Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Don't Let the Bus Door Hit Ya Where God Split Ya!

There is approximately 60 hours before I send my 3 darlings off to their first day of school. When they leave, I will blow them a kiss goodbye, put on my sad face, tell them I love them and I will miss them. Then, as quickly as the speed of sound, I will turn and rejoice and send praise to the heavens.

Maybe I am PMS'ing. Maybe not (probably not). Come April and May of each year (or at leas the last 2), I look so forward to summer. The beach, the outdoor festivities....the mini trips, all of it. This feeling lasts about 2 months. Then the reality sets in. The reality that I will pretty much be spending 24/7 with at least 3 of my children. This is not healthy for anyone. Not them, and certainly not me..... not for my husband.

I begin to hate them by mid August. Don't gasp.....I cannot be the ONLY mother who occasionally hates her kids. I may be the only one to admit it, but I cannot be the only one that feels it. I mean...I love them always. But sometimes. a little bit of hate takes over.

By mid august, they have had enough of each other as well. The girls are close...and close brings fighting. For the past two weeks, there has been nothing but fighting.

Pitch represents the perceived fundamental frequency of a sound. Little girls argue in a pitch that is just decimals below "Teen Buzz". ("teen buzz", for those of you who do not have teenagers, is a high pitched ringtone that the cell phone companies created which CANNOT be heard by adults) The sounds coming from my offspring while they are arguing permeates my brain to what I can only imagine could be simulated by a serrated fire poke stick thrust into my temples. After 2 minutes of this. I hate them. Really. I want to lunge out and poke their little eyeballs out.

Their father, and my dear husband, rarely has to deal with this. Except for the 2 hours a week I escape to the movies. This should be my "wind down" time. However, God forbid I have a couple of hours to myself. Not soon after I settle in my chair with my large bag of extra buttered popcorn, and large half diet pepsi half cherry pepsi it begins. My cell phone rings at least 3 times....and then I begin getting text messages about whom did what to whom, who said what, etc. It is at this moment. I hate them. And then I hate my husband for not dealing with whatever issues they are having.

Its not bad enought that the younger one go at at. My eldest, Matt, who will be 17 in less than a week has, for some strange reason, been home more then usual over the past couple of weeks. He lays on the couch, day in and day out. Occasionally, he will get up for something to eat or drink (after asking my to get it for him and getting denied). He fights with his sisters just as much as they fight with each other. It is hard to imagin that a 17 year old can fight with a 7 and 10 year old, but it is a given if they are home and within a 20 foot radius of each other.

He specializes in physical torture of his sisters. He baits them to say something to him...an insult, or whatnot. This, in turn (and in his mind) gives him license for retaliation. His specialty is the big toe in the mouth....or any rubbing of his "after football practice" dirty socks on their person. This elicits screams and cries....followed by the need for them to shower. This can happen several times in a day. I hate this.

I have prayed. I have prayed for September 1st for several weeks now. I sometimes think I am not cut out for this homemaker shit. I hate my kids at least 33 1/3 of the week, I tell my husband I have a "match.com" account. My house constantly looks like "hoarders" and my yard like Fred Sanfords. My bureau is filled primarily with sweatpants and sweatshirts, and my mascara had expired 6 months ago.

I spend entirely too much time on facebook....and read the braggings of other mothers' wonderful lives, children and husbands. Then, then my common sense kicks in and tells me that that is all a crock of BS, and that I am surely the poster child for the American Homemaker (and prozac as the two are not mutually exclusive)

Yes, there are, I am sure, many mothers who will truly miss the company of her children. I, admittedly, am not.

So, as three loves of my life begin the new school year, I am left with but one sleep deprived, nipple addict. I will enjoy a somewhat neater house for 6 hours a day. I will make 3 less lunches a day and I will not miss acting as referee and manager of "could be" inmates.

So, to all my fellow mothers sending little (and big) ones off to school. Think of me at 9am on September 1 sitting on my couch with a cup of coffee and a ginormous smile on my face.

Happy 2010 School Year!

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Hitting the 802...Vacationing for Dummies

I'll begin with the story in numbers.....

