Big Bro Hero

#4 is obsessed with #2. He wants to do everything #2 does. He imitates him, dresses like him, loves all of the same sports he loves.  He’s his #1 fan on and off the field. 

He brings his helmet to his games - I think he’s hoping they’ll need an extra player and put him in.  He watches him, studies his plays, imitates his walk and carries his helmet just like 2 does. 

After the game today, I captured this picture of him. Sitting back, taking it all in, pretending to be part of the team.  

But today of all days, he absolutely should want to be like his brother. 

#2 had a pick 6 which ended up winning the game for his team. He intercepted a pass and ran it down for a 30+ yard touchdown. It was his first touchdown of his life as he normally plays linebacker and doesn’t even touch the ball. To say we are proud is an understatement. It actually took everything I had to hold back the ugly tears. 

Just. So. Proud. 

He’s come a long way this season and I’m so proud of the hard work and dedication he has put in. He encourages his teammates and helps up the opposing team after tackles. He pushes himself at practices and gives it his all in every game. He spends hours outside of practice playing football in the backyard, practicing his kicking, sprinting, doing sit-ups and pushups...anything he can to get better. He literally eats, breathes and sleeps football.

He has the best coaches and the best teammates. They look out for one another, encourage each other and truly care for one another.  His coaches not only push him to his limits but constantly look out for his safety and well-being.  I’m not only proud of him but proud to be part of such a great organization. 

I don’t know what his future holds but I know I’m excited to see where it takes him. I will be with him every step of the way cheering louder than any other fan - and probably ugly crying from time to time. 

He told me after the game today that this was the best day of his life. I have to admit, this day ranks right up there for me too, kiddo.

Help

I saw this meme and it spoke to my soul:

Also Me:

You need to borrow an egg?  Absolutely!  Here, take the whole dozen.  Actually, they probably aren't that fresh.  Let me just run to the farm and get some straight from the chicken's butt.  I'll take your kids with me too that way you can have an hour or two to yourself.  Oh, and if you ever need a kidney, I'm your girl.

Why is it always so hard to ask for help?  I don't think twice to lend a hand to someone else but I'd rather cut off my own hand than to ask someone to help me.  (I’m sure every one of my friends reading this is nodding their head right now.)  

Am I too independent?  Too stubborn?  Maybe a little of both?  

Don't get me wrong, I need all the help I can get most times, but it's rare I will ask for it - or even take you up on it if you offer.  And when I do, I feel like I need to pay the person back, whether it be in cash or a return favor.  I don’t necessarily think this is a fault per se.  I like being independent and I LOVE doing things for others without getting anything in return.  I just wish every once in awhile I could ask for a favor without being so cringey.  

Anyone else have this problem?  If you don't want to answer that's fine.  Really, I don't want to put you out.  Totally okay if you can't.  Are you mad at me?  

My Girl

This girl.

The actual girl, not the dog.  The dog is clearly good for nothing.

The HUMAN girl.

She never ceases to amaze me.

She walked in after a 7 hour school day and 2 hours of cheer practice to see me fighting with her brother over homework. She didn’t even stop to drop her backpack. She walked straight in and said, “Do you want me to help him?  I can help him.”  She jumped right in and calmly and patiently explained his homework to him in a way that I could not.  She allowed me to step away and take a much needed breath.  She calmed both of us in a matter of seconds.

SHE DIDN’T EVEN TAKE OFF HER BACKPACK

Not many kids would do this.  Especially teenagers.  They're normally so self absorbed with a cell phone stuck in their face they don't even realize help is needed.  But this one is special.  While I'm sure she would have preferred to go straight to her room with her cell phone stuck in her face, she didn't.  She stepped in the middle of a screaming match and took over.  As amazing as this is, this isn't a one time thing for her.  This is her norm.  And I admit, I take it for granted.  Take HER for granted.  Often.  But nights like this it stops me in my tracks and makes me realize how truly blessed I am.

I know she doesn't realize how much I love her and I appreciate her.  In fact, she often accuses me of having a favorite child and it's never her. I explain to her mothers do not have favorites, we really don't like any of our children most days. 😉  But I do have my favorite parts of each child.

And this girl has so many favorite parts.

