Happy Birthday to you

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Today you are 5.

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When did this happen? When did the baby become the boy?

Somewhere between diapers and dirt, you grew.

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I see the toddler you are leaving behind and the boy you are becoming.

The boy who will watch a movie and then spend hours acting it out.

The boy who still wraps his arms around my neck when I carry him to bed every night.

The boy who is counting down the days till he gets to go to kindergarten while I’m counting the minutes I have left before that day comes.

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The boy who loves life every day with a passion that is amazing.

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Don’t ever stop saying croc-a-dialer.

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And don’t ever stop making this face.

Don’t ever stop being you.

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Because you are spectacular.

Happy birthday to you Benjamin.

We’re all gonna get worms….

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Back in December we had our cat fixed. The vet called us after the operation and said she had a really bad case of worms.

Ummm….barf.

And then she told me kids can get it too.

Umm..are you kidding me?

And then she told me we had to treat all our animals (2 dogs and 2 cats) and also watch our kids for signs of infection. As in..if our baby gets an itchy bum and there are worms in his poop see a doctor.

Seriously. Are you kidding me?

Damn it Fern why do you have to catch all those mice? This is way more work than telling Brett to check the traps and checking my basement for poop.

So anyway, we dewormed them all and I vowed to make sure to never listen to my cheepo husband again when he says we don’t need to do it every three months and the vet is just looking for money.

He’s a liar. A big stupid liar.

Now its been three months so today I spent the afternoon wrapping pills up in cheese slices, again barf. Who actually eats these things?

Then I hunted down two dogs and 1 cat and watched them eat their cheese wrapped pill that would magically make me never again have to worry about worms coming out of my baby’s butt.

Ok really. Actual throw up in my neck.

And then I had to find the asshole cat. The one who doesn’t care if we live or die as long as she can snack on our skin to keep her fat body in tip top shape. The one who will not let us pet her unless she decides it’s ok.

I love cats. Pretty bitches who just don’t care.

I sidle up to her, all smooth talking and slow. I get ahold of her. I offer my cheese/orange plastic wrapped snack and she won’t take the damn thing.

What? You want me to eat out of your hand? So beneath me. Piss off giant human.

So I put the sticky cheesy crap on the ground and slowly pet her, trying to get her to eat the damn thing so she does not infect my babies with her disgusting mice catching diseases.

Then…Rachel comes stomping over. I CAN HELP! She “helpfully” hollers.

No Rachel. That’s not helping.

Shut up Rachel you’re spooking the cat.

Go away Rachel, she isn’t eating the damn cheese and my back is cramping from hunching over her crooning that it’s ok to eat the damn cheese.

So I pick up the cat, head to the garage and then have to try to shove the pill down her throat. In the middle of this exercise Rachel yells out “YOU’RE HURTING HER! STOP!” and then the damn cat ran away.

And no. I did not throw a broom in the general direction of my kid in frustration.

And yes. I’m still looking for the damn cat.

Update-

After sneaking around our property last night for at least 1/2 an hour and not finding the damn cat we decided to hide the pill in Brett’s tin of fish snacks (seriously, why do I surround myself with such grossness??) and put it under a tree for to her to eat. She ate around the pill. I caught her this morning, hid in the bathroom with her and shoved the now wet, fishy smelling pill down her throat.

And then I spent 10 minutes dry-heaving and made everybody late.

Cat 1. Andrea 0.

And I deleted my f-bombs because I kept picturing my mother reading them and shaking her head.

Yup, I’m almost 35 and my mom managed to make me feel guilty without even talking to me. Or looking at me. Or even knowing she did it.

Well played Mother.

Well played.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extra money=Happy Mommy (but only if she’s got a latte)

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Well, I went and found myself a job.

I mean, a part part time once in a while job that I didn’t so much as find because that would imply I was looking and come on, lets face it, that’s not happening anytime soon.

You Brett. I’m talking to you. You can’t make me work when our baby goes to kindergarten so put away the brochure for the cruise to Alaska. He still needs me. And he will for as long as I can force him to. Your hope of becoming a DINK is nowhere near within your grasp. Also, you know, the whole we have kids now thing is also an issue. And I don’t think they’re going anywhere anytime soon.

So I wasn’t really looking for a job so much as being stopped in the hallway outside play school by the play school president and being asked if I had my first aid. And the answer is no but I’ve heimhleked an arrowroot cookie, a golf ball and a grape out of my kids so I’m good to go.  Plus once when we had a party someone cut his foot with an axe and I was totally calm about the situation. I was snuggled into a rocking chair nursing a baby at the time but I very calmly called out that the first aid kit was in the closet.

But coincidentally, Brett was in the midst of trying to talk me force me into taking the first aid course with him because he didn’t want to make out with a stranger. When I explained they used dummies, not people, he still said I had to go with him.

