Happy Holidays?

I soooo envy my kids right now. This time of year is magical...it's magic... it's...a lot of work to be a magician! I am exhausted. I don't remember having 'magician' as a required skill in my parenting job description. If there was a factual job description for parenting out there, I don't think there would be one person that would apply to an open position, even in this tough economy.

I'm so glad my kids still believe in Santa, however, I don't think I've ever wished that fat bastard was actually real, as much as I do now. I am a terrible liar. It's tough not to feel a little stressed around this time of year, since this has become some sort of sick game trying to keep the magic alive.

My kids are getting older...they are asking questions about the jolly old soul that brings them presents for being well behaved, which ironically, they really are not this time of year.

“How does he get all those toys on his sled?” Well, he umm...

“What makes the reindeer fly?” Well see, they uhhh...
“How does he do it all in one night?”

Damn it! Stop drilling me! It’s MAGIC OK?!

Then comes the joy of giving...

               "You know what I'm getting for Christmas?", they ask, and then catch me completely off guard with something that was definitely NOT on their Christmas List. I hate that list by way, that list of things they feel they deserve. Especially since we really can't afford most of them, and in a way they base their receipt of some of these things as a reflection of the type of person they are.  No pressure though parents...no pressure...

                                Oh Really??, I think, as I watch them putting each other in headlocks, rolling on the floor, jamming the others face in the their armpit. Well, you certainly deserve it since you are CLEARLY so well behaved...

I try so hard not to get stressed. I really want to enjoy the Christmas, but it really has turned into such an obligation...

I'm not sure why, but my Christmas card causes a little stress each year. Well, I do know why, it's because I like to include a picture, which requires my sons to cooperate for one. I am assigned the task of finding a split second where there is an image of them actually behaving.

But, I put myself through the pain of trying to capture them at their best. Here's how it started this year...

 

Umm, guys can you try to stay still?
Then this...

Umm, can you not put your hand there?
Then this...

OH, C'MON! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!
Then this...

Umm, sorry honey, Mommy didn't mean to yell. Hot chocolate anyone? Tell Mommy again what Santa is going to bring you...Joy to the World.

Based on how I feel about Christmas this year, I wanted to just send this card to save me the time and stress of getting a good picture, and I think it portrays the spirit of the season...

Oh well, I will just crop one of the crotch grabbing ones, and call it a day. Well, that was fun.



As if this time of year isn’t stressful enough, this year I got the added bonus of unrelenting sicknesses running rampant through the family. Stomach bugs, colds, and this week …strep. Super. I’ve got to say though, it is very considerate for the schools to send those little joy filled notices home with the kids.

‘There has been a reported case of strep throat in your child’s classroom’.

Thanks for the heads up. Basically, I should count on them having it in… about…. say a day or two? Cool, I’ll plan accordingly.

I tried to shake my holiday blues the other night by planning a little trip. I put the kids in their pajamas, made them some hot chocolate, and set out to view some of the light displays in the area.

It sounded like a good idea, but it went a little something like this:

My first turn out of the neighborhood and there was a horrible shriek that came from the back seat.

“MOM! You turned too fast and I spilled my hot chocolate!”

Deep Breath…

“It’s OK, just try to hold on to it for the rest of the ride”

Don’t go back home… just keep going it will be fine.

I guess now is a good time to remind you that I have no sense of direction. But, I felt very brave this particular evening. I traveled across town and decided to turn down a random street off the main road to see if we could find any cool displays. Naturally, I picked the neighborhood with a bunch of bah-humbugs. Every 20^th house or so had a couple of lights on it.... Boring.
My kids were pretty quick to let me know that I had screwed up too…

“Why did you turn down this road mommy?”

“There are no lights on these houses”
“This sucks”

Deep Breath…

“OK, we’ll turn around and look somewhere else”

At this point I had traveled fairly deep into a neighborhood I was unfamiliar with. Oh shit! I’m lost!

Panic was starting to set in. Do I take a left here? How do I get out?

“Are we lost Mom?”

“NO!! Now keep quiet for 2 seconds so I can THINK!”

Did I mention the kids hot chocolates were in cups that light up? Oh yeah, crazy flashing lights. Not only was I pissed that I can never figure out where the hell I am, the whole ride felt like I was being tailed by the cops. I secretly wished that I was. I would pull over, surrender, and spend the night in solitary confinement. Sounds like the ideal situation right now...

