President’s Day

I was thinking this morning that I have to come up with something fun and interesting for the blog and was kind of at a loss because we had a fairly boring weekend.  But sometimes, opportunity presents itself.  It presented itself in the form of President’s Day–otherwise known as “a day where schools are not open to torture parents and let them know who’s really in charge”  (that would be the children).  I know we’re supposed to take President’s Day and honor our country’s presidents and blah blah blah, but clearly the person that declared this a day off from school was not a parent.  Not even close.

I knew I had both children at home with me today and was prepared.  I had decided “Hey why not take the kids to the Play Park at Cherry Creek Mall since we’ve never been there and it’s too chilly to go to the park?”  This was a mistake.  A mistake of epic proportions.

Craziness started before we even arrived.  Zoe crumbled a waffle all over the backseat of my BMW (a very used BMW but still).  During the drive to the mall (all of a 15 minute drive), Max declared that it was “taking 5 hours” and whining to the point where I needed a glass of wine at 10 in the morning.  Five minutes in, he looked around and yelled out, “We’re not even in Denver anymore!  This is Santa Fe!”  We were 10 blocks from our house.

We arrived and I checked out the mall map since we had never been there.  Upon turning the corner and catching sight of the playzone, I stopped abruptly.  A couple two word phrases entered my mind.  Those words were “holy shit” and “fucking nightmare”.  Even the kids were stunned into silence for a minute.  It was absolute MAYHEM.  Every kid in Denver must have been at this place.  You literally couldn’t even see the floor.  About 85% was covered with child and the other 15% was occupied by a parents that clearly had lost all control.  The mall had been open for seriously 20 minutes.

But I was committed at this point.  There was no turning back so in we went!  I camped out in a seat (there were plenty because it seemed that every parent there was a helicopter parent–helping their child with their every move, even though none of the slides were higher than two feet off the ground–see the Free Range Kids blog for this type) and let the kids go to town.  Zoe commenced climbing nimbly on every square surface of the place (how did I get a girl who’s a climber?) and Max disappeared completely.  I swear I lost sight of him for a good ten minutes at one point.  Every once in a while, a blur of striped shirt and brown hair would fly by and I would hear “AAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!!” and I would know he was okay.  Then I would spot Zoe standing on TOP of a Disney character, 5 feet off the ground in socks, while 30 kids bumped into her, grinning her head off.  I saw numerous parents yelling at kids that clearly weren’t their own–and I thought ROCK ON with the reprimanding of complete strangers.  It was a land totally and utterly ruled by children.

I saw kids crying hysterically, I saw lollypops stuck on the floor, I saw several children fall off previously referred to 2 foot slide, parents running at top speed to break up a fight, Disney characters defiled in ways I can’t describe and I eventually found my own daughter with her pants off and starting to take her diaper off.  It was out. of. control.

I swear I am not a neglectful parents–that kid can whip a diaper off faster than you can imagine.  I was watching them–it was just so out of hand that an AC/DC concert would have been more organized.  This is NOT WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR when K and I decided that I should be a stay at home mommy.

So eventually we left, (socks for both children are missing and I shall never see them again) and then I made the awesome decision to take them to Johnny Rockets for lunch–yes a meal out with only one parent.  Brilliant idea.

Tomorrow Max has school off again (so we can continue to honor and think of our U.S presidents).  Tomorrow should definitely be better, as I have to go to the DMV to get a new driver’s license.  Yes, the DMV.  With two children.


A conversation with a 5 year old

Driving home from school, stopped at a light

Max: mommy, that dog right there is peeing

Me: yes

Max: why?

Me: because he had to pee

Max: *pause*. Mommy?

Me: yes

Max:  he was lifting his leg, which means he’s a boy dog

Me: yes

Moment of silence

Max: mommy?

Me: yes?

Max: how do girl dogs pee?                                                                                       

Me: they squat down

Max: hmm. Do you squat down?

Me: no I sit on the toilet

Max: because you pee out of your butt?

Me: *silence*  ( i am going to let this question pass for now)

Max: mommy?

Me: yes?

Max: did ralphie lift his leg?  (ralphie being our former dog)

Me: yes

30 seconds of blissful silence

Max: mommy?

Me: yes?

Max: how do dog’s poop?

