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."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

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?

A Study in Contrasts

The boys got new sneakers last week. They are in love with their fancy new shoes. They even asked if they could go to sleep with them on their feet.

Aidan loved his new sneaks so much he wanted to save them and protect them at all cost. While he wore them around the house from the moment he woke up in the morning, he vowed that he would not wear them outside. "Not until spring at least," he swore. We finally got him to wear them to school today by negotiating boots for outside and sneakers for inside play only.

Brennan? He loved his new shoes so much he had to test them out by jumping in the biggest, muddiest, ickiest puddle he could find in the parking lot.

Brothers - quite a study in contrasts.

A Summary

Let's revisit my life of the past three months, shall we?

We missed Christmas because we were all too busy vomiting all over the place. It's lots of fun to have two kiddies with a stomach bug. But when you get to have it right along with them - it's a virtual party. Add a newborn and having to nurse while you fight the urge to vomit. Rock on.

Then we all got better. And Griffin got RSV, bronchitis and a double ear infection. We had to do daily visits to the doctor just to keep him from being hospitalized.

Chris's 26 year old cousin passed away. It was heartbreaking.

During our dog's annual check up, we were told she had bone cancer. We put her to sleep two weeks ago.

Then my four year old and two year old got the cold/flu. Fevers, coughs, runny noses. My two year old also got pink eye.

Then I got the cold/flu. I got better for a whole week. Then I got it again. This time with a nice high fever and chills. The Chris got it, but he won the added prize of a sinus infection. Lucky, lucky guy.

Our Tivo died. (sigh.) Our fridge broke. Our basement flooded. My Explorer's transmission blew up and I am now driving around in a rented minivan from hell. (I hate, HATE minivans. Our rental is particularly annoying because it beeps whenever I get too close to anything. The kids LOVE this feature because whenever it beeps they now yell out, "Too close! Too close" at full volume. I swear every time I hear the beeping my eye starts twitching involuntarily.)

And speaking of eyes? I got an eye infection. The doctor thought it was pink eye. But come on now. Me, get such a normal and easily treatable condition such as pink eye? Please. Of course not. I have some bizarre eye inflammatory disease thingy that requires steriod drops for the foreseeable future. And what's so super great about the drops? If I forget to take them? Then the eye swells up again. Fun, huh? Because every sleep deprived mom who can barely remember her children's names or where she parked the car, should definitely have to be responsible for remembering eye drops every two hours.

This week? Brennan strained/sprained his foot. Sweet. What mom doesn't love carrying around both a newborn and a two year old that weighs close to forty pounds? Even better? When the two year old gets to stay home from school and demand hours upon hours of Dora the Explorer.

I wait with bated breath for the adventures that next week will bring our family. I just can't wait.

The Boys

It's a good thing they are beyond cute because the winter crankiness has settled into our home. This is a bad, bad thing when you consider that winter can keep us buried in snow until May in Buffalo. It seems as if the whining and the neediness multiplies when you are trapped inside for days at a time. Infrequent trips to play out in the snow last all of fifteen minutes, while it takes three times as long to get them all outfitted in their snow gear. Our home looks like Toys R Us threw up and deposited every toy known to man in every possible room, but yet my kids are still bored. In fact, I think we are all just a little sick of each other.

If I have to play one more game of Uno, build one more Lego house, or watch Toy Story 2 for the millionth time ("Buzz flies momma! He flies"), I may go insane. Is it Spring yet? Please, pretty please - is it spring yet?

My Life as a Rock Star Continues...

Not only did I get to go out twice last weekend, but, on Tuesday, Chris and I had our very first joint outing since Griffin's arrival. We were lucky enough to score tickets to Ryan Miller's fundraiser for his new foundation - The Steadfast Foundation. The fundraiser was quite the spectacle - lots of fun drinks and food, auctions and Sabres galore. It was held at the Church - the old church on Delaware that Ani DiFranco rehabbed. The space is just beautiful. The highlight of the evening was the fashion show - watching the Sabres ham it up as fashionistas as they strutted their stuff on the catwalk.

The other highlight? At the live auction - trying to figure out how anyone would and/or could pay $50,000 for Ryan Miller's helmet. $50,000!!!! I overheard the woman who purchased it telling the attendant that her son was a huge hockey fan. Do you think her son will be bringing his $50,000 helmet to school for show and tell this week? Yikes!