Wow, this was a kick ass idea to help de-stress…

After another half hour of aimless wandering, I gave up and turned on the GPS. What a loser. Well, that was fun.

Now on to the stress of shopping and an effort to show the kids they are really good people. We have gone out and bought as much as we could find from their list of entitled toys. I may even throw in a couple of gift cards this year, to cover that toy that I find out about on Christmas Eve.

Some unknowing family member will undoubtedly ask "So what is Santa going to bring?"

A WHAT ? Really? No, it's OK, don't panic, Santa brought the gift card this year. That should cover it...

“Did you have that on your list honey?”

“Oh no, but Santa knows what I want”

Great, now I have to be a fucking mind reader too. I’ll be sure to add that to my skills on my resume. It may come in handy when I threaten to walk off the job someday. I bet someone, somewhere, would appreciate the skills I have.

I give my parents a lot of credit for doing all this work when I was growing up. I now feel "initiated" into the group of people that know Santa is not real, but wish like hell that he was, and who also know that 'Christmas Cheer' actually means having a good buzz.

Speaking of 'Christmas Cheer', since I can't seem to get any going for Christmas, I might as well let it build up until it explodes on New Years Eve. Now THAT is a day to look forward to. No stress involved in tying one on, plus it helps bring the stress level down from the debacle known as Christmas.

Bring on the booze...and lets begin a new year that gives me almost twelve months to ignore this stressful time of year!

Welcome To My Life

Whenever I talk to another parent I find myself saying this phrase all the time; "Welcome to my life". The common theme in these conversations tends to be how simple life used to be before children, yet we didn't realize at the time how good we had it. Now that my kids are home for the summer I really get to see how difficult the simplest tasks have become. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with them. But it is amusing to me that my days are filled with trying to answer questions like: "Mommy, how do chicks get in the egg shells without cracking them?" or "How come it makes a bubble when I fart in the tub?" They are funny little guys filled with curiosity and I love them to death, but I can't help but reminisce about the days when the little things in life weren't such a chore. Here are some examples:

Using the telephone

Then: Pick up the phone, dial, talk, hang up. Simple.

Now: Pick up the phone, dial and start fielding an on slot of questions that can't possible wait until I am off the phone. "Mommy, mommy...ANSWER ME MOMMY" It's like they have some sort of sixth sense when it comes to my needing to make a phone call. No matter where they are or what they are doing they come running as soon as I dial and are not satisfied until I have asked the person I am speaking with to hold on for a second so I can beat them tell them to shut it through painfully clenched teeth. Wow, using the phone used to be so easy...

Using the bathroom

Then: Well this was never at any point in my life considered a luxury before now. Whenever I needed to go I went. Simple.

Now: Whenever I have to go to the bathroom I try to sneak away without getting caught. It never works. As soon as I close the door and sit down (if I make it that far) the knocking starts...."Mommy, what are you doing?"..."I'm using the bathroom"..."No, I mean are you pooping or peeing?"... "Never mind buddy, just let mommy have some private time". Apparently that translates to open the door and join me. I know what you're thinking, just lock the door, right? Well I would but unfortunately they both know how to pop the lock from the outside so it doesn't matter. Now here I am, sitting on the toilet with an audience. "So are you pooping or peeing?"... "Peeing, OK"..."Oh, how come you have to sit down to pee?"..."Well mommy can't stand up like you"..."Oh, did your pee-pee fall off?"..."No, just please leave so mommy can finish". Wow, using the bathroom used to be so easy...

Going to the store

Then: Walk in, leisurely browse, find what I need, pay, leave. Simple.

Now: Just knowing that I have to take them both in a store gives me heartburn. Every store has so many distractions for them that I feel like I am herding cattle all the way through. It seems like everything I need to get is at the back of the store and we have to walk thorough aisles filled with things they feel we need to have. "Hey mom, look at these light bulbs...we need light bulbs right?"..."No, now put that down and keep walking please."..."But look, there are some paint brushes over here...we need some right?"..."No, I just need one thing and I know where it is, please keep moving"..."But look, they have trash bags...do we need.." "NO...KEEP WALKING SO I CAN GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Then of course I get all the shocked looks from people passing by. I'm sure they are thinking that I need to have more patience. That's fine because I am thinking they should mind their own fucking business. Let me add that the person that decided to put all the snacks and little toys at the check out counter should be shot. Sure I can use them as a bribe to get them to behave. "If your good, you pick something at the check out". But lets face it, even if they haven't been good, I'll probably end up buying something for them anyway just to avoid the full blown tantrum that will ensue if I refuse. Wow, going to the store used to be so easy...

