Grouchy Momma Alert

I am on a rampage this week. I apologize in advance if you cross my path. It’s going to be a very CRAZY week. Mondays are absolutely Nuts-o.

I start my day at O-way to early in the morning (OK, 6am) and I shower, get myself ready and then proceed to wake dear daughter up from her coma. While she gradually awakens, I am busy making 4 lunches and locating matching socks by searching through baskets of clean clothes because while I did have time to wash all the laundry, I did not have time to FOLD all the clean laundry and from the looks of the week ahead…I won’t have time to do it any time soon.

At 6:58, Dear Daughter is supposed to be heading out the door to the bus but now she is pouting on the couch because she can’t find her sweatshirt.

So, what do you want me do about it? Is it going to just run up to you and say ‘Here I am?’ You have to go look for it.

“But I have looked EVERYWHERE.”

Oh, so now pouting on the couch is going to solve the problem? Daughter, I cannot do everything for you. You need to go look for it yourself because I am finishing up the lunches.

I did a quick search around the living room and low and behold, I found her sweatshirt wadded up next to the chair. I then had to go all the way upstairs only to find her pouting on her bed staring at the floor. Perhaps she was using telepathy in order to find it?

I suggested to her that she perhaps use her hands instead and turning on the lights would not be unheard of and could even be helpful. She did not think I was wise and gave me “a look”. She’s almost a teenager and I am cringing. The Moody Roller Coaster is about to launch.

She races out the door and now I run around the house getting the boys up, dressed, socks and shoes on. Solving mini-crises as I go and finally get us out the door at 7:45. The rest of my day is fairly typical except for a really scary guy who may or may not be the roommate of my new client and sent off major Creep Warning Bells from head to toe. That has never happened in the 2 years I have been doing this job or the 5 ½ years I have been working in mental health. So, I know I need to heed that warning and get the heck out of Dodge. It took me about 45 minutes to stop shaking.

And now the Mad Dash of the Evening begins. Pick up Dear Daughter at 5:05. Pick up 3 boys at 5:10. Pick up McDonalds for BB at 5:25. It’s snowing like crazy. The roads are bad and my boys continue to horse around in the car and take their seat belts off which sends me into a frenzied panic and forces me to raise my voice in fear and frustration and resort to threats of serious bodily harm and thoughts of their bloody entrails spewed across the highway, marring the beautiful white snow if they don’t buckle up RIGHT NOW!!! Drop BB off at basketball practice at 5:45 then head off to church for Bible study. I was dismayed that I had promised Dear Daughter we would pick up Burger King because they have Wii toys but I realized that we would not cross paths with a BK and in this kind of weather, I was not too inclined to go out of my way. So, we hit another McDonalds.

After Bible Study, at 8:45, we are back on the road, in the snow and heading over to Grandma’s to pick up BB. I deliver Grandma’s birthday present but had hoped to stop in for 5 MINUTES TOPS but Peanut announces that “I have to go really bad. RIGHT NOW.” And he could not possibly wait 10 more minutes til we get home. I really think he wanted to ask Grandpa for a Starburst and watch Grandma open her present.

At 9:30, we are back on the road and arrive home at 9:50pm. I chase the boys and daughter to bed. I attempt to stay up and monitor the bedtime but I am exhausted. I have snapped at the children way too many times. I know that I am really pushed beyond my limits.

This morning, I have the treats for our staff meeting. I decide to make Carmel rolls that are sort of from scratch. I use Pilsbury buttermilk biscuits but make the Carmel from scratch. In the evening, it will be homework time, cleaning of the living room because Wednesday is church night and Thursday is Peanuts 6th birthday party. Sometime in there I have to make a cake, decorate it with RED letters via Peanuts request.

My house is a disaster. My family is coming over on Thursday. My boys are wild and fighting with each other constantly. I am tired just thinking of it. And I know that I will have many grouchy moments. You have been warned.

