La-La-La-La-La!

My one year old daughter is a screamer. During dinner, she flavors the dining experience with “AHHHHS!”, some “Grrrrrrrrrs”, a few “ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-yas!!”, a handful of “da-da-da-da-das” and the occasional “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ooh-oh-OH!!”

“It’s a stage,” hubby says.

Is it? I do hope so.

I envision prom dates gone bad…...

“Gimme more fries! Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!”

graduation dinners gone awry…..

“Ahhhhh! Goodbye Central High! GRRRRR!”

and wedding receptions hitting the fan.

“I’d like to thank my parents for their never ending love and support. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Yaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

On a lighter note, there could be some benefits.

Childbirth will be a breeze.

“Push and breathe.”

“ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!”

My retirement party should be interesting.

“Let’s toast to my mother. Ooh-Ooh-Ooh-Ooh-OOH!”

Business dinners will have a twist.

“And, further, I propose to decrease our monthly spending by …Da-da-da-da-la-la-la-la-LA-LA!!”

Oh, well. At least she inherited my charm and good looks. Kinda makes up for the gaps.

Turkey Escape

Bookworm Wednesday


Webster was a turkey with a tragic story. Every November, children would select books from the top shelf in the children’s library. This was Webster’s home. Here, stuck in A Thanksgiving Tale, Webster spent his time forever imprisoned in the pages of this holiday book, ducking and dodging the farmer’s ax. Sadly, it always ended the same. The family sat down to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with no mention of Webster’s untimely demise.

This year Webster had a plan. He had spent the summer chatting with his neighbor, a certain holiday bunny. This bunny, having grown weary of all the bouncing and egg coloring, claimed she went on a well deserved vacation when a 5 year old ripped out some pages of her story. Another holiday creature of a spookier persuasion told Webster his mood had lifted when a third grader had applied lipstick and rouge to his pasty complexion. Webster’s plan began to form.

He needed a child, preferably one in possession of an art kit and a desire to destroy library property. Looking out the window, Webster saw the school bus arrive.

“Field trip,” sighed Webster. His luck was beginning to change!

Froupy Frit Frat!

I admit, I used to have a bit of a potty mouth, slipping in a creative utterance here, a colorful phrase there, and carefully tossing in a detailed, edgy description when deemed necessary. Yes, I managed to flip the switch off during working hours, but, boy, I let my hair down after hours. I simply thought a story would be incomplete without a handful of epithets, cleverly selected curses and properly chosen 4 lettered expletives.

And, then I had children, a permanent audience to my saucy narratives. Today, I have grown to be sneaky with my sailor’s mouth.

“Ouch! I hurt my freaky, feathery finger.”

“I wish he’d get out of my ding-dong way.”

“What hamburger flippin’ business is it of his, anyway?”

“I’d love to throw this shippy piece of slip slap away, gosh dangity dang dern it.…”

“Holy, Mommy, myrtle turtle tater tots. That was one big freaky, froupy frit frat. Did you see that nickel knuckle knickerbukker? That must have been the biggest dibble dabble dripper I have ever….What a shite shut!”

And, boy, did I think I had my bases covered…..Until parent teacher conferences at my 3 year old’s preschool.

“Ahem, Mrs. ******," The teacher was hesitant as she spoke. “What is a shite shot?”

Daddatalk Wonders

Daddatalk: So, ah, why do you always blog about my a**?

Mammatalk: An artist is compelled to write about her passion. And I am a slave to my art.

Daddatalk: Sounds good. Keep it up.

Toot.

I live with a family of musicians, always entertaining me with random honks and toots and rips.

My hubby likes to play his instrument in the shower and while reclining on the couch after dinner. His melody is strictly baritone and he rarely strays from his usual tune. I have grown accustomed to his music and could single him out in a roomful of tooters. I have often wondered if it is the shape of his instrument or his many years of experience that have contributed to his musical flair.

My daughters are just learning their instruments. They are musically all over the map, a baritone drilled into the high chair, a tenor ricocheting in the shopping cart, a lone high note in the middle of story time at the library.

Once, while grocery shopping, I was serenaded by a duet by my daughters. I could only smile and nod my head to the beat. I was disappointed with the grocery store’s acoustics. The background noise of the store made it difficult to hear some of the smooth lower notes. The fellow shopper in line seemed to appreciate the subtlety of their song…a quick turn of the heel and was that a sneer?

As for me, well, my bloggy friends, I do not play an instrument. And, when the rare note does manage to escape, I always give credit to others. I am, after all, a lady.

