Want Some Cheese With That Whine?

I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I'm going to whine a little. Here goes.... (this is a little long winded, sorry).

It drives me completely up a wall when people volunteer to do something and then aren't responsible or organized about it. I mean, really, why did you ask for this if you're not going to follow through!

Lydia and Quinn are playing T-ball and Coach Pitch softball this season. Lydia's coach is a friend of ours and is awesome. I think he's crazy for volunteering to coach, but he's great. Of course, we went to practice and were completely confused at the park about where to be so after unloading all the kids, I had to re-load and relocate for the first practice tonight at 5:45.

Quinn's team is another story. We had to track her coach down yesterday to ask if they were even going to practice or get together before the first game on Saturday (yes, this Saturday!). He said, when Carl called last night, that he was in class, but his wife should have called everyone. That was at 7:00pm. At 8:30, the phone rings. Guess who? The wife. We have practice tomorrow, she said, and our team is the Teal Tornadoes. Meet at "area 1" at 6:30pm.

I drag everyone through the uncut forest of a field to Lydia's practice (which we were late to because of the wrong location) probably grabbing a million chiggers on the way to eat the heck out of the babies and then we have to leave early to go to Quinn's practice. We recross the densely infested terrain again to the car 1/4 a mile away and cross back over the entire park to "area 1" (sounds like a secret government alien operation). Once we get to "area 1", there are two teams practicing, one of which is named the Teal Tornadoes, but they're three years old, not 7, like Quinn - oh! and they're all boys. By now, she's freaking out. She figures she's the only girl on a team of three year old boys (understandably so).

Shortly, thereafter, a few other parents show up looking for the Teal Tornadoes, like us, and no dice. 6:30 goes by. 6:45 goes by. 7:00 is here and a guy comes running through the field and says, oh, we're not going to be at "area 1", we're at "area 3". So, he says we have to go all the way across the park, again, and parking is limited due to the softball games going on, so we would probably want to WALK!

SO, we walk all the way over there and they practice - finally. There's a playground there too, so the three little ones are running around there, while I'm a wild eyed crazy person, trying to keep up. I'm also simultaneously trying to give the proper encouragement with hand gestures (thumbs up, waves, claps) to Quinn who's doing her thing on the grassy knoll below the playground. If you don't act like you're paying attention to practice she gets upset that I "never" watch her, I only watch Lydia and I "never" - well, you know how it is. I kept having heart attacks when I couldn't see Lydia in a tunnel or slide because I was sure someone was going to walk off with her and the babies just had to keep going by the open side of the elevated platform to the toddler slide. I could just see a broken arm in my future when they fell. I even had a plan in my head for an emergency. If someone breaks something, the car is 1/2 a mile away, I'm just calling 911 - it will be easier than getting everyone in the car and to the hospital!

The coach calls it a night at 7:50 and I was about to collapse. But, no, we have to walk through the marshy underbrush, take our lives into our hands across suicide alley (the parking lots) to get to the van. The kids were beat, I was beat, and I thought - let's do it all again - next week!

I wonder if alcohol is allowed in the park - I may need reinforcements (and a ride home. Any takers?).

Just kidding..... : )

Crazy Cry Room Mama

I had very optimistic intentions about how my Sunday morning would go today. Carl was going to a swap meet (car stuff) and I had the kids all to myself and we were going to go to church. I hate for Lydia to miss her Jesus and Me class since there's only one or two left and Quinn should go to the Childrens' Liturgy. I figured we would hunker down in the cry room with the twins and when it came time for eucharist, I would just not go up.

Taking the twins to communion would be way more than anybody would expect of me. One would be falling and flailing and the other would be screaming, I just knew it. So, I had a plan, I just needed to put it into action.

I should have quit while I was ahead, really. The older girls managed to get themselves dressed with little fuss. The twins, however, were absolutely unruly. They didn't want their diaper changed. They didn't want to wear clothes. They didn't want shoes on and they definitely, did not want to comb their hair. By the time they were all ready and I was still in my PJS, I was a hot mess.

I hurried and got ready, while tossing a threat out that if anybody cried, struck one another, or misbehaved while I was upstairs, they would not see the light of day for a long time to come.

When I got downstairs among other things, Hayden was climbing on the kitchen stools and then proceeded to pull a glass of water down the cabinets and herself. I let loose with an expletive that was not too Christian and proceeded to unload on the lot of them, starting with poor Quinn. She was really not that deserving of my wrath, but I had reached the breaking point.

