Spring is...

Chasing shadows



















Making the playoffs:



















Diving in ball pits:



















Turning five



















Finding Easter eggs:



















Blowing bubbles:



















And resting in the shade













Happy April!

Mitch, you are my favorite because

Another installment in the "you are my favorite because..." birthday series.

Mitch, you are my favorite because...

You are currently my biggest fan, filling my days with "I love you's," creating art in my honor, bringing me my rice pillow, helping me cook and clean, and laying your head on my shoulder while we watch TV.

You remind my of my father and my brother.

You tolerate your position in our household with such patience and understanding. You defer to Owen when that is what you need to do, and you help Paige along when that is what you need to do.

Tonight you sobbed and sobbed because you scared Paige with your new remote control tarantula, and you felt terrible about it.

You come up with the most creative reasons for staying home from school and for coming into bed with us at night.

You have mad style, particularly when you wear your Pink Floyd tee.

You say things like, "Mommy, sometimes you are so conservative," and "I'm even psyched-er about my field trip tomorrow!"

You recognize good music and you're not afraid to sing with the headphones on.

You can charm adults without coming off phony.

You beg to wind the bobbin on my sewing machine, and you love my sewing lessons.

You cherish the things I make for you and understand that their value comes from the love put into the making.

You taught yourself to ride a two-wheeler, persisting even after tearing up one side of your face in a bad spill.

You kiss me goodbye every morning, and you're the first to greet me when I come home from work.

When you were a tiny baby, you gave me some of the most peaceful, emotional, and spiritual moments of my life as I rocked you in the dark.

I love you Snitcheroo! Happy birthday, my school-aged boy.

Snow Day: A Haiku

March, a fierce lion,
Bends flowers to icy death.
Me? I serve cocoa.

Holiday wishes for you and you and you

The 8 phases of the holiday photo

Oh, the blessed ritual of the holidays. The festivity, the preparing of home and heart to welcome miracles. The feasting, the sharing, the ushering in of a new hope, a new year. All this richness is what every mother hopes to capture in her children's holiday photo.


Phase One: Robot Children
You're just beginning. Everyone is hopeful, cooperative. They're trying. But it's just too stiff. Not warm enough.



Phase Two: Grandma tries to help
Grandma steps in and attempts to make everyone smile. From the other end of the room.



Phase Three: New Location
You decide an outside shot might be better. Everyone settles in, tries to find a comfortable pose. Especially the two-year old, whose most comfortable pose is less than modest. Also, your sister pulls into the driveway and yells, "Hi guys!" just as you're hitting the button.



Phase Four: Smile!
Everyone gets comfortable. You say, "Smile!" The two-year old really, really tries.



Phase Five: Impatience decends
Everyone is getting just a little bit anxious. "This is going to be it!" you reassure them. "Just one more!" And yes, it's a great shot! Cute! Natural! Semi-focused! Except the four-year-old forgot to sit still.



Phase Six: Hilarity
They've begun to mock your dream of a nice Christmas photo.



Phase seven:



Phase Eight: Tears
Now you've done it. You've made the baby cry.



Phase Nine: Wine
Mutter, "F it." Go inside. Pour a glass of wine. Pick a mediocre shot and live with it.

And no, you can't see it because you might be getting a Christmas card.

Holidays officially underway.

You are my favorite because...

Another birthday (erm, only a couple of weeks ago...or so...), another favorite post (which I've been working on for a week!)

Owen, you are my favorite because...

You can't stop giving Mitch your birthday money. Every time you spend a little of it, you hand some over to him because you can't stand to see him disappointed.

Your enthusiasm for maps and geography facts has made me an expert on capital cities, both in the U.S. and abroad.

You share my love of Beverly Cleary, Spencer on iCarly (he totally makes that show watchable), drawing, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and sleeping for five more minutes.

When you asked me, "Are you the tooth fairy?" and I responded, "Are you kidding? I don't have time to fly around the world gathering teeth every night!" that was a good enough answer for you.

I said it last year, and I'll say it again: you laugh at my jokes, and you make jokes that make me laugh.

You have good taste in shoes.

Your performance and behavior in school are absolutely the best a parent could hope for, and you do so well because you love it, like I do.

You are proud of who you are and completely unselfconscious.

You are my first born, and there is something special about a mother's love for her first born. You introduced me to the meaning of life, and every day you are that enlightenment made manifest.

