And it all goes to crap...

Why is it that the minute my hubbie gets busy and is forced to go MIA from home to be a busy working guy, home life feels like it all goes to crap? It is like the kiddies can sense my fear and know that I am hopelessly outnumbered. Chris has been up and out of the house before we awake and home well after we all are in bed. I felt sorry for him right up until he had an important business dinner at (ahem) Left Bank. Then I just got a tad bitter.

Aidan and Brennan were wild. They fought, they cried, they refused to go down for naps. Griffin cried for what felt was three days straight. And I was tired. Oh, so very deeply tired. But tonight, the balance shifted the moment Chris rejoined our family. Boys? Totally and completely well behaved. Griffin? Not even a whimper or a tear. Chris thought I made it all up. In fact, my life of a mom home with three boys seemed like a cake walk compared to his busy working days. Right. Sure.

Chris and I used to joke that the moment he left on a business trip, it seemed as if anything that could go wrong, would. Witness the freak week of hell from late fall 2005. Chris was out of town for a week:

On Monday: Brennan, who was one at the time, managed to open the doors to our food pantry, take down a jar of strained peas, and smash the glass so he could SUCK THE PEAS OUT OF THE SMASHED GLASS JAR. I found him, lip bleeding, on the floor covered in green peas. Mind you, this was after he had eaten a dinner that consisted of no less than four stuffed shells, three meatballs, a banana and a yogurt. The kid can put it away.

Tuesday: After work, I ran downstairs to our basement laundry room to throw in a quick load of laundry. Upon walking up the stairs, I heard Brennan and Aidan giggling next to the closed door. I tried the knob to the door and, well, it's locked. Locked. My three year old and one year old locked me in the basement. Did I mention that my husband was like a thousand miles away? I had no phone in the basement. No means of escape while my one year old and three year old ran wild in the home ALONE.

From behind the basement door, I told Aidan to turn the knob to unlock the door. "I can't mom," he replied, "It just keeps turning." Ah... that's right. Because we managed to baby proof the knob to the basement door, but forgot all about the little lock. I ordered Aidan to keep working on the door, while I rummaged through the basement to find something, anything to get me out of this situation.

Ten minutes later, I was at a loss. There was nothing even remotely helpful hidden in our basement. I walked up the stairs again and heard the basement knob turning.

"Aidan?" I asked.

No response. "Aidan? Any luck on the door?" Aidan finally replied, "Mom, that isn't me at the door - that's Brennan. I'm watching tv 'cause the Backyardigans are on."

I bellowed as loud as humanly possible, "Aidan Christopher - Get over to this door immediately." When he was at the door I told him, "Go to where Mommy keeps the knives and get me a knife. Okay?" (Oh, yes I did ask my three year old to fetch me a knife. I plead insanity. My mind was broken down by two toddlers.) I told him once he had the knife, he had to slide it under the basement door to me so I could pop the lock.

After Aidan had the knife in hand, I hear some scuffles from behind the door. "Aidan?" I yelled.

"Mom, Brennan keeps trying to grab the knife." Oh Dear Lord. I screamed in a hysterical high pitch voice, "Whatever you do, DO NOT GIVE YOUR BROTHER THE KNIFE. DO NOT GIVE HIM THE KNIFE." More scuffles. "Aidan?" I screamed. And then a knife appeared under the door.

I popped the lock and opened the door to find Aidan and Brennan standing next to each other, grinning, as they stared back at me. As I looked at them, I was at a loss for words. Finally, I knelt down to their eye level and said in a deep, stern voice, "We will NEVER, EVER do that again. Is that understood?" They nodded their heads in unison with their eyes wide.