So I said I didn’t have it but was about to get it and she said…

good because we want you to be the substitute play school teacher

Ummm….really? Ok, sure…

Good, it’s settled then. We need you in a couple weeks.

Easiest damn job interview I’ve ever had. I don’t even think I was wearing a bra.

But I’m a little nervous about the three year olds. Three is like Jekyll and Hyde. All cute and clean one minute and the next thing you know they’re biting the ear off the kid next to him because he took his train and licking their pant leg.

But super excited because I’m running really low on my crazy expensive magic face creams and if I don’t use them I start to look like a 34 year old stay at home with three kids, one of whom still wakes up at least a couple times a week. If I do use them I still look the same, only a little less dead looking and a little more shiny. But buying them always makes Brett cringe at the cost and then I have to go into the explanation of the magic creams and then his eyes gloss over and he lets me go to the mall by myself to buy them and stays home with the kids just so he doesn’t have to listen to me point out my wrinkles.

But this time I get to buy my magic cream with extra money. And we all know what extra money is right? Right? It’s like found money, only usually a lot more than the 20 bucks you found in your husbands coat. And what do we do with extra or found money? We do not spend it on bills, or groceries. We spend it on booze. And chinese food.  And magic cream that helps to tone down the after-effects of too much of both those things. And also hats that we think look super cute in the store but we never wear and then your kid takes them for himself.

But the biggest thing I’m nervous about?

HOW WILL I GET MY COFFEE AT 10AM? AND HOW WILL I GET MY COFFEE AT 1PM?

An un-caffeineted me is super scary man. I lay in the dark quietly drinking my morning coffee and if anyone talks to me before my cup is empty it ruins my whole day. Actually, it ruins everyones day.

Maybe I should buy some chocolate covered coffee beans…..

 

Just say no.

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I feel bad for Brett.

The man is getting played like a 16 year old girl under a blanket on her couch while her parents are out for supper.

I feel like I should tell him some people only want one thing and and he really needs to respect himself as a person and just say no.

Rachel and I go out for three hours to get groceries and the boys are all..

It’s all good Dad, mom totally lets us eat these super expensive granola bars that are on top of the fridge. Don’t even worry about it. It’s fine.  Because even though every parent alive knows that if it’s on top of the fridge; it’s off limits…they convince their dad to hand over the goods.

And then..

Yeah, I’ll totally stay in this tub before you’ve had a chance to wash my hair and stinky ass. You go right ahead and get that soup going for supper. Yup, fill this tub right up and throw in a bin of toys too while you’re at it. No way I’m going to spend 5 minutes in here and then drain the water. Just because I did it yesterday absolutely does not mean I’m going to do it again.

And then…

You made me blueberry perogies for breakfast? Thanks man! Oh yeah, don’t worry about it, I’m totally allowed to have cereal mixed with chocolate chips for lunch. And no, I did not sneak into the basement and stuff leftover Halloween candy into my mouth when you weren’t looking. But it’s ok.  Mom lets us eat sugar all day on Sundays. We never make it to church and she feels like we’re missing out so she lets us fill the void with sugar. 

And then I walk in the door with 5 thou in groceries stuffed into eco-friendly grocery bags and am all what the eff?  You know I said those bars are for after football only. And what the eff? How has that one had two baths in two days and still looks like he just came off skid row?

And he’s all…They said it was ok?

Thank god he wasn’t born a girl. Otherwise he’s be hip deep in at least 4 outcomes of it’s all good baby…it can’t happen if you’re standing up.

I’m the parent dammit!

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I think I’m parenting wrong.

Brett and I just got in trouble for arguing.

We were flat out shamed.

I was trying to help with homework.

He was not helping with homework.

And if you are married to a man you know that means he is most likely saying stupid shit and doing stuff that is less than helping. Because saying you never had to do homework when you were in school and had great grades….totally helping. Right?

Then he was supposed to get the boys into bed.

And if you are married to a man you know that means he is most likely saying stupid shit and doing stuff that is less than helping. Because hockey instead of a bedtime story…totally helping. Right?

But apparently I’m not allowed to say that.

Whatever. (eye roll)

And then we both got in trouble for our behaviour.

I guess a grown woman is not supposed to say ‘Fine, you be the good guy and I’ll be the bitch. Again”

Apparently it doesn’t help kids deal with their parents arguing.

I’m sorry not sorry my husband is an ass I love him anyway.

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(For the people who will read this and think I’m mean…I really love my husband and he is a totally kick ass dad.  And because he loves me, I can write about the times I look at him and go WTF?! Even if my kid gives me shit for it.)

FYI #2

( I was totally right. And he was totally wrong)

FYI #3

(I hope I’m not grounded tomorrow)

 

 

I’m taking back bedtime.