She is my first born. My #1.  The child numerous doctors and specialists told me I’d never conceive. The baby they said I would never carry full term yet arrived 10 days past her due date. The infant that was to be born so early and weigh so little that she’d never survive, came barreling out at 9 lbs 10 oz. She was a miracle from the beginning and has been gracing me with miracles ever since.

She's my fashion adviser, a second mother to her brothers, my shopping partner.  She's the kid who always does what I ask the first time and without complaining...well, most of the time.  She can calm her brothers down in a way no one else can.  She makes me laugh with her quirky sense of humor and goofy antics.  She tries new things and when she succeeds, she's humble - when she fails, she does so with grace.

She's kind.  She's Beautiful.  She's my best friend.

Is she perfect?  Of course not.  No one is.  But she's perfect to me.

I know she’s only a freshman in high school but I’m already completely panicking over her leaving for college. I mean, she was just in kindergarten yesterday - or so it seems.  In the meantime, I'm going to relish in her presence and soak in all the time I have with my baby girl.  I will do so with my eyes wide open because last time I blinked she somehow ended up in high school.

I pray she continues to make good choices, remains kind and always comes to me when she needs someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on.

And I pray she continues to help her brother with his homework.

F National Dog Day

Meet Dixie.  

She's our 2 year old boxer.  Our #5.  She looked so sweet sleeping on her dog bed last night I just had to take this picture.  I'm pretty sure I even said to Kevin, "Look at our sweet baby girl, isn't she the best?"

She laid on this bed for hours last night as we ate dinner, watched TV, folded laundry.  Not once did she need to go outside.  We let her out to potty before we went to bed like usual.  We put her in the little boys' room to sleep and shut the door.  As long as she is confined to a room, she doesn't have accidents in the house at night.  If she gets out, she goes straight to our brand new family room carpet and does her thing.  We don't know why she does this, we don't know how to get her to stop, we only know in order to prevent this, we just need to close the door to whatever room she's sleeping in at night.  Pretty simple, right?

Right.  Until one of the kids gets up in the middle of the night to pee and forgets to shut the door.

Then you wake up to a text message like this at 6:04 on a Monday morning:

And by poop, she meant massive, explosive, something-died-in-our-house-smelling, trailing-to-earth's-end-and-back diarrhea.  

Diarrhea with the consistency of the ice cream machine at The Golden Corral.  Diarrhea with the smell of a port-a-potty with a dead raccoon that's been floating in turd punch while sitting in the basking heat for 72 straight days...on blacktop...in the dead of summer.

And I mean it's everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.  

In the boys' room.

All over the upstairs hallway.

Down the stairs.

Multiple places all over the family room.

The formal dining room.

EV-ER-Y-WHERE.

So this is how Kevin and I started our Monday morning.  By scrubbing mounds of dog sharts out of our carpet.

And now I see it's National Dog Day and we are supposed to celebrate her?  Nope.  Not gonna do it.  Not while I still have the dead raccoon smell ingrained in my nostrils and feel like the smell is seeping from my pores.  Not when I've ruined a perfectly good pair of pajamas with dog shit smears.  Not when my hand is still sore from scrubbing brown, runny, mush stains from my brand new carpet.  

She's being punished today - not celebrated.

She's being punished by living in her air conditioned house, with her dog bowl full of food and water, sleeping on her cushy ass dog bed that's most likely more comfortable than my own.  

And when I walk past her tonight on my carpet and step in damp spots in my socks and cuss she will sigh and roll her eyes because she can and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.  She's basically going to raise her paw and give me a big ole f-u.  

And the kids will most likely be following behind me with a dog treats.

1st Day of School

4 kids 4 different schools this year. 

4 different modes of transportation.  

4 different pickup times.  4 different arrival times.

2 parents doomed for exhaustion.

Let the school year begin...

#1: Freshman. Still doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up. Still 100% Daddy’s girl. Still my BFF. But still a teenager that gets annoyed with us and annoys us at times too. She’s going into High School excited and confident.  I pray she stays that way. 

#2:  6th grade. Wants to be rich and famous when he grows up but doesn’t want to work for it. Possible options are YouTuber or Fortnite Champion. 😒 Was a total nervous wreck this morning but will never admit it. Wouldn’t hug his mom back and would only fist bump his dad. Almost missed the bus. I hope it’s all uphill from here. 