Bloggy Orphans

I am a Stay at Home Mother. I have shelved my teaching career for a handful of precious years to attend to the needs of my little ducklings. I am happy to place their needs over our indulgences. I am filling their foundational years with my full attention and…

Not, now, sweetheart I am blogging…

and my greatest wish is that I use my years of teaching experience to mold their growing minds…

I said, not now. Go watch Dora.

Research states that the young mind grows more during the first five years than it does in our entire lifetime. In fact, there is a distinguishable difference in the minds of neglected children when compared to children who received at least “adequate” attention during these precious years. So, when you ask “Can we mold our children’s minds?”

Big girls go potty by themselves…

I say, yes, yes, we can mold our children’s minds. No, we need not become flash card wielding paranoid mothers. Pressure and over scheduling can be detrimental as well. But, a quiet moment cuddled up with mommy and a book…

You know where the Cheerios are! Gimme a minute!

…a morning in the park, pausing for a moment to enjoy the meandering line of ants under the tree…

I don’t know where Mr. Socky went…..

A day in the library browsing through books, enjoying a morning Mommy and Me class, an afternoon playdate with friends….All these activities help contribute to your child’s growing social skills, intellectual development, language and vocabulary acquisition and emotional well being.

Yes, I see the Kitty. I know. I know. Kitty Kitty! Nice kitty!

Small attention to the details of their day, listening to their thoughts, focusing on their interests, engaging them in conversation, reinforcing good behavior, allowing them the luxury of knowing that mommy will always be there…

Ssssssss! Can’t you see I am WORKING?!

All of these things lay the foundation upon which an entire life stands firmly, well grounded and secure. Ah, to grow up in a home under the watchful eye of an attentive, loving mother

STOP BUGGING ME!!


PS. Note to Social Services.....I am prone to exaggeration.

Cool Like That

I remember when I was cool like that, lingering over cocktails and shaking my caboose under the strobe lights at the local hot spot. The better part of my energy was spent eyeing the newest fox in town. My wardrobe was bursting at its designer seams, full of hip huggers and size 2 slinky numbers. The top on my ride was usually down, highlighted hair in the wind. “Catch me if you can, cowboy,” followed by a wink and a smile was my M.O.

Now, my calling card has changed.

“OK, who pooped?”

“Sit still. I gotta wipe your boogies.”

“And shove another pea up your nose and I’m gonna get ugly!”

These are among the most common utterances in my typical day. Nowadays, I get giddy when Lee Riders go on sale at the local Wal-mart. Most of my energy is spent chasing people with poopy pants. My nights out often include a burger and a balloon. The highlight of my week involves veggies and a cooperative 3 year old. And my mini van is the slinkiest ride on my cul -de- sac.

Such is the life after a girl is swept off her feet by a new in town stranger, a wide smile, a fat diamond ring and one smoking hot hiney. Kinda caught this gal unawares.

Death by Baby Safety

It all began with my Baby Safety Class in the hospital. Pregnant, wide eyed and bushy tailed, I took copious notes and listened intently. ”A home is a dangerous place,” warned my Safety teacher. Later, at home, we bolted and screwed, applying gadgets, latches and locks throughout our homestead. Chipping paint and creating gaping holes in drywall, we were a man and wife Captain Safety Crew. When the baby proofing was complete, we were proud of our secure little nest, safety screws, bolts and all. We slept better at night knowing we protected our offspring with the best Home Depot had to offer.

I faced my first safety crisis when, at 3:00 AM, I found myself with a screaming newborn, a screwdriver and a baby swing that was clearly dead in the water. Previously, I felt secure and smug knowing that the batteries were tightly screwed into the swing, safe from my colicky newborn’s tiny taste buds. And, now I cursed and snarled under my breath at stripped bolts and @#$% safety regulations.

I figured a wee bending of the rules was acceptable given the late hour and found the out dated electric swing complete with the long frayed electrical cord. This was when I lost my first thumbnail, prying away at the electric outlet safety cover. Nursing my thumb, I found my way into the bathroom. That safety lock on the medicine cabinet put up a good fight before I broke it in half, cracking my second thumbnail below the quick.

Not one to take an injury lightly (insert wince here), I rushed into the kitchen in search for an icepack only to be reminded of the hazards of the kitchen by our expandable baby gate (which was fully expanded at the time, thanks for asking.)

That was it. I had had enough. This gate deserved an aggressive hurl into the back of the closet. And hurled it was, following a 10 minute battle of the wills between myself and the closet doorknob safety cover. (Was it push and then twist clockwise? Or twist counterclockwise while simultaneously pushing? Perhaps a cryptic clockwise-counterclockwise-Morse Code-a la DaVinci Code- back and forth combination twist?) I reached a brief low point when my front teeth made aggressive contact with the doorknob safety cover. I then decided to involve hubby who was snoring in bed.

