Morning Routine Is A Circus

I'm officially sick of this charade called "the morning routine". There is no routine. It's a bunch of whiny babies running around fighting over the toothpaste and mirror space. As if having three bathrooms isn't excessive, I still can't separate them into the three bathrooms because I'd then wear myself out running from bathroom to bathroom all while having to get backpacks and lunches together!

I'm a Sweet Mommy so I never turn the bedroom lights on and yell at them to get up. I turn on the hall light instead and talk sweetly to them to coax them from their little cozy beds. I believe WE the parents set the tone for our kids day depending on how we prepare them in the morning.

The five year-old is pretty good. She's the first one up. She gets up, grabs her clothes and goes straight to the bathroom. She gets dressed and then lets me do her hair and then brushes her teeth. Meanwhile Zombie Kids 1 and 2 (the eight and ten year-old) are stumbling around in their rooms and yelling at each other to "move" or "shut up". This is some BULL.

I usually finish with the little one and then make my way to the back of the house where the other two girls are. They're still stumbling, still bitching and apparently have the worst short-term memory because they don't know where their clothes are. For the record, they're in the same damn drawers they've been in for years.

By this time, Sweet Mommy is annoyed and as I wrangle the two older girls into the bathroom they're glaring at each other. I still don't understand sibling hostility all that much since I was raised as a single child but it seems to me that they have some kind of "rivalry" going. Is that a thing? Anyway, I stand there and give them instructions (while they're still in PJ's), make them repeat back to me what I need them to do, then I walk away so I can prepare lunches (which the five year-old helps me do).

I'm making lunches while listening to the Pretenders "Brass In Pocket" and feeling like today might be the day they get it done in a reasonable amount of time. Can anyone guess what happens next? That's right. I'm in mid-stroke of the peanut butter and I hear, "OMG I was using that!!" followed by, "OMG you're taking too long (really?)!!" It's an all-out war in the loo. That's it. I've had it. I instruct the youngest to continue with the lunches and I dash back to the bathroom.  

Angry Mommy is now in control. This is a public blog so I clean up what is actually being said at this point.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?! Are you frigging crazy?! I asked you to get dressed, brush your teeth and hair and get the hell out of the bathroom!! I can do all of those things in under ten minutes and you've been in here for twenty!! You're sisters and supposed to love each other or whatever!! When me and daddy DIE you're only going to have each other to lean on you little buttheads!! GET YOUR CLOTHES ON AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND HAIR OR I SWEAR I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR FACES!!

Or something like that.

Now...FML...they're crying. The beast in me is still present so their tears don't phase me. Instead I move in close to their faces and whisper, "If you don't start moving I can't guarantee that I won't put your Monster High dolls and Wii in the fireplace while you're at school." The tears then defy gravity and move upwards back into their little tear ducts and they begin to hustle.

This is NOT the end folks. It gets worse. They manage to finish getting ready but are now on the hunt for shoes, jackets, backpacks, brains, etc. Let me just say this to any of you moms who even THINK about critiquing my methods, shut the front door. I'll punch you in the face.

No, I'm not going to lay my kids stuff out at night. No, I'm not going to run around and keep their things organized. THEY are more than physically capable of keeping their things together. If they'd come in from school and hang their jackets, take off their shoes in a place they can find them (not my living room or hallway), and put their stuff back in their backpacks when they finish their work, then they wouldn't have to run around like the Keystone Cops at 7 AM!

Eventually, everything is found, put on, put in, shut up, shut down, laced, tied, buttoned, and packed. I'm still in full-blown crazy mode so when they come up to hug me as the bus approaches, I don't even know what's going on. The Mechanical Mommy then comes out, hugs and kisses, and walks back in the house. I stand there. I look around. The house is a disaster. Every light is on and my blood pressure is boiling. I collapse on the sofa.

Then something wonderful happens. My dog, Smalls, walks up and licks my hand and sits in front of me, waiting for the Mechanical Mommy to disappear. I smile, pat him on the head and I'm back.