At this moment, they were all dressed, looked presentable, and we had 10 minutes to leave. I thought, why am I doing this to myself? I have already yelled, screamed, and threatened the four of them within an inch of their life and now I want to go to Church? What am I crazy? Aw, what the hell!

I apologized to them in the car because really, that was not how I imagined our morning starting off. I also did not want to be going to church where I find sanctuary and relief with all the pent up stress and anger from home following me.

Mass went as well as can be expected. The twins were all consuming, busy, noisy, and wiggly, but so be it. I took it as a sign that maybe we were not as good as I thought, though, when everyone went to communion in the cry room, and no one came back. Oh well, it is a cry room! People, what do you want?

By the time we got home, everyone was tired, hungry, and done in. I thought, this is not what I pictured when I thought I would take everyone to church. Oh well, lesson learned. I'm sure the kids' angels were watching over them to keep me at bay and if St. Pete is taking attendance, I should get two marks for even showing up today!

Happy Earth Day

Go enjoy the beautiful day - clear skies, clean air, fresh water. I hear it won't be like this for long, so go enjoy today! That's what I feel like telling my kids. Hurry, it's nice out - the glaciers are melting, so rush and soak up some sun before the great floods begin. Hurry, the ozone is deteriorating, put on more sunblock. Hurry, hurry, hurry. I'm doing the best I can to do my part, but in this day and age, it's never enough.

The other day, Quinn saw some trash on the highway and said, "Some litterbug left a mess." and I said, "yep, not everyone cares about where they live, like we do". Why not? I don't know, "why not?"

Because.

Tombstones

My goal in life used to be to have a tombstone that people all over wanted to come and read or visit (you know, like Elvis). I know, it was a lofty goal. I don't know if I thought I was going to be a famous musician or a historic figure, but I felt destined for greatness. I still, sometimes, feel like I was meant for....more.

It's a hard thing to explain and I feel selfish even trying. I feel like I should be saying that my only goal in life, my purpose on earth, is to raise my children and they are the treasures of my world. I feel like I should say, my greatest accomplishment in life, are my children. What I want to say, is of course, I love my children, want the best possible life for them, and do feel they are one of my greatest triumphs, but they are not the only purpose to my life.

Am I abnormal thinking these thoughts? Am I the only one who is in the midst of their life and is thinking, "I always thought I would be more"? It is very frustrating. I wish I was more content. I wish I was more "June Cleaver". I doubt June had these dilemmas. I guess, I feel a little impatient. I feel like the world is racing by me and I'm getting a little left behind. It is so hard to know rationally that you are in the best place at this exact moment in time for your family and yourself, but to feel like you're missing out on something.

I was raised into the dichotomy of a womans' world; acquire an amazing education, possess a great job, make money, and on the other side, be a wife and a Mom, stay at home, sacrifice for your family. I almost wonder if I should spare my daughters this struggle and just teach them to be June Cleaver - simpler is better. Lower expectations leads to less disatisfaction. If you don't know what you're missing, you can't miss it.

Bear with me people - of course, I would never do that. It just presents and interesting question. I sometimes wish I had lower expectations of myself so that I could find greater contentment in my daily life. I, however, don't have that luxury, so I will continue to struggle with this identity crisis, possibly forever. I have a feeling, I will not be one of those people who, on their deathbed, can say "I can go now, I'm content with my life - I've done what I set out to do." I intend to go kicking and screaming, so I know that will not be me. Maybe my tombstone will read, "She left with her boots on to continue kicking some ass". I can only hope.

She, She, She, She....

An excerpt from this evening, 5:00 pm - 5:45 pm:

MOOOOMMMM! She poked me with the sunglasses! MOOOOOOOM! She stuck her tongue out at me! She took my computer! She touched me! She is looking at me! She hit me! She stepped on me! She rolled her eyes at me! She kicked me under the table! She took my french fry! She drank my milk! She made a face at me! She's in my room! She said I look ugly! She said I'm little! She said I'm big! She said I'm weird! She told me to leave! MOOOOOOM! I don't like her!

Lord, give me the patience to referree, the wisdom to stay out of it when warranted, and the strength to go the distance since they're only 7 and 3. Can't wait until their 12 and 8!

