A New Era of Blogging

One thing ultimately sucks about having 3 kids is the fact that I have so many ideas on what to blog about and not enough time to actually sit and type them all out. Often times I would find myself driving down the road or hanging out at a playground when I have a great idea for a blog going to my mind like crazy, and wish I had the ability to post it then and there. Just watching my kids, thinking in my head all of the things I want to write about. Then I lose my focus as I have to chase one kid or another away from the parking lot. By the time I get home, have the kids all settled, and actually have a moment to sit down and write what I wanted to, I would be too fucking tired to even contemplate typing. And yet another blog would be lost.

However as time passes by, there are more advances in technology And after the fat man visited us this past christmas, I received an amazing gift. I received a new smartphone from my family.  A smartphone where I can do voice activation. A smartphone with the blog application where I can sit here talking, and it will post what I say. Granted it's not perfect, and I'll have to go back and fix some of the mistakes it makes. But now my friends, I have no excuse not to write blogs. Well there is one excuse. I still can't talk and blog while the kids are running around screeching like heathens at a pagan festival. I still need some semblance of quiet in order to talk/blog.

But like life, nothing is perfect. So I'll work with this is best as I can. A new era of a blogging has arrived my friends, and I shall embrace it with open arms. I can get back into the swing of things regaling you with stories of my children, the amount of alcohol I consume on a daily basis to keep sane,  keep you up to date on how many new gray hairs I get as my children drive me batty.

So happy holidays to all, and thank you fam for my awesome new voice activated smartphone. Rock on

Best Bedtime Story..... Ever

If you're a parent you've been there: it's 90 minutes past your childs bedtime and yet you find yourself in a staring contest with your wee one, trying to find and use some hidden psychic power in your mind to force their eyelids to get heavy and close, so you can get the hell downstairs and do whatever it is that you have been DYING to do all day but couldn't with the children underfoot. But they resist, some mutation in their genetic ability has given them the ability to overcome anything mental you throw at them and they stare. You. Down.

You cannot win, no matter how hard you try. You have read the entire shelves of books on hand, even desperately grabbing the Websters Dictionary you had out on the kitchen table to help you cheat at crossword puzzles. If anything can make your child pass out from utter boredom it is to hear you read outloud definitions of the words geomotry, adjudicate, or erroneous.

Obviously Adam Mansbach has been here, and wrote a book to help compensate and save our sanities from those nights where you just want to bang your head on the wall over and over and over as you try to lay your little ones down to sleep. And if you're a parent and don't know what I'm talking about, it's time to sit the fuck down and listen to the best bedtime story ever, narrated by Samuel L. Jackson.

Just in case it needs to be said though, I wouldn't read this particular bedtime story to your children. At least not within earshot.

Words Not Needed

I was going through photos looking for images for my next blog and I came across this.... and I nearly pissed my pants laughing. A picture speaks a thousand words, and no words could truly describe this photo. I should really make this my new graphic logo of the boys

Crafting With SRM....hahahaha

Yesterday after listening to Ashe whine about how little energy he had while we played at an indoor play place (because you know we’re on day 33 or something of 100 degree days and a slide will melt your ass by just looking at it) and being bored out of my mind being cooped indoors I decided to do something stupid. I decided to try a craft with the kids.



Why is it stupid? For two reasons: Number one it doesn’t matter how frikking cool the craft is or how excited the kids are, somewhere between the suggestion of crafts to a finished product, the kids lose interest, leaving me alone to finish the damn thing. It’s usually right after I hear CA-CHING of the cash register after I have handed over my debit card. It’s like they have this internal radar that lets them know Mommy spent $40 so let’s ditch her and commandeer the Wii remote yeah!!!!


Number two, I suck at crafts. No really. I have these great IDEAS for crafts and I get into crafty moods. I’m a creative person. But for the most part when it comes to ideas on kids crafts I fail epically.

 So with that out on the table, as I listened to Ashe whine more and more, I scrambled for a craft idea that would keep us all entertained and was something unoriginal because it was 10:30 in the morning and originality is NOT going to happen with only 1 cup of coffee in my system anyways. Somehow my very tired, overworked brain decided to hook onto a project I did in school when I was little. I couldn’t think of anything else. It was making a stuffed dinosaur. I figured, hey my boys like dinosaurs, I have a furry boy, it will take all day…. Let’s do it!



If I EVER mention to you I am thinking of crafts before 11:30 in the morning, bitch slap me and I’ll be grateful.


We head to the fabric store, pick out cheap soft fabric (purple for Ashe, blue for Soren), get cut in line while we wait for our fabric to be measured and cut (thanks bitch who cut me in line even seeing that I was with two young kids and you were all by your lonesome. I hope there is such a thing as karma) find a glue gun, and head home.



The boys are hungry. I get them lunch. They want to stuff the stuffed animals NOW! I explain I still have to find a pattern, outline it, cut it out and glue/sew it shut. Not good enough for them so they go and start opening the fluff I bought and throw it around the kitchen while I’m downstairs frantically searching for T Rex patterns (Ashe insisted on T Rex instead of the Brontosaurus I know how to do). I come upstairs with a print in hand to find my kitchen snowy white.



After cleaning up the mess I sit down to stencil out the pattern while Ashe continually asks when he can stuff his T Rex. Giving up with an eye roll he leaves the table to go play Wii while I start cutting out the pattern. Soren tries to help me with the glue gun so I accidentally glue a leg shut and the fabric to the table as I try desperately to keep the VERY hot instrument out of his reach.



Finally we’re ready to stuff T Rex One. Ashe and Soren come over and start shoving fluff up the dinosaur’s ass tail and then, like clockwork, they get bored and wander off. I’m left alone to anally probe the fabric blob in my hand. Once he’s stuff to the gills I glue him shut and look at him and realize….






OH MY FUCKING *** I JUST MADE A BARNEY WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING IT!!!!! WHAT!!! THE!!! FUCK WAS I THINKING?????????????


