No Thanks

Coop had a terrible stomach bug this past winter - it seemed to last forever. He would only get sick at night, he would wake up puking and then sleep the rest of the night on the bathroom floor.

I have to get my couch professionally cleaned because one night we both fell asleep on the couch - I thought ahead and placed towels on the floor and a trash can in the center of the towels, there was no way I was going to have to scrub puke for the 5th night in a row. Sure enough he woke up heaving and I flung him the direction of the trash can and as I turned around to grab a handtowel from the ottoman, he turned around too - to face the couch, you know, instead of the trashcan. BLAMMO puke everywhere that there wasn't a towel.

Long story short - puke.

After he was better and I was done cleaning up puke and shit from every surface of my house I decided I could go back to the gym and put him in the childcare there. My workout partner Erin is hardcore bad ass and she apparently has a super secret hate on me because she killed me. A couple of times. There's photographic proof.

After she was done using my corpse as a sweat towel I set my sights on the door because on the other side of that door was cold air that was going to revive me and also keep me from puking. I picked up Coop and headed home. As I pulled into the driveway I took a moment to evaluate myself and really think about my options - puke here in the driveway so it can freeze and I can basically walk on puke for the next month or try and make it to the bathroom indoors. I tell you - it was a tough one but I decided on heading inside.

I carried Cooper in and I said to him - "Coop, I'm going to puke on you."

To which he responded, "No thanks."

He then pushed my face away from his direction and said, "Look over there."

Literally - he pushed my face away from his general direction so that I wouldn't get puke on him...smart kid.

UPDATE: I took this child to a pediatric gastroenteroligist...what? I'm told he has "CVS, cyclic vomiting syndrome". WOW, that sounds serious doc, what is that? She says to me...with a straight face..."oh, random vomiting". I said, "No thanks."

Did I Do That?

If you're not a mom you might not care anything about this post...but maybe you think that I'm entertaining to read, funny and have nice hair. In that case, stick around. Oh, I also have cute shoes. So, there's that.

Ever since Madison was born it has been a non-stop birage of faces, noises, smells, juices, solids, gases, fuzzy things, not fuzzy things, bumps, bruises, staples, big words, small words and a torn frenulum. Oh, and Methicillin-resistant Staph. Don't want to forget that doozy. WAIT! AND ROTAVIRUS! Wait...that was me.

Since that day...the day she was born that is. Since that day, I have called my momma for everything.

"She's making this noise...do you hear it...is that normal...what the hell is it?!"

"Smell that. Is that normal?"

"Look at this. Is this normal?"

"Feel that...is it supposed to feel like that. Is it normal?"

Then, as Madison got older the questions changed a bit. More of a "what do I do when..."

"She's hitting, what do I do?"

"She's not eating, what do I do?"

"She's not going to sleep, what do I do?"

Momma has always been the best assistance in these situations. I feel like I turned out alright...right? RIGHT? Then who else would I ask these questions of? Duh. Geez.

Now that Madison is still growing...God. The questions have turned to more of a..."did I do that...?" kind of question.

"She never stops moving...did I do that?"

"She talks and talks and talks and talks...did I do that?"

"She does this thing with her face...did I do that?"

"She cries over the littlest things...did I do that?"

And surprise, surprise. The answers to all those questions are....well, I'm not totally sure. I think the answer is yes. I can't really make out what she's saying over the laughter.

I don't even want to think about what the teenage questions are going to be like. Probably screaming and crying...I might even get the chance to ask a question or two.

If you'd like someone to compare my momma to, it's Kathy Bates.

They are most definitely one in the same.

Also, watch Harry's Law.

Headache Inducing

I have been in a room with 13 kindergarten and first grade students while they played Simon Says. I neglected to apply the stipulation of: no yelling and no making Ms. Amber's ears bleed. Every little Simon at one point...or another... would say: "Simon Says Yell...or Be Loud...or Go Crazy...or Hey look Ms. Amber's eye's are bleeding...

When they finally were all picked up by their keepers I struggled to get out to my car, Mad and Coop in tow. "Momma?" Madison falling down all the way because she was carrying one of my bags and she's as dramatic as me. "Momma?" We get to the car. "Momma?" I have to set my bags on the wet ground, oh yeah, it snowed and rained today. "Momma?" I couldn't find my keys because someone dumped my bag out when they fell down for the fifth time so they weren't where I put them. "Momma?" I finally get Cooper buckled in, bags in the car, self in the car. Then...

