Fashion Models:
Surviving Motherhood

I am in my tiny, little laundry room that is right next to the family room.

As much as I detest doing laundry, I do like my cozy, little laundry room as it has a door on it and since the entire On The Upside family believes this is MY room (because no one has a clue how to do laundry, will go near the laundry room for fear I will ask them to do laundry, never takes it upon themselves to sort, load, fold or hang any laundry ever, whatsoever, at any time!), I can normally wander in there - into MY little 8ft. x 6ft. space -close the door and ESCAPE for brief moments of solitude.

I sort clothes.

I load clothes.

I fold clothes.

I hang clothes.

It's mindless work, really, so ... I am content to hang out there for ten minutes or twenty minutes at a time and escape from all human contact and just let my mind wander and be massaged by the swish - swish - swish of my Kenmore washing machine and the drum - drum - drum of my Kenmore dryer.

It is peaceful, in a laundromat sort of way.

It is simple work and I enjoy moments of simple.

It is relatively quiet and, while my hands are normally quite busy, my rattled brain is offered these daily minutes to be cleansed and massaged back to some semblance of sanity because ...

This is MY 6ft. x 8ft. space in our house.

This is MY little oasis (while not at all tropical and lacking a hammock or even a chair and there are no fruity, umbrella drinks or handsome cabana boys).

But ...

It is often MY refuge ...

That is ...

Unless ...

Alexis searches the house ...

Opens the door ...

And invites her seven year old ...

BOUNCY

LOUD

RAMBUNCTIOUS

TALKATIVE

self ...

Into MY 6ft. x 8ft world.

*sigh*

"Hi Hon."

"Knock - knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

"Knock - knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

"Knock - knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Cabana who?"

"NO - banana!"

"Oh, yeah."

"Now I have to start all over again. Knock - knock."

*sigh*

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Hey - let's play hide and seek," I interrupt this JOKE! "You go hide."

She runs off happily and searches for the best hiding place ever. I can hear her LOUDNESS still ... even over the swish - swish - swish of my Kenmore washer and the drum - drum - drum of my Kenmore dryer.

*Laundry lady quietly tip-toes over and closes the door to the tiny laundry room and pretends to count, but really ... REALLY ... she escapes back to the islands, where she is lying in a hammack beneath the tallest and shadiest palm trees enjoying the soothing sounds of the ocean waves as they lap playfully against the beach . She opens her eyes only briefly to see her handsome cabana boy walking toward her in his blue and white floral swim trunks, bare, beach-bronzed chest and and sun-bleached hair and ... in his hand is a PINA COLADA with a pink umbrella stickin' out of the top of the frost covered glass and on his gorgeous face is a smile that says, "I am here to serve you - can I get you anything else."*

On the upside ... Yes - yes you can.

-

I have 4 children.

That amounts to a WHOLE LOT of socks bought and then LOST - over the years.

It also amounts to LOTS of LOST library books and a mom that spends way more time than she would like - searching beneath beds, through bookshelves and inside closets - looking for LOST books.

There has been more than a GAZILLION McDonald's toys brought into my house and about 1 MILLION of those become LOST and create quite the ruckos until they are located again and placed into the hands of a whimpering child.

There has been MANY homework assignments forgotten or LOST!

There have been WAY TOO MANY shoes left behind or misplaced or LOST!

There has been MANY a pair of scissors or nail clippers or hairbrush or toothbrush or blanket or IPOD or jacket or backpack or ... well, you name it - IT HAS BEEN LOST IN MY HOUSE AT ONE TIME OR THE OTHER!

I have done my very best, over the years, to FIND MOST ALL LOST THINGS!

I think it is time for someone else to take this job.

Yes ... it is definitely time ...

Poor little Alexis wandered into my bedroom early on a Saturday morning. Little Billy was by her side. They nudged me until I opened my eyes, "The Tooth Fairy didn't come," Alexis mumbled, with a pitifully sad look on her face. She was quite unhappy.

Me - I'm barely awake, but alert enough to realize that ... the TOOTH FAIRY had once again - SKIPPED OVER OUR HOUSE!

I say, through sleepy eyes and groggy senses, "Yes, Sweetie -she'll come tomorrow," and roll over and hug my pillow.

The very next morning, Alexis comes to the side of my bed, and unlike the day before, her sad face has now been replaced with a mad face and she says, "That STUPID TOOTH FAIRY didn't come again!"

Me - I'm again barely awake, but alert enough to realize that my six year old daughter has just yelled the word STUPID - loudly ... INTO THE FACE OF ... THE TOOTH FAIRY!

(*sigh*)

"I guess she just had a busy night, Sweetie," I mumble and squint to see her face. "I'm sure she'll come tonight," I reach over and pat her on the top of the head.

The following morning ... Alexis wanders into my bedroom to have her hair brushed and I say, "So ... did The Tooth Fairy come last night?" so confident she would now be thrilled, as I was, that it was over - she finally GOT HER MONEY!

She hesitates for a moment and then she finally says, "She only took one tooth. She left me $2.00, but only took one tooth," she was not at all pleased.

Oh ... THAT'S RIGHT... thought The Tooth Fairy (the collector of all LOST teeth) - There were 2 TEETH!

