Who Are You?

Do you ever feel like you're not quite yourself? Like you don't really know where you belong? Or like you're just not sure who you are?

I guess we all have those days. Today was one of those days for B. You know how it is. Some days you just feel a little bit Batman...and a little bit Spiderman.

Fortunately, if you also feel a little bit Superman, you can force that role onto your brother, who is still too young to protest.

And yes, Batman/Spiderman and Superman are shopping in this picture, in Trader Joe's.

Superheros have to eat, too. There are some vegetables under those cookies. I swear.

And yes, in case you're wondering, it does run in the family.

Apparently, Bat Girl's talents do not include removing the rotting pumpkins from the porch before the Halloween pictures are taken. Oh well. You can't have it all, I guess.

Batman...Spiderman...Superman...Batgirl..it really doesn't matter.

They're all my heros.

And they are also really super.

Especially when they are doing this.

Take Notes!

 Let me start by saying, I think I am usually a pretty nice mom. I spend an hour tucking them all into bed at night. I often read The Very Hungry Caterpillar three times a night, even though I've been sick of reading it since 2006. I play outside with them every day. I often get up at 4 am with O, just because he wants to snuggle (Ok, fine--this is also the only way I will get any sleep. Whatever). I continue to suffer through B's swimming classes because I think it's important for him to learn to swim, though any sane person would have quit after the first week. I count to three before sending my children to their rooms, and I count to ten before locking myself in mine. What more could any child ask for?

This morning, after coming home from Church,  I decided to take NBO to the park and then for haircuts.  Jimmy was working, and it was a beautiful day for the park. N and B also really needed haircuts. Well, so do I, for that matter, but I'm sure mine can wait another year or two. We stopped at the store first, and I paid with cash. The cashier looked at the one hundred dollar bill I handed him, and held it up to the light. Repeatedly. As if he wasn't sure it was real. I looked at him, pointed to the kids, and nicely said, "Really? Does it look like I have time to manufacture money?". He looked at me like that statement was, in fact, proof that I manufacture money. Please. If I had that kind of time on my hands, do you really think I'd be making counterfeit money? Uh, no. If I had time to manufacturing something, I would be making moonshine. In my backyard. And I would not be sharing.

He eventually gave me my change, and we headed to the park. It's 80 and sunny. A perfect day for the park. For most people. For my fair skinned children, it's too hot.  Sorry, I should say it was too hot for my fair skinned whiners. Yup, I just called them whiners. Cause today, they were. From the moment we got out of the car, they whined. It's too hot. I want to ride the scooter. No, I don't want to ride the scooter. I want to ride in the stroller. No, I don't want to ride in the stroller...

We went for a walk on the trail, which is mostly shaded. In spite of this, they proceeded to whine about the heat some more, and then one over tired three-year-old decided that he didn't want to be in the stroller. Or out of the stroller. Or riding the scooter that he insisted we bring. No, he wanted to hang onto the side of the stroller, which his brother was also in, and have me push him. The stroller and two children weights about a hundred pounds. It's hard enough to push when everyone is sitting. It's about impossible to push with one child hanging precariously onto the side. I told him nicely it wasn't happening. He started to get off the stroller, and then saw that his six-year-old sister was vying for his seat in the stroller, so he decided to hold onto the side again. I told him firmly that I can't push the stroller like that. I told the six-year-old that she doesn't need a stroller. They both ignored me.

And then, I had an epiphany. I was done.

I was tired of being a nice mommy. For days, I have been having visions of me, a hotel room, and a bottle of vodka. Although that particular scenario is not an option (at the moment, but that may change. Mother's Day is coming up, after all), Nice Mommy really is long overdue for a sabbatical. I told a certain three-year-old  to get his hiney back in the stroller, or out of the stroller, but to stop hanging onto the side, or we were leaving. He ignored me, and decided to hit his brother instead. Then his sister. I turned around and headed for the car, and informed them that our walk in the park was over (haha! Walk in the park? Whoever coined that expression obviously never took a walk in the park with three kids. There is absolutely nothing about a walk in the park that is a walk in the park). We walked back to the car. B was crying, begging, and pleading to go back to the trail. "Nope. Too late", I informed him. Nice Mommy is officially on sabbatical. Now Mean Mommy's in charge. Didn't see that one coming, did you pal?