It’s just endless

To sterilize or not to sterilize

I had coffee with two friends today (plus our three little children under the age of 2…..I’m sure you can guess how much actual conversation occurred) and we got on the subject of birth control.  Specifically how we would die a thousand deaths if any us fell pregnant with a third child.  My friend K’s husband has already stepped up to the plate and done his duty, which is called vasectomy.  She endured 18 months of pregnancy (actually 20 months really, but that’s a rant for another day), countless hours of labor and 2 c-sections.  Hence her husband felt that she had done enough.  Shockingly, my friend T’s husband has also said “you’ve done enough…it’s my turn”.  (He, of course, has done nothing whatsoever, but at least he said those words).

K has never said these words.  He dances around the subject like a heterosexual Michael Flatley (who I guess is technically straight but whatevs), whirling words and tapping out excuses that make my head spin.

Why are men so scared of this?  Getting a bunch of Valium, enduring 10 minutes of pain-free nothing and then lying around with ice on your nuts and being waited on by your woman?  Sounds brutal.  It definitely sounds as bad as my months of pregnancy, 19 hours of labor, no epidural, 2 hours of pushing and then hemorrhaging and almost dying situation.

I would say “oh well, I’m going off birth control and whatever happens, happens!” but guess who gets to have even more fun times if it happens?  ME.

Me, if I had another positive pregnancy test.      

A typical weekend in our house

My husband , K, and I take turns on the weekend waking up with the kids.  Saturday is my day to sleep in and Sunday is his day to sleep in.  Incidentally, we usually go out and get to bed later on Saturday nights. And my morning to get up is Sunday.  Of course.

Moving on.

A sampling from a Saturday morning.

Max sneaks into our room, thinking he is quiet.  A rutting bull is quieter than this child.  He stomps down the hallway, grabs my iPad from the bedside table and runs out, fleeing down the hallway to his room and, obviously, wakes Zoe. (see reference to rutting bull).

Crying from Zoe’s room.  Neither of us move.  More crying.  Non-movement.  More crying.  I clear my throat.  K gets up and retrieves the children and brings them downstairs.

10 seconds of blissful silence.

Screaming/shrieking/howling begins.  Deeper voice yells.  Floor vibrating.  Shrieking continues.  Ends.

10 seconds of blissful silence.  I burrow under the covers and sigh in relief.

Screaming.  Yelling.

Max is sent to his room.  Zoe shrieks.  Max throws tantrum in his room.  Kicks door repeatedly.


I feel a presence.  I open my eyes to Max next to my bed, three inches from my face, thumb in mouth, scaring the bejesus out of me.  “Mommy when are you getting up?”  He leaves.

15 minutes of silence in which I fall asleep.  3 seconds later, screaming.  Deep voice yelling.  Max appears again.  “Mommy, I need some milk.”  Seriously?  Daddy is right there.

I finally get up.

What I feel like on Saturday mornings    

The Zoo Animals

Max.  5 years old.  An awesome sleeper.  Stubborn as shit.  Smiles a lot yet still throws out of control tantrums when he hears “no” or doesn’t get his way.  Totally hilarious.

Zoe.  2 years old.  A tragic sleeper.  Shrieks at inappropriate moments.  Spills constantly.  Surgically attached to mom.

I’m convinced both are clinically insane.

A new life

My husband and I have been living in the middle east for the past three years and just moved back to the United States.  Yes, the middle east !!  ??  !!    The exclamation points and the question marks are to illustrate the look on people’s faces when we tell them that we just moved from the middle east.  As if we were living in a war zone, sleeping on dirt floors and feeding our children camel milk (which actually is quite healthy from what I’ve heard).

Here is a picture of Qatar

Looks brutal, right?

In all honesty, the country is a weird mix of middle eastern and western traditions, but it was hardly a tough time.   We lived in a giant house, had a maid, had amazing friends and two cars.  Oh, and everything was paid for by my husband’s company.  Granted, it was approximately 8 gillion degrees most of the year, there was enough sand to get a microdermabrasion facial every time you walked outside, you took your life into your own hands when you drove your car anywhere and I won’t even get into basic human right’s injustices, but it was good.

Which leads me back to people’s reactions….

“Why would you move there?” (see above)

“Wasn’t it hot when you covered your face” (you are not required to cover your face, hair, etc in Qatar)

“Did you have electricity?” (um, yes)

“What country did you live in?” (Qatar, Quatar, Catar, whatever)

“Did you actually have your children with you in the middle east??” (No we left them at home and went off to enjoy ourselves 8000 miles away.  Of course we did.  And I went through my 2nd pregnancy there)

In short, people in our new city think we’re freaks.  Being a new person in a new city?  Hard.  Being a new person in a new city, with two young child, restarting a business and telling people you just moved from the middle east?  Hideous.