Three Strikes and Counting

Meet my brother-in-law, Chris, and my adorable nephew, Jackson. We're having a great visit with Chris, Jackson, and my sister, Meredith, in Virginia. Chris is a great guy, treats my sister well, is a good dad, is kind to my family...but I've pushed a few of his buttons today.

It all started when my sister's college friend and our sorority sister, Kristie, came over for a visit. Being that Kristie does not have a facebook account, we spent some time letting her facebook-stalk old blasts from the past via Meredith's account.

It was all fun and games until Chris walked in the room and said something to me. I should interject here and state that I do not have any ability whatsoever to talk and read at the same time. And as I answered him, I glanced at the screen and saw a different name, and I called him by it. The unfortunate thing about it is that this name is the same name as my sister's ex-boyfriend. Chris clenched his jaw and Meredith slapped her hand over her open mouth. My eyes bugged out of my head.

Never one to be comfortable with an elephant in a room, I shouted, "THAT'S SO AWKWARD THAT I CALLED YOU THAT BECAUSE THAT'S MEREDITH'S OLD BOYFRIEND'S NAME!" "Yes, I know," he responded.

I would like to point out that it was NOT Meredith's old boyfriend we were stalking on facebook.

Anyway, strike one.

Later, Meredith and I went shopping. I bought some adorable plaid espadrille wedge slingbacks. The thing about Meredith and I is that we like to have matching shoes. We have matching red patent leather ballet flats, floral print ballet flats, some shoes that Chris calls "homely shoes", and probably several more pairs that I can't think of. Blame it on our mother for putting us in matching clothes growing up. It went without saying that Meredith also had to have some adorable plaid espadrille wedge slingbacks.

I came home and modeled my new shoes for everybody. "Great," Chris said, boring holes into my face with his eyes, "if you had to get cute new shoes, that means Meredith had to have cute new shoes."

Strike two.

After dinner, we were eating ice cream sundaes. Meredith and Chris, being first-time parents, are somewhat particular about Jackson's diet. But I'm somewhat particular about Jackson choosing me as his favorite aunt, so I was slipping him bites of chocolate syrup when they weren't looking. And when I say bites, I mean probably a cumulative quarter teaspoon when all was said and done. Feeding a baby ice cream is white trash, I'll give you that. But when I got caught, they both looked at me like, WHY DON'T YOU JUST FEED HIM A FRIED BOLOGNA SANDWICH AND PUT DIET MOUNTAIN DEW IN HIS SIPPY CUP?!?!?! I was busted.

Strike three. Technically, I was out, but I like to go out with a bang, so I kept going.

Chris did the dishes tonight. After I came downstairs from putting my kids to bed, I noticed that he left his wedding ring on the window sill above the kitchen sink. As Chris was out of earshot, I pointed the ring out to Meredith and asked, "Want to play a trick on Chris?" "NO!" she replied, giving me a really annoyed look.

Strike four averted. But, I predict that by the end of the day, I will accidentally walk in on Chris using the "little boys' room". It would be very fitting.

Born to Fly

A few weeks ago, I received the exciting news that my expat sister and her family would be in the states for vacation. This was great news, because she and I had babies eighteen days apart last summer and we still hadn't all met up yet. As I considered all my options for travelling home to Virginia to see them, an ugly reality set in. "You're just going to have to fly with the kids," Joe told me. I promptly asked for a brown paper bag to breathe in. Flying with my oldest child has always been a pride-swallowing experience at best.

When Luke was six months old, our little family of three took a trip together. As we were boarding the plane, I said to Joe, "That mother over there is by herself. See if she needs help folding up her stroller." When he asked her if she needed any help, she looked at him like he had two heads and replied, "No, thanks," and proceeded to fold up her stroller with a quick flick of one wrist. She and her baby sat one row ahead of us. Luke, never one to like sitting still, caused quite the ruckus throughout the entire flight. Her baby fell asleep on takeoff, allowing her to put him down on the empty seat next to her while she read a magazine. The flight attendant kept walking the aisles, saying over and over, "Isn't little Caleb a good baby?" Then she'd give us the evil eye. I really wanted to spill my drink on little Caleb and see just how good a baby he really was.

