A cake fit for a Princess

I usually buy our birthday cakes from our local Wegman's, which we completely LOVE they are moist, the icing not too sugary and the decorations perfect, but I had the brilliant,(I say with complete sarcasm) idea to make the cake for my daughter's 4th birthday. And after seeing this video, who could not make this for their little girl, especially after, showing said little girl and witnessing their complete screams and begging over wanting this super cute cake for their birthday.

And then as if one cake wasn't enough i decided to make a castle cake to go along with it. 

   

Yes, I'm nuts. 

So after putting the kids to bed, armed with more icing then I could fathom in one had and a spatula in the other, I went to town. I layered, shaved, cut and refrigerated. refrigerated and refrigerated some more (that crumb problem when you have to cut and then icing a cake is a mess). I thought about making cupcakes, throwing these cakes in the trash, canceling the party, and driving over to my local favorite Wegman's at 6 in the morning and begging them to make me their best cake with just hours until the party. I thought to myself over and over and over again, what had I gotten myself into? The woman in the video is so happy and serene, there is complete silence, no crying babies, no kids up and down the steps to check on your progress, taste cake batter or stick their finger in the icing. She makes it look so easy. I love to cook and bake but maybe this was beyond my patience level, or maybe it was the face that it was the end of the day, 1 crying baby with a double ear infection, 1 nosy 5 year old and 1 super excited and curious birthday girl later and my patience was at the end of it's wick.  So 5 hours later, one amazing husband trip to the store to buy more icing,(yes, more icing) and more breakdowns then I care to admit,this is how my cakes turned out.

Just remember, I am not a professional cake decorator, but I've got my kids fooled and that all that matters.

To make things even more interesting, I have been commissioned to make a Transformer cake for my son's upcoming 6th birthday in March. I am seriously considering it. 

Maybe I should graciously bow out now.

But what fun would that be?

Morning Feuds

Most mornings feel like a form of torture for my 5 year old and for me.Getting him out the door without an amazing amount of fuss is proving to be a magic trick, which I fail at miserably.

Everything I look up suggests the same tips:

Stay organized. Check. Lunch is made, clothes are out, backpack in it's place. 

Put the kids to bed early. Check. They are in bed, by 8:00, lights out. 

Wake them up on time. Check. I wake him up an hour and 15 minutes before we have to leave the house. 

Give 2 minute warnings. Check. I give 15 minute and 30 minute warnings and then make the warnings more frequent as the time  gets closer. 

But as the time gets closer and I let him know it's time to do surprising things like brush his teeth and get dressed, the level of frustration in our house increases as George gets upset that he has to be pulled away from his current activity to get ready for school. And simple requests for him to start getting ready blow up into full on temper tantrums. Some days, I feel as if I have to literally drag him out of the house and into the car. You'd think this fussiness of his would carry into school, but the minute we hit the playground and wait in line with his class to enter the building he is a different child, happy to be there and ready to have a good time, transforming into the class comedian. 

So how do I ease the level of frustration before I give up one day and he shows up to school in his pajamas, hungry and messy?

I'm desperate.

I guess as my pain-in-the-butt dad would say, if this is the worse I have to deal with, then Life is Good. Check.

Sideline Rules

My son took to the field in his first soccer game this weekend and he had a great time. He smiled, enthusiastically participated  and even scored two goals, one with his hands, if that even counts. At one point, in his true 5 year old fashion, he sat on the field and picked the grass, keep kicking the balls out of bounds, got stuck in the net and refused to play, but still, he had a good time. 

He took to the field aggressively, running after the ball and humorously, or so he thought, knocking down the other players. At some points during the game, my son played soccer like, tackle football. Most of the parents thought it was humorous, after all, he's five, still learning and he wasn't the only player knocking down other kids. But a couple of parents became the "peanut gallery", yelling at him, telling him, "this isn't football it's soccer!" Of course, he had no clue what they were yelling, but my husband and I did and it took every bone in my body not to yell something back.

My experience with sports is being the athlete, in the pool, taking control of my destiny and enjoying every minute. My son is only 5 1/2 and my experience being on the "other" side of the field, is short but extensive. I have learned what it's like to be in the midst of one of "those" parents and how it can ruin the game and the experience for everyone, the child included. I can only imagine that as he gets older, "those" parents get more verbal, more aggressive and more intrusive.