(*sigh*)

I said, "Maybe she dropped one - didn't realize she left it behind. Or, maybe she left the $2.00 for the one tooth and will be back again tonight (*sigh*) to leave more money for the other tooth," I am scrambling to help her makes sense of this ridiculous fiasco! "Leave the tooth again tonight - I'm sure she'll come back." (*sigh*)

Somewhere along the way - during the course of the past 2 or 3 years ... I have become the most miserable excuse for a FAIRY! (*imaginary glittery wings actually fall off and crash to the ground - SPLAT - CRASH - BAM!*)

On the upside ... There are, indeed, many things that I am in charge of. I am in charge of buying things and I am in charge of finding ALL LOST things! I am in charge of way more things than I am truly capable of being in charge of!

I am, however ... NOT REALLY ... THE TOOTH FAIRY!!

And if I am the actual TOOTH FAIRY, then ........ I AM NO LONGER CAPABLE OF PERFORMING THIS JOB ... AND, IT IS TIME FOR A NEW FAIRY REPLACEMENT!

When Courtney and Chloe were really little - about 3 years old or so - we were in the van driving to the beach. They were strapped into their car seats in the back. At some point, I heard one turn to the other and say, "This hand doesn't do anything. This hand has to do everything," talking about how her right hand did most of the work.

It is so true - isn't it?

Yet ... the longer I have been a mom, the more I realize that these children aren't using either of their hands for very much at all!

Nope ... everyone is content to use MY HANDS!!!!

Mine are the hands that:

• Have wiped many a butt, nose, face and hands.


• Have brushed lots and lots of teeth and hair.


• Wiped up many a mess.


• Carry everything that goes upstairs - UP, and everything that goes downstairs - DOWN!


• That replace any and all empty toilet paper rolls, paper towel rolls, trash bags and soap bars.


• That pick up any and all toys, clothes, shoes, books, towels ... CRAP - that is on the floor of their rooms.


• That find and take forgotten items from home to school!


• That deliver and clear plates to and from the dinner table.


• That cleans the spit and smears and toothpaste from the mirrors in their rooms and bathrooms.
  
• That make the beds they sleep in.


• That washes the clothing they wear and dishes they eat from.


• That erases the mistakes on their homework pages.
  

We were in the car recently.

My son says, "Hey, Mom - take this," from the back seat.

It is dark in the car and so I just reach my hand back to help him out.

He puts something in my hand.

I pull my hand forward.

I turn on the overhead light above my seat.

I look in my hand.

I see ...

A big GLOB of lime green, slimy, slobbery, sticky - BUBBLE GUM!

I look back at my son and ... he laughs.

Before I had kids ...

Oh ... never mind.

On the upside ... Raise your hand if this has ever happened to you!

Give yourself a hand if you are also the one in your family that is working your fingers to nubs, trying to keep your family's lives going.

And now ...

Pass me a tissue please - SO I CAN GET THIS GLOB OF LIME GREEN BUBBLE GUM OUT OF MY HAND AND THROW IT. INTO. THE. TRASH!

I am sitting on my bed.

I yell, "Little Billy - Alexis - time to go brush your teeth and get to bed. You have school tomorrow."

I go back to what I am doing.

A few minutes go by.

I raise my voice and yell again, "Little Billy - Alexis - time to go brush you teeth!"

No children.

No response.

I go back to what I am doing.

A few minutes go by.

I yell again, "Little Billy - Alexis! Where are you? It's time to brush your teeth and get into bed!"

No children.

No response.

I go back to what I am doing (because I am such a good Mom).

A few minutes go by.

I yell, "I am gonna count to three. One ............ Two .............," and ...

I see my son - fly out of his room - wind in his hair - arms flapping - legs stumbling - screeching around the corner of his door - running as fast as his skinny little legs will carry his skinny little body - into the bathroom. He is like a cartoon character - smiling a big toothy smile when he sees that I see this ridiculous display.

Alexis - she strolls out of her room ... ever so slowly ... at the count of .............Three!

On the upside ... I have used this, One, Two, Three - tactic - for years. It works like a charm. I don't know what it is about this counting that scares my kids to death (nothing - I mean - nothing - has ever happened - all I ever do is count) - but they always JUMP when I say, "I am gonna count to 3". What do you suppose they are thinking I will do to them? Go in there and get them? Bahahahahahahahahaha!

I was never good in school.

I went - because my parents made me - those were the rules!

I sometimes can not believe that I actually made it through some of the classes I was expected to take, like geometry, government, chemistry, algebra - I can't even easily spell a few of these words, let alone remember a doggone thing I supposedly ever learned.

Sometimes, when my kids get to arguing with me about not wanting to work hard enough at something, I will say, "What do you want to be - a loser - like I was?"

They often come to my defense and get sympathetic looks on their faces and say, "You aren't a loser."

To which I reply, "Well ... I'm not a loser now - but I was when I was in school..."

And ... I was - with a BIG OL' - L.

I must have had the favor of a few teachers - looking back on it now - otherwise I'm sure I would not have made it through.

So .....