Shit shit shit shit shit!        Sigh. On to #2






THIS time I decided not to screw with a potentially ER inducing implement like a glue gun and go old skool with thread and needle. While I start from scratch, Ashe is cuddling with his new stuffed animal and wants to know why I made him blind, mute and with no nose? Can I add those on? I explain I will after I get Soren's stuffed since Ashe was being beaten by Soren trying to take his dinosaur away and roaring in his face. Sewing worked better despite the fact it took a little longer. I can’t even remember the last time I sewed (and I don’t have a sewing machine so it was all manual labor). By the time I was done sewing, stuffing, and sewing Soren’s dinosaur I was racing against the clock to get Zavi from school. Fortunately I finished in time to sew on an eye, nose, and smiley face to Barney in order to stop the whining about a malformed stuffed animal.


Never again, I said. Next time the kids want to do a frikkin craft I am going to give them markers, a wet washcloth and their tummies’s and tell them to draw faces on their chests or something. But no more glue guns, no more needles, no more Barneys. Nope, I’m through, I said to myself as I picked up Xavier. Until he saw the dinosaurs and with puppy eyes asked if I would be kind enough to make him a Pokémon stuffed animal this week since he missed out.










I said yes. *Grumble Grumble*

Fairy Bra Mother

Wanna hear a funny story? Me too! Too bad you’re on my page and reading my blog. Summer boredom is the pits, huh?


But maybe this topic will keep you slightly entertained. I know it has for several of my friends. Today we’re going to talk about breasts and bras. Mine, in particular, and how at the age of 32 I finally met my Fairy Bra Mother and learned more about bras in 1 hour than in the rest of my life.

Plus, I now have the breasts I’ve always dreamed of.

Let’s backspace a bit for history’s sake to give you an understanding of how it came to be that as a woman, I have been completely clueless about anything bra related until my poor, laughing friends took pity on me.



First off, I somehow missed out on all those girly moments with my mom when it came to learning those important life lessons as I turned from girl to woman. You know those after school specials they used to show, where parents would lovingly sit down with their daughter and explain about periods, puberty, bras, tampons, and all that shit? I got nothin. I learned about periods in 6th grade at school, and what to really expect (and how to use maxi pads and tampons) in the girls bathroom in between classes in middle school. Bras are laughable. My mom never had an issue in the breast department so compared to her, she decided I didn’t have anything to worry about. I was always smaller than my friends and all of us were fairly clueless, so since no one took me under their wing I did what any girl in that scenario would do: I tried a few on by myself, thought whatever kind of fit worked, and left. With this said, I have always thought BC I was a 38A. Growing up I only had a small handful of female friends, all of whom had breasts by the time they were 8. None of my guy friends knew anything about bras, unless it was how to unclasp them with one hand. Yes, people, I learned how to unclasp a bra one handed, but not how to properly size one. That should explain a lot to you.



FF to pregnancy. My breasts grew. And they were hawt! Yes, I am one of those women who (since I never had them and pined for them silently) thinks that penis = male, breasts = female. Yes, I felt less feminine with small breasts. I felt more feminine with my pregnant and nursing breasts. Im sorry, pregnancy sucks. So please excuse me if I thought the coolest thing about pregnancy (aside from that whole fact that I had a mini me developing) was that I had a REASON to wear a bra. I. Loved. It.



But after 3 kids born, all weaned, they deflated again. And by this point I had given up trying to find a good bra that fit my nonexistent boobs. I tried, folks. Seriously, for years, I wandered blindly through the bra department, trying on my very own. Nothing felt right. Nothing fit well. It was depressing. And frankly, I gave up. I wore camisoles or sports bras, or doubled up my tanks. Because I wasn’t going to pay good money for bras that pissed me off when I saw how little I had to fill them with, let alone never fit right.



/cue the tiny violin



Yet over the past few months I had some friends take pity on me. It started off as a joke, as they giggled that I didn’t wear a bra. They joked about it, throwing comments into conversations once in awhile. Little comments here and there that we would laugh about. And finally someone took the bull by the horn and said “You need a bra.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t have anything to fill them with.”

“Sweetheart, you’re an idiot. Tell you what. I’m going to take you bra shopping.”

And that’s how I found my Fairy Bra Mother.



Suddenly everyone started taking bets on what size I was. Anywhere from a 34A to a 38C. The betting got heated as the day  of bra shopping got closer, and everyone was excited to see what the result could be. It reminded me of horse race betting, minus the actual flow of cash. How big are B’s boobs and who will win???? Tune in Monday afternoon to find out!



My friend S is the sweetest woman. She will give you the shirt off her back if you asked, will bake you homemade scones when you come over for a play date, and can now add to her list of coolness factor, that she will take you bra shopping, and make sure you got the right fit, even if you’re a grown up. And she does so with a huge dose of humor.



I wont go into the details of measuring, pushing, lifting, hefting, and all of that, but lets just say my Fairy Bra Mother left no inch of potential chest to be forgotten as we tried bra after bra after bra. Adding to the hilarity factor, we had 3 kids 5 and under with us and they had a ball playing in the fitting room hallway as she tossed me bras to try on.



In the end I have to get on my knees and thank S. I snickered when she guessed I was a 34C but she was close. Officially I am a 36C, the size I kept telling J that after kids, I wanted a boob job to get to that size. And yet here I had them all along, unnoticed, disregarded, unknown.






It sounds weird to know that I went through my life having no clue about something you would think every woman on the planet knows. But simply put, if you don’t teach your kids these things, who will? I still barely know how to do laundry (no I do NOT sort. See what I mean???) I suck at cooking since meals consisted of McDonalds on an almost nightly basis when I grew up. It sucks knowing that I missed out on these lessons, and because of it, I went through many years of having a self esteem issue with my body. To think of those years spent wanting something I already had but didn’t know. It kind of sucks. BUT… it’s also incredibly cool that I have a nice wrack that are happily perched up where they should be and I can’t see my toes when I stand up straight, and I’m not pregnant either!!!!! I donthave to go through life wanting anymore. I just needed friends to say something and help a girl out. And I appreciate that type of friendship.



