You, my dear readers, are amazing! I will admit, my eyes filled with tears when I saw my kiddo’s email inbox overflowing with email greetings and Valentine hellos. You all went above and beyond with the cards and the pictures etc. Just the fact that people from all over the world send him email meant so much to him. Thanks for helping a broken hearted kid feel better.
You all rock!
Thank you.
Well, I took your advice, dear Internet, and talked to the Mom of the neighborhood kid. We did get our Gameboy back and some of the games. I would love to say that it all worked out well, but let me just leave it at this: Sometimes I wonder if maybe it is better to just leave things alone and not push. Of course I am not saying that anyone should be able to get away with stealing. I certainly don’t condone it. It just wasn’t a very good scene. That’s all I should say about it.
I suppose the bottom line in my own home is that Zarek did get his Gameboy back. I just wish it had been an easier process.
Thanks for your support, my friends.
3 of my 4 pregnancies came as a total shock. I was on birth control with all 3 surprises. (Those of you who are cursing my overactive fertility, I totally undedrstand. Feel free to call me names. I understand.) After Jacob died, I was terrified of getting pregnant again. I realized there are no guarantees. No promises. No reassuances. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be for me. Thankfully, cheap condoms that you buy on a “condom tree” are not always effective. Thus, we have Brandon.
After mothering Brandon for over a year, I knew that I wanted another baby so badly! I couldn’t imagine not having another baby and soon. It took a lot of reasoning and begging and Victoria’s Secret lingerie to finally convince Clint that he, too, wanted another baby. I can tell you for sure he finally caved in on a Thursday. How do I know that? Well, he bascially told me that I could either come get that baby made or I could watch e.r. on tv. After deliberating a bit (it was a new episode and e.r was in it’s heyday! I needed to think.) I realized- VCR! I taped e.r. and chose conception.
When you have tough pregnancies and are on bedrest for half a pregnancy, you are ready to get that baby out with any assistance necessary. Hell, at that point, you’d accept a melon baller to get that little sucker out if it would help. They started my induction at 6:00am on a Monday. They didn’t want to jump straight to pitocin, so they used some sort of magic cervix gel that would piss my body off enough to kick it into labor. Basically the plan was: gel, walk-walk-walk, gel, walk-walk-wak, gel cuss a whole lot, walk-walk-walk. Well, by the time I got to the cussing period, I was tired. (I walked for miles.) I was pissed off. (Why the hell hadn’t that baby gotten here yet? Magic gel my ass!) After the last gel application, the doctor said it wouldn’t happen that night to get ready to go upstairs to sleep for the night.
Have you ever told a pissed off, humongous, hormonal woman who has been in labor for 10 hours that it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, you will know that it is not uncommon to see her eyes turn read, her head spin around and her spew venom and language that would make any sailor blush. I was so mad. Clint got yelled out like he had never been yelled at before. I am pretty sure I threatened Clint’s family jewels when he told me it was time to walk again. So up my elephant ass went to walk the halls of the hospital again. 50 feet out of L&D I dropped to my knees and scream. IT’S COMING NOW! No one believed me until I broke the handrail in the hallway and threatened an orderly with it.
An hour later, my baby boy was snuggled up against my chest, both of us in a state of shocked bliss.
My baby boy.
Over the past 9 years I have watched him go from my little baby to a smart, creative young man. He has an imagination that tops anyone I have ever met. In so many ways, he is a smaller, male version of me. The sensitivity, creativity and humor are so endearing. He is a friend to everyone he meets. He wears his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes I want so badly to protect his heart and tell him not to give so much of his heart to people. But, that is who he is. That is what makes him so very special. He amazes me with his compassion for everyone.
We thought he was our last child, so for 5 years I cherished every second of his life knowing that it would be the last “baby” moment I would experience. Then, when Gabrie came, I realized that although he would not be out last child, he was my last son. The baby boy who stole my heart the moment I held him in my arms.
I could never, ever express how much I love this little guy. He is my baby boy. All of my children are wanted, but this is my baby that was planned for and prayed for and tried for.
Today my sweet boy turned 9. I am amazed that he is 9 already. Yet, I can’t remember a time in my life that he wasn’t a part of it. He has always been a part of my heart. I was just finally able to hold that part of my heart in my arms 9 years ago on the night he was born.
Happy Birthday, Zarek. I love you so much.