Little Billy, is writing a time-line on a large piece of white paper on the floor of his room. He has his History book flipped open to the pages that he is working from. He stops, runs down the hallway, runs up to me at my desk and he says, "Mom - When was the start of the Civil War?"

Uh Oh!

"I don't know the exact date, Hon," I say.

"Well ... what year was it?"

*I DON'T KNOW THIS ANSWER!*

I say, "I don't really remember, Hon. Go ask Daddy, maybe he remembers," and off her runs.

Shew ...

A little later on, he runs back into my room, "What was the end of the Civil War, Mom?"

*CRAP!*

"I don't remember that either, Son."

"Just tell me when it was over," he begs - like rewording the sentence will help.

*I DON'T KNOW THIS ANSWER!*

I say, "I don't really remember, Hon. Go ask one of the girls - surly they remember," and off he runs.

Again ... he comes back, "Why was it so important that Lincoln was elected President?" he asks.

*FOR THE LOVE OF HEAVEN! *

*I DON'T KNOW THIS ANSWER!

I mumble, "I don't remember."

He, again, attempts a new tactic - certain that this will help jar my pathetic memory and he says, really loudly, like he is talking to someone from FOREIGN country, "YOU. DON'T. UNDERSTAND. THE. QUESTION. WHY. WAS. IT. SO. IMPORTANT. THAT. LINCOLN. WAS. ELECTED. PRESIDENT?" He says all of these words very slowly, so NOW, I will understand this question.

I understood the question - the first time.

*I DO NOT KNOW THIS ANSWER!*

I say, "I do not know this answer! I can't remember this crap! I don't think I ever learned it when I was supposed to learn it when I went to school. I DO NOT KNOW THESE ANSWERS! If you go get your book, I can help you find the answers - how about that?"

Off he runs, "I'll go ask Dad - or the girls," he yells, as he is half way down the hallway. "That's okay, Mom ... I forgot ... you were a LOSER when you went to school."

On the upside ... Yes. I. Was!

You would think that I could listen up now - learn a bit of U.S. History from my kids - learn some of that stuff I never quite got when I went to school - but, Nooooooo! I didn't want to learn it then, and ... I CERTAINLY DON'T WANT TO LEARN IT NOW! I don't have enough room in my brain to store Civil War details - NOPE! I've barely got enough room for months, days and seasons. Well ... seasons, I meant. Alexis is keeping track of the months and days for me now (*sigh like a big ol' LOSER).

On more than one occasion, I have heard my husband say, "What do you want to eat?" on a Saturday afternoon, to Little Billy or Alexis in the kitchen.

If I hear this, I will run as fast as I can into the kitchen, step in front of my husband and say, "No, No, No ... you don't ask them, 'What do you want to eat?'" looking at my very confused husband like he has lost his mind. Then I will pull him aside to explain. "You have to offer them something. You can't give them the choice of ALL the foods in the whole world, for craps sake. Haven't you been watching how I do this all these years? You need to say something like, "Do you want a peanut butter sandwich or a tuna fish sandwich?"

Go HERE to read the rest of this post.

Hope you're having a great week!!!!

-

I have four kids.

Having four kids, requires that I be resourceful, smart, creative and sneaky. It requires that a lot of thought goes into the tactics I use to get things done!

I have many tactics!

The tactic I am most proud of ...

The one that I use quite often ...

The one that I have perfected beyond all other tactics ...

Is ... the Daddy Tactic.

I am obviously not the originator of this tactic, but I have to say ... I am GOOD at utilizing this technique!

Here is the perfect example of how I use the Daddy Tactic:

Alexis came to me with a toy she had dropped (a Barbie lap-top) down in the family room. This toy, in her arms, was buzzing when she walked up to me. She said, "It broke. It won't turn off."

I took this toy in my hands and proceeded to push and poke at all the buttons; the on/off switch several times - it kept on buzzing - it was broken. I turned it over and said, "Maybe it's the battery."

Alexis wrinkled up her face and squeaked loudly, "Noooooo ... it's not the battery. It's broken."

I agreed, but I did not say this. Instead, I said, "Daddy will be able to fix it. We'll have Daddy look at it when he gets home." I then told her to take the buzzing toy somewhere else.

She then cried pathetically, "But, I'll hear it all night long," so worried I was saying for her to take it to her room.

I said, "Go put it in the garage - that'll work." She seemed happy with this solution and went on her way.

She was not necessarily worried about this toy, because she proceeded to inform me that she wants the new Barbie lap-top she's seen on TV. I think she was thinking we would just throw this buzzing toy away, but, not me. No ... the "Daddy can fix it," is the most ingenious tactic ... so, I whipped it out and I used it.

This tactic keeps me from having to fix just about anything I have no clue how to fix, don't want to figure out how to fix or don't have the time to fix. Because, "Daddy can fix it," and over the course of time it has become clear that he is the only one who can fix it, and he is wiling to quickly exhibit these talents proudly to his children, I don't have to ... fix it, change its batteries, glue it, stick it on, untangle it, screw it, unscrew it, shine it or build it!!!