While perusing the silent auction items, I struck up a conversation with the woman next to me. After a few minutes of small talk, she introduced herself as "Ryan's mom." She also introduced me to Ryan's grandma and aunt. I also met his father, brother and sister. But, alas, I didn't get a chance to meet the guy with the $50,000 helmet - Ryan Miller himself. Chris and I did get to stand next to Shooter Mcgavin - you know, the guy from Happy Gilmore? They auctioned off his golf club. Needless to say, it did not fetch anywhere near $50,000.

When I got home, I had a harsh dose of reality as I had to finish stuffing Aidan's classroom valentine gift bags. It was a little slow going after the three (or four) glasses of wine and the two (or three) sample size pomengrante margaritas I had consumed earlier in the evening. Who knows what ended up in those gift bags? As long as it wasn't a $50,000 helmet, it's all good.

Who cries at a parent/teacher conference?

Who does? Why, I do, of course. Shocker, I know.

I had Aidan's parent/teacher conference this morning. During the fifteen minute conference, I cried exactly three times. THREE! All good tears, I promise. Tears of pride and happiness over this beautiful child who happens to be my son. Aidan's teacher started the conference by telling me that they only wish they could clone a classroom of Aidans. (Tears began.) Later, she mentioned how sweet and kind he is to the other children. (More tears.) And finally, she told me what a special boy he is and how we (Chris and I) are doing a good job. (And tears yet again.) I need to believe that there are other parents who also cry during their conferences. Please, please, please do not let me be the only one.

The teacher also commented that Aidan loves to hang with the teachers during free time so he can tell them all about his life at home. Great, just what every mother wants to hear. I can only imagine the stuff that gets passed around this school.

There was also a sense of relief that all is well with Aidan and school. I was a little nervous about the whole parent/teacher conference thing and kept preparing myself for the worst. What if my kid was a terror? What if he was going to fail out of pre-K? Motherhood makes you loony. Thankfully, Aidan is doing just fine. Only fourteen or so more years of lower level education and parent teacher conferences left to survive. Whew. Let's hope I learn how to control the tears soon.

Who's Not Perfect?

There is a Laurie Berkner kiddie tune "I'm Not Perfect." Aidan was singing along with the song the other day when he stopped, looked confused for a moment and asked, "Who isn't perfect?"

I replied, "No one is perfect - that's what the song is about."

He looked confused for another second and then responded, "But I'm perfect."

When I laughed, he looked shocked and added, "But I am. I am PERFECT."

I guess I have no need to worry about Aidan's self esteem.

My Life As a Rock Star...

Well, a rock star that gets home to bed by 11 p.m that is...

I had quite the decadent weekend. Two nights out and about - childfree! Chris kept the kiddies happy, fed and in bed while I enjoyed dinner with my dinner club girlfriends on Friday night and attended the Sabres game on Saturday with my dear friend Carolyn. My husband is a saint and I feel refreshed and alive again. I had whole chunks of time without fetching anyone a juice box, nursing for hours on end or even wiping a runny nose. True mommy indulgence.

Payback may be a bitch though, huh? I owe Chris lots of time on the ski slopes for this one.

Two Months..

Griffin had his two month doctor's appointment today. All is well and healthy with our little beaner. He is a big boy - 14 1/2 pounds big - which explains why my arms ache at the end of the day.

At two months, our little guy is such a love. We are over the grumpy Griffin newborn phase and onto a happier, more content baby. He loves to coo and gurgle. When he smiles, his whole face lights up. I can't stop myself from just inhaling every little baby piece of him. When I change his diaper, I always stop to kiss his tiny little feet and toes. The other day, he actually lifted his bare baby feet up to me as if asking me to just give them a little snuggle. When I did, he gurgled and giggled while he lifted his tiny toes for more. As I kiss him, I always hope I remember each smile, each coo. I hope I remember his precious baby scent. I hope I remember the way he snuggles into my arm to catch a quick catnap or the way he rubs his little hand over mine while he nurses. It all goes so fast. I just hope I remember.

The Truth about Sugar Cereals...

Aidan has to bring an empty cereal box into school to make his valentine's day card mailbox. Is it wrong that I want to run out and buy a box of some organic whole wheat/whole grain/heart healthy/no sugar anywhere cereal for him to bring in instead of having him select from the buffet of sugar cereals in our pantry? I just know that my kid will be the only one with a lucky charms/cookie crisp/ cinnamon toast crunch mailbox. I JUST KNOW.