"Yucks" x 4 = Hungry Kids

Last night I got crazy and decided to mix up the dinner time fare a little. My kids are pretty routinized - canned corn, canned green beans ( I Know, shame on me!), chicken, beef, pretty ordinary. So, I went online and got a recipe which looked and sounded yummy for chicken. I roasted some sweet potatoes, mushrooms (for me!), and cauliflower in the oven. I made the chicken with italian bread crumbs in a mushroom sauce with mozzerella cheese melted on top and a side of rice.

I carefully put each plate together and it looked so flavorful and enticing. Then I called everyone to the table and sat down. First Quinn sat and looked at her plate and said, "yuck". She pushed her plate to the middle of the table. Then Lydia sat and saw Quinn's reaction, so then she did the same. Will and Hayden followed suit. So, I sat, alone, eating my wonderful concoction (and it was good!).

Eventually, Quinn caved and ate the chicken and rice. William ate everyone's cauliflower and Hayden ate rice. Lydia ate nothing. I enjoyed the entire meal.

I told them that I was trying to introduce some new things and that they needed to try everything. A bunch of "yucks" ensued after every bite. Oh well. They didn't get anything else. Dinner is dinner. If you don't like it, I'm not a short order cook.

They say it takes 6-8 times of introducing a new flavor to a baby for them to decide if they like it or now. I'll keep trying! Until then - bon appetit!

To be sick, or not to be sick? That is the question.

Quinn decided that her ear was hurting this morning after I had cleaned it out with a q-tip (very sparingly) last night and there was a bunch of gunk that came out (I know, pretty picture!). She was acting perfectly fine and no temperature or anything. I kind of figured it was a post Easter sugar buzz let down and she didn't want to go to school. I told her I would call the doctor and we'd go in. She agreed that would be fine. While we ate breakfast, I informed her that since we were already going to the doctor, we should make up the chicken pox vaccine that she refused to get at her 7 year appointment last month. I told her if she had an ear infection, I wouldn't make her get it, but if she was fine, she was going to get it. She was not too happy but since she had already set the wheels for her charade in motion, she didn't balk. I think at that point School was sounding like the better deal.

I asked if she was going to buy at school or bring her lunch if she ended up being well enough to go and she wanted to bring. I made the lunch, loaded up the van and took everyone to the pediatrician for the aching ear. OF course, the doctor was running behind, so the five of us were cooped up in the 9 by 9 cell of an exam room for 20 minutes. Needless to say, it was like a bunch of caged animals. I ended up digging through my purse and finding some smarties in the bottom that I doled out just to keep them busy.

Finally, the doctor came in and looked in Quinn's ears. They were fine - which meant, bring in that SHOT! Quinn instantly began flipping out (poor thing) and I had to hold her tightly to get it done, but it got done. Then we got a note for school and headed over. I dropped her off and gave her a kiss and that was that.

Somehow, I don't think she'll be pretending to be sick in the future. Who knows what random vaccines will pop up that we missed (he he he )?

Hop Hop Hoppy Easter

Went to Easter Vigil. Very moving mass. Four people were baptized and I'm not kidding you, they fully submersed themselves. All I could think was you get a better deal as a baby! LOL. Anyways.

After hopping all over the house hiding eggs, I'm pretty tired. So have a Hoppy Blessed Easter and if you're reading this on Easter - shame on you! Go hug a kid or kiss a relative! Going to put my long ears and tired cotton- tail away for another year and myself, to bed!

Why?

Taking a 7 year old to Good Friday mass was interesting tonight. She constantly fired questions at me the entire time. "Why is there red everywhere?" "What is the cross for?" "Why did they break their legs?" "Why did they pierce Jesus?" "Why?" "Why?" "Why?". It was a good experience.

I have never been one to really get the veneration of the cross. It made me uncomfortable. But tonight, it was different. I don't know why, it just was. I don't know if Quinn being there made it more important or powerful, but it was. I watched people approach, prostrate themselves, kiss the wood, and leave. Each person, with their own worries and their own suffering in their world.

An elderly gentleman escorted his wife to the cross. He bowed, kissed the wood and it was like he was kissing the face of Jesus himself. He paused and with such reverence, paid homage to the instrument of our salvation. It was something to see.

Enough about this, I could go on and on (and I know, sometimes I do!).

Dying Eggs