So thank you Fairy Bra Mother, and thanks to my friends who ribbed me enough to get my head out of my ass and show me that while breastss do not truly equate to femininity, it can make a huge difference to treat the ladies well when you are filled with the correct knowledge (and your chest fills the right cup size).



So Moms, take your daughters bra shopping when the time comes. And get them professionally fitted so they have that knowledge. And since I do not have daughters I promise you that I’ll be teaching the boys how to unclasp them one handed ;)

Warning! No, wait....

“What becomes commonplace in our life, we take for granted….most of the time”

-Me

Since I was a kid I have always been intrigued by weather, storms especially. I remember being an idiot at the age of 5 and dancing on the lawn in the eye of Hurricane Gloria. Then dashing my ass back into the house and watching from our picture windows as the trees began to bend to breaking point.



I remember being an idiot and swimming in our backyard during Hurricane Andrew (no, we did not have a pool, we just had three feet of water from flooding) until a tree cracked and almost landed on my head, coming very close to snuffing out my pathetic little life. Now granted, these Hurricanes were nothing major compared to Hurricanes that reach our southern shores. Both Gloria and Andrew had petered out compared to what they originally were once they reached us. Normally, living in Ma the fiercest storm we ever had to deal with on a yearly basis was blizzards. And you learn as a native that with those fuckers you just hole up inside, play card games and snack on s’mores you roast in your fireplace waiting for the generator to kick in. The next day you put on 23 different outfits at once, and stomp outside to make colossal snow forts, and snowballs packed with ice.



I have a love/hate relationship with lightning storms. When I was a kid our house was struck by lightning and the attic went up in flames. The firefighters of my small, backward town, decided the very best place to put us kids while they put the fire out, was in the middle of a giant open corral… during the lightning storm. Despite us being fairly small, we were still the largest standing objects in roughly 2 acres of field. I may have been young but I did remember learning in school that wasn’t very smart. And yet the adults dumped us there while they worked on the attic. Idiots.


I think it dates back to that time that I have always had some issue with lightning storms. I love to watch them and will sit staring avidly from my window as a storm blows by. But it took until I moved to NC and storms are so damn common, that I would actually venture from my house to the car during a storm. I remember a few times back in MA I would come home hours late from work, simply because a thunder storm was going on and I would refuse to step one foot outside until the thunder stopped rumbling.



Now because they are so commonplace, I’ve begun to take them for granted. Kind of. I can saunter from my door to the car with only a little hunch of my shoulders. I’ve even got past the “dashing” phase, where you make yourself up into the smallest target ever and run as fast as you can those 3 feet. I don’t look like a turtle on speed anymore.






BUT……






There is one aspect that has totally changed and I lament the loss of my “ignorance”. In MA it was almost unheard of to have tornados. In fact, in the 28 years I lived there I never once had a watch or warning. Down in NC, watches are almost yawn worthy they happen so often. J and my mom can't even figure out which one to worry about. I keep getting asked which time "Which one is better?" 
"Better how?"
"I mean worse."
"You mean which ones should you keep in the back of your mind and which ones mean iminent danger?"
"Yeah... I think"

In case you also have this confusion, a watch means that it could happen. A warning is when you dash your ass to safety. With a mattress over your head if possible. Or blankets. And belts to tie your kids to you.

Granted, we’ve only dealt with two warnings (one a funnel cloud that never touched and another that hit less than 10 miles from our house but J and I were flying through that storm and holy crap that was scary). But even though it doesn’t happen often, I’ve now found myself glued to the computer or radio anytime a storm is overhead, waiting, listening for that shockingly loud MEHHHHHH! MEHHHHHHH! Sound to tell us to run our little asses into the nearest bathroom to take cover.


Gone are the days when I could pass out in bliss to the sound of a thunderstorm at night. Oh no. NOW I charge up my phone and find myself checking the weather radar (stupid smart phone) until its passed, or waiting for the local news station to call me and tell us we have a twister inc. I paid money for them to call me hoping that would make me sleep better at night. It’s now my form of a safety net for me and the kids. They know there is nothing to worry about unless Mommy’s phone rings at 2AM during a storm so go back to bed and let Mommy be anal watching the radar by herself!!!.



I can’t sleep anymore during a storm and I miss that. I used to have a CD that played a thunderstorm that put me to sleep in seconds, now I hear thunder and my mind is off racing wondering why I keep putting off making the damn emergency kit. What are you supposed to put in that anyways? I mean aside from a flashlight, a radio, and water. I keep thinking I should put useful things in there, like a set of clothes. I have this mental image of a tornado hitting our neighborhood in the dead of night and of course I don’t always sleep with granny PJs. Wouldn’t a set of clothes be a good idea? Or along with water, what about Brandy? Your house has been shattered by wind. Do you want to drink water, or help calm your nerves while celebrating your survival with a shot of Brandy? I woudl think Brandy would be a good thing to have in the emergency kit. Problem is I may find myself having a different emergency and the Brandy would need to be restocked. Multiple times.



I’m writing this as a severe thunderstorm is flashing all around me and I’ve got my headphones on constantly listening to the live weather radar, waiting to hear about a possible curl in the clouds that indicates a tornado. Fortunately it’s the middle of the day so I won’t miss out on sleep tonight. I should go charge my phone just in case.

A New Milestone

Last week Soren, my youngest, turned 2. It was a low key event on the outside, with a play date in honor of his birthday, basically just adding cupcakes to the mix. He got a mini arm chair which he adores jumping off of, a mini doodle kit for the car (and crib), and a plush Mario which he carries with him everywhere. Nothing major, since he already has a ton of toys from his 2 older brothers.




But lately it hit me that being a mom of three children, our family has officially hit a milestone: we have no babies in the house nor will we unless there is some major cataclysmic event that brings fate to intervene and I become the next “virgin” (haha) Mary since surgeries have taken place and it has been decreed that the Beaulac family is complete. So unless this happens, after 9 (10) years, I am officially baby free. What does this mean?