So, here are my top five rules for being the parent of a child who participates in sports.

1. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. 

2. No Heckling. Don't become a part of the peanut gallery.  No one wants to hear your snide remarks.Yelling rude comments is far from constructive and doesn't make anyone feel better except yourself.

3. Let your kid play the game. Let your kid thrive or make mistakes. Don't be that parent who yells tips to their kid from the sidelines. If you want to help you child, do it at home and constructively. Once your child is in the game, match or race, let them take control.

4. Let the coach and  the referee control the game, make the calls and call the plays. If you don't agree with the coaches call or play, too bad, no need to be a sideline coach that's worse than a back seat driver.

5. When your child takes to the field, pool, or court, erase images of Michael Phelps, Ryan Howard, David Beckham, and Serena Williams.  What is swimming today, may be soccer tomorrow and in a week maybe be ballet. Let your kids, be kids.


6. No matter if you kid is the one scoring the goals, breaking the records or playing in the dirt and telling jokes, support them and encourage them. Let them have fun.


7. Let your children develop their own dreams and their own goals. Don't live out your dreams through your children. You may have wanted to be an Olympic athlete but your child may want to be captain of the debate team, a member of the science club or a train enthusiast. They may like to swim, but they don't want to be a swimmer. Their dreams are their dreams, not yours.


My child is 5. I don't care if he drops the ball, runs the wrong way on the field, tackles other players or  lays in the grass because he doesn't feel like playing. The smile on his face is enough to make every goal, every mistake and temper tantrum on the field worthwhile.

I'd just like my kid to be a kid, without an appearance from the peanut gallery on the sidelines.

The Ferocious Fives

In my so called" organized chaos" last week with getting the kids ready the start of school, getting the house organized and appearing over at Scary Mommy as a Featured Guest Blogger (Check it out here), I forgot all about my post over at Mama Buzz to which I'm a contributor. And it is on a subject to which I had some experienced some challenge today! UGH! 


The Ferocious Fives.

“George”, I yelled. “Will you please get dressed?”

And then it started.

My simple request for my son to get dressed had sparked a full on break down. In five year old fashion, he dropped to the ground and dramatically started screaming and crying. He wasn’t done with his game he demanded, he wanted 5 more minutes. This on top of the 5 minutes I gave him 15 minutes ago.

This hasn’t become an uncommon response. Simple requests to start cleaning up, get dressed, and to listen, often result in him trying to assert his independence by refusing to do so, breaking down or just pretending he doesn’t hear me at all. I’m not sure if it is the unpredictability of hot summer days or the lack of structure, but my little boy who always listened and said please and thank you, had become a do what he wants when he wants, back talking five year old.

Want to read more? Click here.

Then hop on back and let me know what was your child's most challenging age so far and how you got through it.

Bend it like Beckham

After my son's somewhat comedic attempt at tee ball, not limited to but including, yelling jokes to the kids on the bench, playing in the dirt in the outfield and chasing bunny rabbits, I was some what hesitant to pay money that seemed like flushing it down the toilet  sign him up for another sport. I don't know that I expected much more, considering he is just 5, it was actually kind of humorous, but I thought maybe he's not old enough, maybe he's just not competitive right now and maybe sports just really aren't his thing. But I signed him up anyway, mostly to get him out, moving and running around with the other kids. When he heard he was playing soccer he begged to be the goalie, only to find out there were no goalies. But he excitedly donned his shin guards, cleats and ball in hand and looked like the cutest little soccer player I'd ever seen. I was ready for him to lay in the grass, run one way, while the kids ran the other, and cry when he couldn't get the ball and he did all that and more. He laughed, he chased the ball and had a good time. And I exhaled. 

Until next practice......

The Sweet Taste of Victory

It all started as an innocent bike ride request after dinner. I should have known the turn it would take as I took off my flip flops, put on my running sneakers, and grabbed the jogging stroller.

My 5 year old took the lead like as he usually does, followed by me with the running stroller, then my daughter and my husband pulling up the rear.  Although this was supposed to be a  calm after dinner walk, they wanted to ride their bikes, so we had to jog, playing a game of cat and mouse as we weaved through the neighborhood, us chasing them of course.

