Me? Posting? On my blog? GET OUT!

Yeah, yeah - I've neglected this blog for far too long. I get it. I could pepper you with excuses or I can just say I'm sorry and call it a day.

Life? It's still chaotic... but a beautiful chaos. And with Christmas upon us I'm like a teenage boy at Hooter's.... just giddy! I promise there'll be more to come soon but for now I'll leave you with these pics of the Darlings. Our annual Christmas photo shoot didn't end in tears for me or the girls, which probably means the apocolypse is near. Fair warning.

Love to all,

Kayla

Bad Mommy Diaries, Vol 1

I had a two year old. And a newborn. The hubs was working miles away and had been for days. I was wearing the same pajama pants and ratty t-shirt from 3 days prior. I was hideously sleep-deprived.
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.

Ahh, and see? There's the victim of the *almost* missing child case, though I now keep a very diligent eye on her at all times.

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.

Cheers!

I feel like this every day...

Exhaustion.

This is what happens when Gramma is in charge.

Cheers!

Random thoughts while driving

There is a person walking this Earth. Her name is Ashlyn. She's a product of Allen and I, and so many before us. There is another person walking this Earth. Her name is Kenly. She's also a product of Allen and I and so many before us. I mean, I know they are my kids. I know every freckle, every muscle curve, every lump or bump; I know the intricacies of each of their personalities and can (almost) predict every move they will make.

But ya'll; I'm a mom.

Excuse my slowness, it takes me awhile sometimes. 5 years in some cases.

Cheers!

A Lesson in Relating to In-laws; Bring Peeps.

Earlier this week my mother in law stopped by with peeps for the Darlings. She also had some for me. My mother in law has, it seems, learned her lesson.

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.

Cheers!

Lessons in Morality; by way of Goldfish

When taking The Darlings to the grocery store I have learned one key maneuver; I get each kid a mini-carton of goldfish right off the bat. For one, food in the Darlings’ mouths = Quiet Darlings. Second, with them already being in possession of a treat I have leverage when they inevitably begin asking for cookies and cupcakes and tubs of pure lard.
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.


Cheers!

Well, Excuse Me.

But I think you've got my chair.

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.

Cheers!

Update: Take a chill pill, people... this is all sarcasm. I use it. A lot.

Elevator Etiquette. According to me.

(Which basically means; no one else gives a crap.)

It is my personal belief that when using an elevator there are certain guidelines of propriety that one should follow.

In terms of “right of way” I feel that current occupants of an elevator should exit before the new crowd enters. Otherwise one must step to the back, allowing room for the newbies, only to then have to wiggle and shuffle right back through them to exit. This makes PERFECT sense to me.

I would think it makes perfect sense to anyone with a 4th grade education as well; but it seems I overestimate the general public.


So there's that.

And since no one cares about a blog post unless it contains a photo - here's one of my recently-turned-five-year-old.

She's old enough to put away groceries. She asks for IPod's and laptops and listens to grown-up-thank-heaven-because-I'm-tired-as-hell-of-all-the-kiddie-music music.

She's teaching me quantum physics.

In short; my children are old and I am older. Ugh.

Cheers!

Maybe The Hubs should watch his back

My Dearest Bottle of Caprock Blush, (or whatever other wine product is in my possession)

The exploding POP and gentle fizzing noises you make are the soundtrack of my soul. I often shudder as I caress your smooth curves and spill your contents into my over-sized glass. Each night as I tuck my Darlings’ into dreamland I am filled with anticipation, for I know that soon you and I will be together. Alone. I fully trust that what you hold inside of you will bring me delight* with each and every rendezvous.

Our relationship is deep, and it is real. What we have is a beautiful co-dependency. The love of a lifetime.

I vow to you here and now (Does anyone else hear Luther Vandross in the background?) that my adoration for you will remain unchanged through the course of my existence.

I Remain Your Beloved Always,
Kayla

*and the slightest of buzzes

Also, a couch decoration.