Wednesday, early a.m.: We lost power. I had to get two children and myself to work and school without any electricity. But, I still, even after the last few days, managed to remain positive - until:

Thursday. We had a freak early fall snowstorm Thursday morning. It dumped about a foot and a half of snow in our driveway. Chris, still about a thousand miles away, had promised before he left to hire a plow service for the season. Guess what? He forgot. He FORGOT. I had a deadline for work that morning that required I get to the office. And so, I shoveled. And shoveled. The boys wanted to be out in the snow with me. I wouldn't let them and so they screamed and screamed with their noses pressed up against our glass door watching me as I shoveled the snow that would NOT stop. I also started to cry. Once I started crying, I couldn't stop. Big fat tears froze on my face as I shoveled a foot of snow.

Huge breakdown for me at this point. I came in from shoveling, called Chris on his cell and screamed at him so loudly that he, to this day, says everyone in the hotel where he was staying could hear me. Let's just say that he managed to find a plow to come plow me out pretty damn quickly after hearing my major meltdown on the phone. A very well deserved meltdown.

When Chris returned later that night, all was back to normal. The driveway was plowed and the snow had stopped. Life was good. Until the next time...

Mommy, Momma, Mom

When Aidan was toddling and babbling around the age of one, I had sweet mommy fantasies about the day he would utter the word "mom." Momma, mom, mum, mommy - it didn't matter. I just couldn't wait. It knew it would be the sweetest words I had ever heard in my life. And when it happened, it was. I think I probably even cried.

But now - I want it all to stop. I want my children to forget they ever knew how to phrase the word "mom." Stop the mommy. Abandon the mommas. Let go of the mums. I spent many a day wishing for my children to say my name and now I want them to STOP. Please stop.

This morning the boys used the word mom, mommy or momma 72 times. SEVENTY TWO times people. And I only counted for two hours. So roughly from 8 am until 10 am, they called my name 72 times. And Griffin can't even talk yet. YET. Just imagine when I have three children using my name in vain. It's enough to drive you to drink.

Sweet, Sweet Baby of Mine...

It Was the Hair That Would Not Be Tamed

Before children, I swore I would never let my children out of the house with bedhead. I was a superior, judgmental idiot without children who swore a whole bunch of things about how *I* would do things when I have kids. Four years and three children later, I have let go of all my silly vows of how you are supposed to do things. TV? Check. Sugar cereals? Got 'em. PJS all day long? Why not? And messy, unkempt hair from hell? Rock on.

Brennan went to our gym class on Friday sporting this lovely do:

It was hair that refused to be tamed. This brave head of hair defeated water, refused combing, defied mousse and angered hair gel. It just wanted to be let alone. And so we let it alone. And I became the mom with the bedhead kid. And you know what? He was still one of the cutest kids in class - bedhead and all.

Toddlers are Vampires

Brennan was bit by a vampire posing as a toddler in his classroom. There are teeth marks on my angel's back and I would like some toddler vampire blood in retaliation. However, being the smarty pants that they are - the school refuses to tattle tale on the biter. Instead, you get an "incident report" which refers to the biter in code with an alias like "Brennan's little friend" or "Brennan's playmate." Yeah. Brennan's little friend who chomped on his back until it bled. Sure.

Anyway. So with the secret identity of the biter secured, I picked up Brennan from school yesterday. I walked into the classroom as Brennan was standing next to a tiny little slip of a boy who barely reached Brennan's shoulders. Brennan saw me, hugged me and then said "Look momma, Look! This is Johnny. He bites me." Ahha! Angry, vengeful mother meet the toddler vampire.

I hugged Brennan and replied, "Wow, Johnny's such a cute little guy. It looks like you have about fifteen pounds on Johnny, Brennan. I think that if you needed to, you could totally take him out." I smiled and turned to the teacher. "I'm kidding, " I say, "Well, sort of." And I gave little Johnny a nice long, hard look.

I think Johnny needs to watch his back. I'm kidding, of course. Well, sort of.