Snowball, I can't believe it's already been 7 years. In the same amount of time from now you'll be 14, and that makes me dizzy. Please don't ever leave behind the smart, funny, quirky boy I love.

November 4, 2008

You are my favorite because...

(For more about my "You are my favorite because" series, go here and here)

Paige, you are my favorite because...

• You bobble out to the family room every night around midnight simply because you can't go an entire night without seeing your momma.
• When you bobble out to the family room at midnight, half asleep, your hair looks ridiculous, and the sight of you grinning from behind those mangy locks turns my heart into butter.
• You share some of my dearest loves: crackling fires, popcorn, dressing and undressing dolls, Diet Coke, sleeping with your head under the blankets, and the marshmallows in Lucky Charms cereal.
• You are resourceful. If someone puts a basket of candy on top of the refrigerator, you do not hang your head woefully and think, "Oh dear, now I can't have candy." No. You find a stool, put it on top of a book, take off your socks, use the fridge handle as leverage, and you scale that damn refrigerator (or bookshelf, or dresser) and you GET that damn candy (or cellphone, or lip gloss, or remote control).
• You grab my hand and say "show'mon" (a combination of "show me" and "come on") when you need something. And you sound like Michael Jackson when you say it.
• You have no problem putting your brothers in their place and have been known even to make them cry.
• As the smallest one in a family of six, you tolerate and forgive my tardiness in, say, writing your birthday blog entry, or teaching you colors and letters, or remembering to give you lunch.
• Every night, after we've read books and said goodnight, you slobber kisses all over me until I have to physically remove your lips from my face.
• You feel glamorous in a diaper and plastic princess shoes.
  
• You understand the hilarity of walking around with a bucket on your head.
• Every time I come home from work, you race through the house howling "Mommy home!!!" and fling yourself at my legs as if I've been gone for months.
• Despite your limited vocabulary, you sing all the "words" in your favorite songs.
• You are admired and doted upon everywhere you go because you have a light and a happiness in your soul that radiates outward, lifting the hearts of those lucky enough to cross your path.
  

Happy birthday, Bobble. I'm so glad you're two. But please don't turn three.

Dear Tech Services Guy

I'm very sorry to report that my computer is malfunctioning, and I think it may be because I spilled about 8 oz. of coffee on the keyboard. However, before you charge me for a replacement, please allow me to explain how the coffee-spilling incident wasn't my fault.

It wasn't my fault because it was Nickelodeon's fault.

See, Nickelodeon accepts advertising for thousands...and thousands...of children's products, cereals, vacation spots, and toys. From these thousands of ads, they choose, oh, three a week to play over and over and over, effectively brainwashing children into believing there is no better toy in the whole wide universe.

Take, for example, the Rocket Powered Fishing Rod. Last year, my children, who had never before expressed one iota of interest in water sports, swore that there lives would be empty and meaningless until they owned this fishing rod, which casts--"at the simple push of a button"--FIFTY FEET into the water (which is, of course, really not that far, but FIFTY is an enormous number to anyone under 8 years old).

A few months ago, the coveted toy d'jour was the Phlatball, a "ball" that one can squish into a disk and then throw to someone who, expecting to catch a Frisbee, will be totally wowed to see it pop open to become a ball in midair. I say, if you want to play Frisbee, throw a Frisbee. If you want to play ball, throw a ball. No one needs a Fris-ball. But whatever.

One afternoon, my children spotted the Phlatball in Target, and because they had seen it on TV, they nearly peed their pants with excitement to see it live and up close in the store. It was on sale for $10, and Mitch had some birthday money. I tried to persuade them it that it was a useless toy; I tried to steer them toward other, more entertaining toys. I even suggested saving the money (the horror!) to buy something bigger and better. But no. It would be the Phlatball and nothing else.

The Phlatball now lives in the bottom of the toy box, abandoned by the boys because, yes, it is pointless after all.

However. One rainy day I undertook a cleaning project wherein I gathered all of our toys to weed out the pointless, forgotten ones. Once in the "toss" pile, the Phlatball was discovered by Paige, who both loved and was scared to death by its "popping back into a ball" feature. She became a bit attached to it in that kind of sick "I love what appalls me" way and refused to leave it in the giveaway pile. So it's back in circulation now.