#3:  1st grade.  Wants to be a Police Officer when he grows up. He was excited to ride the bus again and couldn’t wait to get to school.  Not too cool yet for momma selfies or hugs.❤️ I pray he behaves better at school than at home and is kind to his teacher and friends. 

#4:  Pre-K.  He also wants to be a Police Officer when he grows up. It’s not really his first day but he had to have a backpack and lunch box like the big kids and had to have his picture taken too. He was sad he couldn’t ride the bus with #3 and can’t wait to go to the big kid school next year. I, on the other hand, would like to freeze him. 

I hope and pray they all have a safe and successful school year. I pray they make good choices, do their best and are kind to everyone. And I pray that homework time doesn’t drive us all to the brink of insanity. Amen. 

How To Meet Mom Friends

I hear from so many moms how hard it is to make mom friends.  I agree, it can be.  But it doesn’t have to be.  I’m no expert in this area but I’ve put together a quick list of ways I suggest making mom friends.  I understand this list may not be for everyone.  But if you’re a train wreck mother looking for her tribe, you may find this helpful.

1. Smear some ketchup on your butt.  Walk by.  Drop something.  Bend over in front of her to pick it up.  If she doesn’t tell you there’s something on your butt – total girl code fail.  Move along.  You don’t want to be friends with her.
2. When in public, if your child isn’t listening, threaten to stab him in the eyeball with a Capri sun straw.  If the other moms gasp in horror, these are not your people.
3. Crack open a White Claw at your son’s football practice.  Offer one to the mom next to you.  If she gives you a judgy look and says no, do not befriend her.  If she accepts, cheers!  Drink up - then share an uber.
4. Next time you lose your shit on your kids at the grocery store, do a quick sweep of the produce section.  If you see a mom shaking her head at you, push your overly large awkward stupid ass car cart in the opposite direction while mentally giving her the finger. If she sighs in exhaustion and looks at you sympathetic, she gets it.  Make friends.  Be exhausted together.
5. If you see a mom out with her children and her hair is perfect and makeup is flawless – don’t be judgy.  Give her the benefit of the doubt.  Ask her how she pulls that shit off.  If she says, “Oh, I always look like this.” Then either 1.  She’s lying – and you don’t want to be friends with a liar.  Or 2.  She’s not human.  Run away before she snatches you up and hauls you off in her UFO.  If she says, “I finally took my first shower of the week and had an extra 10 minutes to get ready before picking them up from preschool.” Exchange numbers.
6. Go to a PTA meeting.  Just go.  Sit silently and watch.  They’ll sort themselves out.  You’ll see.
7. When your son drops his drawers to his ankles and pisses in the middle of the park, make friends with the mom that laughs and says “boys will be boys” not the one who repulsively shields her child’s eyes while making a face that looks like she just ate spam from the can.  You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.
8. Host a party.  Invite a few potential mom friends.  Don’t tell them it’s a test – make sure you use the word ‘party’.  Offer them a drink.  If they say tea and it’s after 5:00 pm, light your couch on fire to evacuate them from your house.  If they say tea-quila, you’ve found your soulmate.
9. Go to your child’s high school orientation.  Stay for the Q & A.  If a mom asks what classes their child should take if they aspire to be a bio chemical nuclear engineering lawyering doctoring CFO of the universe do not even make eye contact.  These people are so out of your league.  If they ask what classes their child should take to become an organizer at Bath & Body Works, not only will you get along but your children will be fast friends.  It's a win/win.
10. And my last bit of humble but solid advice is start a blog.  If they follow you, like your posts and pretend you’re funny and your parenting is normal THEY ARE FRIENDS FOR LIFE.

The Motley Kru: “Perfect Parents Exist They Just Don’t Have Kids Y...

The Motley Kru: “Perfect Parents Exist They Just Don’t Have Kids Y...: I saw this quote on Facebook today and it really hit home.   “Perfect Parents Exist They Just Don’t Have Kids Yet” Lawd ain’t that...

“Perfect Parents Exist They Just Don’t Have Kids Yet”

I saw this quote on Facebook today and it really hit home. 