Going to the beach

Then: Roll out of bed around 10:00am, decide I should go the the beach, grab a towel, stop for an iced coffee, get on the beach, read Cosmo from cover to cover, flip, pass out for a few hours, go home. Simple.

Now: Packing must start the night before. This will include enough snacks to feed a small village, 20 juice boxes, a thousand toys, pails, shovels, and trucks, 4 types of sunscreen, an umbrella, and a chair for me that I probably won't get to sit in. An alarm has to be set to get up early and pack the cooler, car, and to slather them from head to toe in sunscreen. I also need to set aside some time to make them sit on the toilet and try to poop because if they have to go when we get there it will be a nightmare (I have never needed to worry about another person's bodily functions before now, I might add). We are on the road by 7:30am (I can't possibly sit in beach traffic with 2 kids and no AC). The day is spent stressing over them going too deep in the water, or getting knocked down by a wave. I have to reapply sunscreen every hour on the hour to avoid any burns. They eat constantly and fight with any child that attempts to touch their toys.  After all this "fun" I have to hose them off before putting them in my car because they have sand in every crevice of their body. Wow, going to the beach used to be so easy...

Even blogging has changed since my kids are out of school. I used to be able to write a little here and there while they were at school. Now, as soon as I get on the computer they are crawling all over me; "Whatcha doin?"..."Can you go to Nick Jr.?"..."Where is the letter S". I guess it's better than trying to blog while they are "busy". This usually means they are writing on something they shouldn't be, filling water balloons and dumping water all over my bathroom floor, or peeing in the tub instead of using the toilet. Ugh...my blogs may have to be shortened versions throughout the summer just to avoid disaster. Wait a minute...Shit! I have to go...they are somewhere being quiet!!

The MOTHER of Invention

"Necessity is the mother of invention". I hear that all the time. But I can't help but think that the word "mother" in this is no coincidence.  As a mom I find many inventions to be definite necessities. If they hadn't been invented I'm sure I would have thought of them myself, and would now be a millionaire (Well, I would have thought of them, and then watched someone else with the mental capacity make them). I have no doubt that a mom invented many of the things I take for granted today. Had they not been around, I would have numerous contributions to the website Shit My Kids Ruined.com. The Facebook group has 16,000 members, all of which have most likely had submissions. When the kids are quiet, they are probably doing something you would rather have them not doing. It really sucks because it's nice to have some quiet time. The down side is your "break" doesn't last long before you are snapping out of it like you were having a dream that you're falling and immediately start shouting "Freeze! Whatever you are doing... stop right now!" as you run to find the disaster.

I received a phone call from my husband once that went a little like this:

Hubby: "Guess what your son did?" (quick note: I also refer to them as your sons when they misbehave)
Me: "Oh, no...."
Hubby: "He found a permanent marker"
Me: "Oh, no...."
Hubby: "He drew a line around the whole perimeter of his brother's room"
Me: "Oh, no...."
Hubby: "AND he drew on his crib, and the hardwood floor"
Me: "OH, NO!...."
Hubby: "and on his brother"
Me: "Son of a bitch!"

(Imagine how the conversation sounded to my co-workers that only heard my side of this conversation)

I headed to the store on my home from work. I'm not sure what I was looking for to clean "permanent" marker, but I was sure that a mom out there had this happen, and created something that would do the job. Perhaps it was called "Cleaner For Shit Your Kid Ruined". While looking, I found something called the "Magic Eraser". Why not? I'll try this little magical gadget. Let me add; whoever came up with this, I would love to find them, and kiss them. I'm aware that I think it's another mother, but...go ahead guys, have a visual.

When I got home I gave my new find to my husband and told him to get to work. Besides, it happened on his watch. To our surprise it worked! I wondered how I had gotten along to this point without owning stock in this thing. I'll admit I briefly entertained the idea of using it to clean the son that had been "decorated" with the marker. I was a little leery so I "googled it" (I figured a mom out there had tried it, and wrote about). Turns out, it's a bad idea. It will take off the marker, but it also takes a layer of skin with it. A bath did the trick. As I scrubbed him in the tub and washed his hair using "tear free" shampoo (also undoubtedly invented by a mother) I thought Thank goodness for the internet! I wonder if a mom invented that too...