On Saturday morning, I was checking my email and drinking coffee very carefully, ever mindful of my responsibility to care for the property of the good college that employs me and shares with me its electronic bounty. While I worked, Paige played with the Phlatball at my feet. After growing frustrated with her attempts for flatten the ball on her own, she decided that perhaps she could use my chest as leverage. So she stood up and pushed the Phlatball against my left boob, successfully, if only momentarily, flattening it.

I shifted a bit to avoid her pushing, and when I did, the Phlatball popped back into a sphere. Unfortunately, as the ball opened, its flexible sides snapped back into shape, and in doing so, clamped down on my left nipple.

Dear tech guy, it hurt. It really, really hurt. And so I jumped, thereby sloshing half of my coffee on my laptop, which let out this long, rather screechy and primal beeeeeeep. And then all went black.

I dried the keyboard with a hairdryer; I let it sit overnight; I even prayed a little because I haven't backed up any of my data in awhile. And much to my delight, the computer started up the next day. But now things are strange, as if the coffee perhaps caused a few of the computer's synapses to misfire. Now there are all these quirks, and strange error messages, and difficulties.

So I think I might need a new one, and I know you don't, as a rule, replace computers that have been damaged by the neglect of the employee, but see...it wasn't my fault.

It was Nickelodeon's fault. And my sister's fault for sending Mitch birthday money. And Target's fault for putting the Phlatball on sale.

So can I have a new computer? Please check yes or no.

O YES O NO

Love,
Ashley

Having fun with no money

August and September are tight in our household, since I get paid on a 10 month schedule. Things get much better by the end of September, but until then, we have to make our own fun. No movies, restaurants, or trips to the zoo for us.

The upside is that, in our quest to find inexpensive entertainment, we often wind up having more fun than we'd have on a costly outing. We're more creative, and free activities usually center around simple togetherness.

Today we got a late start to our Saturday and didn't really feel like packing everyone up to go out, even though it was a gorgeous, cool day. So we had a picnic lunch in our yard. The result was lovely, one of those moments when nothing particularly special happens, but everyone feels completely content, congenial, and close.

We ate ham and cantaloupe:

We swiped each other's cantaloupe when supplies ran low:

We waved to the mailman:


We talked with our mouths full:

We even had a guest:

Who fell asleep after gorging on cantaloupe:

All in all a perfect afternoon, nothing that a movie or a shopping spree at Target could beat. Tonight: DVD, air mattress, popcorn, and late bedtimes. Good times.

Dethroned

I can't remember where I read or heard that the terrible two's are a product of a child's dismay at discovering that she is not (as she'd previously assumed) queen of the world.

Until a child is about two years old, we're more willing to cater to every whim, to respond to every request. Then we raise our expectations. And the child's requests become more... complicated, to put it nicely. To put it not nicely, the child's requests become freakin' ridiculous.

At two, a child suddenly wants to participate in activities like

• Tearing up rolls of toilet paper and trying to flush all of the pieces
  
• Sitting on the back of the couch instead of on the seat of the couch
• Calling the (poor, unsuspecting) first person on your cell phone's speed dial over and over and over
• Watching the same Backyardigans sixty-eleven times in a row
• Eating money
• Climbing into your lap when you have a full cup of coffee
  
• Painting the kitchen floor with ketchup (or soggy cereal...or syrup)
• Drinking sixty-eleven juice boxes
• Pounding on the computer keyboard (when she needs a break from turning the computer off and on)
• Opening the fridge, then figuring out how to work the fridge lock and opening the fridge again. And again, and again.
• Wearing nothing but a diaper and an old cheerleading costume that's 10 sizes too big
• Eating hair clips
• Climbing dressers and bookshelves
• Protesting the car seat with back arching and flailing
• Tattooing herself with magic marker
• Taking off her own diaper at, let us say, "inopportune moments"
  
• Turning the TV volume all the way up
  
• Riding the cat
  

You see, it's impossible to say "yes" to such activities. And the toddler starts to learn that "no" will often be the response to her requests. The world is no longer simply eating, pooping, and sleeping. There is so much to be done, and so many people standing in the way of her doing it.

It's hard to accept, so the child melts down.

Paige will be two in October. Let the dethroning begin.

Hey people!!!!

It's been one of those weeks. You know the kind: those weeks when both your house air conditioning AND your car air conditioning break on the same day. And then, even though you tell your husband, "Don't let the HVAC guy bamboozle you into some maintenance contract (cause you wouldn't dream of paying to prevent problems, you'd rather just cough up 5 times more after things break), you get home and your husband tells you he had to sign the maintenance contract because blah blah blah de blah blah.