Point of the story is, your kids may love you unconditionally and drive you crazy, but an animal can heal your heart. Til the next time the little jerk gets into the trash overnight while you're sleeping and you wake up and step in jelly.

Oops! I Did It Again

Remember the little fit I threw about not liking being 34? Well to add insult to injury, I decided to start looking on the web last night at photos of people in bands who I either used to admire or thought were gorgeous. That was a mistake. They're so old.

In the 80's my favorite was David Glasper (whom you might remember from the band Breathe who sang Hands To Heaven, shown below as I remember him). In the 80's, they deemed him the man "too sweet for rock". First of all, Breathe was a SOFT rock band so I think he fit perfectly. I also think he aged well but those pics are hard to find.

Anyway, he was the only one who still looks amazing. Rick Astley looks like a bloated codfish. Mark Slaughter (Slaughter) looks like a witch. Neil Finn (Crowded House, below, now) looks like a blonde Paul McCartney. Gross.

In the 90's I loved Dave Matthews. What the hell was wrong with me? Talented, yes. Handsome, no. Plus he reminds me of a high-pitched, nasally Tom Hanks. I also adored Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) but again, same thing. Super talented but super ugly. Lane Staley (Alice In Chains) will forever be adorable due to his untimely death 9 years ago. Really the only person from my 90's list who is still hot is Shirley Manson (Garbage, below, now).

But isn't that like Hollywood and the music industry? They push you until you either crack and go Ricki Lake or end up in a mental hospital. Look at Madonna. She's as old (or older) than Neil Finn and David Glasper but she's in amazing shape. Still ugly to look at but she's got a smoking body. Somewhere between their second album and now, the men said "screw it". They made their money, married a model, and let it all go. The women seem to be in a constant battle to stay forever young.

What the hell is wrong with us? The serenity prayer teaches us to accept the things we cannot change. So why can't we? Yeah I can change my physical body. I can jump on the elliptical every day til I'm a size 6 again. Only problem with that is I'm highly impatient. If I got results like, oh I dunno, AS SOON AS I GET OFF THE ELLIPTICAL, I might be more inclined to work out. I CANNOT change wrinkles. Or spots. Or grays. Or creepy little veins.

Back to my original point. Apparently everyone gets old. And apparently it speaks volumes about you when you embrace it and work hard to combat it. With that being said, I'm going to go to the Clinique counter to get some anti-getting-old-and-ugly creams and serums and then I'm going to work out every day to get off this little boo-hoo-I'm-old-and-fat box! It's going to be a lifestyle change people so you can either get on board or hate me later!

Oooo, donuts...

Scary TV And Kids

Our three daughters have been trying to convince us that they're ready to watch scary shows. I don't like it. But since they're showing an interest, hubby decided to start them out with some mild suspense type stuff like Paranormal Witness. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a show that gives testimony and shows reenactments of people's personal paranormal experiences.

Reenactment or not, they were TERRIFIED. Despite the terror they were experiencing, they still refused to stop watching and even got mad at me when I made my husband turn it off for a little while. That's just crazy right?! I mean if you're scared then why would you want to further subject yourself to MORE terror?!

Shower time rolls around. Three kids at shower time on a regular night is no joke. They take for frigging EVER and barely leave enough hot water for the unlucky third child.

My oldest daughter was first and she wasn't feeling well to begin with so I think she was fast simply because she felt like crap and just wanted to lay back down. My youngest daughter was next. She kept looking down the dark hallway and moved with lightening speed to turn on every damn light in the hall and bathroom before finally getting in the shower. 

My middle daughter was last. What a nightmare. I asked her not once, not twice, but SEVEN times to go get her butt in the shower as she apologized repeatedly for moving so slow. I knew she was procrastinating and since this was all my hubby's fault anyway, I kept my cool. 

She too, peered down the looming hallway as if some ominous creature was lurking in the shadows, ready to make a meal out of her. And I don't care what Pixar tells you, those aren't the monsters children imagine.