Signs that I am getting Older

1. My tolerance for loud has decreased exponentially with each passing year. I used to be able to crank up my radio and sing at the top of my lungs for the whole trip, whether it was 10 minutes or 3 hours. Now, I am perfectly satisfied to have the TV set on 10, the radio on 6 and the kids on mute.
2. I am finding that I want to wear my reading glasses more and more. Blech. And if I take them off, it takes several minutes for my eyes to readjust. I think this means I really do need them and I am just not trying to be “cool”.
3. I fall asleep at 9:45 pm. Last night, I was yawning and was sure it was almost 11pm. I shuddered when I looked at the clock and realized that it was not even 10pm. I decided that I would force myself to stay up another hour so that I could enjoy the quiet of the house for a while. However, by 10:30, I gave up and crawled into bed. My days of staying up until 2 or 3 in the morning are past.
4. I sound way too much like my parents on way too many occasions. I have caught myself saying things like “You will do it because I said so.” “Don’t come crying to me when …” “If you had done the job right in the first place, you wouldn’t have to do it again.” (I do pat myself on the back because I have NOT used the parental phrase “half-baked job”)
5. There are things that have begun to travel south that used to be further north and that is all I am going to say about that. But it is a sad realization.

A Christmas Song Observation

I have already mentioned that we love to sing Karaoke Christmas Carols in the car and have been known to occasionally start what I call the "Mini Van Dance Party" when a really good one comes on. L.O.V.E. IT!!

BB's observation this week, as he was tapping his fingers to a song, "It seems that every Christmas song has been made and then made again with a Rock version."

Variety is the spice of life. Some songs I prefer the older versions like Gene Autrey's "Santy Claus is Comin' to Town"...Cracks me up every time! Some songs, I love to hear just the instrumental versions.

Others I love the updated "Rocked out" songs. Other songs I get sick of very quickly. For example, "Christmas Shoes". It's very sweet. But I really only need to hear it once a year and I am good.

One of my new favorites is sung by my "Radio Boyfriend" Josh Groban. That man has a GORGEOUS voice. I can't remember what song he was singing but it carried me away and left me breathless with it's beauty.

And I have already mentioned my favorite by Mariah Carey "All I want for Christmas is You"...it's just plain fun. I can't belt it out, but then can anyone who sings Car Karaoke really sing? I rest my case...It doesn't matter.

You Have to Get Up Pretty Early to Fool Me…or At Least Before 7 am

I have this pantry cupboard in the garage. It’s where I keep the food that the kids are most likely to go through but I need them not to…It’s where I keep The Good Stuff; the juice boxes, the snacks, chips, cookies, beef jerky etc…anything that I need to ration out. It has a hasp and a combination lock.

One of my most clever children will try to peek when I work the combo in order to try to learn it. I have had experience with Peek Sneakers. I had a boy in 8th grade named Charlie who had his locker next to mine. In fact we often had lockers next to each other because of where our names were in the alphabet. P-e- and P-o-. Anyway, he was quite a bit taller than me. It’s not hard when you are 5’ 4”. He would look over my shoulder as I did my combo, then slam my locker shut so I had to do it again. SLAM! I would do my combo again. SLAM! And repeat. In eighth grade, I was not yet into my intellectual prime. He learned my combination. So, some mornings I would come in and my locker would be standing open. One time, he gave out or opened my locker for another boy who had a crush on me so that he could put a bouquet of carnations in my locker on Valentine’s day. I did not appreciate the sentiment at the time because I was crushing on someone else at the time. But a girl never forgets the boy who first gives her flowers and it was in part thanks to Charlie. He has also given me the awareness of how to protect my combination from the prying eyes of an almost 10 year old boy.

This week, I was in a rush and was not diligent with my replacement of the lock after gathering the assortment of items for lunches. I put the lock up on top of the cupboard and didn’t lock it. My darling daughter discovered it and did help herself to a snack. I was OK with that. But then dear son figured it out and hid the lock but of course when questioned his reply was “I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t seen it in a long time. I would never, ever, ever take it because that is wrong.”

Kiddo, quit while you are ahead. The more you talk, the more unbelievable you sound (Shhh, maybe I shouldn’t give away that secret!).

I have searched that garage and all the funny little crevices a smarty-pants 9 ½ year old might think to hide something he did not want found because he can then indulge himself and drink all the Capri Sun’s he wants and help himself to beef jerky when he thinks I don’t know. Except that he leaves the wrappers all over the place.