My son obsessively likes to be in front, and takes off on the stretch between the curbs and then waits for everyone to catch up. After an extended wait at one corner to fix the chain on my 3 year old daughter's bike, George became preoccupied, wondering why daddy was in the back and I snuck into the lead. What started out as a joke, became a friendly race between the curbs, with him following closely at my heels and at times, trying to push me off the sidewalk, in race car fashion.

There is something you have to know about my son though, he is the typical 5 year old, he's a poor loser. And I don't just mean crying, I mean full on drop to the ground temper tantrum.

 So when we turned the last corner racing,I knew what I was in for as I took the lead and turned off the sidewalk into the street while he made a short detour to go around a car. With me on the street and him on the sidewalk,we were pedal for pedal, foot for foot. I was running hard and laughing and the look on his face was pure joy. That is until I turned the corner into the driveway, his chain gave way and he dropped to ground in defeat, his arms out stretched, tears in his eyes.

The ultra competitive athlete in me took over.

Without letting up, I picked it up a notch, raced to the sidewalk, laughing to the front step and extended my arms in the air in sweet victory and did a little victory dance, as I heard him shout out a screeching, "Nooooooo!" Loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

He took off his helmet, threw it to the ground. With a red face and tears welling up, he shouted, "It's not fair". To which I responded, "Life's not fair and mommy always wins." 

I couldn't contain myself, he may be a poor loser, but I as a mom, I am a rub-it-in-winner, and dropped to the ground in hysterical laughter.


Even Sophia, biked up to the house crying with daddy following behind giggling at the spectacle that had taken place. "Why are you crying?", I asked Sophia. She whined, "Mommy, you went to fast".

I took the baby in the house and came out to get George who was, beating the wheels of my jogging stroller with his plastic bat. As I went to take him in the house, he looked up at my husband and demanded, "Daddy, I want to go for a walk again. I want to go again, now".

Game on.

Mommy: 1

My 5 year old and his temper tantrum: 0

Summer Fun

My husband is on vacation this week, so we took the kids to the Jersey Shore. We love the beach and with the kids being young and having a short attention span, we like Wildwood because they have the board walk, a water park, and rides, and not to forget the great custard cones. It's only $5 on weekdays to park a block away from the beach and you don't have to pay for beach tags. Since I was pregnant last summer and in that first sick miserable trimester, it had been a while since we have been to the beach and the kids had a blast, jumping in the water and playing in the sand. I loved the look on their faces, the smiles, the happiness as they enjoyed themselves just the way kids should, having fun and hopefully creating memories that will last a lifetime. We definitely have to go again before the week is over. Here are some pictures from our day out, And because I took 7,352 pictures, more to come on Wordless Wednesday.

George catching air on his run to the beach.

Excited to be in the water.

George, Sophia and Daddy.

Making Sandcastles is serious business.

"Eat sand? Who me? No!" 

Splashed by big brother.

Her smile says it all.

Thursday Thirteen: What My Broken Record Plays

They can hear Mr. Softee 2 miles away. Reindeer hooves on the roof. And if you talk about going to Toys R Us while they are sleeping, they'll hear you as if you were sitting right next to them, and remember it when they wake up. My son remembers when we are going to a birthday party or cousin Thomas' house if I whisper it from other room and my daughter can recite back to you in verbatim what you just told her about princesses and fairies, while you were cooking dinner and she was watching her tv show. But stand right next to them and tell them to do something, they turn the deaf ear to my voice and I become invisible. Most days I feel like a broken record, spouting demands over and over again until I could say them in my unconscious state of exhaustion. And sometimes I feel like if I turned and talked to the wall, I'd be better off. But threaten talking to such iconic figures as Santa, the Easter Bunny, or daddy, and their hearing goes to perfection. So what does my broken record say?

"Get your fingers out of your nose."

"Don't sit on your baby brother."

"Stop chasing the cat."

"Take that out of your mouth"

"Leave leave the baby alone. Leave the baby alone. Leave the baby alone."

"Put baby John down."

"Get out of the refridgerator."

"Did you just hear what I said? no answer. "Hello, do you hear me? Did you just hear what I said?" "No answer, not even a glance un my direction. "I'm gonna tell daddy that you aren't listening." What Mom?"

"Stop jumping off the couch."

"Get out of the bathroom."