Well, it means that

• Gone are gummy grins, unless I live to be 103 and my children join me in wheelchair races in the nursing home. However, gummy grins on 80 yr old children are nowhere near as cute as on newborn children.

• Gone are the open mouth French kisses to your cheek when your baby starts learning how to kiss

• Gone are those awesome vibrating chairs you use to soothe your grumpy baby, while also placing your feet on top for a free massage

• Gone are those AWESOME baby excersaucers you could place your baby in and not worry about tripping over them while you cook dinner

• Gone are the days you could place your baby down, go to the bathroom, and come back to find the baby in the same place…. Instead of drawing art on your hallway wall (or even worse, climbing the counters to get that cookie you said no to)

But it also means that

• Gone are the days of 45 minute cat naps instead of actual sleep for 6 months (WOOHOO!)

• I’m nearing the end of my diaper shift. Do you know that aside from a 2 year break, I’ve been changing diapers for roughly 9 years? 9 flipping years with only a 2 yr break in between. Holy crap, I can’t WAIT to be done with diapers!!!!

• Soon when we want to go out to dinner as a family we can actually go OUT to dinner as a family and not just do drive through because we have no baby’s who like to toss their mashed potatoes at the customers beside us

• No more baby sitting backwards in a car seat pissed off because he cant watch the movie playing on the DVD on our way to Grammys.

• No more baby food. Thank you!!!!

So there is good and bad for no more babies in this household. I will seriously miss some aspects, but I am also looking forward to the time when the kids are all old enough I’m not stuck in the shallow end of the pool and can join in splash wars and underwater races. Happy Birthday Soren, and welcome to a new milestone fam!

As they Grow: 2011

Hanging By A Thread

I'm going to assume it's bad that I've gained weight recently due to my increased consumption of alcohol. Right?

Kidding aside (well not really) I am about to finish week one of summer vacation with all three children home at the same time. Add to that a new medication that Xavier is trying for his ADHD and the wonderful roller coaster effects that has on us all and it's been an interesting week. So interesting that about twice a day I walk into J's office and ask him to shoot me in the head, please. He just laughs.

So far this week I have wrangled the kids out to:
* A nature walk, where Soren cried for about 2/3 of the time wanting to be picked up and carried, while Xavier clung to me with desperation as he popped his head this way and that seeking out those evil flying bugs solely out to get him and his blood. Actually, despite bug spray, he did get a few decent bites. I joked that his blood must be super sweet.
* 3 trips to the playground, which included Soren booking it multiple times the nanosecond I turned my head, bumping into an old neighbor of mine whose name I had forgotten (and wracked my mind in vain trying to remember it so as not to look like an idiot. I failed miserably). Ashe asking to go home every 3 minutes because he was tired, and Xavier screaming for 45 minutes like a Tyrannosaurus Rex at all of the kids on the play ground.
* A trip to Monkey Joes, to let the kids get their energy out. Which upon the minute I put Soren down to pay he fell completely apart, assuming I was going to leave him like I do at the Drop Off Day Care centers when I have DR appointments for Xavier. It took me about 5 minutes to fully calm him down, but even then it took him 90 minutes before he ventured away from me.
*A trip to World Market ( my new addiction) to purchase a small thing for the boys to play with, where Soren broke a jar of jam, and the older boys refused to listen to directions. It didn't hit them that I was REALLY serious about my warning of being on best behavior until I held my ground and took their new toys away until they earned them back. Which created Xavier to have an EF5 meltdown in the middle of the store. Suffice to say he did not get his toy until hours later.
*Daily trips outside to our new mini pool in our driveway, allowing the boys to play as loudly as they wish, so long as they do not scream or kill each other. Or squirt Mom with the hose.

On top of this J and I are watching Xavier with his new medication. We're supposed to know within 4 days if it works. I think waiting 4 days is utter hell when off medication, Xavier is like Curious George on Speed. I can't keep him home because he is SO LOUD that J cannot concentrate on work, being even an entire floor below us, with the door shut and white noise machine on. I can't take him out (much) because he cannot behave long enough without getting into trouble. I'm damned either way.

But we survived. And I am lucky enough that my mom is going to take the two older boys to her house for a week+ on Monday. I'll only have Soren and he's so totable we can go anywhere without worry. Please let me make it to Monday!

Bribery is So Sweet

I am not ashamed to admit that sometimes I bribe my children for good behavior. If I am going to a store where I want to wander a bit and I have two mini persons shadowing my every move I will do what it takes to ensure nothing gets broken, shattered, altered, and my ears continue to function by not hearing piercing screams and whines.

The other day I stopped at a store I had heard great things about. This was not a dash in kind of store, and I wanted to check it out in its full glory. Besides we had time to kill and it was too damn hot to go anywhere outside. So upon entering I told the boys if they were on their bestest behavior they could pick out one treat to have after lunch.

The boys decided this was a good deal, and were on their bestest behavior ever. They ooohed and ahhed at the cool toys, but scampered back to me when I told them it was time to check out another aisle. Their eyes lit up and the cool paper lantern lights, but didn't touch them. They pointed eagerly at funny glass bowls, but 3 feet away where their pointer fingers wouldn't  push over breakable items.

So for their reward I let them pick one treat out. And both boys wanted the same thing. A lollipop. But not just any lollipop:

That is not a trick of the camera angle, my friends. That is the actual size of the lollipop. These things here HUGE. And inexpensive ;) Soren and Ashe had a ball the rest of the day trying to lick those damn things down to a manageable size. My only rule was that they had to stay at the table and enjoy them. This rule was clearly stated and observed after Soren dropped his lollipop on the usedtobewhite carpet and left a pretty sugar rainbow mark. Despite massive amounts of scrubbing I still see a slight tint of radical red.



There Goes My Sanity

I am so not ready for tomorrow. I always brace myself and prepare for this time of year. I always think I’ve got it under control. I always try to have a good list in my head of things to help make it easier. But that’s my own survival skills kicking in, trying to deny the utter truth of what is about to happen in just a few hours. Because it can never be easier.