I found myself in awe of all the "mothers" of invention. They must have come up with so many of the concepts for things I needed everyday...stain resistant carpet, non-toxic crayons, dishwashers, coffee, alcohol (wine, in particular)...I could go on and on.

Cloning may have been the idea of a mom, I mean who wouldn't want a replica of themselves? I was thinking the other day that if you add the amount of weight I gained while pregnant and subtract the weight I am now, I've lost a whole person while dieting (Dieting was NOT invented by a mom). That's really unfortunate in a way because I could really use that bitch around here from time to time to help me keep an eye on these kids!

The Perils of Date Night

My husband and I will be married for eight years this summer. Those of you with children know that they make it difficult to have quality time with your spouse. I’m very fortunate that my mom takes my kids overnight, affording us the ability to have "date night". However, it seems the opportunity sometimes brings disaster. For example; two of my last date nights started with my four year old falling into a frozen pond (it was only three inches deep where he went through...but still) and my having to perform the Heimlich maneuver on my six year old. These are not the ideal conditions for me to try and focus on my husband. I spent the evenings re- living the events the whole time and thinking of the worst case scenario for each. All I could see was my six year gasping for air while I practically broke his ribs desperately trying to remove the lodged food item. What if I hadn’t been in the room when it happened? Then there was the vision of my other son falling in a pond that was over his head and being carried away under the ice by the current..."I'm sorry, what honey?...Were you saying something?"...

In order to establish why date night has become so important to us, I have to start with a really embarrassing story...

A few months back my husband and I were caught "in the act" by our six year son. Let me apologize in advance because this may trigger a painful memory for most of you. I will never forget the time that I walked in on my parents doing "the deed". Granted, at the time I wasn’t sure what I had just witnessed. I believe the same applies to my son. He has never asked about the birds and the bees, and I have adopted my own version of the policy "Don’t ask, Don’t tell". I feel really horrible about this though because I know there will come a time when he does learn the facts and this image will enter his mind again- and haunt him for the rest of his life. I can picture him coming home from school the first day of Sex Ed; wide eyed and despondent. Oh crap...he knows. "What’s up Buddy?"..."How was school today?" Unable to even look at me he’ll say "Umm, I think I’m going to go to my room". There he will stay, curled in the fetal position, trying like hell to make the image go away. Sorry pal, speaking from experience I know it will never go away. Poor kid.

Well, needless to say this "event" has made me very uncomfortable. It’s difficult to be intimate when I carry around the constant fear that I will be busted by my own kid. I’m also trying to save my youngest from a lifelong crippling image of his own.

Date nights that begin without potentially life threatening drama tend to have a common sequence of events. As with girl’s night out, I tend to go through hours of preparation. I’ll ask my husband his opinion on outfit and shoe selection usually to get an answer like "I don’t care, whatever you think". Alrighty then. "How should I wear my hair...up or down?" "Umm, whichever one takes less time to do" Super, thanks babe. At least we will be meeting other couples when we go out and the women there will tell me how great I look.

We usually meet our friends that have also had the good fortune of obtaining a babysitter out for some drinks and to see a band. After drinking and dancing all night we get in the car, I turn to my husband and say "I’m hungry". Let me add that the act of eating after a night of drinking always has the same result for me- instant coma. He doesn’t have to ask what I want because the answer is always the same; Taco Bell, of course!

My husband has a love/hate relationship with Taco Bell. Loves the food...hates my taco induced coma. Nevertheless, we find ourselves at the drive thru at 1am ordering "the usual". This consists of three items for me and sixteen for him. As we approach the window I notice the totals for the cars in front of us; $2.35, $4.65...then we get up there and the total is $34.50. WTF? How is that possible at an establishment where the average cost of a menu item is 89 cents? Oh well, I’d pay $50 for that beefy, crunchy deliciousness.

As soon as we get home we start digging in. My eyes grow heavier with each bite I take. As the darkness starts to take hold of me I hear my husband say something like "You look beautiful tonight", but it’s too late...I’m out.

I usually wake up around 4am, a half eaten taco on my lap, still sitting up on the couch. I brush the cheese that has spilled out of my taco off my lap and do the walk of shame up to my bedroom where my husband is asleep..."Curse you Taco Bell!!"

