Life's Like a Box of Chocolates

If you have spent any time around kids, then you know that kids have a tendency to get sick. A lot. Usually, kid illnesses fall into one of three categories: (1) the cold/flu; (2) some crazy contagious thingy (see pink eye, hand foot mouth disease, impetigo, etc.); or (3) a stomach bug. Anytime your kid is sick, it sucks, but there's something extra sucky about a stomach virus. When a very young kid has a stomach virus, things are bound to become a shit show - and I mean that in the most literal way possible. It's not the kid's fault of course. They can't help it and I'm sure the sudden urge to yak takes them by surprise too. 

What I'm trying to say is that when you got kids, there will come a day when you will find yourself knee deep in yesterday's dinosaur chicken nuggets and there's nothing you can do about it! Short of putting a diaper around your kid's head, you will one day find yourself on your knees scrubbing an unidentifiable substance out of your carpet as you wonder how you went so wrong in your life that you ended up here. If you are lucky, these episodes will happen in your home where you can deal with things pretty efficiently. If you aren't so lucky, you will find yourself in the center ring of your very own freak show where everyone will get to experience the scary sights and smells. 

That's a big lesson I've learned. Try as you might, you can't really plan for every contingency. Kids get sick. Sometimes at really inopportune moments. You just gotta roll with it and hopefully laugh about it later. You never do know how even your best laid plans will turn out and that's life! 

Now, I think we've established that anything that can go wrong for me usually does, so let me tell you about my family's trip on the "Polar Express" or as I call it "The Train Ride To HELL." For those of you not familiar, the Polar Express is an actual train ride that families can book during Christmas. It's billed as festive and fun for the kids. Tickets go on sale months in advance and sell out in minutes. Well, I managed to score tickets for the train by breaking night and ordering them online the minute they went on sale. So far, so good, right?

The day of the ride, the kids were so excited, especially my youngest son Thing 1. I dressed the whole family in matching PJs. By God we were committing to this thing! We were gonna have some holly jolly Christmas fun dammit. We boarded the train and things were going fine for about the first 10 minutes. The train was packed with families. The seating on the train was booth style, so we arranged ourselves in a set of booths at the back of the train.  At that time our youngest daughter was about 6 months old. The hubs was holding the baby while I settled our other three kids in for the 2 hour long train ride - remember that number: 2 hours. 

It was like a freaking Norman Rockwell painting on that train. Children singing carols, dads playing patty cake with giggling infants, the entertainers on the train strolling up and down the aisle playing instruments! Out of nowhere, my youngest son stands up in the booth and announces "I feel sick." Before I even have time to react, he basically erupts like a tiny volcano. He has gone full Linda Blair exorcist style in the middle of a crowded train. We immediately panic, cause that's how our family rolls. I'm trying to catch the puke in whatever I have available. I grab one of the kid's Santa hats and hold it under my son's mouth. He is now shrieking AND puking and the train falls quiet as everyone turns to gawk at the shit show happening in our booth. Did I forget to tell you that the bathroom was extremely tiny and non functioning on this train? I yell to my husband, "get some paper towels and something to clean this up!!" Instead of doing that, though, my dear husband takes off running for his life up the aisle - with our 6 month old baby girl in his arms! Homeboy is just running! The hat is full, so I'm now desperately trying to catch the puke in my pocket book. Where is it all coming from? He's so freaking tiny!

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss at my husband as he runs past me up the aisle for a second time. "I have the baby in my arms! What do you want me to do?" he yells over his shoulder at me as he disappears back down the aisle. "Give the baby to one of them!" I point to my useless older children who have moved seats and are trying to pretend that they don't know the rest of us. "They can't hold her!!" he yells back at me as he continues running up and down the aisle, Santa Clause pajamas flapping in the wind. Mind you, dear readers, my oldest daughter was 9 at the time - totally capable of holding her sister for a few minutes. "Give them the baby and help me" I say, except my voice has dropped several octaves and I sound like a 65 year old biker. By this point, my son's cute little elf pajamas are completely saturated, so I have no choice but to strip him. My son was 2 at the time and potty trained, so I didn't think to pack any spare clothes for him, and we still had about 1:45 minutes left on the train. It occurs to me that he might have to spend the rest of the time on the train buck naked.