Jacket: a garment for the upper body usually having a front opening, collar, lapels, sleeves, and pockets b : something worn or fastened around the body but not for use as clothing

Though I'm not certain; I believe Webster is trying to say "When it's bloody cold outside; put on your friggin' jacket." It's a basic concept; really it is, but I cannot seem to remember it from day to day.

Alas, I freeze my choochoos off every morning and curse the couch that, thanks to my lack of logic, is all warm and toasty. I wouldn't be surprised if I got home and the blasted piece of furniture is snuggling with my blanket, too. Jerk.

Cheers!

You know, that little holiday in December..

It’s like this, people. I have these kids. And this husband. And some whack-o’s who call themselves my friends. Then of course we have laundry (mounds and mounds and piles and piles of it). Along with dirty dishes. Crusty toothpaste on the sink. Bottles of wine that will not drink themselves.

What I’m trying to say is that finding the time to sit at the computer and conjure up articulate accounts of my life that, let’s face it, absolutely no one (except for my mom occasionally) gives a rip about is tough.

Today, however; I told all of the whack-o’s/friends to take a hike, locked my children in a shed (Waiting for the phone call from Hance), shoved the laundry under my bed, ignored the grime covering every surface of this house, slammed a bottle of wine and here I am. With pictures of Christmas.


On Christmas Eve the girls opened these beautiful little gown sets from Allen’s mom. They proceeded to twirl and swish and giggle and “MOMMY TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS IT’S SO PRETTY” for a solid hour. Gramma is in serious trouble though, because now any and all other pajamas are scoffed at by the darlings. Why eat jello when you have crème brulee?

Ah, there’s Hubs, aka Daddy, aka infinite toy putter together-er. He is just so scrumptious when he’s working though, isn’t he?

And Me? Moi? Yours Truly? What am I doing while sweet Hubs is assembling 455 dolls? Well I’m, uh, um – I’m directing traffic. Yup. That’s it. Just trying to keep the public safe from the ice. I am absolutely NOT skating on the ice, by myself, on Christmas Day, while my hubby is single-handedly warding off the restless demands of the darlings on a Santa-high. Why, no self-respecting and decent mother would do THAT.

The Reason for Which I Live

Each morning I wake thinking "Am I going to make it through this day?" I ponder over the hardships in life and the obstacles that I'll surely face. But then, as predictable as the sun, I am overcome with beautiful thoughts. Thoughts of the one thing that prompts me to roll my large behind out of bed, into the shower and onward towards my day. The thing that adds sweetness and goodness and meaning to every inch of my life.

What could this thing be?

My husband with the cute backside?

My darlings with the laughs made of pure sunshine?

My job?

My unpredictable and often unruly hair?

(Wait.. we're looking for a good thing here... )


No. None of these. There is something far superior that awakens my spirit. Something that also adds inches to the aforementioned large backside.

Cupcakes.

And not just any ol' run-of-the-mill cupcakes... the gourmet ones from "Cake" in Kingsgate Center to be specific. If you have not experienced this decadence yet; stop reading this blog. Immediately. Pack yourself up and run, speed, fly - to this place. Try one of each flavor. Get an icing shot (yeah, they sell those). And prepare yourself for the life-altering happiness that will come your way.

Ahh, the sugary, cake-y, icing-y, heavenly little pastries for which I swoon.

The icing. Oh, the icing. It is of such quality that you must eat it S-L-O-W-L-Y so as to fully appreciate its divinity. Then there's the cake. So moist, and so rich, and so.....

Oh. Excuse me. Just looking at these photos sent me into a frenzy.

As long as there are cupcakes, I will forge on. I will forge on in pure bliss. And I love my family some, too.

Cheers!

Watch out for that second one..

... she's a real doozie.

The victim:

The culprit:

No; seriously. What is it with these second children? While I love her ball-bustin' attitude and know it will come in handy later in life, her strong sense of self and bold opinions make for some 2 year old temper tantrums straight out of the pits of hell.

Ok, that might be a tad exaggerated.

Cheers!