I have promised to make a conscience effort not to fall into the hands of my nemesis (Taco Bell) on our next date night. I will heed the words of my friends as they grab my face and look in my eyes on the way out of the bar saying "NO Taco Bell!...Taco Bell BAD!". I will go straight home with my hubby and show him how much I love him without any fear of being caught by our kids. When we are done I will jump up, get dressed and run for the Border!!

Do AS I say, Don't say WHAT I Say

The new hot button issue in my house has been the use of vulgar language. I’ll be the first to admit that I do not help much in the promoting of "clean" language. It’s not like every other word that comes out of my mouth is a swear, but sometimes I will let one slip. My favorite tends to be "Son of a bitch!" I don’t say this at my kids, but I do find it funny that if I did then I would be said "bitch". I often think of the scene from the movie "Old School" when the guy says "ear muffs" to his son. The boy covers his ears and the father spews out some choice words. My problem is I tend to swear and then scream "ear muffs!" I’m having trouble figuring out what to do now that the damage is done. Most advice I get on the subject suggests that I should simply ignore it if my child swears. Oh, OK. So when my child is in a group of other children (some of which have parents that have given me this advice) and he says “shit”, you want me to ignore him, right? No problem...but don’t call me complaining when your kid starts saying it. Then there is the problem of addressing it and now the word has some power. Anyone with kids knows that the more you tell a child to stop something, the more determined they are to keep doing it...

Parent: "Stop touching that!"
Child: "What...this? (as they are touching the object) You don’t want me to touch this?"

Well, it's the same thing with swearing...

Parent: "I don’t want you to use that word"
Child: "What word? Ass? You don’t want me to say ass? Why can’t I say ass?"

An incident that happened the other day really got my attention. My son had my IPod and was wearing the headphones so I didn’t know what he was listening to. I was laughing to myself because he didn’t notice me watching and starting dancing all around and screaming the lyrics to the song. Then it happened...he dropped the F bomb. The sound effect that would be most appropriate for this scene would be that of tires on a car as it comes to a screeching halt. WHOA!! What did he just say?!? OK, the first thing I actually thought of was how he was probably doing a perfect imitation of me when I hear that song in a bar. But then I snapped out of it and wondered how I was going to handle this. I calmly gestured to him to give me the IPod. When he took off the headphones he asked why he couldn’t listen anymore. I told him there were words in that song that children shouldn’t say. "What words" he asked. Oh no, I’m not going to play that game! "There are just some words that are for adults only" I explained. Since he wouldn’t understand what "vulgar" is, I’ve decided to refer to swears as "adult words". Besides, he seems to understand the concept of "adult beverages". I know some people call them "bad words", but I was afraid to call them that since a lot of adults that he is around use these words on a regular basis. I don’t want him to assume that bad words are said by bad people.

Let me point out that I am not the only guilty party here either. They repeat all kinds of words that I wish they wouldn’t. They hear them on television, the radio, and from other children. I’ve always appreciated Disney movies because they always seem to add content that may go over a child’s head, but makes adults laugh. But the Disney Channel has a lot of cartoons now that have my kids saying things like "idiot", "stupid", or my favorite; "dill weed". Granted it’s not the F bomb but I’m still not fond of my kids calling other people these things. Especially me. Regardless of whether or not I let them watch these shows, there will be other kids that watch them and say what they hear. I guess I could just have them watch the old cartoons that I grew up watching like Tom & Jerry. They don’t even talk; they do however chase each other around all day and kick the crap out of each other. I just can’t win.

Last week my doorbell rang and it was my neighbor’s daughter. I opened the door and she said "What is a dick?" Hold up, what?!? (There was the sound effect of a that car trying desperately to stop again) "Umm, honey, huh? Who said that?" Thankfully it was not one of my children. My mind was spinning while I tried to figure out what to tell her. Let’s see; a Dick is what people sometimes call a private investigator. Or...Dick is often used as a nickname for someone named Richard. Think...think. Finally she must have sensed my duress and broke the silence with "Is it a slang word?" I said "Well, yes, I guess so". "Does it mean I Love You?" Umm, well I guess technically it could be used to show love...good grief. "Go ask your mom what that is dear". I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall over there. I was just praying she didn’t go home and say "Mom, Mrs. Farrell wants me to ask you what a dick is".