Kiddo, if you are going to take food, hide the evidence!

I have searched every couch cushion, under the couches, in drawers, in pockets and closets. I have been unable to find the padlock. So, I wrote it down on my shopping list, grumbling to myself all the while. This will teach me to be more diligent in the future. But then the kids should be learning something too when we run out of their favorite lunch items because they have eaten them all for snacks.

And don’t come crying to me because I am IMPERVIOUS to your tears. Do you hear me? IMPERVIOUS and IMMOVABLE. I am a rock.

Friday is trash day and I always forget about it, so I every week, I am making a mad dash around the house gathering trash bags and emptying waste baskets and the litter box in hopes that I will beat the garbage truck to the curb. I have not missed it yet but it does not mean I have not broken a sweat in my attempt.

Today was no different. But when I opened the garbage can to toss in some stray garbage, laying on top of a white trash bag, practically glistening like a beacon was the silver combination lock for the cupboard. I giggled and did a little jig as I walked over to the cupboard.

Oh, children, you are clever. But HA, HA, HA…you are not clever enough! The cupboard is locked yet again! NO TREATS FOR YOU!!!

Evidence to Prove that My Kids are Weird

1. They don’t like any potato that does not come in the form of a fry. Not even mashed. What kid in America does not like mashed potatoes? Apparently…mine.
2. My daughter does not like Spaghetti. What?? Who’s child are you? If I didn’t push her out myself, I would never believe she was mine. I LOVE spaghetti!! How can you NOT love spaghetti?
3. They wear their underwear backwards and claim it is more comfortable. Excuse me? Do you really think the tag rubbing against your belly button is comfy? Or all that extra fabric in the front that is supposed to fit your little back cheeks is going to make your pants fit better? I don’t get it.
4. If a little ketchup goes a long ways…then why not just drown your food in it? Better yet, lets just have our side dishes BE the condiments? I will confess, if it weren’t for ketchup, my kids would be seriously lacking vegetable servings and essential vitamins and minerals (and don’t try telling me that tomatoes are fruit…in my house, it’s a vegetable and so is ketchup!)
5. 3 out of 4 of my kids prefer their cheeseburgers “No pickles, no onions”. 1 out of 4 would prefer to have McDonald’s serve a “Pickle Burger” minus the burger. Pickles count as vegetables too, you know!
6. Why must a 7 year old boy sleep with every birthday, Christmas, Hope-you-get-well-soon, or other spontaneous present he has ever gotten? Don’t get me wrong, they are all neatly organized and compartmentalized but this same boy also has some issues with occasional night time accidents so changing his sheets becomes a very LONG process because Every.Cotton-picking.Creature. Must come down in a specific order and then be returned in order and carefully arranged again. Maybe he is a bit OCD?
7. Toys land in laundry baskets. Toy boxes hold misplaced socks. Huh??
8. My daughter must save everything. Nothing can be thrown away because “Mooooommmmmmmmmmm, it is so special to me…don’t you remember when…” Honey, you were in Kindergarten. It no longer fits. Its broken. You never use it. Half the time you can never find it until I tell you to clean up your side of the room.
9. The grosser the noise, the funnier it is and the more likely the boys will “Instant Replay” and then replay the replay. And the more we of the female variety complain, the more they do it. Along the same lines, there is a long list of “funny” words like booger, poop, wizz, the word for flatulence that I H.A.T.E--- really any word that is related to a body function or something you do in the bathroom. If it is socially inappropriate, it’s fair game. And the more important the social setting, the funnier it is.

If the lights dim in Hugo...

My darling daughter loves Christmas. She could not wait for me to finish vacuuming the living room before she was pulling out the decorations and deciding where everything should go. It would have been really cute that night if it wasn't so stressful for me. When did decorating the house become such a chore?

I think it changed when it became MY house and not my parents house. And I think it changed when I realized that I am really not a good duster. So, if we are going to put out pretty decorations, there is a thick layer of grit and grime that must be removed first and it is just a lot of work to haul out the boxes of decorations. The joyful exuberance is exhausting to me and I have realized that I no longer make the decisions about where things go because even if I do plan a position for a sentimental object, it will get moved by someone under 5 feet tall who has other ideas about where it is better suited.