I believe my rag doll body did a complete 360 degree spin mid-air after my foot became entangled in our safe infant car seat that had been innocently sitting in the living room. The roar that emanated from my lungs echoed through the baby monitor, re-awakening colicky baby and causing hubby to reach for our safety flashlight under the bed. That flashlight rushed down the hall, in hubby’s hand and was beamed into my spinning eyeballs as I lay, collapsed on the floor, battered and bleeding, but happy, nonetheless, to be reclining peacefully.

Death, by baby safety…quite the heroic exit.

Bookworm Wednesday

That Thing I Have with the Library.....

I grew up with books littered all over my bedroom floor, propped in front of teddy bears and stacked in piles by the bed. But, I had a small fear of the library. Yes, of course, I always had the urge to dive in knee deep, wildly exploring Winnie’s Hundred Acre Woods and grasping at Laura Ingalls’ pigtails. But, the rigidity of the library frightened me. The stacks of books were so orderly and controlled. Was this a book prison, with fines and strict rules about visitation? To add fuel to the fire, my teachers chimed in about Dewey and his complicated decimal system. I was simply spooked by the librarian's Head Mistress appeal and snarling threats of mounting late fees. Of course, on Sundays, I still paid those imprisoned books a visit, supervised visits naturally. But, I was fearful to venture there alone.

Then I fell in love with bookstores. Dewey was delightfully absent from their bookshelves. Books were stacked in inviting pyramids showing off their shiny new jackets. Cozy couches nestled in quiet corners by even cozier fireplaces. The salespeople lacked fangs and met you with a smile rather than a hiss. Music played. Food was served. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

Unfortunately, in time, simple economics made me re-evaluate that little thing I had with the library. Afterall, $15.98 is a stiff price for a quick read and the re-sale price is dismal.

I entered the library with my double stroller, head held high and decided I would put that ruler wielding, bun wearing, hissing book warden to work for me. And , it worked. Eager to get my whiney children out of the adult section of the library, she put that hustle in her bookish bustle. She even suggested that next time I hop on my home computer, and place my desired book on hold. She pointed to the “On Hold” bookshelves that lined the library lobby and gave a head nod to the self check out computer. The picture began to form….a non-librarian library visit? Just me, a computer, and all the free books I wanted (provided I return them on time?) Gulp. Oh, I have found heaven.

These days, I dart into the library to pick up my requested book and then let my little ladies run wild in the children’s section. Sometimes we even catch storytime. Yes, I have been guilty of incurring some overdue fines. (pennies) But, now I open my pocketbook, and nod at my gaggle of gals. “I haven’t known the day of the week since I gave birth 3 years ago.” This is usually met with a smile, sometimes a suppressed giggle and an occasional snort of disgust, but I can leave with my dignity intact. Heck, I am even a bit smug knowing that I managed to read Tolstoy while juggling two monkeys. Look at me. I am a regular book circus!

A Day at the Park

“Honey, I am going to take the girls to the park this morning. You can shower with no distractions.” Hubby smiled, obviously quite proud of himself.

“Wow. Great. Bring the sippy cups. Whole milk for baby 2. Skim milk for baby 1.”

“Got it!”

“Snacks. Bring snacks.” I advised.

“Oh, we won’t need those. We’ll be gone for just a bit.”

Hysterical laughter.

“Ok, I’ll bring snacks.” He concedes.

“Cheerios for Baby 2. Raisins for Baby 1.”

“Okey, Dokes…” Hubby was halfway out the door.

“Don’t put the snacks in a baggie. Choking hazard.” I warned.

“Yep. Got it.”

“I hope you’re not thinking of going anywhere unarmed. Grab the diaper bag,” I continued.

“That big, flowery, womanly thing? I’ll just grab a diaper and throw it in the back.”

“Wipes. Bring wipes then.”

“Gotcha!” He chuckled.

“And a change of clothes….in case there’s a poop explosion.”

“Alright, I’ll bring the girlie bag!” He begins to admit defeat.

“Throw in a couple hats and sunscreen. They inherited my skin.”

“Hats? They have hats?” He scratches his head, confusion looming.

“And a couple sweaters in case it clouds up," warns Weather Mamma.

“Should I bring an overnight bag?” he jokes.

I ignore the joke and continue...

“A blanket would be a good idea.
Not her quilt. The grass will get it wet.
Ya might wanna grab a ponytail holder.
Not that one. It pulls her hair.
And grab some hair clips.
Not the sparkly one. It scratches.
Don’t forget a baby toy.
No, that one might have lead. Try this one.
The Kleenexes are on the table.
Ah, the purse size one is …well…..in my purse.
Oh, here’s their sunglasses.
And, put some shoes on them, ya goofball!”