When Luke was eleven months old, we took a trip immediately following one of Joe's deployments. I was never so elated as when Joe checked us in and said, "Well, it looks like we're not sitting together." We rock-paper-scissored to see who was going to have to sit with Luke. I think I lost, but I reasoned that Joe needed to sit with him anyway and make up for lost time. I smiled the entire duration of the flight, reading my book so peacefully. I did endure some hardship on that flight though--it took all the self control I could muster not to shout, "CAN YOU SHUT THAT BABY UP?" toward the front of the plane where Joe was sitting.

Oh, I have flying stories to last all night. There was the time he tossed his cookies all over me right as we were walking through security. There was the time he dirtied his diaper right as they turned the seatbelt light on for the descent. Oh, actually, that happened every time we flew while he was in diapers.

Of all the travelling horrors I've experienced, it was never worse than when I was four months pregnant with George, and sixteen-month-old Luke and I traveled home for a funeral. Luke slept in his stroller until it was time to board the plane. I must explain, even when he wakes up naturally, according to his own schedule and needs, it is not pretty. When he has to be woken, hold onto your hat. I carried a screaming child onto the plane and tried all my best tricks. "Little Einsteins" on the iPod, bananas, nothing worked. He just screamed. I could hear the heavy sighs of everyone around me. I saw people massaging their temples and rolling their eyes.

"Colic?" an older gentleman asked sympathetically. Anyone who knows anything about babies knows that colic pretty much disappears by age three months. "Yes! That's it!" I replied. "My toddler has colic." I looked around to see if anyone was going to have mercy on me, but nope, still a lot of eye-rolling and groaning.

Luke stopped crying about 45 minutes into the flight. Thankfully, the head flight attendant came by to chat with me. She went on and on about how hard flying is on babies, and how sometimes they're just inconsolable. I thought that maybe her speech was really pointed at everyone around me who had been giving me a hard time. Then she told me that if she were me, she would get off the plane and have a stiff drink. "I wish!" I responded, "But I'm four months pregnant!" The second I said it, I wished I would have kept my big mouth shut. Not ONE person around me congratulated me! And I think I heard someone asking if I could be put on the Do Not Fly list. I wanted to die.

This time around, I lost several nights of sleep due to the anxiety surrounding our trip. I laid in my bed every night and choreographed every step I was going to have to take through security. Take Luke out of the stroller, threaten Luke within an inch of his life if he walks away, remove George's carrier, fold up the stroller, take George out of the carrier...I had mentally packed and repacked my diaper bag a hundred times. I practiced lamaze techniques.

I am pleased to say that the trip went off without a hitch. I beamed as I received compliments from other passengers and flight attendants. My kids behaved beautifully on the flights out to Virginia! Luke even said "please" and "thank you" for his drinks and snacks. This glory is shortlived, though, as I realize that there will be a price to pay on the return trip for getting off so easy this time, and it won't be pretty.

And lest you should think I'm going to turn into some braggy mommy blogger, boring you with stories about how polite my kids are, be assured that this is still the same Luke whom, just the other day, I found dipping underwear from a pile of dirty laundry into the dog's water bowl, and slapping her in the face with it.

Well, I have another literary treat about my adventures in sleeplessness. I realize I'm entirely too focused on this subject. I wonder what Freud would say about my obsession with my exhaustion. I wonder what he would say about the things my child said to me this morning...

Joe is at Squadron Officer School in Montgomery, Alabama for a month. I'm not allowed to feel too sorry for myself, though, because he's coming home this weekend. Oh, and also, because he's not in a war zone right now. Anyway, Joe tells me that during some sort of ice breaker, he shared with his flight that while his kids caught onto sleeping through the night rather quickly, his dog still hadn't mastered it. My initial reaction was, "You have other kids?"