As I buckled O into his car seat, B informed me that he was staying there, in the park. Mean Mommy put on her sweetest, fakest Nice Mommy voice, and said "OK, honey, but we're all leaving, so I'm not sure who's going to take care of you. Was there any family in particular that you were thinking of asking?". B changed his mind and decided to get in the car.
"Can I still get a hair cut mommy?" he asked.
"Maybe, " I tell him. "If you are quiet until we get there and don't touch anyone."
N was mysteriously quiet at this point. At one point, she started to say something, looked at me, and apparently changed her mind. Huh.

B promised he would be good. Let me tell you, I have heard that promise before, and he doesn't mean it. Mean Mommy decided that he must learn now that empty promises are unacceptable, lest he try this crap with his wife some day, and ends up divorced, penniless, and living in our basement when he's forty.
I leaned in close to B to make sure he heard me. "Listen to me," I tell him in my calmest Mean Mommy voice, "IF we go get your hair cut, you'd better be nice. No screaming, hitting, yelling, or running. If you don't behave yourself, I don't care if half your hair is cut, I don't care if the scissors are still attached to your hair, and I don't care if you've had time to pick out a toy, we will leave. At that moment". He looks at me and nods. Nice Mommy would probably feel kind of bad. Mean Mommy doesn't.

I noticed a woman walking by. She is young, thin, and wearing coordinated clothing. She does not have a gaggle of children with her. She probably gets her hair cut every six weeks. She probably has time to take long walks in the park every day, and her walks in the park are probably really walks in the park. I finish putting the kids, stroller, scooter, diaper bag, and helmets in the car, stopping only to read B the riot act again when he hits N.

As I get in the drivers seat, I notice that the woman has now stopped, and she is staring at our car. She is also writing in a notebook. I really want to ask her what she writing. My license number? Did she think I was serious about letting B stay here without us? Is she going to report me for child abandonment? Is she reporting me to CPS for denying my kids a hair cut? Maybe she just heard the words "scissors" and "head" and thinks I am threatening them with bodily harm. Or maybe she is writing this down, so when she gets home from her long leisurely walk in the park and her husband says "Honey, isn't it time we thought about having a baby?", she can read him the list of her observations about us before she looks at him sweetly and says, "Hell No".

But no, after thinking about it, I decided it's probably none of those things. Clearly, she was just taking notes, for when she does have her own gaggle of children. 

How to be a Mean Mommy, Chapter One...

So glad I could help.



Thanks for reading! And no...of course he didn't end up getting his hair cut...but not for lack of trying.

Fifty Ways to Wake Your Mother...

I just love that old Paul Simon song, Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover, don't you? I mean, it came out in 1975--many, many years before I was born--but they still played it occasionally while I was growing up. I've been thinking about that song a lot lately, especially in the morning for some reason, as my sweet, gentle children are quietly climbing into bed with us. For some reason, though, the words in my head are a little different from how I remember them.

The problem is we can't all fit into your bed, they said to me
The answer is easy if you take it logically
We'd like to help you in your struggle to be free
There must be fifty ways to wake your mother.

They said it's really not our habit to intrude
Furthermore
We hope our meaning won't be lost or misconstrued
But we'll repeat ourselves at the risk of being crude
There must be fifty ways to wake your mother
Fifty ways to wake your mother

You just jump on her back, Jack
Swing from that fan, Stan
You can throw a toy,Roy
Just don't let her sleep

Throw her that bus,Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just tell her you gotta pee, Lee
Just don't let her sleep

They said it grieves us so to see you in such pain
We wish there was something we could do to make you smile again
I said I appreciate that and would you please explain
About the fifty ways..

They said why don't we all just sleep here on it tonight
And we believe in the early morning you'll begin to see the damn sunlight
And then they kissed me and I realized they probably were right
There must be fifty ways to wake your mother
Fifty ways to wake your mother

You just jump on her back, Jack
Swing from that fan, Stan
You can throw a toy, Roy
Just don't Let her sleep...

Throw her that bus,Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just tell her you gotta pee, Lee
Just don't let her sleep...

Roots And Wings...