My oldest son is going to be on summer vacation. And I will have 3 boys in the house for longer than a weekend.

I was the mom who turned the music way up and danced to the car the day I dropped him off of school for the first time. Does that make me a bad parent? No. It just means that I was confident in his ability to take on a new adventure and enjoy a new aspect of life…. while I had a few hours to myself to recapture my sanity and maybe even sit down to read a few emails uninterrupted before picking him up. I know I will also be doing the happy dance and getting glares from other moms dropping off their babies when I bring Ashe and Soren to their first day of school. I'm an equal parent kind of gal. While some moms may wonder how they will fill the time for a few hours a day while their little one learns math, science and writing, I already know what I want to do: run errands by myself, read in peace, and dance to my music without being yelled at to knock it off from a 4 year old.



However with two kids under school age I only got one year of having that freedom when Xavier started school. I’ve learned to adapt to having two kids at home for the most part. I can handle two kids at home. It's crazy but doable. But when you have three kids stuck together longer than a weekend hell tends to break loose and my sanity goes down the drain.



I could tell my survival instincts were kicking in as I opened my big fat mouth while offering up ideas to get us the hell out of the house most days when I mentioned camping. I haven’t camped since I was 9 years old. J’s idea of camping equates to a Red Roof Inn. Of course the kids jumped on this idea and decided that we HAD to go camping this vacation!!!!! Then, as they were screaming gleefully about roasting marshmllows over an open campfire, the logistics hit. Me, outside in the middle of the night with a flimsy canvas above my head, dealing with a 9 year old scared shitless of flying insects. Two boys poking each other at 2AM, dividing the tiny tent living space into his space and  "his" space, then whining at me to intervene when a brothers toe brushes against that invisible boundary line. The mosquito bites. The fear of a copperhead curling up in front of our tent entrance and accidentally stepping on it when I step out to pee. Uh huh. That’s gonna be AWESOME!





I already promised Xavier we’d go looking for a tent next week. Fuck.



It’s not that the boys kill each other (much) when they are together. It’s more like having 3 small territorial animals trapped in the same living area for 4 weeks. Try taking 3 badgers and putting them into a small house size setting, giving them 1 item they all want and watch the fur fly. That’s what my household will turn into starting tomorrow.



I do have a back up plan though. My mom has been dying to take the kids for an extended stay. I jokingly offered to give them to her for 3 weeks and she didn’t bat an eye. I may have hope here. Please, let me have hope!





Send me good vibes, folks, and let’s hope the Beaulac family can survive summer vacation sans any ER trips. Slainte!

Swimsuit Season Sucks (A Whine)

I’d like to think that even after having three boys my body looks pretty ok. I totally understand that my body went through hell and back three times and there are battle scars to prove it. I’m ok with not having that perfect teenage body where the stomach is conclave when you stand up. I’m a little bit ok with the conclave effect I have due to my lower body being stretch 3 feet forward three times. It’s gonna happen and even if I work out 5 hours a day 5 days a week, it will always be there.




I’m ok with that.



I’m kind of ok with the fact my boobs are on the smaller side. They always have been. In fact I didn’t have what you would call boobs UNTIL I got pregnant with Xavier. I love my boobs when I’m pregnant or nursing. In fact it’s the only time where I can stand in front of a mirror and feel like a real woman. Causein my warped mind boobs means female. Just like penis means male. Alas, most of the time I don’t have much boobs. Maybe that’s why I’m not a girly girl. I must think more on this theory.



I’m ok with that.



I tell myself I’m ok with my not so perfect body for 9 months out of the year when I wear my jeans and tank top, or jeans and long shirt. And then I hit the pool. And each year as I sit in the shallow end, having water splashed up my nostrils by one boy or another, I wipe my sprayed sunglasses off and watch those women who wander around in bikinis, holding the hand of a child or two. And then I glance down at my tummy poof and small boobs, and I’m not ok with my body anymore.



I can honestly say it’s not long I get to have my tiny pity party. I get a moment or two to let out a melancholy sigh and straighten my top to cover my pooch (again) before I get rammed from behind by Soren trying to dive bomb me into the 3 inches of water I’m sitting in. Or a water torpedo gets chucked at my head while Xavier and Ashe play catch a little too close. But dammit I want to whine right now. It’s my blog and I can whine if I want to.



I’ve tried the diets, Ive tried the workouts, blah blah blah. I’ve lost most of the baby weight. I look ok. But swimsuits suck. They just suck. I’ve never had the boobs to pull off a bikini. I wouldn’t even dare try one now. The two piece tankinis (which I currently own) suck because the moment I sit in the water the bottom of the shirt starts riding up. I can act like an idiot, drawing attention to myself as I keep shoving it down every 5 seconds, or pretend to ignore it.



I’d love to find a nice one piece swimsuit that doesn’t cost two thousand dollars, and when it gets wet, doesn’t cling itself so tightly to my torso that it gets sucked into my belly button like a mini black hole. I’d also like to go swimsuit shopping sans kids, so I can take my time and not be half naked in the dressing room when Ashe or Soren decide to go exploring and crawl under the door. I did it to my mom at their age, cause the local Marshals to go on lock down in case I had been kidnapped. They found me 2 hours later asleep in a cupboard. I know if I take my kids swimsuit shopping, the genetics will stay true. There is not enough alcohol in the world for me to deal with both the horror of swimsuit shopping AND little kids.



I think though, if I’m going to be swimming as often as we have been (at least twice a week and school will be out next week) I need to pony up and find something I can live with. I really don’t feel like going to the pool that often and having a mini moment pity party every time I see those women who look like they never birthed a child (yet did) with their perfectly toned bodies in a bikini holding up size C boobs.



Wish me luck on finding something decent.

Soren's Napkin

I don't know where he learned it, or why it started, but I'm getting really tired of Soren using his hair as a napkin. He has started doing this for EVERYTHING! A drop of juice on his finger? Wipe it dry on his hair. A smear of chocolate on his hand? Wipe it in his hair. Family member has a sticky hand? Grab said hand and wipe it on his hair.