HEY - I have changed my share of batteries and figured out my share of broken toys over the years! I have put on and taken off more Barbie clothes than I have changed my own clothes! I have colored pictures, painted trees and birds and butterflies, put together puzzles, set up tiny furniture in tiny doll houses, read a billion books, cut and glued pictures on posters, set up race tracks, organized many a miniature car collection ... if this tactic works for me, then I am going to use it! And then maybe ... I will have time to do all the other stuff I'm supposed to do and even answer all the questions being asked of me, like, "How long is a minute, anyway?"

I'd like to see my husband answer that one, to a six year old, in less than twenty seconds; to a child that does not comprehend clocks or second hands or ANYTHING having to do with the concept of time. I need time to answer these questions - he can fix the buzzing Barbie lap-top!

On the upside ... If my husband ever catches on to this tactic ... I will have to come up with something equally as satisfying and equally as resourceful. But ... he hasn't caught on yet and it's been 16 years of me using this tactic. I'm either a Ninja when it comes to secretly and silently delegating the turmoil around our house, he's an idiot at detecting sneaky covert operations ... or .... Let's just leave it at --- I'm a Ninja. I think 16 years has at least earned me that title. I am definitely a Ninja.

Went outside.

Heard ... thump ... thUMP ... THUMP!

Looked deep into the back yard - saw 13 year old son hurling throwing knives at a piece of plywood.

"Where'd he get those," I asked my husband.

"From George," he answers oh-so-casually.

"George who?"

Yes ... son is destined for the circus, has friends contributing daily to his deliquency, and a father coaching him on the ways of a being a true redneck behind my back.

DOG - stop looking at me like that - I KNOW I suck as a mother *sigh*.

I did tell the boy to be careful - make sure one of those knives didn't ricochet off that wood - bounce back and poke his eye out ...

-

Sometimes ...

I have no will-power.

I try to be strong.

I try to make good choices.

I try to keep on track and not let the tiny details in life distract me from the big picture.

I'm not as strong as I used to be.

I'm pretty much the biggest push-over that ever existed.

I know ...

I was adamant!

I was certain!

I was determined to win this battle!

But ...

I'm a wimp.

A marshmallow.

A fluff ball.

A SUCKER!

I caved ...

His name is Remis (named after a werewolf character in Harry Potter. He looks frightening - doesn't he?).

It's not because everyone around me is smarter (okay - maybe they are a little smarter).

It's not because I've lost my mind (okay - maybe I've lost my mind).

It's not because I have no common sense (okay - I obviously have no common sense).

It's not because I can't stand my ground (okay - I've been on sinking sand for more years than I will admit to anyone).

It's not that I let myself become distracted by the tiny details in life and allowed them to blind me from the big picture ...

Okay ... I became just a little distracted.

Alexis: "What's the pup's name again?"

Me: "I don't know. I call him Penis."

Alexis: "Here Penis. Come on boy!"

I call the pup Penis. The older girls don't find this funny. It makes me feel just a little better to be sarcastic - makes me feel like I'm somehow less stupid for taking my eyes off the big picture!

*Mom throws shoulders back, holds head up high and hopes nobody notices that her body is curved like a noodle because she has no backbone*

-

So ... I got to thinking.

Probably time to do some of that spring cleaning!

Not the tearing down of all the drapes and curtains or blinds. Not the washing of all the windows. Not the cleaning of all the cobwebs from the upper corners of every room. Not the baseboards or garage - NOT THOSE THINGS - YET!

All the energy I could muster was ... the cleaning of Alexis' bedroom.

I had put the deep cleaning off since late fall and her room was certainly due for a top-to-bottom overhaul!

I gave myself three days.

I knew it was going to be a project!

I worked clockwise around the room - starting at the door.

I worked hard and I did it!

The bookshelves went from being a disheveled mess to being organized by size and color and groups. The dressers and cabinets and drawers were dumped and sorted and folded and stacked and lined up and re-boxed and they look fabulous. The closet was a massive undertaking and now it is orderly and functional and clean. Under the bed and couch and cabinets - all cleaned out. Every surface has been dusted and shined and polished. All toys have their new place assignment and the dolls are stored away with their shoes and clothes and furniture and hair accessories and all animals have new homes and are adjusting well and behaving nicely.

It is a CLEAN ROOM!

Every time I walk by, I look inside and feel pride over the amount of work I put into making this room so ORDERLY and CLEAN! I can't stop smiling.

That is ...

UNTIL MY NIECE AND ALEXIS DECIDED THEY WANTED TO PLAY IN THIS EXTREMELY CLEAN ROOM!

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I heard the words come out of my mouth - very loudly - when I saw the two little mess-making-darlings-messing-up-this-extremely-clean-room-that-it-took-me-3-days-to-clean-up!

"Playin'," Alexis says, in a little mouse voice - not sure what the heck she and her cousin could have possibly done wrong.

NO, NO, NO - you can't play in that nice clean room ... are the words racing around in my irrational mind!

I want to scream it.

I want to make them leave.

Make the room off-limits - save it for as long as I can ...

But I can't.

I know this.

So ... I say, "Oh, okay," and see the immediate relief on their confused faces as I turn to walk away.