Steak and B-Ball

We celebrated Chris's birthday last night by indulging in some of Buffalo's finest steak at Buffalo Chophouse. Lo and behold, a bunch of very tall gentlemen entered the restaurant after us and were seated close by. We later learned they were the Duke Basketball Team who had just arrived for a lil' slice of March Madness in Buffalo. I was tempted to ask them to help me sing Happy Birthday, but I had a feeling Chris would have divorced me.

Can you imagine the bill to feed all those guys at the Chophouse? They must have a nice meal budget for their athletes at Duke.

Happy Birthday to You...

Happy Birthday to my lovely, dearest, MacGyver of a hubbie, Chris. He is an amazing husband, a patient and loving father and a damn good entrepreneur too.

Chris turns the corner towards 40 as he hits 36 today.

His birthday also marks the date on which he has now officially been with me throughout his life as long as he has been without me. We aren't going to ask him which part of his life he prefers though.

Happy Birthday my love.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Man Sized Burp...

Brennan and I were softly singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star as we shared some goodnight cuddles. About half way through the song, Brennan let out a belch that I can only describe as "man sized." After the burp, Brennan laughs and says : "Wow, momma. That was me." Then he laughs again and continues, "Momma, I LOVE to burp."

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We finally got my Explorer back a week or so ago with a spankin' brand new transmission. Yipee! So long rented minivan. Good bye annoying beeping sound whenever I drive too close to something. I will not miss you. My kiddies, on the other hand, fell in love with you. They adored your roominess. They oohed and awed over your automatic sliding doors. And they loved your incessant beeping even as it drove their mother insane.

As we pulled into the garage the other night, I drove the Explorer a wee bit too close to the garbage cans. After the close call, Aidan quipped from the back seat, "I don't know, Mom. I think you sort of needed the beeping to keep you from crashing." Sigh. I get no respect. None.

Where Did the Time Go?

There are times that I wake up in the morning and I am slightly shocked to remember that I am a parent. A parent to three little boys. This means that I must be all grown up and responsible - in other words just plain old. I don't feel old. I often forget that I am going to hit thirty five at my next birthday. 35!!! That's old, isn't it?

I certainly felt old as we toured Aidan's school at open house yesterday. Aidan starts kindergarten in September. KINDERGARTEN. When did this happen? He's still a baby, damn it. And in September, I have to be a grown up and put this little guy on a yellow school bus all alone. Alone. Sigh. (Okay, in reality he's going to have like, four cousins on the bus with him since we live in the same neighborhood with my entire family - but it still boggles the mind, okay?)

I felt even older since the school we toured, the school Aidan will attend, is the same school I attended. My math teacher is now the principal. My social studies teacher is still there. It eerily looks so much the same now as it did then. I felt a sense of nostalgia as we peeked in the classrooms. I also felt that slight surprise - that I am no longer the student, but my son is going to be. I worried that I would expose myself as a fraud. I am not really a responsible adult. Nor am I truly a 'real' grown up. But I held it together enough to act as I was both.

I wonder if I will ever feel like I am a mature, responsible parent. Does anyone?

Funky Feet

I love baby feet. I can't help myself. I smother Griffin's toes with kisses whenever possible. Up until a few weeks ago, I would kiss Brennan's feet to death at every diaper change. But, lately his feet just aren't as kissable. They have become, well, a little funkified. The sweet baby smell has been replaced by something almost boyish and it ain't good - even to a head over heels in love mom.

I noticed Brennan watching me the other day as I gave Griffin's feet a little kiss and snuggle. Later that night, I was mid diaper change with Brennan when he lifted his big toddler feet to my face and demanded, "Kiss 'em!" When I didn't respond right away, he yelled, "Kiss 'em momma! Kiss 'em." So I did. I kissed them. No one tells you that part of being a mom is kissing funky feet. If they had told me, I probably wouldn't have believed them.

The Dominos

The boys can take any toy or household object and find a completely different use for it other than the one for which that object is intended. Yesterday, I learned that dominos can also act as hockey pucks. Who knew?