EWWWW!

I can't keep up with this kid! I try handing him a baby wipe to wipe his hands or face. Before I can turn around he's already got his hand up in his (used to be blonde now depends on what's already in there) hair. He thinks it's hysterical when I yell "NOOOOOOOOOOO" as I'm turning around to grab his hand before he causes more damage. He just laughs. And wipes his hand in his hair.

None of my other kids did this! Of course none of my other kids seem to be as OCD as he is with stuff on his hands. But still, my other kids knew to come to me and I'd clean their hands off. But with Soren I'm going to have to invest in the baby shampoo companies the amount we need to wash his hair lately.

And I think I may need to stop making dinners that involve ketchup or any other type of sauce. At least until he grows out of this phase.

The Toilet Paper Incident

I have got to stop thinking that little people, a la 4 and under, can actually perform what I would consider a simple request without massive destruction to the house, household products, or at the very least, do not need a 50 page document explaining the step by step process in order to help around the house. While I think in that moment of NOW what I may ask is so damn simple anyone can do it, I am continuously reminded that no, anyone can NOT do it. At least not without destroying something, especially my children.

Take toilet paper for instance.

The other morning as I was rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off I realized that my body was telling me to get my ass into the bathroom pronto. I dropped everything and ran. And once the door shut closed and it was too late, I realized my mistake: I didn’t look closely enough at the toilet paper roll before sitting down to make sure there were enough paper products.

Of course there wasn’t.

Now I offer the excuse that I was precaffeinated. It was early in the morning, J was already downstairs with the office door shut pretending he works in an office far away from us (haha) and Xavier was already sent on the adventure of finding school clothes that both fit him and were clean. So in my sleep fogged mind I felt I had only one person I could turn to: Ashe.

So I called him over sweetly and asked him to go upstairs to Mommy and Daddy’s bathroom and to please grab the toilet paper roll and bring it downstairs. He gave me an angelic grin, and excited to be doing something to help Mom, he ran off.



I waited. And waited. And waited some more. And after 2 minutes I finally wondered where my son went. “ASHE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“PLAYING LEGOS”

“I SENT YOU TO GET ME TOILET PAPER.”

“OH YEAH!!!!... I FORGOT.” Of course.

Another minute goes by and he dashes down the stairs so proud of himself carrying……



One square of toilet paper. I look at his offering, ponder the situation I’m in, and shake my head.

“Ashe, hon, I need more than one square. Can you please go back upstairs and bring me the whole roll of toilet paper?”

“Oh sure!” He races off and I wait again, noticing that my butt is now beginning to fall asleep. Another minute goes by and Xavier starts bounding down the stairs, dressed in a clashing outfit that makes my eyes hurt. I figure I have one battle right now; I’m not energetic enough to take on another. Let the teacher wince every time she glances at the jarring colors. But I grab his attention and ask him to help his brother help me by bringing me some toilet paper. He races off to my upstairs bathroom and almost the moment his foot hits the master bedroom threshold I hear him shouting.



“ASHE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?????”

“I’M BRINGING TOILET PAPER FOR MOM.”

“YEAH BUT NOT THAT WAY!”

Uh oh.



I’m too scared to look up. I mean really, it’s just too early in the morning for stuff like this. There should be a rule against shenanigans before 10AM on weekdays, and noon on weekends. But I am a mom, and it is my job to look after my children, even if I’m stuck on the pot. I glance up.



And there is Ashe, proudly marching down the stairs with a fistful of toilet paper in his hands. Trailing behind him is half a mile of toilet paper, which I guessed (correctly), was still stuck to the actual roll upstairs in my master bathroom. He stands directly in front of my with a giant grin on his face, so proud that he was able to help me in my moment of need, and tossed a mini mountain of white Cottenelle into my lap.



“Thanks, sweetie” I murmur.

“YOU’RE WELCOME MOM!” He marches off, happy that he has done his good deed for the day.

Batman Does Not Wear Underwear

So proclaimed Ashe this afternoon. We were sitting down for lunch preparing to head out to the Super Hero’s event at a local museum. I was not expecting to butt heads with a 4 yr old on wearing underwear underneath his Batman costume when we went out in public.






Ashe’s costume from last year is a bit small now. In fact we had to use a safety pin in the back to ensure his entire, ahhh, backside, was put on public display. But as we went to pin him in, J realized Ashe had forgotten to put on undies. Ashe was told we would not go if he didn’t put on any before we left.


“But Batman doesn’t wear underwear”! he whined.


“Yes he does” we parents replied. “Everyone wears underwear. Even Batman.”


“No, only fake Batmen wear underwear. The real Batman does not. He doesn’t need underwear.”


“We’re not going if you don’t put on underwear.”


“I can’t put on underwear. I am the real Batman!”


And around it went, Ashe stubbornly clinging to this (mental?) image that the real Batman does not wear anything but his costume. This is not the type of conversation I expected to ever have when I signed up to parent. I completely expected taking my kids dressed in crazy outfits out in public (I was willing to pick my battles) . I was ready to hear that my children have taken on the persona of their favorite Hero. What I was not ready to hear though, was that my 4 yr old thought Super Hero’s went around without skivvies and he wanted to do the same.






In the end we came up with a compromise. Ashe, I mean Batman, would wear underwear but they had to be Super Hero undies. It was ok in his mind that they were The Incredibles. And only once while we were out, did I peek those Super Hero undies poking through, covering Batmans bottom.

Wookiee

Words are interesting things. Some words are direct, straight to the point. Others are elegant, eloquent, capturing an image in your mind filled with color, innuendo, etc. And others are just damn funny. I love the funny words. Like shampoo. I remember once as a kid I said the word shampoo over and over again until it virtually lost all meaning and became just a combination of funny sounds until I couldn’t stop laughing whenever I said it. Even to this day I smile when I say the word shampoo. Now in my defense I have never once said I was totally sane, but have you ever done that? Taken a word and repeated it over and over until it becomes not the definition of something you know, but an entirely alien word, it’s meaning lost and insignificant?