"If you don't clean up your toys, I'm going to put them in the trash."

"If you keep talking about your birthday, there will be no birthday." This really isn't as mean as it sounds, when his birthday isn't until March 15th and we have been talking about it since March 16th.

"If you don't start to listen to me, I'm gonna tell daddy." I swore I would never say this one, but desperate acts, result in desperate measures.

What does your broken record play?

Kindergarten Rules.

George on his first day of Pre-K.

My sons first day of preschool was traumatic, for me, not him. He was fine. I was a nervous wreck. Since I was staying home, it was really the first time I had to "leave" him somewhere. I was ready for him to cry, scream and grab onto my leg, refusing to let go. So, when he shyly yet excitedly walked in, gave me a kiss, said goodbye and took his spot on the mat without looking back, I felt lost and then separation anxiety set in, my separation anxiety.

What do I do know? Is he going to be ok?

And then, in my mind, I ran through the list of "What If's". What if he pees his pants? What if he gets picked on? What if he gets pushed? What if? What if? What if?

Lucky I had my daughter with me, who was an infant at the time, because that forced me to leave the parking lot of the preschool instead of becoming a stalker, sitting in the lot for the 2 1/2 hours while he was there. Pre shool was a great experience for my son. It taught him the stark cold reality of the real world, in 3 year old terms. He learned to pay attention to other people. Clean up time, means clean up time. He learned to hold his own on the play ground. And these days, bullies start young.

So now that he has conquered pre-school and pre-k, he is moving onto the big league, elementary school. The kids are bigger, the bullies run harder and the rules are meant to help you learn, have fun and survive. When I went to kindergarten, things were different. It was just a couple of hours a day, a couple days a week. Bullies, were just kids that butt in line. Sticking my finger in my nose was the norm. And if I could sit through story time without peeing my pants, well, that was a big success.

But that's no longer the way it goes. Kids are cruel and more is expected of him now, than ever before.  But before I push him out into his first experience with elementary school, there are some things I want to him to remember.

10. Know when to be goofy. The key to being the class clown is knowing when to be funny. Put on limitless acts of goofiness and you risk becoming the class pest.

9. You may not always be the first in line and that's okay.  I know "the early bird gets the worm", but I don't think this applies on the walk down the hall to the classroom to take your assigned seat.

8. No one likes a bully, not even the bully. No bully looks back and was glad he was a bully, well, not most bullies. 

7. If someone pushes you, push them back.  Give them a taste of their own medicine, and then tell the teacher. No one likes a tattle tale, but if you push them back, you're letting them know who's boss.


6. If someone takes your ball on the playground, take it back. Same goes for your book, scissors, glue, place in line and anything else that was rightfully yours.

5. It's okay to cry. Cry all you want at home. Crying at school is an invitation to be picked on and adds fuel to the fire.

4. Don't hold it in. If you have to go, go. No better reputation to have then the kid that pees his pants.

3. Get your finger out of your nose and pay attention. I understand there is a lot to do up there, but while your finger is shoved up your nose, that's all you think about and information goes in one ear and out the other.

2. Size Matters. Half of the CEO's in the US reach 6 feet plus. Same goes for successful athletes and  politicians, lucky you are tall. Now it's what you do with that height that matters.

1. Advice from Dad, "Be the Alpha Dog". According to Urban Dictionary, the Alpha Dog, a.k.a, pimp, boss, don, hustler, baller, "is the leader of the pack that rolls several dogs deep" and "no leash can hold him back, his tail wages or no one".

A boy and his Cars.

My 5 year old son was born with a silver car in his mouth. 

Ever since I can remember, he has never been seen without them. And it's not just cars, it's anything with wheels- trains and trucks too. Most of the time when we are getting ready to go somewhere, our discussions surround how many cars we can take with us and if we can take them at all. So it's no surprise that of the thousands of pictures I have, at least a thousand of them include George and his cars or trains. We have pictures of George with his cars in the tub, at the dentist, at the park, Grandma and Grandpa's, Mom-Moms, in bed and in every single room in our house. When he goes to school, they stay in his car seat 'waiting' for him for after school. And at his first Christmas concert in preschool, the only way I could bribe him to get on stage was to let him put Thomas the Train in one pocket and Lightning McQueen in the other. If I look over at him right now, he is eating his lunch and watching tv, with about a dozen cars by his side.

