This is NOT a date!

Yesterday was not a good day for my son. He just woke up with an attitude and when I told him to go upstairs to find his "nice" self he told me that his "nice self" ran away and would only come back if I got him a 3DS. He will be missed...

So after getting in trouble like forty-seven times, we all went out to wait for the bus. He barely gave me his cheek to kiss and then he was gone. I hoped that after school would prove to be better, but that didn't pan out for me either. At dinner he got in trouble for antagonizing his sisters and not sitting at the table properly. He then got in trouble for tackling his sister and making her cry. Not. A. Good. Day.

When I tried to tuck him in, he refused to look at me. I crawled next to him and tried to put my head under his face--to see his eyes and make him laugh. His response?
"Eeww--I don't know what you think you are doing, but I am not going to kiss  you on the lips. This is NOT a date!"

And to think that at one time he wanted to marry me!

Really bad poetry

It's the weekend before school starts
and all eyes are on me
because (though it's awful), I am brimming with glee!

Thoughts of the future play out in my head--
days at the gym after resting in bed.
Relaxing mornings as all three scurry out--
lunchboxes and bookbags in hand with no pouts.
While I in my jammies give hugs and say "bye!"
They all three wave with love, though all eyes are dry.

Off to my blogging or facebook or tumbler;
spend some time on pinterest and some time on stumbler.
If I want I could watch some trashy TV
or perhaps clean a room--it is all up to me.

No Pampers to change, no fighting to ref,
no yelling to those who pretend they are deaf.
No noses to wipe or band aids to place,
no marks on the wall that I have to erase.
No whiny voices or bad attitudes,
no struggling to get them to not be so rude.

No fighting over spirals or Kraft macaroni.
No fighting that Oscar's the best kind of bologna

No crying or fighting or cleaning up messes.
No trying to get gum out of pretty blonde tresses.
No saying, "No," fifty times, maybe more.
No trying to pee while blockading the door.
No hiding in closets to talk on the phone.
No, "You're the worst mom EVER!" as my constant ring tone.

It's me--only me and though you all may mock---
I am pretty sure that this week
I will have writer's block.

MY kind of list

*The only way to get to the link is by clicking on the last html posted at the bottom of this post. I can't seem to fix it. I suppose I could add, "I will NEVER understand how to use my computer" to the list... There are SOOOOOO many things to add to this list...do YOU have anything to add? http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/11/ive-decided-that-instead-of-making-to.html
http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/11/ive-decided-that-instead-of-making-to.html

I WISH I could say that this has gotten better...

http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/so-today-it-was-braydens-turn.html

When's the last time you saw a child 'smoking" gum/candy cigarettes or riding on the handlebars of his friend's bicycle?

My friend, Chad sent me this article a few weeks ago and for some reason I let it sit and fester in between the Groupon and Daily Deals that are clogging up my yahoo account. The Gmail is clogged with health and fitness "tips" and Nigerian relatives who want to give me money.

LUCKILY I decided to purge today. No...I am not clearing off the dry bar that is covered with dust (dust that has seen more parts of this country than ANY travel adviser, I'll have you know. I wonder if I could sell it...?

"This dust began its dismal life in Charlotte, North Carolina where it began its journey north to Manassas, Virginia. There were too many battles fought in Manassas, so the dust settled (hahahaha!) in Warrenton for a while, then headed to Fredericksburg where it spent most of its youth. After five years, the dust rolled through most of the central states to reside in upstate western Montana for about two years when it collected itself (and others) and rolled back eastward to settle in New Jersey where it now rests beneath a ridiculous amount of time-out toys that were never missed and candles that are never lit (for fear of a dust explosion upon lighting...)"