“Perfect Parents Exist They Just Don’t Have Kids Yet”

Lawd ain’t that the truth.  I had this whole parenting thing completely figured out before I had kids. It was going to be a joyous experience.  I was going to parent using the perfect blend of love and discipline.  No yelling, spanking or cussing necessary – I mean, why give birth to these little angels if you’re just going to yell at them all the time?  I was going to stay at home and raise them because I couldn’t bear to imagine pulling myself away from my imaginary children for one little second.  And why have kids if you’re just going to hand them off to someone else to raise?  Who does that?  Well, apparently people who need money and like to eat and not live on the streets.  Those people.  My future children were going to have a routine and we were going to stick with it every day because routines are good for kids - my Parenting for Dummies handbook said so.  I memorized that book and read every parenting book and magazine I could get my hands on because it was bible.  I high-lighted, took notes, cross-referenced information – I was ready.  Bring on the babies!

Fast forward 14 years and 4 kids later to yesterday.  

My day started out unusually smooth.  The 3 boys were dressed, teeth brushed, breakfast eaten, and we were actually a few minutes early picking up #2’s friend who I had to drop off for Middle School Camp.  We no sooner drop off #2 & his friend and #4 has his first meltdown of the day.  He could not and would not understand why a 4-year-old couldn’t go to Middle School Camp.  He screamed and kicked and threw a fit the whole way to Summer Camp.  (Remember that stay at home mom thing I planned?  Well, didn’t happen.  This is where I drop my angels every day so I can work full-time.) 

We arrive at Summer Camp.  As I’m dragging the fit throwing 4-year-old who is acting like a 2-year-old from my van, #3 keeps saying, “Why does my swim back look different?  Why Mom?  Why does it look different?” to which I snap, “It’s not different – it’s the same red bag you’ve used every single day this summer for camp.  What do you mean it’s different?”  He points to it and says, “Look at it.  It’s different.”  I stop.  Look at the bag.  Sure as shit it’s a different red bag.  Son of a biscuit making mother trucker.  I open the bag.  Good news: it has a beach towel in it.  Bad news: no swim suit.  Also bad news:  summer camp is an hour round-trip in the opposite direction of where I work.  But it’s okay.  It’s fine.  I’m sure today is field trip day, not swim day.  Riggghhht.  Counselors confirm it is in fact swim day.  I tell #3 I will get his swim suit and bring it back.  I pry #4 off a pole he’s clinging to and carry him surfboard style kicking to his room.  (Remember how I didn’t want to pull myself away from my kids to go to work?  Yeah, I couldn’t get out of that room fast enough.)

I run out the door and jump in my van to begin my hour-long swim suit recovery trip when a light bulb goes off.  Well, actually it was a huge lit up red K to be exact.  I run in to Kmart, find an ugly ass but clearance priced #3 sized pair of swim trunks, throw my $7.48 at the cashier, snatch up her sharpie, write his name on his drawers and 3 minutes later I’m chucking those trunks through the door at Summer Camp and off to work I go. 

Work.  Ahhhh work.  It’s the only calm, sane part of my day.  It’s my refuge from my chaotic home life. It’s my break from the madness I created within the four walls of my home.  Many days it’s the only adult interaction I get.  I love work.

But alas, 8 hours later, it comes to an end and the real work begins again.

Back to Summer Camp. I arrive and head to the trampoline park to pick up #3.  I tell him to get his shoes so we can get #4 and go.  He can’t find his shoes.  He says they’re in the duck pin bowling area.  We trek over to the bowling alley and after searching under every bench and table we find them under the last one.  As he’s putting his shoes on, I ask him if he had fun bowling today.  He says, “Our group didn’t get to bowl.”  Ummm, okay, then why are your shoes in the bowling alley?  He has no idea.  Why would he?  I don’t even care at this point because we have his shoes and 674 more things to do.  Off to pick up the infamous incorrect red bag.  I look in the bin, it’s not there.  I ask him where it is.  He says he doesn’t know.  We walk all the way back to the trampoline park and ask some counselors.  One doesn’t know.  One says she thinks it’s in the gymnastics room.  Another counselor agrees.  Great, it’s on the other side of the building.  Before I turn to go, yet another counselor says, “Wait, did he just pull a red bag from that locker?”  Sure enough, #3 found his bag.  Kind of scary that he’s got his shit together more than the counselors but again, don’t care at this point because we have a bag. 