Here are some pictures of a boy and his cars.

At the park behind the bench at daddy's softball game, about 18 months old.

Behind the bench at the game with cars, Daddy is number 5.

Trying to feed a car to his baby sister, 2 years old.

His gift to baby John during his brief stint in the NICU, a card of one of Thomas the Trains' friends, Toby.

These days, most of his pictures turn out with cars held up in front of his face. "Did you get King?" He says excitedly after and jumps behind the camera to catch a glimpse.
These taken just last week.

And occasionally, once he puts the cars down, you get shoots of the little boy who I fall more in love with every day and every minute, with every smile, every joke he tells and every kiss and hug he gives me. I can't believe I am so lucky to have him as my son.

Thursday Thirteen: 100th Post.

This is officially my 100th post. I feel like my computer should blow up or maybe I should. I don't feel like I've written 100 posts but I guess in blog land that's only like being a couple months old- I'm just starting to crawl, smile and feed myself, with the support of others, of course. I wouldn't have made it here with out my blog friends and their comments. And I love you all, seriously, I do!

So, I was going to write 100 things about myself, but I doubt you want to read that as much as I want to write it so I will share 13 good, funny and embarrassing things about myself. Laugh, cry and smile. Go ahead, do it at my expense. Then lets move on and forget I wrote them. And in the meantime, thanks to everyone who has ever visited my blog and commented, you keep me blogging, please don't stop, well, unless you want me to shut up. Here goes nothing.

1. Yes. Pregnancy makes your feet bigger. Since 2005, I have gone from a size 10.5 to a size 11.5-12. I do not like this development but my husband secretly cheers, jumps up and down and hangs on to the extra dollars we have saved. Have you ever tried to find cute shoes in a size 11.5 or 12? Hard to come by. When I tell him I'm going shoe shopping he quickly says, "Go buy whatever you want honey." And then snickers as I walk out the door.

2. I watched the movie Fatal Attraction at a slumber party with my school swim team in 1989, (I think) and got so freaked out by the end,the part when you think she is dead and she jumps out of the tub with the knife, that I peed my pants. Oh please, like you haven't done that before.

3......And I've done it twice. But I won't bore you with those details the second time around. Anyway, so let's move on...
4. I am terrified of elevators. My husband says the fear isn't the funny part. The funny part is how I react, or used to react, having kids has tamed down my response. According to him, "I act petrified and turn white, (which if you've seen me its hard to do). And if the elevator makes stops to long, I plug my ears and gasp, like we're stuck."

5. I am a hypochondriac and during my pregnancy with our third, I was nervous, having thought I wasted my luck with the previous two pregnancies. And during the first time they try and find the heart beat ever with the little Doppler device thing. I held my breathe, crossed my fingers and hoped that everything was okay, and it didn't end there. Well, it took him a while to find the heart beat and after what felt like half an hour, which was probably 1 minute or so, I frantically looked at my doctor and asked, "You can't find the heart beat?" And as I was about to freak out and yell, "the baby's dead!", no exaggeration, he found the heart beat. Imagine that story he'd be telling the office If I had time to blurt that one out? I'm surprised he didn't commit me on the spot.

6. When I was young we were at swim meet in North Dakota, and out to diner. I had to impress my table of my friends with my Popeye impression, winding up my arm, I think I was 12. And well, I failed to look first and hit the waitress behind me who was holding a tray of hot chocolate. It went everywhere, including all over her. I remember the look on my parents faces who were completely horrified and I am sure if at that point someone asked them if I was there daughter, they would have looked behind them and then at eachother and shook their heads in unison.


7. When I first got my driver's permit, we were again, at a swim meet at LaSalle University and my parents let me go alone to get the parked car and drive it around to the front of the natatorium. Well, the parking space in front of me was empty and I just pulled forward, without paying attention to the fact that the parking spaces were divided by those cement barriers. The car got wedged. Seriously wedged. And it took 4 other swim dads to jack the car up and get it, off the block.  When I walked up without the car my mom, just about went into cardiac arrest and yelled, "what happened? did you break the car?" To which I replied, "I didn't break it. It's just stuck." If looks could kill, I would have been dead.