Finally, Forrest Gump stops running and hands the baby to our oldest daughter. My sick son is shivering like a chihuahua, naked under his coat, but at least he's no longer yaking! Thank the sweet baby Jesus for that. When my husband returns, he has a roll of paper towels, some disinfectant and a garbage bag. Let me tell you that the clean up operation in that booth was....something that I've been trying to forget for over a year now, but can't. It was that traumatic, people! About the only stroke of luck we had was that the gift shop actually had one set of pajamas in my son's exact size available for sale. By the time we had the booth cleaned up and my son dressed, the damn train ride was nearly over. The kids looked like they'd been through war and my husband's legs no doubt were aching from the mini marathon he had just run. Needless to say, we did not book another train ride this year. Maybe we'll return one day....like with our grandchildren or something.

You guys have no idea what's about to happen to you...

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting

My youngest child will be turning 2 in April. She isn't just the youngest, though. She is also the LAST baby. Yes, no more children will be passing through this baby chute and I'm ...... OK with that. I'm actually more than OK with that. You see, it's a great thing that we stopped at 4. Anymore kids and I'd be writing to you from a psychiatric ward. Seriously. Don't get me wrong: I love my kids and I'm glad they are all here. I'm pretty sure, though, that each child has taken at least 2 years off the end of my life. I'm not that great at math, but if my calculations are correct, this means that I am slated to die at least 8 years early. But, anything for your kids, right?!! I'm just gonna hang on long enough so that I can experience the joy of one of them having to wipe my butt for a change. I don't care which one of them has to do it, either.  Pay back is a bitch!!

I am very commonly asked (often with a faint look of horror), whether we plan to "go for number 5." After I'm done laughing hysterically, I bluntly inform the asker "Hells no!" Then, with happy tears in my eyes, I tell (sometimes perfect strangers) that we've burnt that bridge to the ground! YOU SHALL NOT PASS little baby makers. To give you an idea, 10 minutes after our last child was born, I was on the phone scheduling my husband's vasectomy. Why a vasectomy vs. a tubal ligation? My reasoning was simple: after 10 years of being pregnant, birthing babies, and breast feeding babies, I felt very strongly that my loving husband should experience the joy of having his genitals smacked around a bit. Fair is fair and the vasectomy procedure is faster and less invasive. He agreed and so the factory is closed. 

Now, here's the million dollar question: how did I know I was done? How do you know that your family is complete? It's such a tough question, but I will say that I knew after my first, second, and third children that I didn't feel like everyone who was meant to be in our family was here. The picture wasn't complete, so we knew that we wanted one more. As soon as my daughter was born, I felt it! She was the last piece of the puzzle and I haven't had any second thoughts since. 

How else do I know? Seeing other babies does not make "my uterus ache with longing" as I've heard others poetically describe it. Newborns are obviously adorable and sweet, but the feeling I get is more so of my uterus trying to detach itself from my body and escape via any orifice it can find! I can picture my uterus galloping away from me like a runaway horse. In fact, if I didn't still need my lady parts, I might be totally OK if I woke up some morning to find them gone! I'm so bad, that it's not safe to sit me next to an expectant mother. God forbid she asks me "what's labor like?" or "what's it like having 4 kids?" My eyes suddenly glaze over and I start saying very unhelpful things like, "have you ever felt like your lady bits were doused in gasoline and lit on fire?" or "I haven't slept in 10 years" or "I have a hemorrhoid for each child, you do the math." And then I laugh and laugh and laugh! Yup. So, I think it's fair to say that we are done. 

Now, if you know me, you know that I adore my children. I would never take them for granted. I know how lucky I am to have 4 healthy kids. But real talk ... kids are hella hard. I think it's OK to admit that too. My kids have a really early bedtime and it's not because I'm a conscientious parent. Once 7 o'clock rolls around I'm in search and destroy mode. Objective: find the children and neutralize the threat. I need them to not be in my line of sight after a certain time at night. It's not them, it's me! I sprout hair, teeth and fangs when the sun goes down and it's just in every one's best interest to go the F the sleep. 

I think sometimes we go into this parenting thing with the expectation that kids will some how make everything better. Study after study shows that kids do not necessarily make life better or marriages stronger. I've learned to approach this parenting adventure from the standpoint of: I'm just trying to raise good human beings. My kids were not put here to fulfill some image of myself. They are unique, individual people whom I have committed to guiding towards adulthood. But boy do I live for the funny moments, the peaceful moments, and the joyful celebrations. Those moments make all the little daily struggles well worth it.