And the Olympics are over, and your DVR keeps stopping recordings just before the actual end of programs, so you don't get to see one gold medal handed out or find out what happens "Next week on The Hills." And you discover that your work pants from Spring semester are, um, snug (to put it mildly). And the fun fabric shopping trip you have planned with one of your closest friends whom you haven't spent time with in way too long gets canceled cause the damn shop is closed on Mondays.

That kind of week.

But. In the midst of all my whining this week, I did find a few moments of unexpected joy. Turns out that riding around town with the windows down, something I haven't done in a really long time, has a kind of euphoric effect on passengers. Apart from the blistering, smothering heat at stoplights, rolling along with the wind in our hair this week has been kind of fun.

I think it's because driving with the windows down makes you turn the music up, which causes you to sing along more loudly than you otherwise might, which, it seems, releases endorphins, even in toddlers. There's been much giggling and smiling in the car of late, a good bit of waving out the window, and lots and lots of singing. I'd even be as melodramatic as to say that driving with the windows down makes me feel more connected to the world.

Apparently it makes Mitch feel that way too.

Why else would he release himself from his booster seat, lean across the front seat to stick his head out the window, and holler, "Hey people!!!!!"

See? Not all bad is bad. Sometimes bad can be good.

But air conditioning is better.

Mean Mommy Wordle

Make your own

I won't grow up

Here's a secret about me (not a secret if you know me in real life): I have a tendency to get more carried away by my children's games, toys, and crafts than they do. It's not uncommon for John to find me in the playroom coloring long after my kids have moved on to the next activity ('cause it's just wrong to leave a coloring book with a half-colored picture).

I have also been known to overtake the decoration of doll houses, the dressing of baby dolls, and the construction of block cities. And God forbid a child try to collaborate on MY paintings. Also, please don't forget to wash your brushes between colors because I hate when the paints get muddy.

So lately, I've been sewing doll clothes for Paige's dolls, nevermind that she'd be just as happy, if not happier, playing with naked babies. And, true to form, I've gotten just a wee bit obsessed with the task, often to the neglect of my actual parenting duties, like playing with the children and, er, feeding them.

But there are 4 "major" (i.e. well-played-with) dolls in the household and only one pair of doll pajamas. And only one party dress! How is one to have a proper dolly tea party if only one doll has appropriate attire? To remedy this situation, I've been working hard to expand the doll wardrobe with some vintage sewing patterns I bought on Etsy and Ebay (because who needs groceries?).

So even if my children are running around naked because I can't be bothered to dress them, by gum their dolls will be dandy.

See?

A poem, by Mean Mommy

I just took a look at Google Analytics (which I never do, cause I totally don't care how many readers I have) and decided to check out which keyword searches have lead internetters to Mean Mommy. And reading through these keywords, I realized they tell the story of my life, in a vaguely poetic, essential kind of way.

So today, I thought I'd share my life...in a poem:

My Life in Keywords*

do you know the mommy game?

accidentally put baby's head in ceiling fan
baby fell and hit cheek
3 month old baby falls on tile floor
feeling guilty toddler bruise

nasty mean mommy

how well you know the mommy
20 and have gray hairs
crazy requests at McDonalds
italian bon bons

wild, mean and squeaky clean

outgrowing a mullet
waking to a bat in my room
losing teeth in my dreams

why are mothers so mean?
my children are driving me crazy

(*yes, these are actual keyword searches that have lead readers here. Blush.)

August is the cruelest month

Some say it's April. But no.

August means temperatures in the 90s every day; insufferable humidity; a tighter budget (I get paid on a 10 month schedule); the start of the fall semester; astronomical electric bills; swarms of mosquitoes in our yard; and no vacations or holidays.

The older kids are 3 weeks into school and just starting to complain about homework and waking up early. Mitch is stir crazy, particularly with his partner in crime away at school all day, and is getting into all kinds of mischief. He's totally sick of me and asks every single day when school starts (not til September for him, helpmeJesus).

It's too hot to play outside, too boring to stay inside, and we're running out of ideas. And patience. Especially me...my patience is all but depleted, and I've become a sweaty, frizzy-haired, ponytail wearing, tank top sporting superbitch of a mother.