I survived Zarek’s birthday party. (Tomorrow is his 9th birthday.) Well, more like a mini-party. He had 3 of his bestest ( I can use that word if I want to, Favorite Teacher Who Cringes at Bad Grammar) friends. All boys. Eight and Nine year old boys. Hyper 8 and 9 year old boys. Hyper, loud 8 and 9 year old boys. Hyper, loud and very active 8 and 9 year old boys. Who decided that their bedtime should be 4:00am. Luckily, I got to send them all home this morning. Their parents have to deal with the fall-out this weekend. (In all honesty, these kids are all really good kids. I cannot imagine if they were boys that I either did not like or who were obnoxious.)
For some odd reason I have a headache this morning.
Even stranger, my Xanax seems to be running low this afternoon.
Must be a coincidence. Right?
At least I have a year to recover.
It is Fall Break all week here at Casa Java. Fall Break. Who ever heard of such a thing? What foolishness have these educators come up with? What caused them to come up with a schedule in which they think it is a good idea to give these children an ENTIRE week of school off. At home. WITH THEIR PARENTS! Why have they done this to me? (And trust me when I say it has been done to me. I am taking it as a personal attack that they are sending the children home for an ENTIRE week.)
Today it has been raining. Hard. Storms. As in I cannot even send them outside to play. I need a plan. Tomorrow may be State Fair day. Wednesday movie day. Thursday….Thursday??. Oh dear lord I am out of ideas by Thursday. I do know Friday is happy hour. For me. Not the kids. Celebrating making through the week.
So far, the count is 3 movies, 2 forts and several PlayStation games accomplished. (Don’t judge my little couch potato children. Like I said, it is raining. Hard. As in storms outside. They have free computer/game console/television reign today. Unless you are offering to come be their social director.)
Hey, at least it’s not Monday! Woot!
What do you mean it is still Monday. And not even after 5:00pm yet?
Let me just tell you. I am the one who needs to have a BREAK! 
When you look at this face I am sure you think she looks innocent and sweet. A gentle little spirit with a demure manner and a timid voice.
You would be so wrong.
This girl is actually just a cute little package for Taz. I have never known a child who can destroy a house as fast as she can. There is no human way to keep up with her path of destruction.
She got a call earlier from Hurricane Ivan. I didn’t catch all of it, but what I did hear was that Hurricane Frances told him to call Gabrie to get some pointers on how to take down a house in under 2 minutes. Of course, I only heard part of it, so there may have been more to it than that. But suffice it to say, you can always tell a day when she is in school and a day when she is not.
And to think, I thought it was hard having 2 boys at home under the age of 4! Trust me, those two have nothing on Gabrie and her messy reign of terror. Do you think FEMA would dole out some of their funds to hire a maid to just follow after Gabriella and clean up in her wake? No? It was worth a try!
I need a clean up on aisle 5 the entire house!
During the midst of the chaos of the house, we noticed that Gabriella had become very quiet. She was last seen looking at books from the bookshelf. Apparently, all that reading wore her out!
Like mother, like daughter! I always read myself to sleep everynight. Of course, I choose to get in bed first, but that is just me.
Sometimes, you just don’t feel like having the honesty of children right up in your face. Here are some of the great one-liners I heard from Gabriella today.
“Look, Mommy, I’ve got a big butt like you!” “Gee, thanks, honey.”
“Mommy, you pee really loud. I bet everyone in here can hear you.” Yes, my face was red. I am not fond of the public restroom as it is. Shouting out that she can hear me is not my idea of relaxing.”
(When trying on clothes with me at the mall.) “Hey, Mommy, is that a tattoo or did you color on yourself. You really shouldn’t color on yourself. Can I get a tattoo like you have, Mommy?” I am pretty sure that I am not going to be trying on clothes with her for a while. Maybe she will forget the whole tattoo thing.
Ahhhh, the honesty of children. You just have to love it. If only the whole world were as honest and up front with what they were thinking. There might be a lot more fights, but at least you would always know where you stand with someone.
Okay, I guess since he feels the need to defend himself against accusations that I have been shoved into the freezer or buried in the backyard, I should probably step up and let you all know I am fine. I am in Houston visiting family. I was supposed to go to Tiara Happy Hour tonight, but it looks like I am not going to be able to make it. I have too many kids to take care of (mine and a baby). But, rest assured, Natalie, I am still working on it and have not totally given up all hope of getting there. Your husband does still owe me a beer, you know.