Jingle Hell

When your kids start to out number you, you quickly find that doing stuff you used to take for granted becomes hard. Really hard. Like soul sucking hard. For example, going out into public. I have four kids, so anytime I get to leave the house with just one or two kids, I sometimes get a little cocky. Hey, I've gone lots of places with all four in tow and it was fine ... ish. I mean, no one died, got lost, or got arrested, so that's a success! Right? 

Well, let's talk about my oldest son's Holiday concert. My husband was working, so I decided to take my two youngest with me to the show. My oldest daughter attends a different school, so it was just me and my two little shadows: Thing 1 who is three years old and Thing 2 who is one. 

The concerts at my oldest son's elementary school are held in the auditorium. It is always packed on concert days, so, a wise woman would do well to get there early. Unfortunately, I am not a wise woman, so after parking 2 miles from the school and carrying one kid and dragging the other, I made it into the building. Ok, feeling a little sweaty, but no big deal. Brush it off. You made it! Now, let's find a place to sit. 

I scanned the crowd and actually found two seats near the front! My luck is changing, I thought, as I sat Thing 1 on a chair and put Thing 2 in my lap. Easy peasy. We'll just sit here and enjoy the show. Alas, it was not to be. 

I don't believe I actually saw any of the show. My eyes were fixed on my one year old who was doing her best imitation of Gollum screaming "MINE" every time I tried to take something dangerous out of her hands. Where was she finding these dangerous objects? In my freaking purse. But here's the kicker, I let her rifle through my purse in the hopes that it would distract her long enough to get us through the concert. But once you open Pandora's purse, there's no turning back. I had created a monster. She must have snatched every pointy thing from my bag: my keys, a pen, a metal credit card case. It quickly turned into a game of tug of war. She, trying to pull the bag and its stabby contents to her chest and me, desperately trying to pull it away from her in the opposite direction. She was enjoying scattering my business cards all over the floor and sucking on my keys and was not about to give up the bag. "Why is she so strong?" I thought to myself desperately as I continued wrestling with her. 

It was about this time, that she reached into my bag and angrily pulled out one of the maxi pads I keep in there for emergencies and tossed it across the aisle. She looked up at me with an expression that said, "Your move, bitch." Of course I let go of the bag and scrambled after the maxi pad. 

By this time I am actively sweating. I am faintly aware that my son's class is singing, so I pop my head up periodically to smile at him. He appears to be mouthing the words to "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas. "It's really lovely, but I'm kind of busy whisper-screaming at my daughter to please shut up and sit on my lap. I find myself frantically offering her various bribes, except that's useless cause she's one and doesn't give a damn about anything and cannot be bought. She laughs and gives me a toothy grin as she tosses a business card for a company called "Pure Romance" (don't ask) over her shoulder. I resemble a gopher, periodically popping my head up to smile encouragingly at my miserably singing son or snap a fuzzy cell phone picture. 

Throughout all of this, my youngest son is actually behaving! He's sitting next to me fairly quietly. Thank God for that, right? Wrong. As soon as the show ends, it's his turn to go rogue. As everyone is filing out, he decides that he's mad as hell and he's not gonna take it anymore. He throws himself onto the floor and begins to wail! I have my daughter on one hip and I'm trying to pull him to his feet, but he's gone boneless. He now weighs at least 100 pounds and I can't seem to pull him up. I decide, "Screw this, I'm just gonna leave him there!" and I start to walk away. He is not following me and I'm starting to get the stink eye from other parents observing the scene. The school principal even goes up to my wailing child in an attempt to console him. He looks at me like "Lady, is this your kid?" I avoid his stare pretending not to know the child who now seems to be speaking in tongues. 

After a few more seconds, I decide that I've finally had enough. Even if I have to drag him out by one foot, I'm getting out of there. I don't care who's watching (or judging). As if he sensed the impending danger, Thing 1 stops crying. I pull him to his feet and hightail it out of there. Needless to say, it was not my most successful kid outing! 

What's the lesson here? Kids can be little assholes sometimes and the degree of assholery will increase in direct proportion to how important it is for them to be quiet. Attending a festive holiday concert? Your little asshole might pull some sanitary napkins out of your purse and toss them at the horrified old lady sitting next to you. These things happen people! And...you will get through it. You might have to enter witness protection for a few years, but it will pass. And when they look at you and smile in the way only they can, you'll remember: they will only be this little once.  Enjoy the ride. It goes super fast.