My checklist complete, and my hot, much anticipated shower only seconds away....

“Um….looks like it might rain….Do I have to bring all this stuff if I just take ‘em to Target?”

My Monthly Dragon

I have a beast that lives in my closet. Scaly and mean, she naps most of the month. But, sometime between week three and four, like clockwork, she rears her ugly head. It usually starts with a low guttural growl of a warning, escalates quickly, and if not carefully managed, can make an ugly mess.

Hubby is quick to help manage the crisis. His emergency trips to the grocery store are always met with appreciation.

“Drop the chips and back away!”

Our darling daughters contribute to the cause.

“Mommy, where’s my Halloween candy?”

Door to door salesmen take one for the Gipper.

“We DON”T want any!!!!!!!”

My OB/GYN offered tidbits of advice.

“There is a birth control pill that has a little Prozac in it.”

And, at the peak of the fury, the bagger at the grocery store offered himself up as a sacrificial lamb.

“Don’t put the EGGS at the BOTTOM!!!!”

Luckily, after scorching one or two victims to the bone, my dragon grows weary and retreats, belly full, to a cozy corner of my closet, nestling her head between my slippers and UGGS

And, a calm settles upon the village……….for now!

Bookworm Wednesdays

I’ve always been a wormy one, making my way through the pages of a good read. I once won a bookworm bookmark contest receiving first prize for the most witty bookmark caption. “Watch out for those cookbooks! They’re killers! Hick!” I was only 8, but yet still related to bookwormly humor.

To pay homage to my bookworm roots, I have decided to name ( most) Wednesdays as Bookworm Wednesday. On such Wednesdays, I will focus on some sort of bookish topic…book review (with a twist naturally), character analysis (with a curve thrown in), book gadgets, or some sort of library related topic. (I have lots to say about the library.)

Today, I will introduce you to my inner bookworm. She wormed her way into my heart as a small child and took up permanent residence. I admit, she was a deep in the closet bookworm in high school, took a paid vacation in college and became a late night type in my twenties. Today, encouraged by my devil may care…I- am- nose- to- nose -with -40- anyway attitude, she is in full swing. Finally, feeling appreciated, she has gained confidence and esteem. She has toyed with the idea of changing her name to Book Caterpillar, thinking that “worm” had a negative, wormy ring. She has extended her social network, hanging out in the sections of the bookstore she never dreamed of and she is thrilled to be the star of this blog entry. She hopes to inspire others to join the bookwormly revolution and she prays I won’t make too much fun of her eccentric nature.

Here’s to you, Book Caterpillar, my wormy, little friend.

Freaky Friday

My girls were hot and sweaty in their furry outfits, my monkey and Halloween poodle, both scratching and complaining. The Costume Parade at the local retirement home had gone as scheduled. We were met with some bright smiles, some foggy grins, and truth be told, quite a few confused stares. And, according to schedule, for the third year in a row, my hubby later shared his views about our twilight years over dinner. ”Just take me out to the backyard.” And, again, one of my hisses finished that conversation.

“I envy your busy hands,” an elderly lady had whispered as I walked past. My busy hands, I thought, as I lugged my wiggly, twisty, children to the mini van. I had just been thinking how a quiet lunch in bed, with a book propped, a pretty view and an on call nurse sounded inviting. Have I lost my mommy mind? Have I been tortured to the point that I view a quiet bed, any bed, anywhere as a vacation??

My mind began to gallop away with the thoughts of escape. Perhaps some sort of Freaky Friday -Trading Places – Senior Wife Swap? I could get a few hours in a toasty bed munching on a pb&j sandwich and a good read while someone named Edith rocked my baby and brushed my 3 year old’s tangled hair? Is this a fair swap?

Most likely not. Most likely I should take a moment to listen to the advice that the little blue haired lady in the wheelchair was whispering just under her breath.
“I envy your busy hands.”

Which, I will do, as soon as I get a minute………..

Mulitasking Mamma

Mammatalk enters front door cradling baby on hip, balancing cell phone on shoulder, groceries hung on arm, pinky holding 3 year old hand, foot kicking the door open, right side of mouth shouting hello to neighbor, left side of mouth finishing phone conversation with Grannytalk, right eye winking at hubby in kitchen, left eye watching baby eat car keys, back of mind making note of next week’s doctor’s appt, front of mind busy navigating path through toy scattered living room.

“Hoooney…Help me with groceries?”

Daddatalk is dicing tomatoes in kitchen. “Just a minute. I am focusing.”

Moral: Superhero multi-taskers shouldn’t took down their noses at mere mortals, especially if he’s cooking in the kitchen.