802 - That would be the area code for Vermont...the most recent vacation destination.

200 /4.5 - the number of miles followed by the time TO GET to the 802.

3/4 - Three days, 4 nights.

2 - That would be adults on the trip...My dear friend Tara, and myself

5 - the number of children - (ages 10, 7, 7, 3, 1)

19 - the number of annoying children's songs on the travel CD

2.5 - the number of children who vomited in my car

3 - bottles of white wine consumed - (not by me)

As with any idea I come up with in my brain, it began out with visions children singing camp songs in the car enjoying the snack pack I lovingly prepared followed by fun in the mountains...doing a myriad of different activities.

An invitation by my eldest brother to visit him and stay in his place (a two bedroom unit at a tennis lodge near Sugarbush Mountain). Little did he know what we were to bestow upon his simple bachelor lifestyle..poor guy.

I knew Matt could not come due to football scheduling, and I knew I could not leave him alone...due to the inevitable parties he would throw in my home. As such, I decided to take the girls all by myself...and invite a girlfriend along. She agreed...despite the mere 5 days notice. (i made sure to invite her after she had consumed several glasses of wine)

We decided to leave at noon on a Tuesday. Whilst my travel buddy (T) logged a few hours at work, I feverishly (over) packed the car, gassed up, hit the ATM, and got the goody basket prepared for the drive.

I picked up T and her kids. We loaded in the extra car seat and her bags. The arguing as to whom was sitting near whom, and in what row began. I should've foreseen what was to come. The eldest children sat three in a row in the back seat while the little ones sat in the middle row of my "not so roomy" SUV.

I gleefully put in the travel CD which boasted fun songs such as "Michael Finnegan", and "99 Bottle of Pop on the Wall", and 17 others. As I sang along, T asked (visably annoyed) if I was going to sing the entire ride. "Yes, yes I am "

James, (a/k/a the wild one) her youngest child who is 3.5 was more than happy to be seated in front of my one working DVD unit. This was a god sent as I would soon learn James is one of the most energetic human beings I have ever met in my life. The movie kept him still and silent...for a while. (and thanks T...for packing him a light saber)

Emma, however, is not yet into movies (as she is nearly 18 months old). As such, fun for her is screaming my name over and over until I physically look her in the eyeballs and ask "what". I am used to this behavior. T is not...and was visibly annoyed. ( I give her credit for not busting out her wine nips early in the trip) (Emmas soon came up with the name "NOCCA" for T...and would scream her name over and over as well)

The girls in the back row were doing well. Little arguing and singing and playing. All was good in the car....at least for the first hour.

It wasn't until we hit a bit of Boston traffic when Abby (7) and not my child, uttered to her mother that she was not feeling well. It was not until THIS TIME that T told me she suffered from car sickness. (Probably wasn't a good idea, then, to give her sour patch kids, cheese puffs, juice boxes, chips, etc in the first leg of trip)

......ugh oh, on no....Oh my God...Shit, T, what? WHAT?? "Get her a bag...a bag!!!" T launches over the two babies with a grocery bag I had taken for garbage....Poor Abby then begins to purge the snackings of the morning.

As most of you know, I boast an impressive gag reflex when faced with disgustingness. What you may NOT know, is that I have passed this gene to my offspring.

It wasn't long before Ava could not hold it in...while Abby had a bag, Ava had only her small hands cupped in front of her. With two girls vomiting in the back row, #3 was sure to follow. Heaves from Liza were next, although I am unsure if anything actually came out of her. Emma couldn't be left out, so she began mockingly heaving herself. I opened my window and took deep breathes as my eyes filled. I was hoping I could hold it in. The scene was similar to that of the blueberry pie eating contest in the movie "Stand By Me".

Once that was over, we were able to laugh and continue on. The smell of vomit was not that bad..thank goodness.

So, between Emma screaming (earning her the nickname Screech) and James' obsession with the dvd (uttering frequently "I cant hear it...or get my headphones...or change the movie...etc), the moment the two of fell asleep
was relieving. Only, however, to be replaced by annoying elder children asking "are we there yet...how much longer" approximately every 20 minutes. A question to which I replied, 15 minutes. (regardless of whether my navigation said 2 hours, 3 hours or longer).