Shampoo. Shampoooooo. Shampoo…..





OK I’ll stop.



There are other words that fit this description but none have ever made me giggle as much until yesterday when my kids introduced me to the fun of repeatedly saying another one:



Wookiee.



It started off as a normal afternoon as I picked Xavier up from school with Ashe and Soren. After he launched himself into the rebel van Ashe, desperately trying to get his older brothers attention yelled “HEY ZAVI! I GOT A WOOKIEE!!!” Xavier turned around and looking at Ashes action figure of Chewbacca yelled in horror

“ASHE! YOUR WOOKIEE IS BROKEN!”

“MY WOOKIEE IS NOT BROKEN!”

“Uh, yeah, your Wookiee is missing a leg.” I looked in the rearview mirror as I waited in line and watched his mouth drop in horror.

“OH NO!!!! MY WOOKIEE IS MISSING A LEG! MOM! MY WOOKIEE’S LEG IS BROKEN!”

“I can fix your Wookiees leg, Ashe” Xavier offered.



A moment of fumbling around and I hear “OK Your Wookie is good now.”

“YAY! YOU SAVED MY WOOKIEE! HEY, WANNA HOLD MY WOOKIEE?”



And at that point, I lost it. I mean seriously, I think I did a good job holding it in until then. I showed restraint of a saint. But when Ashe asked if Xavier wanted to hold his wookiee it was just too much for me. I burst out laughing. And behind me I hear Soren start laughing too, which makes me laugh harder. And then the boys join in and the 4 of us are just cracking up.

For the 10 minute car ride home Xavier and Ashe tried to outdo each other using the word Wookiee. And every time I would burst out laughing. This kept Soren belly laughing behind me, thus causing this never ending cycle of laughter, a few snorts, and tears rolling down my eyes. Juvenile? You betcha! It was awesome.

Wookiee. Woooookieee. Wookiee.

Cheap Labor

Our home has 3 levels and the middle level is what I fondly think of as ground zero. It's where the boys and I basically congregate when we are in the house. The ground level is our entry way and J's office so we can't really hang there with him working. The top level has our bedrooms. And bedrooms are for timeouts or sleep, something 2/3 of my children seem to be allergic to during the day. But ground zero hosts our  kitchen, dining room, and combo living room/playroom. And because the main activity is centered on one level and I have 3 rambunctious boys, it gets messy fast. We're talking nano seconds here, people. We clean it every night and I work on it throughout the day, but Im getting to the point where if I wake up and I have to walk the Lego path of Doom strewn with PJ's and a half eaten waffle from an escaped toddler just to get to my damn pot of coffee, I want to just say screw it and head back to bed.

But the boys do clean. Sometimes with minimal argument. Sometimes under dire consequences threatening over their heads. Sometimes with bribes. If you're a parent you know that the same tactic is not always going to work and you work with what you got as you guage the atmosphere around you.

Well the other night the place was a DISASTER! I'm talking Olympic size mess here. I dont know what the boys were doing and frankly, I dont think I want to. But when it was time to clean, the shock and awe of how big of a mess they had before them silenced all three boys for a good 30 seconds.

That in itself is a miracle.

So to help them look at the bright side, J made it into a game, and sweetened the deal by offering them a small prize to the one who put away the most toys. Both Xavier and Ashe love to compete with each other and this was fair game. With a glint in their eyes, they set to work. They bantered, they taunted, they rushed, they cleaned. And in 30 minutes I could see the floor again. J and I sat on the couch offering encouragement to the boys, reminding them of the elusive prize as they started to slow, which prompted them to pick up the pace again.

At the end both boys did a phenaominal job. We applauded them both and J declared it a tie. When asked what small prize they wanted Xavier eagerly requested a jump rope.
"Done!" J announced and Zavi broke out into a huge grin.
"What about you, Ashe? What would you like?"
"I WANT A SPONGE!" he shouted with glee.
"...A sponge?" I asked, thinking I heard wrong.
"YEAH, A SPONGE! I WANT ONE SO I CAN WIPE WALLS."
I start thinking to myself, the kid has finally cracked. Did we put too much preassure on him? Is his underwear too tight? Is he fixable?... Do I want him fixed???? I mean hell, he wants to wipe down walls as a prize? I can work with this!

So after giving each other "a look" J and I agree that yes, he can have a sponge. We'll go out and get him his very own sponge in the morning. And Ashe couldn't have been happier.


Maybe Im going about this whole parenting thing the wrong way? I'll have to think on this a bit more.

Mom For Sale

For Mother's Day I asked the boys to help me prepare for a Yard Sale the moms group I volunteer at will be having next weekend. What I wanted was for them to go through their mountain of toys and pick some that they didn't play with anymore and put them in a box to sell. I also bribed them by telling them they could have the money their toys earned *if* they chose them on their own. If they didn't and I had to go through their toys *I* would get to keep the money.

During lunch this Saturday we talked over how we were going to attack this goal together as a family. J and I asked the boys what else could they think of that we could sell? They couldn't think of anything so J decided to help them out by offering suggestions.

With a tiny smirk on his face, J suggested selling Mommy at the yard sale. Xavier and Ashes faces just dropped in aghast as J painted a mental picture of how they could place a sticker on me, and I could potentially bring in a lot of money for them to play with. He even told them he would be willing to go out and buy them Happy Meals from McDonalds with the money I would sell for.

Fortunately my kids are both smart and loyal. While I tried very hard to stifle my chuckles, Xavier jumped up from the table, and very pointedly told J that under no circumstances would I ever be sold. He needed his Mom as did his brothers and even a Happy Meal wouldnt sway him. He then turned to me and said I was the bestest Mom in the WHOLE Universe. Then he gave J a dirty look which made us finally give in and laugh.

I tell ya though, it felt damn good to hear that from my boy. It made me all warm and fuzzy inside. Love ya back, kiddo!

DON'T PANIC!!!

I know! I've been MIA and all of a sudden you stop by to see if I might have been mature enough to post something and you think WTF happened???? This blog looks so different!!!

