Sunday, November 28, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
I had just finished kissing the elbow of the slightly injured two year old when I realized I was unsure of the whereabouts of her infant sister. Where could she be? We had several conveniently placed "baby stations" throughout the house, so I started the rounds.
The swing in the living room. No Kenly.
The bouncy chair in the bathroom. (You try handling nature's calls one-handed) No Kenly.
Her crib? Nope. The bassinet? Oh dear Lord, where IS my baby?
Panic was taking hold of me. Sure, she was a newborn and couldn't have crawled away but where was she? I was near tears and my racing heart was now residing in my stomache. I couldn't breathe.
"Ashlyn, honey - where is baby sister? Where did Mommy put Kenly?" She responded with a quizzical look while fixating her stare on my arm.
"This is NOT the time for anatomy lessons; it's an arm kid. Now, what have we done with KENLY?" As I said this I glanced down at the limb Ashlyn was so consumed with, and there, lying perfectly secure and fast asleep was the misplaced baby. I had been holding her the entire time.
I cried. And laughed. And hugged the little lost child while profusely thanking the other for understanding what I was asking.
I then called the Hubs and demanded he return home so I could take a week-long nap.
How we've all survived the 3 years following that day is nothing short of miraculous.
Now, for the Darlings:
Ash, showing off her new break-dance move; the sidewalk chalk hop. Or something.
Sweet Ashlyn again. Isn't she just so precious? And innocent? Her drawings are nothing short of artistic genious and... Oh holy toledo. Would you look at that other kid in the background? What the heck kind of terrible mom let's her child get so darned close to the STREET?
The same kind that *misplaces* her newborn, it would seem.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
She and my father in law take the eldest Darling to gymnastics every week and when they come they typically have treats for the girls. On Valentine’s day this ritual became problematic when the girls were each presented with a sugar-coated marshmallow sucker. They were huge. They were made of marshmallow. They were coated in sugar, ya’ll. All I could do was look at Kelly (MIL) with eyes full of sorrow and longing and indignation. How could she? How could this woman to whose son I am betrothed walk into my house with a marshmallow Hello Kitty sucker for her grandchildren but not me?
She soon left our house; although reluctantly because she was (rightfully) afraid I would pry the ‘mallow kitties from the death grips of my pleading, screaming kids and devour the sugary goodness right before their terror-filled eyes.
I resisted that path, though; because it might flirt with the border of poor parenting. Besides, I don’t have to exercise force when I have insight into my children that proves very useful in times like these. You see - I know that the smaller Darling doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth and while she won’t willingly hand over the goods she will grow uninterested with time.
So I spent the next hour shadowing her every move, pretending to play with her but really just waiting. Waiting for the moment she would abandon the ‘mallow kitty. The moment came. I snatched and ran. I hid the now one-eared cat so that I could enjoy it later. With a glass of fine wine. Alone.
In conclusion, my mother in law now gets it. She understands that it is probably unsafe and possibly emotionally scarring to bring sweet treats to my kids yet leave me out.
I’m elated that we got that cleared up.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sorry, Darlings, but you already have goldfish so you can’t have any other goodies. Besides, Mommy needs room in the basket for her own cookies and cupcakes and …well, nevermind.
Today we encountered goldfish catastrophe when one Darling was curious as to the amount of fish in possession of the other Darling and that Darling didn’t like the invasion of her fish so she jerked them away from her sister and subsequently smacked them into my face which caused the entire content of the carton to spill.
Immediate ethical conundrum.
I know that the only decent thing to do is to summon an employee and get a broom so I can sweep this mess up. But, the embarrassment. Everyone walking by with their “Lady needs to get her kids under control” faces. And grocery shopping with the Darlings is an energy-draining enough task without adding chores into the experience. I do the look around to see if anyone notices the spill. They don’t. I slowly begin to wheel away when Ashlyn yells “Uh oh Mommy; we need to clean up Kenly’s mess.”
Ugh, Ashlyn; ALWAYS with the morals and values.
I think the cute young employee saw the desperation and terror in my eyes when I flagged him down because he ordered me to keep shopping; that he would take care of it. Well, or the $20 I slipped him did the trick.
Either way? I got home with chocolate chip cookies and the Darlings have no clue where they’re stashed. Success.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Hmm, that would be an excellent line for a country song. Oh wait.
Kenly has recently laid claim to my chair. It hasn't caused too much of an uproar as I spend 95% of my waking hours cleaning, cooking, band-aiding, seperating, tickling, laundering, etc etc. But tonight? Tonight I was content to leave the burdens of motherhood behind and just recline.
Kenly, as it turned out, had other ideas. When I instructed her that this was Mommy's chair and she needed to vacate or I would withhold the chocolate milk and take her blanket hostage (because THAT is excellent parenting, people) she ignored me.
It became obvious that I was in need of a different tactic. Crying. I threw myself (and by that I mean carefully descended so as to not further injure my lumbar region) on the floor, kicking and screaming and forcing out crocodile tears that led to a snotty mess while yelling "YOU STOLE MY CHAIR"
The child had the audacity to laugh at me.
Later, when I recounted this story to Allen about his ungrateful daughter hoarding the chair that I bought to relieve my aching back, he was all "Are we talking about the chair that was delivered out of the blue a few months ago that I had no idea about and when I asked you where it came from you said that you loved me so much and appreciated me working so hard that you bought ME a chair to relax in that was for me and ONLY ME?"
Oh, yeah. That's the one.
So I kissed the little conman (conwoman? conkid?) and parked my behind on the couch.
Then I asked who was up for a game of hide and seek and the second her eager little 2 year old body was in motion I lept onto the chair in a blaze of glory. Because 2 year olds are gullible like that. And I would be an imbecile not to capitalize.
Update: Take a chill pill, people... this is all sarcasm. I use it. A lot.