This is what a child imagines...

and it is going to eat them alive.

She made her way into the bathroom and stripped down and that was about all she could take. She bolted out of the bathroom, butt cheeks clinched and not looking back. I asked her what was up and she said, "there's no hot water!" Hubby gets up with the "I've had about enough of this nonsense" look, and went to investigate the water temperature.

Sure enough the water was hot and then she began to pester the YOUNGEST to come sit in the bathroom with her while she takes a shower. Youngest wouldn't hear any part of it and refused and left me with a crying, naked, eight year-old standing in my living room. FML. I looked at hubby and exclaimed, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!" to which he replies (while laughing), "they're just being wusses".

We finally got through shower time. I was a wreck. I was mostly upset that I couldn't get them to understand that this wasn't even a scary MOVIE. It was some TV-14 show on a cable channel. I also explained that obviously nothing had happened to the witnesses since they were there, ON THE TV SCREEN, telling their stories! And they wanted to watch Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark.

They made it through the night. I didn't wake up with any kids in my bed. I wake the girls up and as I'm making coffee, I'm bombarded with questions and stories. "Mom, did you get up last night and knock something over?" (we have two cats, a dog, and a tortoise), "Mom, I heard scratching last night." (again, we have two cats, a dog, and a tortoise), "Mom, there was a wild cat outside last night! I swear! I heard it! And meowing. I heard meowing!!" (cats again), "Mom is our house built on a burial ground?" (WTF?). I answer, "NO AND WE HAVE ANIMALS AND NO AGAIN!"

Never again guys, never again.

For the record, all three kids are safe and alive. Although I'm pretty sure they still have soap in their hair.

Joining The Ranks Of The Lame Bloggers

Blogging is therapy, blogging is therapy. Unloading my crap onto unsuspecting people is therapy. Gee, I feel better already. 

I've realized that I'm officially at an age that older generations are willing to accept that I'm capable of having a degree of wisdom and therefore are willing to engage in my moments of reflection. Which unfortunately means for younger generations, I'm just another old bitch. Whatever.

First of all I'll get this out of the way from go, I don't like being 34. I feel like I'm in 8th grade again and my peg just doesn't fit anywhere. Sorry, it does NOT count that your own kids think your cool just because you know all of the words to Rob Bass' It Takes Two.

I sort of went through a mid-life crisis last year and it was disastrous. *Snickers like Sheldon* I said "went" as if this thing has already passed. Correction, I'm going through a mid-life crisis only this year has been much better than the last.

Women's mid-life crisis are much different from men's. I don't give a damn about fast cars or hairlines. I think I'm just petrified of "losing it", whatever "it" is. I see Sofia Vergara and I wanna slap that bitch. Or make out with her. See? I'm losing my frigging mind. Point is, I have become aware that I'm not 21 anymore and I hate it.

When my husband tells me he thinks I'm sexy it always makes me cringe a little. I worry that he's saying it because I smell desperate for compliments or something. I feel like the psycho chick with the smeared lipstick and mascara keeping some guy chained in the basement asking him, "DO I LOOK PRETTY?!"

These thoughts usually pass and I'm back to my NORMAL crazy self again. And I do know that my hubby loves me and he probably, genuinely thinks I'm sexy. What I'm having a hard time coming to grips with is how I see myself NOW as opposed to how I used to see myself. I'm not gonna lie, I used to be banging hot. Four kids later, I've become...squishy.

I also realized that I'm not as interesting to talk to anymore. When I was younger, every day was a new day full of war stories from the night before. People actually LIKED talking to me. I've become so sarcastic (because of my aging and reflection and understanding reality and such) that I usually just piss people off when I open my mouth.

I know the only way I'm going to get through this is to move forward and find ways to enjoy being 34. Hanging onto to 21 isn't helping and it isn't healthy. Oh, and everyone needs to stop being funnier and hotter than me. Like NOW.