8. Three months after I had John I went to my son's school for a class party and the school nurse asked when I was due. I don't know if that's embarrassing or just wrong. But in my head, I grabbed her hair, slapped her, pushed her to the ground and stomped my foot on her back. In reality, I smiled, sucked up my pride and walked away.


9. When I was pregnant with George, we visiting my parents house and my contractions started so my husband went to take a nap in the other room to get rady for a long night of labor. I went to sit on the couch with my mom, when I got up to go to the bathroom or so I thought, it was like a balloon popped and my water broke, more like gushed like the Niagara Falls all over my parents couch.  Which leads me to number 10...

10....as we were getting in the car to go to the hospital, my dad was helping me in. My husband was getting in the car and my dad was putting my bag in the back seat, behind me. As I was getting in the car, because I was as big as a house and felt like I had a bowling ball between my legs, I had to hoist myself in by holding onto the stile between the two doors. He closed the back door and slammed my hand in the door. Needless to say, at midnight in an uber quiet neighborhood I yelled an obscenity that sent lights flying on and I immediately forgot about my contractions. I went to check in at the hospital and said, "I'm in labor and I think my hand is broken."

11. Yes. I have a mouth like a trucker. I think I learned it from my brief stint in private school, go figure. I'm not proud of it and I try to do it less, but I can let obscenities fly with the best of them. I don't swear in public, like that makes it better. When I was pregnant my dad used to joke, at least I think it was a joke, "That I had the mouth of a trucker and the ass of a truck."

12. Ok. I love my kids more than anything in the world. But I have those moments, you know the ones, when you hair is on end and your vain is popping out of your neck. These are the moments when my kids may lead me to drink or eat a really big chocolate cake all by myself. These are the moments when I think my husband may come home from a long day at work and find me sitting in the closet banging my head against the wall. These are the days I send my husband texts like, "You're lucky your kids are still alive." and "They are going to lead me to drink."

13. This would horrify me even now. But when I was two I would go to the grocery store with my mom and upon seeing little old ladies, I would point and yell, "Witch!" That leaves me shuddering me just thinking about it.

If you enjoy me, follow me, stop back and visit sometime and I'll make sure that I'll do the same for you. Wouldn't it be great? 100 posts and 100 followers! Now that's what I call a celebration.



Find more Thursday Thirteen participants here.

Sophia

Sophia is the daughter of my dreams.

She is a little girl after my own heart, always smiling, happy,and dancing to the beat of her own drum. She wears dresses every where she goes, digs in the dirt just a much as her brother and is tougher and more fearless than most little boys I know. She can run, kick and swing with more talented coordination than yours truly. And only after 2 sets of swim lessons, she is swimming on her own, jumping off the blocks and diving for rings in 5 1/2 feet of water. She can lead you on her roller coaster of emotions, loving her company one minute, your head spinning the next. She is strong, independent and assertive, traits I hope she never loses. It is Sophia who sings with her microphone and dances on tables in the house, spinning and twirling. It is Sophia who out of 4 boys, was the first to make a dent in the birthday pinata.

And it is Sophia who smiles, poses and comes alive in front of the camera.

This is part of Soy Joy's What brings you Joy contest. Learn more here.

What dreams my come...

I had posted this on my this blog in May, but I thought with the summer here and signing our kids up for sports and activities, this would be fitting.

My husband’s sport to play, watch and breathe is baseball.

He played baseball throughout his school years and even now plays on a Sunday Softball League. So when our 5 year old was finally old enough to be signed up for t-ball, you could only imagine my husband’s excitement. And when it came time to hand out uniforms, it warmed my heart to hear him say, “I want to be number 5 like daddy”. Upon sensing George’s excitement to play, my husband enthusiastically signed up to volunteer, and who could imagine,not even himself, that he’d end up being the head coach. He researched drills and coaching practices found on blogs ironically titled, Pray for Rain.

Read more at Mama Buzz.

Thursday Thirteen: Sleep Deprived Blunders

Since I've got my continuous lack of sleep on my brain, here are thirteen sleep deprived blunders that have happened to me this week. I'm sure there are many more but, I just don't remember.

....After making breakfast, I put the cereal in the refrigerator and the butter in the microwave.

....My 3 year old daughter begged to feed the baby and I happily obliged, handing over the spoon without thinking twice.