Honestly, I think some people may be a little too uptight about the whole thing. One woman was telling me that her son brought home a letter from his teacher saying he had to be disciplined because he used the word “penis” at school. Mind you, he didn’t call someone that. He was actually talking about...get this...HIS PENIS! Really, would she prefer that he call it his "junk", or his "package" or his "twig and giggle berries"? I suggested to the mother that she have him ask if he could call it his dick. Let her try to explain that word to him. Actually, I really want to hear what she would say...you know, just in case someone rings my doorbell and asks ME...

Will Work For Sanity

Being unemployed has really begun to take its toll on me. I’ve been without a job before, but it was always with the constant distraction of a newborn. After months of searching, interviewing, and semi-stalking employers the result is always the same. I am either "overqualified" or "under educated". My kids are in school most of the day and the time I spend alone seems to be causing the re-emergence of a condition I had prior to having children. Most people’s exposure to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is through television shows which highlight extreme cases. Even at its peak my OCD was mild at best. I never viewed it as a problem because it didn’t affect anyone but me. My isolation has made me go back to my old ways...

For me OCD manifests itself in strange ways. I have an obsession for counting things, i.e the steps I take, the number of times I chew while eating, and the result must always be an even number. I’m not sure if it’s because I like even numbers or I hate odd ones. I think it may be the later since I actually hoped at one point during labor that it would last longer so that my first child would have at least one even number in his birth date. This is probably when I decided I may have a problem. I also have heightened anxiety when things are not where they "belong", and by that I mean where I want them to be. I’m sure many people feel that way but it was a little extreme for me. Things didn’t belong in a certain "area", they had a very specific location as in; 4 inches from the wall, or the exact center of the mantle. I spent my days walking around my house slightly moving things to their "correct" positions. Someone watching might think I didn’t move it at all because it was so slight, but for me it was where it "belonged".

Once my kids became mobile, I really needed to work on my "problem". It would make me insane that this little person would go around and move my stuff all day long. Not only that, they now had their own stuff that I had to find a specific place to keep and they refused to leave it where it "belonged". I followed them around all day putting things back in their place. It was consuming me that they had a blatant disregard for my condition. I always felt on the verge of screaming "stop touching my shit!" Finally (with the help of prescription meds) I waived the white flag. I was able to discipline myself and allow them free reign during the day, and once they were in bed for the night, I could go around and fix everything. Besides, this was my problem, right? Why make everyone else suffer?

Up until now, it was working. Now I find myself going around the house while they are at school, putting everything (including all their stuff) in the place I have designated as its home. Then it happens...they come home. All of the obsessing I did during the day is completely undone in minutes. As I watch everything being ripped from its "home" I start to shake and sweat. The urge is back... "stop touching my shit!". I've also noticed the development of a facial tick whenever I write my son's date of birth. I fear that the longer I am out of work, the worse it will become.

I’ve been plotting a new strategy for my next interview to ensure that I will get a job. I picture the interview to go something like this:

Interviewer: Tell us about your accomplishments, any awards or certificates achieved, and the skills you have acquired at your current job…

Me: Well, my first accomplishment at my current job was that I made a person. I did actually receive a certificate for this feat. It’s called a Birth Certificate. I then proceeded to figure out everything this person would need in order to survive. The skills I acquired resemble those of a nurse, teacher, police officer, lawyer, psychiatrist, and on one occasion, a firefighter. In addition I was able to retain a client throughout the duration of my employment...he’s known as my husband. I would like to add that I performed all of these tasks without any formal training, or prior education in the field, and for the first few years with minimal sleep. I have never used a sick day or taken a vacation...any questions??

As I walk out of the room and close the door behind me I envision the interviewers turning to each other. One will say to the other..."Clearly she is overqualified"

"When I Was Your Age..."

I try not to say that very often, but I find myself doing so on a regular basis lately. I’m not sure why I bother because even my oldest son Devin, who is 6, can’t fathom the thought that I was EVER his age, or anything other than “old”. As he’s learning about history he asks me for first hand accounts on each event. Having him insist that I had some hand in the discovery of America can be frustrating. My children also have trouble understanding that I wasn’t always a Mommy. I heard Devin explain to his younger brother once that they were both in my belly when I was little. When I was “ready” I told Devin to come out, and then called Connor out two years later. I’m not prepared to explain the actual process to either of them yet, nor suggest that their father had a hand in “calling them out”. The fact of the matter is I WAS once a child. Watching them grow up often makes me think back to my own childhood. They are growing up in such a different time than I did. This is the reason behind the constant repeating of the phrase “When I was your age”…..