We all know that we're supposed to give our children roots and wings.
Roots to give them a foundation. Something to be a part of. Something to ground them.
Wings so that they may fly. On their own. Without us.
Since my kids are all under age seven, I can go for long periods of time just focusing on the roots. I tell myself that the wings part will come later, and I can sometimes go for weeks actually believing that. But then there are times, like this week, when I am reminded that the wings part, to some extent, takes place now, too. I think, That's right, this is part of my job, too. And then I think how over-rated wings are.

It's counter intuitive, really.
Holding them close, and then pushing them away.
And yet, if we don't, we're only doing half of our job.

Earlier this week, B had his third swim class. This time, I had been asked to stay outside of the pool area, and watch through the one way glass. I promised him we'd get a cheeseburger for lunch if he did a good job. So I stood on the other side of the door, watching, as he laid on the concrete on the side of the pool and cried.
No, that's not really true. He didn't cry.
He sobbed.

Of course my initial reaction was to go in and tell him that I would sit right there and watch. But I had been asked not to, so I didn't. Instead, I waited, and just watched him. As he sobbed.

I thought of going into the pool area despite being asked not to. Then I thought of going in, grabbing him, and leaving. The instructor thought it would be a good thing for me to watch from behind the glass. But I was trying to figure out which part of this was good.

After obsessing for a few minutes, I decided that I needed to give it a chance, so that's what I did.
I stayed there and watched him sob, for the majority of the class. I came close to sobbing myself, for the majority of the class. And then, when the class was over, I went in and got him, and wrapped him in a towel. While he was still sobbing. And stating that he didn't want to learn how to swim.

 I bought him a cheeseburger anyway, in the hopes that he would remember the cheeseburger, and not the trauma of the swim class when his mother wasn't there.

Today before school, N had an audition for the school talent show. Well, she was supposed to have an audition for the talent show. She had been excited about it for weeks. I suspected that there would be some drama as it got closer. She is only six, after all, and this would involve singing, on a stage, in front of people. Part of me had even thought I should tell her she needed to wait until next year. But then I figured it was probably better to let her try, and see how it goes.

We were actually drama free the whole time leading up to the audition. But then we got to the audition. And she saw that there were actually people there. And she started sobbing. She calmed down for a while, until it was her turn. Then she sobbed some more. 

Ultimately, there was no audition. Which was just fine with me. But apparently, the only thing that made N sob more than the thought of an audition was the thought of not doing an audition. She declared that she wanted to go home with me instead of going to school. I actually thought about it, and looking at her tear streaked face, it was hard to tell her no. But I did.


She asked me to walk her to her class, which is highly frowned upon. I decided I didn't care, and walked her to class anyway.


Tonight in our house, no one was sobbing. Or even crying. It might have something to do with my new philosophy:

Screw you, wings.
I'm going back to my roots.

At least for now.

On Being a Good Shopper...

(Disclaimer: Yes, I realize that I have written several times about the grocery store. I actually thought about not writing this, because I didn't want people to start thinking of me as the mom who writes about the grocery store all the time. But the reality is, I have three kids and a husband who need to eat, and I have two kids still in diapers. Like it or not, the grocery store is a big part of my life. Yes, I find that sad, too. Fortunately for me, the grocery store is also right next to the liquor store).

So, I really try to be a good shopper. Really, I do. I don't use the express lane if I have more than 15 items. OK, fine, sometimes 16, but that's it. Although sometimes I do legitimately miscount and find that I have 17 or 18, but that's an honest mistake, so its forgiven, right? I smile at people even when I don't really feel like it. I engage in some degree of small talk with the cashiers, even when I wish they would just ring up my groceries and not ask me if I'm buying Tylenol because I have a headache (Nope. Cramps. Want me to tell you more about that?), or if the kids get their red hair from my husband (Nope. Mailman. Or maybe the UPS guy. Who can keep track?).  I don't leave my cart in the middle of the aisle--well, unless there are glass jars on the shelves at O's eye level--then I figure blocking the aisle is preferable to our fellow shoppers having to dodge flying shards of glass.

I even follow the shopping cart rules--well, OK sometimes B rides in the back, but he never, ever stands up back there. Not for very long, anyway. I even put my cart back in the little cart house--well, assuming we're not parked half a mile away from the cart house, and  the kids aren't already strapped into their car seats. I mean, people have actually gotten arrested for child endangerment for leaving their kids in the car while they returned their cart. Sorry, but if comes down to kids or carts, I'm choosing kids.