Madison: Momma?

Me: Sigh. Yes Madison?

Madison: Um, Momma? Do you want to see me cross all of my fingers at one time?

Me: More than anything.

Errah!

Someone got a fancy Password Journal for her birthday. No, not me. It was Madison of course...though I'm not known for turning down gifts, so if you're in a giving mood...

She received this gift yesterday...today I'm on the verge plunging that little book into a pot of boiling water and then stringing it up in town square and throwing stones at it. The basics.

With this Password Journal, initially you hold down the main button and it prompts you in this English accent, "Recohd passwohd" then you say you're super secret password. After that, it prompts, "Repeat passwohd", then you repeat it and it says, "Passwohd Recohded". From that moment on whenever you want to open the journal, to, as Madison says, "Write down all your secrets" (she's seven, how many secrets does this kid have?), you press the button and it tells you to say your "passwohd" and then *magical music here* it opens and you are free to write all of your secrets. Ooh, and I love this part! Whenever you successfully open the journal it tells you how many possible intruders there have been since your last journal writing session! "37 new intruhdahs."

Now, all of this is probably what happens in everyone else's home. Not here. Nope.

This is how it goes:

Journal: Recohd passwohd.

Madison: Rat (I'm not kidding)

Journal: Repeat passwohd.

Madison: Rat (Seriously)

Journal: ERRAH! Recohd passowhd.

Now, repeat that 34 times. I think every two times, the journal says, "See you latah!" and my eyes start to bleed.

Every few times Madison will change the password choice. Every 86th time the journal will actually open and we both look at each other with despair in our eyes...then she shuts it again and I pass out.

You can even change the sensitivity to the microphone, so that you can say the password quietly and not as clearly. That doesn't matter, this thing it like Fort fucking Knox. You're not getting in with anything less than an encrypted ID, eyeball scan, fingerprinting, DNA check and your first born.

Here's what it looks like when it's open. I guess. I don't know from personal experience.

Too Bad There's No Keanu Reeves

I have a bit of information for those of you planning on having children (yes, Erin, I'm talking to you).

Kids move. A lot. And not just from here to there, on the way to there from here they move in every direction. There is no "Point A to Point B". It's "Point A to oh, what's that, to Point C, to I need to touch that NOW, to Point G, to look what's on my leg, to Point D, to look at MEEE!, to Point F, to what does this do, oops, it was the dog, then to Point B.

Maybe.

That was just the movement to get to one place from another. There's also movement while stitting still. That's right. Sitting still movement. Sitting on the couch enjoying some America's Got Talent and I'm sitting still so I know the couch shouldn't feel like I'm on some sort of theme park attraction, I look over and Madison is laying on her back, both feet up by her head and her hands waving in the air.

Me: What are you doing?
Madison: Nothing.
Me: Please sit still.
Madison: Okay.

Resume enjoying watching television. "thump...thump...thump..." I look over to see her hitting her fist on the couch and letting it bounce up to her chin.

Me: What are you doing?
Madison: Seeing how high I can bounce my fist...
Me: Please...sit...still....
Madison: I am still....(sees my face, i.e. whites of my eyes)...okay.

Back to enjoying the show, of which I have no clue what's going on and why are there gladiators with alien faces? I glance over at Madison. Hanging upside down over the edge of the couch.

Me: Madison....please.
Madison: I am still. I'm watching this show...upside DOWN! (said in game show host style)
Me: SIT. UP. CHILD.

And that was just last night. In a one-hour period. And I didn't include EVERYTHING. Don't even get me started on sitting still at the dinner table. That is enough to make my gums bleed.

The way I see it, it's like that movie Speed. There has to be some sort of device in their little brains that if they go below 25mph, they explode.

What Do You Wish For?

Like any small child Madison has a lot of wishes. I'm sure most mom's hear the usual, I wish..., (insert random sparkly thing here). As you should assume, I never get "the usual". Here are some examples:

Madison: I wish that I could sleep upstairs.
Me: Oh yeah?
Madison: Yeah. Do you wish I could sleep upstairs?

