than a child awake at 5:24 a.m., is two children awake at 5:24 a.m. It makes for a very long day. So we go through great lengths to escort Ryan away from Caitlin's room in the wee hours of the morning. Not surprisingly, if you start the day at 5:24, you may find the need for a little snooze during the day. Hence, the photo above of Ryan in his car seat. I call it his "bird in a cage trick". When we are in the car & he is tired, he simply puts the blankie over his head and conks out. It is great for him. Not so great for the Mom who is driving and had visions of mother/son nap bonding time at home. But for all of his early risings, I envy Ryan. He can be very, very pleasant with minimal sleep. Me, I'm not nearly so nice on minimal sleep.  I keep hoping Ryan will recognize this and teach me to stay in my room until 7:30 a.m. every morning looking at books. So far, no luck. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to hang in there until Ryan's sixteen and he gets to drive while I conk out in the backseat. 

Is Oatmeal a Form of Torture?

I am done. Mealtimes have become horrendous. Unless I am serving mac 'n cheese (preferably Trader Joe's mac 'n cheese which is insanely good), the first words I hear are "why did you make THAT? I don't like it. Do I have to eat it?" Do I need to state the obvious? All of these comments are before a single morsel has been tasted. It's annoying. It's frustrating. And frankly, it's really starting to piss me off. I used to like to cook. Most adults consider me a pretty darn good cook. So I have a plan. Oatmeal. If everything I make is so "awful", then why waste my time? Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, oatmeal. On weekends I may add blueberries as a special treat. And think of the cost savings...I have a few projects I'd like to do around the house. I figure six months of oatmeal could finance some very attractive curtains. I've researched the nutritional content of oatmeal and I think it's a viable idea. With the money savings I can still afford vitamins to fill in any gaps. In my studies I found the following: the Quaker man was chosen for the cover of the box because "the Quaker faith projects values of honesty, integrity, purity, and strength." Are they kidding? Can they guarantee these qualities if my kids eat their oatmeal??? Sign me up! Except. And I'm sure you knew this was coming. Would it be child abuse? Would my neighbors call child protection services? Or would I be the envy of all the other Moms?  How easy would mealtime be? What would I do with the hours of time I saved at the grocery store and slicing and dicing?  Or...Would I be cursing my children to a life of loving bland mushy foods? Was that so terrible? 98% of the U.S. population eats meat and potatoes every week and is very happy. Who was I really torturing? Me or them?  Except.  My children have moments of amazing culinary appreciation. Ryan is 3 and loves sashimi. Caitlin likes asparagus. How can I throw away all of that had work??? It took more perseverance and patience than I thought I possessed to get them this far. I'm going to hang in there for a few more weeks, but the threat of oatmeal is lurking as my new weapon. Those Quakers may be smarter than they get credit for. 

Why I Can't Get Anything Done...

I have a problem. Actually, a 750 piece problem. See, I bought the kids a puzzle for the holidays. With a two week break from school, I figured we would a) have loads of time for family bonding around a puzzle and b) need something to keep the kids from rotting their brains out on t.v. all day long. So, I bought a puzzle. This was not an entirely crazy idea. Caitlin and Ryan were with me when we bought the puzzle and they loved all the Disney characters. And this idea of mine was not without precedence. The past summer cousins had come to visit and a 500 piece puzzle had been a central gathering place. It was set up on the dining room table and as people walked by, they would stop for a few moments to search for a missing puzzle piece and slowly other family members would join them. Except. This time I did not notice the number of pieces. I was lulled into the cute Disney characters and the kids excitement. SEVEN HUNDRED and FIFTY. If any of you are puzzle people, you are shaking your heads and laughing at me. The difference between 500 pieces and 750 is tremendous. So tremendous, that there is exactly one person who is working on the puzzle... ME. I am completely suckered into the thing. Except. That dinner still needs to be made, laundry is waiting, and my kids need baths. It's not good. All I want to do is finish the darn puzzle. It taunts me. It mocks my intelligence. Stimulating and challenging my brain  is my insurance against early onset dementia.  Caitlin stops by the dining room table to ask when I will be done with my puzzle. I wish I knew. I sigh and finally start dumping pieces into the box. Maybe early onset dementia isn't as bad as everyone says. 