My point is, I do try. And obviously, the people at our grocery store know this, since if you'll recall, I was personally selected to be a member of the elite Manager's Club at our store.  But yesterday, I'm thinking maybe they forgot that I'm a member of the elite Manager's Club. I had taken B and O to the store, and we were checking out, when B was clearly getting restless. O was in the cart, but of course I picked the cart with the seat belt that doesn't work. The very talkative cashier is handing me my receipt as B decides to push the cart, with O in it but not strapped in, away from the cash register and into the Muppets DVD display. The display tips over. The cart, fortunately, does not. Several Muppets DVDs are on the floor, but most are still at least halfway in the cardboard display, which is kind of dented and leaning precariously on one side.

"Oh God" the cashier says as she rolls her eyes. I smile, say thank you, and put out my hand, thinking she will hand me my receipt, since obviously I need to go. Now. B backs the cart out of the DVD display. O is still in it, but I'm thinking not for long. The lady is beginning her spiel. I know this spiel, because I hear it every time I am here. Thank customer by name, tell customer how many gas points she has, tell customer how many bonus point she has. Hey, I have an idea for another one. How about, "assume customer has half a clue and can actually read all of this off of her own damn receipt when she gets home".

"Thank you Mrs...uh, lets see.." she is staring at my receipt, stuck on the part where she's supposed to thank me by name.
"Its OK, thanks, but I really have to go", I tell her. She ignores me and finds my last name. B is now pushing the cart and O toward the exit. "Lets see, you have...:" She is looking to see how many gas points I have.
"Its OK. I can read it", I tell her with a smile, "I really need to go now."
She ignores me. She happily tells me how many gas points I have, then looks at me expectantly, as if she has just given me a gift, and I'm supposed to thank her. I think she may be waiting for me to hug her. I want to remind her that I did spend a ridiculous amount of money on groceries, after all, to get those gas points.
She is still not handing over the receipt.
B narrowly avoids pushing the cart into an elderly shopper.
"It looks like you have..." She is obviously not going to stop until she also tells me how many bonus points I have.
I contemplate grabbing the receipt out of her hand. I am no longer smiling.
B still has a ways to go before he reaches the exit, but I cannot believe that she is holding me and my receipt hostage while my three-year-old pushes my unrestrained one-year-old away in a shopping cart. She already saw what he could do to a DVD display. Stacks of cookies and glass bottles of iced tea are now in his path. She ain't seen nothing yet.

Finally, she finds the information she is looking for on my receipt, and tells me how many reward points I have. Like I give a soon to be flying fig newton. I grab the receipt and catch up with B and O just before B rams the shopping cart into the back of some unsuspecting shopper.

I had planned to pick up the DVD display, but in my haste to catch up with B and O, I didn't have a chance. I decide I really don't care.

And then, from behind me, I hear the cashier's voice loudly say, " Um, excuse me? The Muppets have a little problem back here".

She is clearly talking to me.  I'm thinking that whatever problem the Muppets have is nothing compared to the one she's going to have if I have to turn this shopping cart-with one unrestrained child and another now hanging illegally onto the side--around. I contemplate doing just that, but since I suddenly have an incredibly strong desire to throw something at her, I decide it's probably better to just keep walking. As we walk to the car, I fantasize about telling her exactly where she can put Kermit and Miss Piggy.

I also want to ask her if she knows who I am. After all, I am a  member of the elite Manager's Club. And they don't just hand those memberships out to anyone. You have to really be someone.

Someone who spends way too much time and money at this store. Someone who just left Kermit and Miss Piggy laying on the floor, without even offering them a hand up. Like I give a frog's leg.

Someone who's going to start having her groceries delivered to her home. Very, very soon.

When You Wish Upon A.....

It's Spring Break in NBO land. Just the thought of a whole week of no school makes me incredibly happy. An entire week of not having to rush to get N to the bus in the morning, trying to convince her to let me brush her hair as B is repeatedly asking me to turn on Mickey Mouse, and O is screaming for pancakes. A whole week of not having to listen to the School Day Morning Medley that plays in our house:

Ouch! Mickey Mouse! Pancake! Mickey Mouse! Ouch! Pancake!