On the upside ... I'm a bit of a control freak. I have been told that I also have slight OCD tendencies (*off in the distance the sound of hysterical laughter from author's mother, sister, brother, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, friends, friends of friends...*). I think these things are true - okay. If I had done what my mind was whispering when I saw those little mess-making-darlings-messing-up-that-nice-clean-room-that-took-me-3-days-to-clean-up ... I'd also have been given a new label as well, but I didn't! I showed great restraint and tolerance and love - I walked away. Later in the day though ... I walked into my bathroom and there written in lipstick on the mirror above my sink were the words REDRUM ... REDRUM ... REDRUM ...REDRUM ...

*No, not really - author is confusing her life with that of a movie she saw once - what was that movie - what was that move ....?*

(The Shining - for those that don't get this stupid joke - it is a joke - I'm as crazy as they come sometimes, but not as crazy as all that!)

Before I had kids ...

My mind worked perfectly normal.

It did.

I didn't have to remember all that much.

I didn't care about all that much.

I only had to buy candy for just me (TWIZZLERS and DOVE CHOCOLATES).

I went about life as if I had all the time in the world.

I made decisions that accommodated the important issues in my life and those decisions were usually correct.

Somewhere ...

During the span of time since before I had kids ...

And ...

After ...

I had kids ...

I lost my freakin' mind!

My brain stopped functioning normally.

Decisions that would seem illogical to the pre-kid-Kellan ... somehow now often get lost in the rational part of my brain and the irrational part takes over, making those irrational decisions seem ... logical.

Like ...

Recently ...

"Hon. Hon. We need to do some work on that cute little gazebo that sits in our backyard. It needs some repairs and we need to get that done," I said to my cowboy husband not too long ago.

"Uh ... okay," was his (usual ) appropriate response.

So ...

We went about doing repairs.

It took several weeks and then ...

It was done.

All nicely painted and caulked and repaired.

Just like new.

So that I could now maybe make it into a cute little tea room. Because - you know - I often have my old lady friends over for tea.

Or ...

I could maybe use it for a cute little pool house. I could stack all the towels in there neatly on cute little Pottery Barn shelves. Hang some curtains. Purchase some fun multi-colored rugs. Maybe a towel rack. Maybe ...

Or ...

I could use it as a potting shed ... put all my pots and shovels and dirt in there. Have a nice little room for me to bond with my plants. I could put a little portable radio in the corner, turn on my music and escape into my little potting shed for hours and hours. No one would ever find me.

Or ...

We could put a hot-tub in there and maybe get in some late night hot-tubbing with The Cowboy.

Or ...

Maybe we could ...

Give it to the boy child ...

For ...

HIS BAND!

See ...

This is where my mind went wonky and somehow between ...

Perfectly logical ...

Perfectly beautiful ...

Perfectly reasonable ...

Perfectly normal ...

Perfectly thought-out ...

Thoughts ...

I lost my freakin' mind!

On the upside ... I know ... Giving the boy child a drum set was a pretty good clue that I had already lost too many brain cells to even consider making this gazebo decision without outside intervention *hear off in the distance other insane mommy inmates banging their heads against the walls and crying out in the night*.

-

I was in such a deep sleep.

It was cold in my room and my bed was nice and cozy. My pillows and down comforter never feel as soft and cuddly as they do in the morning after all the kids are out of the house and I am home alone in a quiet room and snuggled in my bed.

I was not dreaming or stirring or wakeful - I was deep into the darkness of my empty mind and I was completely at peace.

That was .... until .....

The phone rang.

CRAP!

"Hello," I always try to sound like I am awake when I answer the phone early in the morning. I never want anyone to realize that I have climbed back into bed - when the rest of the world is awake and living their lives.

"Mom," it is my son. I love how he speaks to me when he calls me on the phone. Honestly ... he is the nicest to me of all my kids, I was thinking and then it occurs to me that ... he is also the only of my children that often calls from school - BECAUSE. HE. HAS. FORGOTTEN. SOMETHING!

"Yes," I say, cautiously.

"Am I going to buy pictures today, Mom?" his voice is so sweet.

CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!

I know the answer, but my groggy mind asks the question anyway, "Is today picture day?"

"Yes, Mom. Am I going to buy pictures?"

"It's group picture day today, right? They are just taking class pictures, right?" Now I am wide awake and sitting up in my nice cozy bed with my cuddly pillows propped behind my back.

"Yes Mom," his voice is still so soft and sweet.

"I didn't send money?" I also knew this answer.

"No. Am I going to buy pictures?" he just keeps asking.

CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!

"Do you want to buy pictures?" I ask, knowing full well that this is not something a small 10 year old boy should be deciding, but so hoping he will say "No, I don't care," and I can push the guilt under my pillow, lay back down, relax and go back to sleep.

"Everyone is buying pictures, Mom," he says softly, never once fluctuating his monotone voice and I imagine him looking around the classroom at his classmates, as we speak, walking their picture-order-forms-with-money up to the teacher's desk - poor Little Billy ... the only neglected child who has no form or money because his mother is hibernating at home while the rest of the children's mothers did their picture-ordering-duty and, of course, are not hibernating, but ... out in the world on this early morning ... living their lives.

"Can you bring money, Mom?" he is the sweetest thing.

CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!

Now ... I have been a mother long enough to know that this is where the conversation was going - I KNEW!