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After a week of no sleep and having a little visitor in our bed every night at 1am, I was almost at the end of my rope. The only thing keeping me from losing it was knowing that he couldn’t help it and really needed me.

All that changed Saturday night.

1.12 am he came clambering up into our bed, pillow and blankie in tow. He then proceeded to spend the next hour trying to get his pillow just right, tossing and turning, needing a drink of water and at one point slapping me in the face.

Finally, I’d had it. This time was different. I could feel it. No waves of tension were rolling off him. There was no fear. No pain. He just didn’t want to be in his bed. But I desperately needed sleep.

“Get back to your own bed!” I hollered.

Silence.

Then…..”I had a bad dream”

“No you didn’t!” I exclaimed.

Silence.

Then….”My legs hurt”

“No they don’t!” I exclaimed.

I then laid out exactly what he was in for  if he didn’t go to his own bed and stay in his own bed. It included no T.V. the next day plus a nap in the afternoon, explained by a very tired momma who just wanted to lay down in her king sized bed and not be kicked in the stomach or have her pillow stolen.

He got up, grabbed his pillow and his blankie and walked back to his room. And then I laid there for a very long time trying not to think about his cute little pajama covered bootie toddling back to bed. Not helped by Brett opening his eyes and whispering “You’re scary”.

But, he slept. For the rest of the night. And the night after that (after a reminder of what would happen if he got up, unless it was an emergency).

And when he woke up this morning, the second night of sleeping all night,  he was happy. He was rested. And so was I.

While I lay in bed this morning drinking my coffee, I thought about how so often parenting hurts. It cuts us so deeply to see our children sad and angry. It’s so conflicting to have to say no when we can see how painful it is for them, knowing how much we love them and always want to make everything ok. We want so badly to fix every problem. To give in to what they want. To say yes when we know we should say no. We have to stand strong while these tiny people, the ones we would lay down and die for, cry to us for what they want, not really understanding why we say no, only knowing that it hurts them.

We need to know when to be the happiness giver and when to be the fun sucker.  We also need to remember that sometimes being the fun sucker is the difference between eventually raising an adult we can be proud of, or raising a selfish adult who expects to get everything he wants when he wants it.

And so, as I lay in bed well rested from not having a boy in my bed for two straight nights because I put my foot down when I saw it was becoming habit, I reminded myself of this….

Saying no is one of the hardest parts of being a parent, but when you see results, it’s also one of the most rewarding.

Why I should just stay home.

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A while ago I decided I was going to spend more time with my kids. Kind of weird what with me being a stay at home mom and all. But I’m busy man. With super important stuff like laundry. And cooking. And I’m not really sure what else but it must be a lot since I fall into bed dead tired every single day.

But quality time is what I’m after. Moments that count. Washing my kitchen floor doesn’t fall into that category.

Side note- I bought slippers with hard bottoms at Christmas and now I don’t even know when there are crumbs on the floor. Life changing.

So, PD day this week. Yes! Lets do something fun!

Wait. It’s effin cold out. What do we do? Swimming! I’ll take them to the pool! This will be so great. Ignoring the voice in the back of my head that keeps telling me I have two kids that think they are fish and one who won’t let me go the minute he hits water. And only two arms and two eyes. How do I make sure they all stay alive?? I tell myself I’ll figure it out. I can do anything with these kids. It’ll be fine.

I call the pool. I ask when is the least busy time to go on a weekday. After lunch they tell me. My gut is telling me to go EARLY but I listen to the teenager on the phone. Big mistake.

I tell the kids we’re going swimming! They are so excited! We pack up and head out. It takes forever and once again I wonder what the hell takes kids so long to get in the damn car. When I get to go out for fun I’m outta the house faster than you can blink an eye.

So we walk into the rec centre and it is crawling with moms. Dads. Grandparents. And kids. They are everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I look in the window to the pool and the line-up for the slide is down the stairs.

Nope. Forget it. Get your asses back in the car.

And then I suck. For a while at least. And I feel bad. But even though Ben is screaming and Rachel is telling him to shut up I really don’t want them to drown.

But for the record, pretty girl and spreeny beany were really good about it.

Bendaboo….total asshat. For at least 10 minutes.

We run over to the pet store for dog food and then head to the library. Where I did not once tell them we had to leave. They told me when they were ready to go. Never had that happen before. And then we went to the movie store. (Yup, they still have those. And yup, we still use them)

We came home, ate supper, pretty girl made dessert (A cup full of Nuri-Whip with a few fresh raspberries), and then we snuggled up and watched a movie.

So, actually it turned out to  be a pretty good PD day.

Except I think I promised them in the pet store that we would get a guinea pig.

I may have even talked to the staff.

And looked at cages.

And I’m pretty sure if they had any in stock today that I would have some explaining to do to my husband right now.