So, I gave up.

I have to admit though that the house looks pretty darn cute. The kids have arranged objects in nice little groups even if they are not where I would have put them. We have had disagreements about where to hang extra strands of lights. It seems that every time I come home, there are more lights twinkling from somewhere. And if the glow of hundreds of little bulbs was not enough, the glow of excitement on my daughter's face is more than enough for me to step back and just enjoy the view. I won't get critical of the lights wrapped around my floor lamps and draped across my curtain rods. She at least understands that she can't tack them to the walls.

The boys have gotten enough Fire Safety Week stuff drilled into them that they have taken it on as their personal responsibility to unplug the lights when we are not home. It is really quite amusing. I think I will choose to de-stress about it and be proud because decorating for the holidays has truly become a family project.

Martha Stewart will not be showcasing us on her show by any means for we are not the epitome of elegance and good taste. But we are feeling cheerful, merry and bright. The power grid may surge a bit tonight as my daughter will no doubt find yet another strand of lights to plug in somewhere. Our karaoke Christmas carols being sung by the choir do not sound like sweet little cherubim but I do believe that you would recognize the cheerfulness and enthusiasm with which they are sung...even if my kids say "Pass the Whiskey" in Rudolf (Where they learned that I do not know...) and they all know that Mom will shush them when her new favorite comes on and she will turn up the radio and sing along with Mariah Carey singing "All I want for Christmas..." and those close to me know that I sound very little like Mariah...

But we are dashing through the snow, roasting chestnuts, and wishing you all a very merry Christmas with all the joy we can muster in our hearts in our own haphazard, off-key, non-Martha way!

I love this time of year.

Post Thanksgiving Posting

You could have knocked me down with a feather…

The intern who insulted me a while back completely floored me today by telling me how much he appreciates the work that I do because he knows first hand that often the Psych nurse is doing a lot of the medication education with the patients because the psychiatrists only spend about 5 minutes per client doing a med check.

It might sound weird and very woman-like, but I found myself fighting back a tear.
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Other news from the Thanksgiving weekend…

I cooked a big turkey. It was a little over 20 lbs and considering it was going to be myself and my 4 kids, that is a lot of turkey. My kids don’t eat a lot of turkey anyway so I had planned out what I would do with the inevitable leftovers ahead of time.

I kind of wish I had a recording of me wrestling this big boy. First of all, I did not get him completely thawed. I remembered this year that I needed to take out the neck. However because he was still frozen, I couldn’t actually get the neck out. My Mom just happened to call me while I was making stuffing and I lamented my problem. She assured me that I could just go ahead and used hot water to thaw the turkey and get the neck out.

Stuffing this guy was a real wrestling match. He was cold and slimy and would not cooperate. I wasn’t sure if I should put him in the bag first and stuff him or should I stuff him and then put him in the bag. I chose the first and kind of regretted it because I think I made my task harder. A couple of times I had to lift him up and cram stuffing down inside and he would skid across my counter. I will admit I let out a few girlish screams. I managed to get all 8 cups of bread stuffing inside him.

I don’t know how I managed to get him in the oven. I might have blacked out.

My big bird turned out to be ok. A little dry. Since I used one of those bags I think I could have shaved off about half an hour of cooking time with that. But in the long run, since most of the bird is cut up and bagged in my freezer or thrown into Wild Rice soup, it doesn’t matter.

My relaxing, traditional Thanksgiving was interrupted by PH developing several abdominal pain that was growing steadily worse, to the point where he was doubled over and his face was scrunched up in pain. I called the nurses line to see if I should go to urgent care or to the ER. When I felt his belly and it felt hard as a rock, before she even said it, I knew I was headed for the ER.

Thankfully, he was ok. The official diagnosis was “We don’t really know what it is. It’s probably a virus but the good thing is that it is not related to his surgery. It’s not a bowel obstruction. There’s no blood in his stool and no urinary infection. We have ruled out the bad stuff.” I was grateful for that because I had visions of watching the nurses put an NG tube down my son’s nose and I was not looking forward to that. Instead, I got to hold his hand while the nurse used a gloved finger to collect a stool specimen. That was enough. For both of us.