....Upon noticing my son was playing his video game while standing 6" from the TV, I went to sputter out my usual command to "back away or you'll go blind", and I decided...he's quiet, what the hell.

....This morning while making cupcakes for the kids to decorate later, I cracked the eggs and dumped them in my cereal bowl.

....My kids acted up in the grocery store and instead of whispering my usual threats, I had to stop myself from joining in. Seriously. Which leads me to the next one....

....My daughter threw a temper tantrum in Target and it sent me into delirious laughter, as I looked at on lookers who were completely horrified, and wondered what THEIR problem was?

....I started to yell at my son for something he did and in the middle of my apparent rampage, I forgot why I was yelling at him at and walked away.

....What? You want a cup of rainbow jimmies for breakfast? Sure, why not? It's got to be in one of the major food groups, right?.

....When tired and driving road rage is my friend, F. U.

....I called my parents, left a message and when they called me back, not only did I not remember what I called them for, I don't remember calling them. It's not me, It's them. Right?

....I went to the grocery store for one particular thing, came back with 3 bags full and forgot the one thing I went for. No wait, forget it, I do that all the time anyway, sleep deprived or not.

...Who am I?

....Where am I?

....What are these  kids doing here?



View more Thurday Thirteen participants here.http://thursday-13.com/

Lilac Dreams

Let me start by saying I don't have a green thumb. I have the black thumb of plagued death that can kill even the sturdiest breed of plants and flowers, just by coming within a couple feet. I have planned, dug, raked and planted.

Geraniums, dead.
Daisys, dead.
Pansies, dead.

Some green plant I bought at a local garden center that the salesmen promised would outlive my gardening pitfalls, dead.

All of the flowers my mom, promised me were easy to keep alive, dead.

My mom, whom I'm beginning to think adopted me, has a green thumb that almost certainly glows in the dark. She can take those plants, you know the ones, the ones for "sale" at the local home improvement store, put in the back of the garden department, on their last leg, just inches away from a ride to the trash compactor and make them spring to life by just looking at them.

I dream of beautiful gardens, especially as I look enviously across the street. At a garden that appears to have been taken from a fairy tale. It looks like it should contain, bunny rabbits playing, birds chirping and flying over head and Snow White sitting in front on the beautiful green lawn with deer perched by her side.  Its perfect and whimsical. It's shaped beautifully with it's high planted greenery in the back and flowing beautiful flowers of all colors in the front, perfectly bordered by rocks and butterflies fluttering everywhere. As I look at it dreamily, it sings to me and snickers, in a "I'm a garden at a house with no kids" way.

The type of garden that should be illegal on a street with kids.


And then I look over at my yard, not bad but boring. The nice porch in the front bordered by even cut bushes. That's it.

When we first moved in I had dreams of bordering my yard, along the nice white picket fence in the back with beautiful flowers of all heights, colors and breeds. So I dug, weeded and planted. And when the kids begged to help, attracted to my fresh soil like a pig yurning to roll in the mud, I mistakingly gave in, and like kids do, they took over. My son dug a construction site for his trucks to play, train tracks for Thomas and a crash 'em up smash 'em up hill for his monster trucks. And my daughter, who proved to be my best helper at first, turned her trick hand a couple hours later. While taking a lunch break, she deviously approached me with her hands behind her back, never a good sign and declared, she had a surprise for me, a bouquet of nicely picked flowers from the garden, we had just planted hours before.

I once had beautiful hanging baskets, but my husband claims they only hung to life because he watered them daily, an important task I forgot. I got distracted what can I say. 

Besides, it's hard to start projects around the house with my crazy crew.

Repainting the kitchen: Hand prints every where, kids begging to help and "artwork"sprawled across the walls a couple hours later.

Installing solar lights near the front walk: The stakes in the ground become the newest attention grabber for my son, who treats the delicate glass lights like orange cones, weaving in and out, destroying them slowly one by one.

Installing new shelving: My daughter's pleading requests to help my husband with the task, leads him to become distracted and ended in him having a minor concussion, not sure it was from the shelf that dropped on his head or Sophia.

And finally, planting a new a garden: The flower petals become picked and destroyed by my daughter. And the new dirt attracts my son like white on rice, whose construction site role playing uproots the new plants before they even have a chance.