I was just stalling.

"I'll get the money up there, Sweetie," I say, and throw my warm legs over the side of my bed.

"Thanks, Mom," he hangs up.

On the upside ... Now, those that don't know me, would imagine that I jumped out of bed, raced to get myself dressed, ran a brush through my hair, put on my shoes, grabbed my purse and ran up to the school to give my son his picture money so he would not be the only child in his class that did not purchase the 5th grade Class Photo of 2008. But ... those that do know me - like my family and close friends - they know this is probably not the way things happened - at all. They would more likely assume that I slithered out of bed (grumbling A LOT), stumbled over to the window of my bedroom, peeked through the blinds, spied my husband's truck (which indicates that he is still home) and then scribbled out a check quickly, raced like a crazy woman through my house, searching frantically for the father of this boy child - placed the check in his hand and BEGGED HIM TO TAKE THE BOY HIS PICTURE MONEY!

My friends and family would be right - THAT'S WHAT I DID! And then ... I crawled back into my cozy bed.

I have four kids.

Having four kids, requires that I be resourceful, smart, creative and sneaky. It requires that a lot of thought goes into the tactics I use to get things done!

I have many tactics!

The tactic I am most proud of ...

The one that I use quite often ...

The one that I have perfected beyond all other tactics ...

Is ... the Daddy Tactic.

I am obviously not the originator of this tactic, but I have to say ... I am GOOD at utilizing this technique!

Here is the perfect example of how I use the Daddy Tactic:

Go HERE to read the rest of this post.

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I am a fast talker.

I use lots of hand gestures when I talk.

I don't do anything slowely.

Most of all ... I walk really fast - everywhere.

I sit down - and then I stand up quickly, run and do something and then run and do something else. I am a multi-tasker and I have perfected this art.

So ... imagine me - this very busy mother - running up and down the hallway by our bedrooms. In one room and out of the other. In and out of the bathroom, grabbing towels and brushes. Putting away clothes. Wiping off counters. Picking up toys.

And then ... imagine Alexis.

She has just gotten out of the bathtub.

She has a towel wrapped tightly around her chubby body - from her neck all the way down to her slippery little toes.

She is coming from my bathroom.

She yells loudly, "Mom ----- do you know how long baby steps take?" *baby step ...... baby step ........ baby step ........ baby step ....... baby step ............*

Now ... imagine me .... stopping all of my running around long enough to view this phenominon from the end of the hallway ..... *baby step .......... baby step ............ baby step ............. baby step .........*

Let me just say ..... It takes a long time!

She was still there in the hallway 5 minutes later - making her way to her bedroom - leaving tiny baby-step-wet-footprints on the wood floor.

And me - I had baked a casserole, given both dogs a bath, defrosted the freezer, stripped and waxed the kitchen floor....

Okay - not really - we have saltillo tile - it doesn't require waxing (tee hee).

The point is ... this story ... pretty much sums up my whole life.

Just imagine ... my husband, my 15 year old twin daughters, my 10 year old son and then, of course, sweet little Alexis ... all shuffling around my house .... taking ...... baby steps ........ baby steps ......... baby steps ........... baby steps ...........

On the upside ... I'm not sure who looks more ridiculous - me, moving at the speed of light - or the rest of them - shuffling along in perpetual slow motion. We are like a carnival side-show --- "Step right up ... here you will see CRAZY MOM-WOMAN zooming around at rocket speed ...doing all the work, while ... her smarter, slower-moving family shuffles along ... just stirring up dust - it is a pathetic sight to behold!"

I am sitting on my bed.

I have my face buried in my laptop, not too aware of what is going on around me.

The TV is on and American Idol is blaring - people singing - people clapping - people cheering.

Suddenly, I hear a noise.

I look up.

Out of the corner of my eye ... I see my son.

He is sneaking down the hallway outside of my bedroom.

He is crawling on his knees towards the stairs.

He has roller blades on his feet.

I scream, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE HOUSE WITH THOSE ROLLER SKATES ON YOUR FEET?"

Go HERE to read the rest of this post.

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Oh ... there are a lot of DREADED words that a mother hates to hear.

I'm not talking about horrific things - don't want to think about horrific things. I'm talking about those moments when a little one comes to you and says something that sends a bit of a chill up your spine.

Things like ...

"Mommy. There's something wrong with the toilet."

You know - DREADED words.

I've heard my share of DREADED words over the years and have compiled a mental list of the ones that rub me the most chilly.

I have tried to teach my children - over the years - those words that I am not fond of - those that make me a bit CRAZY. They still use all these words, but have gotten smart enough to know that they should say them really fast - like they are throwing them at me like a dart - and then run as fast as they can ... out of the room.

Say it - RUN!

Mostly ... my children have learnt this lesson well.

Alexis, however ..... is still young.

She has not caught on as quickly as I would like.

She is either a bit slow or ... trying to change the rules around my house.

I know this because ...

She came into my room the other night.

She stood by my bed.

She twisted her face.

She puckered her lower lip.

She batted long dark eyelashes over glossy puppy-dog eyes.

She said .............. "Will you play a game with me?"

And ... she DID NOT RUN!

Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay ........ first of all -

1. All 7 of these words are at the very top of my DREADED words list!

2. I did not get the "game" gene and I am not a game player.

3. All my children KNOW THIS!

I have played Barbies, I have played blocks, I have played puzzles, I have played Polly-Pockets, I have played doll house, I have played Little Pony's, I have played drawing and painting and coloring and stickering and sponging and gluing and glittering. I have played in the yard and in the pool and in the woods and in the sand and in their rooms and in the garage and on the driveway and ... I have played Play Dough. I have played frisbee, I have played jump-rope and bikes and skates and skooters. I have played in tents and forts and sand-boxes. I have played A LOT of stuff!

I do not play games!

SORRY!

On the upside ... I don't know exactly what happened ... she must have come to her senses or something, because she just turned and walked out of my room before I even had to tell her, "SORRY - I don't play games - go ask your Daddy." Maybe it was the you-know-very-well-that-I-don't-play-games-look I had on my face. I imagine that is what it was.

Boy have we've been eating out a lot!

We've been eating out a lot --- for a long time.

I am not in the mood to cook.

I have not been in the mood to cook for ... a long time.

I was never in the mood to cook.

Before I had kids and when I got hungry - I ate bowls of cereal, a sandwich or a cracker.

Since having kids - 16 years ago - it doesn't matter if I am hungry or not - I have to come up with meals and prepare those meals for many other hungry people.

I'd be perfectly happy eating a bowl of Captain Crunch cereal for lunch or dinner.

I'd be perfectly happy eating a rice cake with peanut butter slathered on it or an apple with a cup of yogart.

But ...

NO!

My brood is not happy with these simple pleasures.

My brood wants "real food"!

So ...

We've been eating out a lot lately.

I'm not in the mood to cook "real food".

I've been out of the mood for --- about 16 years!

Billy called me from McDonalds.

"Do you want anything from McDonalds?"

"Nope - I ate a bowl of cereal."

"Who's there? Do I need to get Little Billy and the girls anything?"

"Probably a good idea."

I can hear Alexis in the background - she's in the car with her daddy. "What do they have?" she screams loud enough that I can hear her all the way to my house.

I hear my sweet husband say, "The same thing they had yesterday. The same thing they had the day before that. They always have the same things," he tells her nicely, "Bye - gotta go," and he hangs up the phone.

On the upside ... Dear God - Thank you for McDonalds. And - thank you for sweet husbands.

-

When I had my twins - 15 years ago - I think I was a pretty good mother.

I think I was like most new mothers, in that I did everything by the book. I kept them on a schedule, I burped them after each feeding, I gave them a bath nearly every single day, I put shoes and socks on their feet, I brushed their hair and put lovely pony-tails on the sides of their heads. I was a good mom.

The more kids I began to have, the farther and farther I began to stray from the "model mother" persona that I once resembled. Actually, it probably began to fade long before I actually gave birth to my son. The beginning of the downward spiral was - oh ... probably after about the first year after my twins were born.

So ... that means - if am going to be honest - that I have been a less than "model mother" for at least 15 years - giving myself credit for being exceptional for merely one year!

Yep - that sounds about right.

I have been very aware of this failing for many, many years. It bothers me, of course, and I often try to do better - but, I am just a mediocre mom in most regards. I yell - far too much! I complain - far too much! I set very high expectations - way too much! On some things - like school - I think I am pretty successful as a mother. And, in raising some pretty fun, loving and socially adept children - I have done well. But ... there are certainly some areas that I am miserable at and have failed pathetically. I am a mediocre mom. I know all this.

Yesterday, Alexis came over to where I was sitting on the couch and stood in front of me.

In her hand she held a banana.

I watched as she began eating this banana.

Suddenly ... I saw ... as she folded down the peel, the nastiest bruise on the side of the banana.

In my mind I thought, "Is she going to keep eating that yucky, bruised banana?"

She took another bite.

In my mind I thought, as I squinted my eyes and my stomach turned a flip, "Is she going to eat that yucky part of that banana?"

She took yet another bite.

In my mind I thought, "Should I tell her? Should I tell her?" and then I watched, through squinted eyelids (because I couldn't watch out-right or I felt like I surly might throw up), as she took a big bite - eating the yucky bruised part of the banana.

She stood in front of me and ate the whole banana - yucky, squishy, bruised parts and all.

I let her.

I never said a word.

I debated about telling her, but thought, "It won't kill her. If she likes the taste and the texture doesn't bother her - let her eat it. I wouldn't eat it, but it won't kill her. It shouldn't do anything to her, other than encourage astonishment from others if she ever does it around anyone outside of our house. That's okay - my sister has been known to eat boiled shrimp - shells and all (blech!) - Alexis will fit right in - as long as she always sits next to my sister. "

Being as Alexis is the 4th child - it occurred to me - while I watched her eat this banana - that I would have had a hard time eating - that I have never told that child about rotten fruit. Either that - or she chose to ignore this lesson and has decided to distinguish between those things she will eat and won't eat, on her own. I prefer to believe the latter.

This is just an example of how my mothering skills have seriously deteriorated over the years. Somewhere along the way, I stopped teaching the lesson about rotten fruit.