The access to information for my children’s generation is instantaneous. Gone are the days of wondering things like “what is the name of that song?”…Let’s face it; there was a time when a simple question like that could haunt you. It could fester in your mind for days, or even weeks, before you mentioned it to someone that could remember the name and relieve you from the agony. Now, you can “Google it” and find the name, artist, and the year it was recorded. Even the way they listen to music is different. They have Ipods and CD players. Back in my day it was the good old cassette player. Our “portable” devices where “boom boxes” that weighed 30 lbs. To be fair, we did also have smaller hand held cassette players, but they were not very discreet considering the head phones looked like ear muffs. If I wanted to listen to a particular song I could pop in my cassette and pray that I had listened to that song recently. Otherwise, I got to play an hour long game of rewind, stop, play… rewind, stop, play… oops I passed it…fast forward, stop, play…is this the song I wanted? Oh forget it! Not my kids. Find the song on your handy little touch screen, click on it, hear it. These devices hold thousands of songs by various artists. A cassette held a maximum of twelve songs by one artist, unless of course someone had performed the tedious task of making a “mix tape” for you. My favorites were the ones that had a DJ talking over the first few seconds of the songs because they were recorded directly from the radio. We were such rebels. The music has changed drastically also. I don’t remember hearing songs that contained language that I needed to be sheltered from. I am all for freedom of speech, and tend to resist censorship, however as a parent it has become very difficult. Having my kids listen to my Ipod and scream the lyrics of “Crazy Bitch” may have something to do with that….

There was also a time when television shows had to be viewed when they were actually airing (crazy, I know). My kids have the ability to watch any show they want, whenever they want. They can also rewind and pause live TV. They drive me crazy when they pause commercials to come and get me (usually from the bathroom) so I will know which toy to put on their list for Santa. When I was a child I could not wait for Saturday mornings because I could watch cartoons. My kids watch cartoons whenever they feel like it. If it isn’t something they have recorded with the DVR, they can use features such as “On Demand” to locate the show and watch it. I’ve come to dislike that feature; don’t get me wrong it is very convenient, it may just be in the name. I hate feeling like my kids are “demanding” anything.

I’m not exactly sure at what point in my life the internet became mainstream, but I do recall that when it did, it was certainly not accessed as quickly as it is today. “High Speed Internet” deserves its title since dial up connection was painfully slow. While trying to research something online with dial up I could have started logging on, gone to the library, found the information that I needed, came back, had a snack, and would still be waiting for the connection to be completed. Now I wouldn’t even need my computer to access that same information. I could get it through my cell phone. Cell phones were once the size of a small shoe box, and I didn’t know many people that owned one growing up. EVERYONE has a cell phone now, including many children. I’m not sure when I will be ready to get them for my children. Right now it’s due to the fact that anything costing more than $20 tends to end up being destroyed in a very short period of time. It’s very frustrating because I bet I could find toys that they got in a kids meal from Burger King a year ago that are in pristine condition. I’m also leery to create additional people in the world that use cell phones as their only form of communication. Texting has become the new form of “talking”. I often find myself stuck in the back and forth of a text conversation thinking “why don’t I just call them?” Then there are the people who go through life, coming face to face with others throughout the day, yet they can’t hang up the phone and stop their conversation with someone else. I find myself listening to one sided conversations everywhere. If your going to talk on the phone in the middle of a doctor’s office while everyone is sitting their listening, at least put the other person on speaker phone so we can hear both sides….

In this new technologically advanced generation I will be faced with the daunting task of raising children that will be capable of healthy human interactions outside of all this newfangled equipment. I will have to teach them basic things like eye contact when speaking to someone, or at least the courtesy of turning off all the other distractions when someone addresses them. It is important that they know about the “reply all” button on email and the need to double check the recipients of emails prior to sending them (this is something I’ve had to learn the hard way). I hope to help them understand that they shouldn’t “say” something in a text or email message that they wouldn’t say to someone’s face. When they are older I may also have to teach them the dangers of “drunk texting”. In addition, it is going to be very difficult to get them to grasp the concept of having patience. They have never had to wait for anything in their lives. I have always wondered who has the ability to name generations. I’m not even sure which generation I would be considered from. I would strongly suggest to whatever entity has this ability that they name my children’s the “Instant Gratification Generation”.