We finally head over to get #4.  He’s ironically playing with Lincoln logs and is in the beginning stages of a massive tower.  Because I did not sit down and wait 30 minutes for him to finish said tower, we got the wrath of 4 the whole way home…and the entire night if we’re being honest.  The kid was relentless with his screaming.  It went on through cooking dinner, eating dinner, cleaning up
dinner...off and on through the hour long football carpool trip…through his bath and into bed.  Still screaming.  HOURS of screaming.  By this point, my head is pounding.  I can’t get the kid to bed soon enough. 

Remember that cute little routine thing I planned out in my heavenly pre-parenting days?  Yeah, not so much.  I try.  I do.  I give them baths, brush their teeth, read them a book or 12 every night.  But then it’s supposed to be bedtime.  Ohhhh but not for my precious little love nugget #4.  The minute the door closes it begins.  He asks for another hug, needs to get up for a drink, needs me to tuck him in again, asks how many more sleeps until he gets to go to grandmas, gets up to pee, needs tucked in again, forgets to tell me that he farted in the pool that day, needs to poop, needs me to wipe his butt, needs me to tuck him back in for the 4^th time, calls me in to tell me his pajamas itch and his blanket smells like ham…

I. Can’t. Deal. Any. More.

Blame it on the full moon, blame it on the husband being gone for over a week, blame my lack of alcohol consumption, blame it on the HOURS of screaming I had to endure…blame it on what you will, but my patience was SHOT.  I had enough.  My thin little thread snapped.  Momma lost her shit.  Obviously I’m not proud of said shit being lost but it happened.  My house sounded like an episode of Jerry Springer live.  I screamed so loud I thought my head would explode.  It didn't - but I kind of wanted it to.  Did it help acting like a raging lunatic?  Yes and no.  After his crying switched over from I'm being an asshole and crying for no reason to an I'm terrified of my psycho ass mother whimper he finally fell asleep. Did it make me feel better?  The part where he fell asleep - hells yes. But the rest?  Absolutely not. I felt like a horrible human and an even worse mother.  I was nothing
like the mom I had planned to become before I had my litter of children.  I was beating myself up over this pretty hard when I started thinking about allll the times I didn’t flip the f out when I most certainly had probable cause but kept my cool. These moments by far outweigh the crazy ones so that’s a parenting win in my book. And the good news is...heeeee’s baaaaack!  The hubs is back - finally!  So I can put the crazy away for another nerves-are-shot kind of day and maybe learn to like my kids again. 

I will end this with a ginormous shout out to all the single parents out there. This is me a measly 8 days of doing this on my own. I’m absolutely out of my mind stressed out and I’m tapping out for a bit since the hubs is home. But you guys, you single parents who are either widowed by death or widowed by dead beat parenting, you guys are my HEROES. I do not know how you do it but I have the upmost respect for each and every one of you.  I just want to say you are AMAZING, keep doing what you’re doing and don’t beat yourself up because the only ones who can do it better are the perfect parents who haven’t had kids yet. 

Red is the New White

#2 had football pictures tonight. The pictures that are going to be blown up on individual banners to be hung on the fence at their games. I had one, just ONE request. I even put it in writing.

All I asked was for him to wear a WHITE shirt under his GREEN jersey. My fear was he’d wear a dingy old white shirt that would stand out against his brand new bright white football pants.  He didn’t just wear a dingy old white shirt. He wore one that he made himself in possibly the 3rd grade?

Yes, people, that’s 3 year old red marker on his collar with a pop of blue in the hand written “Odel Jr.”

I’m currently wondering what I did to deserve this while praying for a photo shop miracle.

Carpool Confusion

I LOVE my house.  I LOVE my neighborhood even more.  But let's be honest, it's quite a ways off the beaten path and it's no secret I HATE driving.  So as much as I don't want to move, I've entertained the idea of moving. A LOT.  However, the hubs is not on board with this idea - at all.  My solution?  I'll make him do all the driving.  Genius, right?  Well, I thought so until I got this text from a friend today.

Obviously this plan is not working out so well.  I need a plan B.  In the meantime, if you see this guy on the news for attempting to abduct a child from cheer practice, please remind him it would've been much easier to move.