I will try to catch up on blogging later, but adding one kid to the mix shakes everything up. Someone should do the math to backup a theory of mine. That is: That the more kids you add to the mix is not proportional to the chaos that is added. For instance, if you have one kid and then add one kid, the chaos does not double…it like quadruples. Then if you add one more to those two, it is like 9 times more chaotic. So, see why I am having trouble blogging? I have 4 kids here. (Oh, and I forgot to mention, if the additional child(ren) is not actually your child(ren), then the chaos factor is squared.)
Got it?
Good, because I am just too tired to try to convince you that I have indead proven this one this weekend! (Feel free to come take over for me if you don’t believe me, though.)
With Little Diva, we had a hard time getting her off of the bottle. (No, not “the bottle.” We still let her have her whiskey. Hell, we all need to slam one back now and then to ease the stresses of life. I mean, her baby bottle as in the one filled with milk.)
So, one of the ways we (of course meaning me) got her to stop using the bottle (other than the bribes, tears, begging and signing over our home to her), we found her a special milk cup. This was the cup in which all milk would from that day forward be presented to her. It was The Milk Cup. Do not even try to offer her any other cup for her milk. If you try to offer it in a sippy cup (Oh GOD NO NOT THE DREADED SIPPY CUP! YOU MUST HATE ME MOM!), it would be refused and crying (hers and mine) would ensue and there would be great gnashing of teeth and flailing about.
Everyone knows this. Milk is offered only in The Milk Cup. Never any other cup. (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NOT THE SIPPY CUP BECAUSE IT IS INHERENTLY EVIL!!) This has gone on for a year. (Don’t judge my parenting. Call your mom up and talk to her. Except you, Buzz. I love your mom, so clearly, it wasn’t her fault.)
Tonight disaster struck.
The Milk Cup has been lost. Did you hear me? THE MILK CUP HAS BEEN LOST! I seemed to be the only family member to understand the situation. I ran through the house shrieking, “WHERE IS THE MILK CUP??! WE MUST FIND THE MILK CUP!” Finally, nearly depleated of all energy and gradually losing my will to live, I look at Little Diva and beg her to tell me what she did with The Milk Cup.
“I was finished with it. I threw it away.”
“YOU WHAT?” I screeched at my poor child. “But it was The Milk Cup. Why would you possibly throw away The Milk Cup?”
*shrug* “Mommy, go get The Milk Cup. It is in the trash.”
Yes. The trash. The trash that my son had already taken out. The trash that was now in the outside trash can. Where bugs live. Where diseases go to breed. That trash can. *shudder* But I go. And I look. I cannot find it. I CANNOT FIND THE MILK CUP.
I gather my wits about me and begin to think of a way to handle this.
I go to Little Diva and say, “Sweetie, it’s time for your milk, but we can’t find The Milk Cup. Would it be okay if I just give it to you in, say, a sippy cup?”
After a very long pause and I can only assume some internal debating, she looked at me and replied, “Ummmmm, okay.”
“What?! Did you hear me? I said that we can’t find The Milk Cup and we have to serve it to you in the OH GOOD LORD NOT THE EVIL SIPPY CUP. PLEASE NOT THE SOURCE OF ALL EVIL IN TODDLERVILLE SIPPY CUP. And you said so nonchalantly ‘That’s okay.’ Do you not understand?! It’s gone,” I wept. “The Milk Cup is Gone.”
“That’s okay, Mommy. I don’t need it.”
She hugs me. Then she takes her milk in the DREADED EVIL GOD HELP US ALL sippy cup, and walks off.
My husband just looks at me and shrugs and so foolishly says, “It doesn’t look like it even mattered to her. It is just a cup, you know.”
But it was The Milk Cup. And now it is gone. And apparently, I am the only one who cared in the first place. Isn’t there some rule that says that kids have to let parents know when they outgrow a comfort item so that said parent doesn’t become obsessed trying to locate this item. Isn’t there some alarm that goes off somewhere that says it is okay to move on. They really shouldn’t wait until panic ensues to let us know. I mean, seriously, that is just inconsiderate!
So, now long after the bottle is gone, The Milk Cup joins it and has also left us. Fortunately for me, I have not given up my bottle. So, if you will excuse me, I am going to go pour the content of my bottle into a GOOD LORD NOT THE DREADED EVIL I CANNOT GO ON IF YOU TORTURE ME LIKE THIS sippy cup and enjoy the rest of my night.
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