Fortunately, the remainder of the ride went relatively smoothly. At approximately 4:45pm, we arrived at our Vermont destination. The kids jumped out in excitement. My brother was swarmed. Within a few minutes, the kids were fighting over who was sleeping where, T had her glass of wine and my brother looked ill.

The first night was uneventful...we let the kids swim in the pool and we got something to eat. Bedtime, night #1, was annoying to say the least. I cannot understand why kids just cannot go to sleep when they are told. However, within a half hour, I had turned into Hitler, and T had consumed a glass or 5 of wine...so she was relatively relaxed. When I finally settled myself and Emma in the fold out couch, she proceeded to projectile vomit all over the sheets...and herself...and me. WTF.

Morning came and I neglected to realize that my brother thinks hes is the General in the army of moms and kids. It felt like T and I were just one of the kids in my brothers camp...his years of training working with troubled youth were being used on a couple of tired mothers. geesh. He also didn't realize that getting 5 small children awake and ready to leave the house in 20 minutes was a near impossible task, and that his drill Sargent instructions were falling on deaf ears...except for T, who was so intimidated by his time scheduling that she didn't shower for 4 days for fear there was no time.

Finally, we made it into the car. The first leg was us following the General. Ten minutes in, and cell service was unavailable. This wouldn't have been an issue except it was apparent that the G didn't know that kids needed to eat breakfast within a reasonable time of wakening. As such, the wild one began screaming that he was hungry...over...and over...and over. I began tailgating and using my version of sign language to elicit some form of understanding from G, that we needed food. He eventually gave me the thumbs up sign. Unfortunately, there was still another 20 minutes til food.

We stopped, ate (about 1 hr to make 4 bagels and 2 iced coffees...), and destroyed a gift shop. The General had insisted on being our chauffeur. He hopped in the drivers side of my car, leaving me to squish between screech and the wild one. I became James' personal DVD attendant, and Emma could barely take that my breasts were so close to her face...and she was making me feel like a live drive up window. (I did NOT succumb to her wishes, by the way)

We did a lot of fun activities and I tried my best not to have any psychological issues during most of them. The Alpine slide required a trip up the mountain in a ski lift. I made it to the front of the line...then chickened out. The zip line was also high up...and therefore gave me slight angina...I could not do that either. I let the kids do it all...with few stories of broken heads or death.

I remained relatively worry free until the river swimming....when the thought of Vermont Black Bears consumed my every thought. I was not used to NOT scanning the water for sharks...however, this time, I was scanning the river banks for bears and the river for water moccasins (not the shoes...the snakes). At one point, my bladder was such that I thought I was causing kidney damage. As I walked to the outhouse, the overwhelming thought of a rapist/murderer hiding inside left me with a very real choice. I am now prepared for the game "Would You Rather"....should the question arise..."Would you Rather enter an outhouse with a potential ax murderer, or pee in the bushes with the chance being mauled by a large snake...or killer bear (or mountain lion)?". I chose the woods. Actually, I chose a flat rock. This was not the smartest choice because I neglected to take into account the splash radius from a rock as opposed to grass.

That night, we ate at the best pizza restaurant ever. My only complaint was that it was all natural..which was fine until I realized there was nothing for me to drink. When I asked for Diet Coke, the waitress explained that they only served natural cola. I inquired as to what the hell that was. She explained and I was still confused. After she left our table, I nonchalantly proceeded to my vehicle and smuggled a diet coke can /contraband to the table. I asked for a cup of ice and sneakily poured it whilst we ate.

Over the course of the three night, Tara enjoyed her wine, and I was slightly disappointed there was no Dunkin Donuts. Aside from me screaming at the group each night, a couple of bowel accidents, the lack of toilet paper (and food), we had fun. T and I narrowly fit in with the locals....with her and her giant whit leather/flower purse and I in my shiny flats.

We contemplated getting married just because its legal. However, a thankful General said goodbye to us all, and we decided we best leave the same sex loving, cow infested, no fast food town to the locals and retire to the big subburb of Cowessett.