The Woman Among Boys

As the lone female in a house of boys, one of which is my husband, I get to see the difference between the sexes on a daily basis. Let me preface this with the fact that I have always been considered a Tomboy. My main staple on television is sports, I only own a few pairs of shoes (most of which are sneakers), and I love to drive my husband’s pick-up truck. I am guilty of frequently leaving the house without make-up and wearing an oversized sweatshirt (which is most likely my husbands). It’s not that I don’t care about the way that I look; it’s just that I don’t have time. Occasionally I will pass a mirror and notice that it may be time for a trip to the salon, just so I can have two eyebrows instead of one. Despite all this, I love everything about being a woman and a mother. I often remember almost feeling bad for my husband that he couldn’t experience pregnancy, although given the opportunity I’m sure he would have said “Nah, I’m good”. My feelings of sympathy quickly turned to resentment when I couldn’t sneeze or laugh without peeing my pants, or sleep because our little bundle of joy was attempting gymnastic moves all night. I would frequently press my belly against his back when we were in bed just so we could “share” these moments. He didn’t even wake up…..

Being the mother of boys is certainly very interesting. They are silly, rambunctious, and can occasionally be really gross. They are also extremely LOUD in everything they do. I will often be on the phone and have people ask me if I have birds because they have a high pitched screech when they get excited. I can deal with all of these things, except the gross part. The amusement that they have with their bodily functions has really become ridiculous. The word “poop” can lead to hours of giddiness. Let me add that their father is no exception. Whenever one farts, the other two will laugh. This tends to lead to farting contests. I do not participate in them, but I do need to pay attention just to make sure one of them is not trying too hard to participate. I’ve always wondered if the difficulty in potty training boys stems from the fact that being dirty doesn’t bother them. They would wait for the last possible second to warn me that they needed to use the bathroom. The words “I have to go potty” were immediately followed by “oops, I just did”. Most times I didn’t even get a warning; I would just notice that the front of their pants were completely soaked. I’ve heard stories about little girls that are training that would cry if they peed or would actually ask for a diaper because they needed to poop. I wish that my boys would have done me that courtesy. Instead I had to result to sniffing butts to find the guilty culprit, and even when I found him he would claim that he didn’t do it.

The lack of shame that they seem to have also stands out to me. I have tried, on numerous occasions, to explain the purpose of the hole in the front of their underwear to no avail. It should eliminate the need to drop their pants in order for them to relieve themselves. I can’t tell you how many times I have looked out the window into the backyard and found one of them, bare butt hanging out, peeing on the lawn. I am guilty of shrugging it off, simply because the act did not create additional laundry for me. As a matter of fact, while I was writing this, I noticed that my four year went into the garage. When I opened the door to see what he was doing I noticed a big wet spot on the floor. “Did you just pee in here??” “Yeah, I couldn’t make it into the bathroom” Funny, you made it into the garage though…the bathroom was closer. It is a different story when they are across the street, facing the road, pants around their ankles, peeing. Again, if there aren’t any witnesses I tend to be OK with it. Once, while we were on an outing with my son’s Kindergarten class, my younger son brought me over to a pond that had fish in it. While pointing out the fish to me he said “See the really big fish over there…when I peed in here he came right to the top!” WHAT??? You peed in there?? I was mortified, yet not so much so when I realized there wasn’t anyone near the pond that could have seen him do it. Considering the fact that I did not have a change of clothes for him I thought, no harm no foul.

I have always felt pressure with my boys to raise a “man” and not a “wuss”. When they fall my husband feels the need to say things like “shake it off” or “rub some dirt on it” (never understood that one). But I still feel the need to hold them and kiss it better. When they cry, they are told not to be a baby. They are taught that they shouldn’t cry, or be sensitive. It’s ironic that the things I feel pressured to teach them, are the things that adult women hate about adult men. I don’t want to raise “men” who don’t have feelings. My oldest son told me one day “Mommy, I like you so much that it hurts my belly sometimes”. How could I ever discourage something like that?? I’m sure one day, my Daughter-in-laws will be grateful that I felt this way.

I am often asked if I wish I'd had a girl. Given the fact that my Doctor refused to sign a contract stating my next child would be a female, I have decided not to try. A family of four works for me...we fit comfortably in a booth, and can easily travel in my compact car. I do sometimes think of the bond that I have formed with my own mother now that I have children and long for the opportunity to share that with a daughter. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason though, and I will take what was given to me- two beautiful boys that make me laugh everyday. Plus given the choice between going to see Monster Trucks, or Princesses on Ice, I'd take Monster Trucks all day long....