(After walking through the haircare aisle in Wal-Mart)
Madison: I wish that I had black people type hair so I could use that hair stuff in that box.
Me: Really?
Madison: Do you wish that too?


Madison: I wish I had a German accent. Do you wish that too!?
Me: Nein.
Madison: What?
Me: Nothing.

You see what I mean now? Multiply these 3 things by 12 and that's my day.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I wish that I was debt-free, lived near the ocean, had a TV series and a movie deal.

Do you wish that too?

It's Like Pulling Teeth

Milestones. They are something to celebrate of course, but they make me sad. I'm not sure if all mom's are like me but anytime my kid's do something that is a milestone (sit up, crawl, walk, jump out and scare the shit out of me, etc.) I get a little sad. I'm happy and excited on the outside but on the inside I go and sit in the corner and cry because that's just one more thing checked off the list of things they can now do and pretty soon they will be doing more things that will propel them out of cute, snuggly and baby-head smell territory.

For example, Madison lost her first tooth last year. She wasn't with me when she pulled it and I was devastated. DEVASTATED. Devastated that she was growing up way too fast and second because I wasn't there. Then she lost her second, third, fourth and fifth but she wasn't with me for any of them. She was with her dad, or at school, or I was at work, you get the picture.

Then her sixth tooth was so super duper wiggly and I excited that finally I would be there when she pulled it. We were at home and my brother was over to watch a movie. Turns out we didn't have it so I ran up to Blockbuster. I was gone for literally 5 minutes. When I got back I was greeted by little miss snaggle tooth with a freshly picked tooth in hand.

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? I WAS GONE FOR A SECOND!

When I was a kid you couldn't pay me to pull a tooth, the general routine was, "Who's gonna sit on her?" My daughter? She's asking for vise-grips, an oil rag and a bottle of Rebel Yell.

Well, suckers. Today I was here! Well, of course she pulled it in the other room but it was so awesome to see her running out of the room, tooth in hand, gums bleeding and yelling "I PULLED IT!". It was amazing.

I think the reason milestones seem difficult is because my kids can't wait to get them over with, like it's a freaking race. Cooper got his first teeth at 4 months.

SERIOUSLY?

Not only am I now going to get bit, but I didn't realize that I only had 3 months of toothless grin pictures to take and 4000 isn't nearly enough. Not by a longshot.

So tonight, Madison read me a story and then I read Cooper a story and remembered that not so long ago I was doing all of the reading and pretty soon they will be doing all the reading. And, that's okay by me.

Momma. Momma. Momma.

That's my name, don't wear it out. Oops, too late, worn out beyond recognition.

I was really worried about becoming a mother of two. I was scared that it would make things different with my relationship with Madison or that I wouldn't have enough love. Whatever that means. My mom assured me that something just happens when you have another child, that there is enough love and to stop my whining and get her a glass of water, with lots of ice. Now.

As usual she was right. I can't explain what it is that happens, it just does. All of a sudden your heart has expanded and you love both of these babies so much and there is no 'one or the other', it's just both. This is not to say that I am not exhausted and that sometimes I would love for my hearing to fail and that at night even though I am so worn out that I have enough luggage for Paris Hilton occupying my lower eyelids I still stay up late just so I can get a little peace and quiet.

Like right now, it's almost midnight. I finally got Cooper to sleep, he has decided that sleeping on backs is for pussies and he wants to live dangerously and sleep on his stomach. So being the momma that I am and having a worry wart for a husband we bought one of those motion sensor baby monitors that even picks up on breathing movement, because it's great that Coop is sleeping three hours at a time but if he decided to open those eyes he would see one or two blood-shot eyed parents staring down at him and his reflection in the spoon in front of his nose because they are checking his breathing for the tenth time this hour. Every move that he makes has Joe shooting straight up in bed screaming "What's wrong!?". So, Coop is asleep, Madison is asleep after fifty questions regarding when is summer, when is Christmas (um, three days ago), when are we going swimming, when is spring, when is Thanksgiving in Canada, well, you get the drift. Thanks to an Ambien, Joe is asleep and I am currently sitting in the La-Z-Boy listening to his snoring on the baby monitor, eating some Dove candy (because I'm the adult, that's why) and about to enjoy a vigorous round of Plants Vs Zombies. Ahhh, this is the life. Wait, that's not right.

Long story short, I love my kids and I am exhausted. Wow, I do ramble.