I'm certain there are many other lessons that I have failed to teach Alexis that I probably taught my first born children - because she is at the tail-end of our line of children and also because she has been stuck with me as her mother (*sigh*).

I hope she survives.

On the upside ... I guess with Alexis around, not much fruit will ever go to waste in our house. And ... when my kids eat boiled shrimp, I'll try to remind them to peel the shells off first. My poor sister - she didn't realize you weren't supposed to eat the shells until I told her (you should have seen my face when I saw her crunching on those shrimp and then how we laughed - HA!) - just this past summer - she's in her 40's. I wonder why our mother never told my poor sister to take off those shells? Maybe my poor mothering skills aren't my fault at all - maybe it's just a disease that has been passed down from generation to generation in our family. That's probably what happened. We're just defective or genetically challenged in the mothering department.

So ...

There are a few things of which I am acutely aware ...

There are many things I don't know a thing about, but some things - I am completely certain of.

One of the things I know ...

Without a doubt ...

For sure ...

Ab-so-lutely ...

Is ...

I

Am

Not

The

Best

Mother.

There -

I've said it!

I *whisper* this statement just because - I know this ... but, I don't necessarily want or need others to know this!

I know this!

I've known this for a while.

I knew this years ago - practically back to the very beginning of the - beginning.

I don't need people to tell me this.

I don't need nods of disapproving heads.

I don't need the rolling of disgusted eyes.

I don't need the shrugs of judgemental shoulders ...

To tell me this.

I know this.

And ...

I don't need anyone to come to my house - sit next to Alexis - smell her stinky feet from well across the couch - and say ...

"This child needs a bath tonight."

As if to impress that "this child" does not take regular baths!

I will likely lose my temper at such a statement.

While I know that these stinky feet might very well indicate that "the child" needs a bath and ... it is even likely that "the child" is long overdue for a bath ...

I will still ...

Likely ...

Lose my temper over such a statement.

I will be offended.

I will snap and snarl and screech retaliatory comments like ...

"Like ... I never give her a bath?"

"Is that what you are trying to imply?"

"How would you know how often I give her a bath?"

"Are you here in my house every single day?"

"I. Don't. Think. So!"

"You couldn't possibly know how often she has a bath?"

"Plus ... how often is often enough - anyway?"

"I could give 'the child' 3 baths a day and that would still not be often enough."

"What is often enough?"

"What?"

"WHAT?"

Yes ...

Even us rotten mothers ...

The ones that are completely aware of our inadequacies ...

The ones that strive and strive and strive, but never seem to measure up to June Cleaver and never will ...

Are still prepared ...

And even good at ...

B.i.t.i.n.g your head off ...

If you even try to imply ...

That ...

We ...

Suck at ...

This ... motherhood thing!

On the upside ... Sorry mom. *slithers off to the bathroom to run bath for stinky 7 year old daughter*

-

My Daughter, Courtney, talks all the time! I tell her constantly, "You just talk to hear yourself talking," and she does. But, they all do really - all of my kids. They are the talking-est bunch of kids you could ever imagine. I don't know where they get it from. I talk way more since I've had kids, than I ever did before, but I was never a talker.

My sister was the talker. My brother and I couldn't get a word in for all the magical talking our sister could come up with.

And ... all of you that have kids - kids that talk - are well aware, that most of this talk is pretty much nonsense. It's about bizarre stuff about Pokemans and sponges and so much gibberish I stopped trying to comprehend it or decipher it, long ago. I sometimes just pretend like I'm listening (I've got that face down good - stare right into their eyes, raise an eyebrow every now and then to show interest, shake my head a lot and smile if a smile is called for). If I actually tried to digest all the gibberish coming out my children's mouths, day in and day out ... I'd have to move all the really important stuff (like their names) out of my cluttered brain, to store this constant barrage of useless information. Nope ... I learned this technique from my husband - I act like I'm really interested and hope that they don't notice that my eyes have glazed over.

And just about the time I think they have run out of things to talk about or the clicking or tapping noises are as bad as it can get - someone starts with the fighting, whining, screaming, jumping or banging on walls. Bouncing balls, slamming doors, banging on piano keys, loud TVs or radios ... the noise is endless. If I don't hear noise in my house, I immediately panic and run to see where everyone went.

Talk is overrated. My husband and I can go days - days - without passing more than ten words between us. And we've been married for 23 years (maybe that's why). And ... we have come to where we don't even communicate in complete sentences, at all anymore. He's pretty much eliminated words altogether and mostly he just resorts to a nod of his head, a wave of his hand or a grunt or wheeze. I just throw out code words like: Late? or Hungry? or Mad! and then he just knows the correct response and if he doesn't, he makes up a new one and I eventually get it. My husband and I are like cave people ... grunting, hunting and gathering and whipping up grub. The kids are doing all the talking!

On the upside ... when the day comes, that it is just my husband and I again, and all the kids are gone ... maybe he'll put on his loin cloth, sling me over his shoulder and I'll be contently happy with communicating by painting symbols on the wall or pictures with a stick ... in the sand. I'd be pretty content with that ... right now. (*Note to self: Buy loin cloth for The Cowboy).