A Final Word on Resolutions...and Carpool

When asked to describe my 6 year old, Caitlin, I struggle to aptly describe her in words. I usually default to "she's a 30 year old trapped in a 6 year old's body." People smile and nod at my response but I can tell they don't really understand what I mean. And finally I have the perfect example to share...Caitlin's unique combination of New Year Resolutions (as told to her kindergarten teacher) are: to learn to drive a real car, and in the same breath, finally stop sucking her thumb. Yep, that's my kid! 

I can't resist sharing a carpool update.  For all of you who thought my previous rantings were over the top, I have been vindicated. The elementary school has completely revamped their process. I dropped Caitlin off in carpool yesterday.  Now that I don't have to worry about a small child being shoved in front of my car by their parent that didn't want to wait in carpool line,  it was a very civilized process. That is, until you actually leave the parking lot. During school hours there is not left turn allowed out of the school...would it surprise you to know there was a line four cars deep waiting to make illegal left turns? Why is it parents have such a hard time following rules?Oh well, at least the children are safe again! 

I lied.

Forget my previous post. Lump me in with all the masses of people who are making resolutions they will never fill. No, I'm not going to buy a gym membership that goes by the wayside after three weeks. I am vowing something far more ambitious. People often ask me "how do you do it"? "It", having an absentee husband. Trust me, his absence is not the hardest part of our marriage. Occasionally I will get frustrated if Ken has more travels than normal, but for the most part we just settle in to our own groove. But what frustrates me and annoys me most is wasting food. The travel schedule can, and does, change on a whim. I keep trying to plan out my weekly meals and something always throws a monkey wrench into it. Either I am left tossing out gobs of leftovers that won't freeze well, or trying to cram one more tupperware container into the already bursting fridge. So, here goes with my resolution... I, Colleen, do solemnly vow that Monday night is "Mish Mash Night", also known as clean out the fridge night. Hmmm....do you think I can count that as an oath, not a resolution??? 

A lot less talk...and a lot more writing...

I am not one for New Year's resolutions. Certainly not because I can't use some improvement, but somehow I just never got caught up in the idea of a fresh start. What's fresh about it? It's usually freezing cold and everything outside is dull and barren. BUT. This year, without a lot of talking or pondering or planning, I am going to commit. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are new posting days. Who knows, maybe this is the year I can fulfill my fantasy of appearing on Oprah someday (how fun would that be???). 

And yes, it even cures Anthrax.

No surprise. End of the holiday season. We were in the homestretch. 48 hours left until school started and suddenly I wasn't feeling so hot. In fact, I was freezing. Shivering. I think Mom would have said I had the chills. And a raging headache. And a wicked sore throat. And family coming from Texas in less than six hours. Crap. No problem, dinner would be takeout. Except. Except that my sister is allergic to gluten. Double crap. And soy. Triple crap. Gluten was bad enough, but soy was darn near impossible. You have no clue how insidious soy is, until you know someone who is allergic to it.  The double whammy of soy and gluten eliminated virtually all restaurants. And this sister had watched Caitlin and Ryan not once, but twice while I was vacationing with Ken in exotic locales. I owed her. It was time to triple up on the Advil and step up to the plate to make her a decent dinner. Definitely time to pull out Giada's roast chicken recipe, mashed potatoes, and broccoli. 

We made it through dinner. I stayed awake until 9 p.m. to be social and then bailed. Next morning it was off to the Doc in the Box. He was appropriately impressed by my symptoms and off I scooted to the pharmacy with a prescription. It was only later that I scanned the (as always) alarming list of potential side effects, that I saw my antibiotic was also used in the treatment of Anthrax. Great. But more importantly will it make me feel like a human being again?