But don't panic!!! I've finally snuck some time in this Mothers Day to revamp my blog look (Happy Mother's Day to you moms out there!). The boys grow like weeds, I've changed myself (if you notice on the photos above I went from a red streak to teal) and I thought it was time to dust the cobwebs off and get this baby looking fresh again.

ANNNNNNNND

I swear to Bawb I have blogs that will be coming soon! No, REALLY!! I've been hella busy with not only my crazy household but also with volunteering for a moms support group in my area, but I got 2 new cohorts to help take stuff off my plate and my last big event was last weekend so.......

I finally have time to blog! And oh how I've missed it! I have to catch you all up on the storm J & I rode through on a plane while the boys were stuck in in a bathroom with my mom and a tornado ripped through our area. I have to tell you about my trip to MA, our new game, what Ashe requested for a treat and the hell we have been going through with Xavier and his school.

It's just been insane. And I cant wait to toss the kids in bed and try to get some published. So stay tuned, don't freak, Suburban Rebel Mom is back!

Pure Genious, or Utter Stupidity?

The other day when the kids were bored and it was too cold to go outside, Ashe asked if he could paint. Painting is one of those things that I both love and dread. Ashe can get totally wrapped up in painting for hours, but he also goes through about 3 trees worth of paper. And of course what Ashe does, Soren wants to do. But Soren likes to try to eat the paint, not paint with it.

It's a dance to keep both children happy while I try to keep my floors/walls/kids safe. Normally I try to distract Soren to other things, but lately he has become determined to be indistractable.

So this day I decided to let Soren paint while sitting on my lap so I could keep a close eye out. He happily bashed the paintbrush in blue paint, whipped the brush up into my eyebrow then slammed it down on to the paper, gurgling in abstract pleasure. I tried to smile as I wiped my blue face. After about 10 minutes of this a lightbulb flickered off in my head. He doesnt need actual paint! Water might work too......


So I set him up with a shallow bowl of water and a few paint brushes and he went to town. And my floors (and face) stayed clean. And he was happy. I thought to myself, "Why, this is pure genius!!! Why didn't I think of this before?... Wait... why didn't I think of this before? You would think, after 3 kids, that I would know all the tricks and tips. But thats not how it works. By kid 3 you're mind has gone soft like over cooked noodles and it's hard enough sometimes to remember your birth name is not Mommy, let alone things like this.

But I was determined to write this down so I dont forget. When Ashe wants to paint, Soren can paint with water. Remember this, B!

Shameless Self Promotion

Last fall, while I was working at a Promotional Event, I was approached by one of the editors of Carolina Parent Magazine, which is *the* parenting magazine for NC. She asked me if I would be willing to be interviewed for an article for their annual Baby Guide and of course I said hell yeah!

Well the Baby Guide has finally come out, and it's also online. If you click this link and then click the image of the Baby Guide Magazine, Soren and I are on page 19, at the bottom! And yes, Bourdeaux Baby Butt Paste, is the best thing, ever!

Laundry Lament

I hate doing laundry. Loathe it. Detest it. (Insert any verb in here that best represents your most passionate negative feeling here) it.

I never used to feel this way. I've never been an avid fanboi of any type of chore ever, but BC laundry would only get a "meh" out of me. But now I launder for a family of 5..... and I have a toddler to boot. And that makes all the difference in the world, changing a mundane chore into an agonizing endeavor each and every time I must participate in this task.


When dealing with a family of 5, you are dealing with the average of 7 sets of clothing (toddlers get extra sets because they are notoriously messy eaters and throw their socks in the trash can when you are not looking) a day. That equals out to

• 49 shirts
• 49 pants
• 98 socks
• 31 pairs of underwear (I add in extra because Ashe still has accidents)
• 15 bibs ( I don't even know why I bother since they only catch 1/5 of the food and the other 4/5 end up on shirts, pants, and floor)

a week. A WEEK! And that's not even including any towels or bedding, and sometimes bedding needs to be done mid week.

And if you're stupid enough (like me sometimes) to hold off on doing laundry once a week, it becomes a chore that makes any parent tremble in fear. Washing and drying the laundry itself is not that big of a deal.. You dump the clothes in the washer, throw in some detergent, come back in 30 minutes, toss it into the dryer, throw the next load into the washer. Wash, rinse, repeat. It's the sorting part that sucks. Because sorting clothes for a family of 5, many of said items of clothing hand me downs from one brother to the next, takes a long time. And it takes even longer when your kids think the mountain of laundry is the same as a pile of raked leaves, and they are free to jump in, hide under, and throw the clothes all over the living room as you desperately try to sort them into separate piles. Or, if you have a toddler, they think it's an absolute riot to take one of the piles you have created and toss it all back into the main pile.          

I spent 4, yes 4, hours the other day trying to get my laundry sorted and put away. 4 hours of sitting there, looking at tags for sizes, trying to determine who would best fit the Spiderman shirt or underoos, while Soren and Ashe had a field day. They laughed openly when I growled at them to stop trying to ring toss underwear on my head. The moment I placed clothes in one pile and turned away, Soren was right there grabbing it and trying to surreptitiously place it on another pile, giggling the whole time.  As I placed all socks in one pile to be sorted later, sock missiles would come flying over my shoulder into the main pile. When I tried to distract them with other fun things it was useless. No, laundry sorting is a child's fantasy come true. It's even better than a trip to Chuck E Cheese.


But it's a parents hell. I was dreaming of a bottle of Merlot all to myself and it wasn't even 11 AM yet.


I don't even bother folding. I used to try but I gave it up as a hopeless cause many months ago after refolding the same pair of jeans only to have them bounce off my head as one child would grab it and try to play catch with me. Besides, when the boys (J included) pick clothes out of their drawers, they pull out everything and place it on the floor until they find the clothing they want. J at least puts his clothes back.

So give me a vacuum. Give me a mop. I'll scrub a toilet with minimal complaint. But nothing makes me cringe in fear more than laundry for 5.

Except doing dishes