At 3:30 this morning, Luke started his typical screaming. Something about a hot dog or some such nonsense. Enough with the dreams about the food! Anyway, as I was explaining to Luke that, no, I would not snuggle, because 3:30 is a time that Mommy likes to be in REM sleep, I heard George start to scream. It seems a barrier of a bathroom with two fans running, a storage room, and a linen closet couldn't stifle the noise generated by my firstborn's hot dog calamities.

Long, boring story short, I was just drifting back to sleep around 5:30, when I heard the familiar sound of matchbox cars crashing into one another right outside my bedroom door. I talked Luke into leaving the cars behind and snuggling with me in bed. I warned him that he needed to lay down and be quiet like a mouse.

A nonconformist to the core, Luke started off with a clapping session. He just loves an inappropriate round of applause. Or an inappropriate anything, for that matter. I gave him a little reminder speech and then rolled over. He put his head down next to mine, and here's where the story gets a little risqué. He started talking dirty to me.

"I think George has a pooooopy diaperrrrr!" he said, "I think you should go WIPE his BOTTOM!" and then he burst into giggles.

"LUKE!" I growled, shooting him the evil eye, "Would you like to go back to your room and play quietly?" "No, no, no, no, no, no, no," he sang to me to the tune of "Do-Re-Mi". He laid still for a few minutes, but boredom gave way to practicing his kissy sounds. As soon as that got old, he ripped my duvet away from me. As I was rearranging the covers over myself, he asked me between muffled, throaty giggles, "Hey, Mom...what color shirt are you wearing?" He sounded like a prank caller asking a woman what she's wearing.

Just as I was about to head to the shower to scrub off the ick factor, George woke up again and we started our day.

I would like to meet this other family of Joe's. I'd like to talk to the mother of his other children and pick her brain for ideas. Learn a few of her tricks. See what I'm doing wrong. I'll keep you posted...

Blueberry Muffins

Luke and I baked some blueberry muffins together this morning. Letting kids help in the kitchen is a great idea because it's good bonding time, and they develop new motor skills, as well as a sense of accomplishment.

We had such a nice time, that I wanted to pass along the recipe. I altered the directions slightly, in a way that I think would help you mothers who want to get started involving your kids in cooking.

Blueberry Muffins
3/4 cup all purpose flour
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup blueberries

Put your toddler in a straightjacket and get the damned muffins in the oven as quickly as possible.

They're Coming To Take Me Away

We had "one of those mornings" this morning. Nothing major. Just a rough morning where this child is knocking decorative objects off of surfaces while I'm putting that child into timeout for a tantrum over not getting to help make Daddy's sandwich, after which I start yelling at my coffee pot, which is taking its sweet time dripping my lifeline, like I have all day to wait, "Brew, coffee, BREEEEEWWWWWW!" Then this child starts shoving giant pieces of banana down his throat before I can cut it into tiny pieces while that child tells me that he just decided he doesn't want the toast with jam I put in front of him, he wants toast with honey instead. OR HOW ABOUT CHOCOWATE CHIPS? CHOCOWATE CHIIIIIIIPSSSSS! And then while that child is throwing his routine fit over getting his hair washed, this child stands up for the first time in the tub, but I don't notice because of all the commotion, then he slips and falls.

And Joe has this look on his face while he's pouring his coffee to go, like, "I can't wait to get in my plane and take off!" And I'm looking at him like, "Don't set a foot inside this house tonight without a bottle of wine."

And because I grew up on Casey Kasem, the first thing I think to do is dedicate a song to my loving husband. So I ran to the computer and played this song:



Stay-at-home moms who love their work, but sometimes want to be the one to go and fly a plane all day, may this anthem bring you as much laughter as it did us this morning.

As Joe was leaving, I noticed two piles of dog vomit on our screened-in porch. They're coming to take me away, ha ha, they're coming to take me away...