So for now, as I sit here on my porch and dream, I'll be across the street hiding my green dreams, in that whimsical garden with Snow White, while my 3 children who should have been her lost dwarfs, Smiley, Snappy and Slappy, take control over my kingdom.

Sleep Deprived Saturday

I am sleep deprived.

Thanks to my super son John who is 8 months old today, I am sleep deprived.

For the last two weeks, like clock work, he has been waking up at 3:00 in the morning. Something goes off in his little baby brain that says, time to wake up mommy, mommy who is enjoying her sleep, mommy who is exhausted from being up with me in the wee early mornings before. And every day at 3:00 when my alarm (the baby) goes off, I look over at the clock, the real clock and curse it. Then I look over at my alarm clock, who has now pulled to a stand in the crib and is starring at me with the droopy, sleepy baby eyes and I try to talk some sense into this little being. This little being who has decided that testing his lungs and moaning and groaning for my attention, at 3 in the morning has become his new ritual.

"Don't you know it's 3:00 in the morning?" I say.
And he looks at me, pouts and stares with those pick-me-up eyes.
"Mommy loves you but its time to go back to sleep. I'm tired. You look tired. We can play in the morning."

I speak to him calmly and quietly like he is understanding me. Hoping my every word will soothe him back to sleep. I gently lay him back down, rub his back and then I turn over, hoping if he doesn't see my face, he will calm down. I cross my fingers and toes. I barely breathe. And I hold still in quiet desperation praying that he will fall back asleep.

Yes, he is still in our room.

The bassinet that you use to put your new baby in and keep him close to you at night, to make him easier to feed and to make sure he is okay, breathing and to calm all the other paranoia's of having a newborn baby, has now become a full size crib. My son has had a lot of trouble with severe reflux which finally seems, through medication, to be under control, but we still have him in our room. Waking up startled, more times than we can remember as we rushed to the bassinet as John was choking and gasping for air from reflux, can leave you slightly terrified to let him sleep alone in his room. So his room awaits, a little longer.

Baby on a mission, 3:00am play time.

John's sleeping through the night, has become waking up at this witching hour. Sometimes hungry and most of the times ready to play. At first, I try and ignore him hoping he will realize there is nothing going on, no big brother to watch and no big sister to laugh at, and fall back asleep. This works some times, but most of the times his unsettled whimpers become screams of desperation for attention and I sleepily take him out of bed to avoid waking up the kids and my husband who could sleep through a tornado, a fire and evidently crying babies.

In my sleep dazed state, I drag myself downstairs for some quality time, in the wee hours of the morning, that my infant son evidently feels we need. I feed him a bottle and he smiles. I try to rock him to sleep and his twists, turns, smiles and motions to get off my lap to explore, to crawl, to play and smiles and sticks out his tongue.

While he decides to get up and play, and feels like he is missing something, my sleep awaits, dreams of laying my head on my soft pillow and drifting off to meet the sand man, wait. I know this stage of sleep deprivation doesn't last forever. But trust me, I won't miss it when its gone.

Here's to another sleep deprived Saturday!

Are you a sleep deprived mom? Leave your comment below and a link to your blog, all sleep deprived moms unite!

Sous Chefs

Get your Fresh Made Pizza here!

Here is a very easy idea for some family time. It almost always results in every one laughing, participating and having a great time.The kids love making pizza and we love to do this with them. My husband takes the reigns on this one. He loves to show off for them, flipping the dough high in to the air and they hang onto his every word. We like to buy the pre made pizza dough from Wegmans.You can find everything right outside their pizza counter. They have a section that sells everything you need to make semi-homemade pizza right in your own kitchen. One dough, one container of sauce and two containers of pizza cheese mix will make you about 2 size mediums pizzas, it costs just a little bit more than $10.

We don't usually get too creative with toppings, this time we just used cheese, but they are more likely to eat what they make, so sometimes we add meat and even try some veggies. Looking for a whole grain option? They also sell whole wheat dough. We've tried it and it's pretty good. 

They love every bite and always have a great time doing it.

Here's my husband and his very special sous chefs hard at work:

First, flour the surface....

Using your hands, get the dough ready to be rolled out.

Most importantly, stop to pose for the camera.

And then roll out the dough.

Add the sauce.......

Spreading over the entire surface.

Now add the cheese..we love cheese!

Ready to put in the oven....

 And the finished product....