What's that Scooby Doo? Me? Cheat? No. Okay, Maybe.

Game night. Usually we pick an age appropriate game for a six-year-old, but on this night she really wanted to play Scooby Doo Monopoly. To be honest I've been wanting to play since I bought it for Joe for Christmas...last year.

We get it all setup, Madison is enamored with the piles of money that lay before her. The game starts, we play as usual. Buying real estate, passing go and all that jazz. Seeing how Madison would get so excited to buy the Scooby Doo real estate I figured we'd play "nice" and wouldn't buy the land that she was buying. So, if she bought a red 'land' then I wouldn't buy the other one when I landed on it. This went on for awhile and I realized that I had no real estate and Madison and Joe were basically moguls.

I had my eye on a color set that neither of them had bought yet and I had dibs, well, in my mind I did. Madison lands on it and wants to stake her claim. "I want it! How much?"

"You don't have enough, my turn." I roll the dice while she lookes stunned at my quickness. Joe was busy keeping his eyes in his head. On my turn I landed on a spot that had me collect a "Zoinks" card, it sent my ass straight to jail. Madison asked "Why do you have to go to jail?", Joe replies without hesitation, "Because that's what happens to cheaters."

After 3 hours of playing this never ending game. How quickly we forget that Monopoly is not a game but can compare only to purgatory. I decide that I'm sick of seeing Joe and Madison rack in the rent and I need a piece of that action so I'm going to buy the next available piece of real estate. Sure enough I land on the last available 'orange' estate, Madison owns the other two.

"I'm buying it!" I exclaim. Madison begins her explanation about how she is buying the orange ones so that one is hers, "You can't buy it! I have the oranges!" she says.

"I can to buy it, you aren't on it, I've been playing nice and not buying anything that ya'll were buying but screw that noise, I'm tired of not owning anything."

A glance at her broken face triggered me to look over at my husband who was at that moment reattaching his lower jaw.

My hysterical laughter didn't help anything, well, except my dialation I'm sure.

So, I had in the last 30 minutes cheated my daughter, my 6-year-old daughter out of real estate and taught her the phrase "screw that noise".

I'm about to have another child, I wonder what fun things we can teach him.

Kids Don't Float, Beer Cans Do Though

I am lucky to be alive. Well, we are all lucky to be alive. Especially with all the drunk drivers and psycho's running around. Oh, and my mother.

The majority of my serious injuries have been dolled out by my mother. Though I have never broken a bone I have suffered a few concussions. Holy crap, stop freaking out! She wasn't abusive, well, not on purpose anyway. She's probably reading this right now and I can bet you a dollar that the word asshole has come out of her mouth....right...about...now. Hi momma. Sorry momma.

So, let's run down the list shall we.

While at a company picnic for her employer all of the kids were outside playing soccer (i.e. mindlessly kicking the soccer ball, we're from Lousianan, we don't play soccer). Someone kicked the ball into one of the efficiency buildings, these are aluminum and are on wheels so they are about 3 or 4 steps up. I of course being super helpful and cute run up the 3 wooden steps and step into open doorway, just as my mother was raring her leg back to kick that ball all the way to sweet heaven. Right? Because we were only like 10 feet outside the building, she wanted that ball to go places. All I see is blur of black and white and BAM right in the face. I woke up on the hood of someones car with everyone staring down at me. "She's fine" someone yells and back to the BBQ they went.

Next, swimming in the lake. We were having a grand time, that is until momma lost her footing and decided to use her 5-year old daughter as a life saving device. Kids don't float lady, especially if you are continuously pushing them under water. I wouldn't let her near me even in the bathtub for months. I quickly learned to wash my own hair.

Once my daddy was leaving for work so I ran outside to tell him goodbye and while running back to the house I tripped on one of those concrete stepping stones and was knocked the fuck out. Now, this one isn't directly her fault but I'm sure she said something like "Hurry your ass up", so basically she pushed me down.

Playing softball, I always refused to pitch while she was at bat because I could never catch her line drives at my head. After being called a pussy I reluctantly pitched to her. BAM. Well, yeah, you know what happened.

There are many others that I can't remember, we'll blame the concussions.

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, because I have a daughter now and after poking her in the eye this morning I realized, it's the circle of life and this kid has no idea the amount of concussions she is due for.