I can stand nothing but silence. If the children are doing anything but sitting quietly, my nerves get jangled. The noise, noise, noise is more than I can take on top of the cabin fever and the suffocating heat. And Owen and Mitch are the kings of silly lately, with all of these inside jokes that make sense to no one else but send them into convulsions of laughter, laughter which escalates into hilarity, which leads to Mitch leaping gleefully onto Owen and knocking him to the ground, which turns into someone getting hurt, which becomes a fight, which ends in tattling and tears and yelling, and people getting sent to their rooms. And when they come out of their rooms, it starts all over again.

And it's only August 2nd.

If you insist

I've had several (2) complaints over the past week about the lack of new posts here at MM. Well, our lives have been exceedingly boring, and I haven't been thinking about anything interesting at all, so what...do you want me to be one of those blow-by-blow bloggers who write about the minutia of their daily lives? Who discuss what was had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?

Actually, If I am going to update, it will have to be minutia, for truly nothing more has happened.
A few minutii (the singular of minutia?):

Owen started first grade. This may not seem mundane to you, but the move to first grade has been taken very much in stride by my first born. His favorite things about 1st grade so far: no naptime, real desks, and his new pal James.

We still have overdue library books. The librarian actually gasped when she tallied our fines. Luckily they can't charge more than $10 to clear your tarnished name.

We freakin' love Blue Bunny Cookie Dough ice cream. So much that we ate (as a 6 person family, mind you) an entire half gallon container in one day. Well...maybe the babysitter had some.

We saw The Dark Knight. And you know how when there's lots of hype about something it never ends up being as good as you hoped it would be? Well Heath Ledger lives up to the hype. I was shocked actually.

Paige strung three words together for the first time, and the phrase she uttered is one of my least favorites: "One more time!"

John perfected his butter/wine/lemon sauce. And we've been eating it on everything.

I'm getting fatter. See entries 3 and 6.

I cleaned the van. Because if you're in carpool line and trash falls out of the car when you open the door, it's way embarrassing.

I've been sewing my ass off. Which is hard because you totally need an ass if you're going to sit at a sewing machine.

Mitch has been prattling on and on all the live long day. Talking without ceasing and actually demanding my full attention as he does so. It's hard. So hard.

So there you have it, a slice of our boring lives and my flatlined mind. I think it's the heat that's made us sluggish. Perhaps I'll have more insightful things to say next time. But I do, after all, have to save some insight for Momformation since they, like, pay me. So if you truly need a fix o' the Mean Mommy, you can always check out what I have to say over there.

Best vacation photo 2008

'Nuff said.

Top ten best beach experiences 2008

In no particular order:

1. Playing "doodle guess" (like Pictionary but simpler and rowdier) with all 4 kids and my mom, who was a very bad sport. Mitch's strategy: scribble on the paper and say "YES!" to the first guess.

2. The tidal pool on the last day (aka the "baby ocean"). Paige was in splish splash heaven.

3. Watching Owen and Mitch driving kiddie go-karts. Owen = old man driver (complete with side swipes of parked cars) Mitch = bad ass teenager (complete with turns on two-wheels). The attendant feared for his life.

4. The filet mignon. Who cares if they were bought on the "sell by" date and lived a long life in my parents' deep freezer. Against all odds, they were freakin' delicious.

5. Owen asking my dad for his change at Dairy Queen after being told he could pick something under $4. He did pick a $2 item after all. The kid just wanted what was coming to him!

6. Owen loosing his first tooth. He was mighty brave about it, so the tooth fairy was generous.

7. My 5-year-old niece's submission to a round of Apples to Apples (such a fun game). The adjective was "haunting." Her card said "kittens."

8. Mitch's refusing to call my brother-in-law anything but "Dave." Not Uncle David, not even just plain David. Just "Dave."

9. The Orange Blossom Bakery vs. Gingerbread House Bakery taste test. Apple fritters went to Orange Blossom. Butterscotch cookies went to Gingerbread House.

10. My mom wearing the kids' hooded fish towel. While having a serious conversation during which no one was able to take her seriously. (She was trying to keep sand out of her ears on a windy day.) I so wish I had a picture.

Totally vaca

If you speak Spanish, you might think my title means, "totally cow."

But no, it's VAY CAY, as in VAY-CAY-tion, as in, I'm so 80's cool I call it "vay cay."

All this to say, I'm away for a week enjoying a week of unpluggedness. Don't miss me too much!