I was hoping that, one of these mornings, I may even get the chance to hear myself think. But yesterday morning, I realized that the Spring Break Morning Medley is pretty similar to the School Day Morning Medley.

Mickey Mouse! Pancake! Mickey Mouse! Pancake!

Since I still had to brush N's hair before we left the house--just a little later than usual-- she got to do a solo.

Ouch!!!!

Ok, so maybe Spring Break mornings aren't going to live up to my expectations. Spring break is still a good thing. The kids get to spend a lot more time together, which always makes my eye twitch heart swell with joy. It's so great when they are able to drive each other crazy  play happily together for a whole day. N was a little disappointed that we weren't going to Disney World like a few of her friends from school, and kept asking what we were going to do on Spring break, but I explained that we will still have fun--enjoying not being on a schedule, and just spending time together. We also get to see friends we don't see much when everyone's in school, and they get to stay up a little later than usual.

Last night, for example, we let the kids stay up late and we had a fire in the backyard. (This was Jimmy's idea. He told N and B that if they picked up all the sticks in the yard and brought them to the fire pit, he would build a fire. No sticks. No fire. Smart man. I'm totally stealing this strategy. Today I'm going to tell them that, if they weed and rototill the whole yard, we'll plant some flowers. No weeding and rototilling. No flowers.) So last night, because I wasn't up for playing "How long until O falls or is pushed into the fire", we put him to bed, and Jimmy, N, B, and I sat outside around the fire. We noticed that alot of stars were visible last night, so we were looking for constellations (yes, I said looking for, not looking at. Since we're pretty clueless in this area, we couldn't look up at the sky and say "Look, kids! There's Orion!" Instead, we played "Hey! Who can find a bunch of stars that look like...anything?")

At one point, Jimmy said "Wow, look! A shooting star!" We all saw it, but the thing was, it wasn't exactly shooting, or even falling. It was just moving, very slowly across the sky, and then it disappeared. We thought this was odd, but since we knew it wasn't a plane, we decided it had to be a shooting--or at least meandering--star. "Quick!" We told the kids, "Make a wish!" N happily informed us that she already had. A few minutes later, we saw another one. Again, it didn't shoot, or even fall, but made it's way slowly across the sky before disappearing. Again, N made a wish. Jimmy and I looked at each other, thinking maybe these weren't stars after all, but since they looked exactly like stars, and didn't have flashing lights like planes, and since they disappeared, we figured they had to be stars. Jimmy asked N what her wish was, and she told him she couldn't tell since then it wouldn't come true.  B, meanwhile, decided that he didn't care about shooting--or meandering--stars. He was much more fascinated by his juice box melting in the fire pit.

A few minutes later, we saw another meandering star, and now even N was questioning what we were seeing. In fact, she informed us that "This is really freaking me out". We assured her it was nothing to freak out about, thought maybe these weren't shooting stars after all. She relaxed, before rolling her eyes and asking, "Did you really just have me wish upon a plane?"

Of course not, honey.

Apparently, we had you wish upon an iridium satellite.

Now how many kids can say they got to do that on Spring Break?

Excited To Announce...

We have something exciting to announce. A new addition! We are all excited about it. Well, ok, truth be told, I am excited about it. No one else really cares. Including Jimmy. In fact, I don't think he even knows about it yet. I guess I should tell him, but it's been a busy few days around here, and it just hasn't seemed that important. And really, once I do tell him, he may not even want to see it. He's just not that into it. In truth, he'd rather be fishing. And really, I'm ok with it. I mean, it's not like he had anything to do with starting it all. It was all me. As you can imagine, I will be pretty busy with the new addition, and may not have as much time to be writing here, but I still plan on keeping the NBO Chronicles going. After all, the NBO Chronicles was here first, and it should take precedence over the new one.

So I hope you'll take a minute to check out the new addition, and maybe even share it with your friends. I would love it if you would sign up to follow it!

The new blog can be found at familymattersmom.blogspot.com, and it deals more with my thoughts and experiences as a therapist, as opposed to my thoughts and experiences with diapers, temper tantrums, and tequila.

Yes, I said my new blog. Why, what did you think I meant?

As always, thanks for reading!

P.S...Happy April Fool's Day. (But yes, there really is a new blog).