Wow--that was QUITE a digression. Now you know why I confuse so easily. There is MADNESS going on in my brain. Where was I? Right--purging. No--I am not sorting through the stacks of papers that are strewn about the house. I am not purging the leftover ham from last year's Easter dinner (just kidding, but you were wondering for a minute...I don't blame you. If our refrigerator hadn't broken a month ago, it could TOTALLY be the case--don't beat yourself up about it). I AM purging my irrelevant email. I would LOVE to do both accounts, but let's not get crazy. I have over ten THOUSAND emails in my yahoo account. TEN. THOUSAND. I don't even KNOW what half of them are about, yet I will keep them...just in case. I very well may want to sit down later to discover the secret fat-burning ingredient in five foods I may or may not eat every day. And if I click on some of the surveys I can earn something...I may want to read about what that something IS.

Well, I am glad I at least attempted to purge because I came upon this email from my friend and the article is HILARIOUS! Really. I know what you are thinking--I think EVERYTHING is hilarious (unless "you" are my husband--then you think that I think that NOTHING is hilarious--but that is for another day), but THIS will REALLY make you laugh out LOUD (which I hate to say because people don't believe that laughing out loud is really a thing anymore, but it IS! LITERALLY (another word that people don't believe in because it is so frequently misused). I LITERALLY laughed OUT LOUD when I read this and I think you will, too.


Did you read it? DID you? Wasn't it HILARIOUS? Were you picturing yourself falling all over the seat in the car or worse--sitting in THE FRONT seat as a child? Or flying down a hill helmetless and carefree with your parents nowhere in sight?! I am giggling just REMEMBERING the article--and those PICTURES! I want Amber Dusick to be my friend because she is SO FUNNY--and I have funny friends!

 While reading this I started thinking about when I would babysit for my cousins (who are now in their twenties) and their car seats would practically tip OVER when we went around corners. Of course, at least they attempted to keep their children safe twenty years ago. When I was young you were lucky to have a seat belt and a relative who would hail a few Mary's for your journey. As for Mr. Yuck--we had a serious love/hate relationship. My mom would put those stickers on every container (which really just made me MORE curious about what was inside) and would get extras for me because I LIKED them. If that doesn't tell you what my taste in men was like (before I met my husband of course), then nothing will!

I choked on my carrot (yes, carrot. I had to grab SOMETHING when I clicked on Dusick's link to the BEST chocolate chip cookie EVER, because I was salivating. Luckily I am far too lazy to make ANYTHING right now--even if it is of the chocolate chip variety and even if it is the best EVER. ) reading about her experience with the metal swingset remembering how we would stand up on the swing and have people push us as high as possible and now I say, "Only on your bottom" as my children have the controlled fun I allow them to have. They have never even ATTEMPTED to stand up on the swing--I am pretty sure that I would KILL them for even TRYING it. I remember trying to swing high enough to make the entire swingset tip over backwards. Don't act like you don't know what I mean. ALL of those sets would come out of the ground as we swung--was there supposed to be cement poured in to keep them in the ground? I'm not sure that ANYONE went to those extremes--they just banked on us slowing down so that the set would stay in place. Or maybe they were hoping it tipped, too!

The see-saw/teeter.totter slam down was like a rite of passage when we were young. You climbed onto the teeter totter KNOWING that you were taking a risk. I remember the panic when your tottering partner would decide that she would rather be jump roping...BAM. Your top teeth became your bottom teeth and your brain was in your nose. Sometimes people would just mess with each other--you never knew if you were going to crash to your doom or be carefully let off of the see saw with no injuries. It was a crap shoot. Good times.

I read this knowing that I was the most overprotective parent out there and was just happy to know that someone may be almost as bad as I am. Or slightly as bad as I am...?
The first time I let my son play outside without me, we were living in a townhouse in Montana. There was no screen door and I couldn't really see in the back yard from the tiny kitchen window, so I left the back door open. In December. In Montana. The neighborhood children who had gathered to play ball in the back yard were a little freaked out by me, but I was a little freaked out by THEM. And pretty much EVERYTHING else

 I have gotten better--I let all three of them go out without me now as long as they stick together and stay in the yard. The other day, the older two were having fun and getting along so well that they didn't notice the youngest taking off on her bike. ALONE. I say "taking off," but you should know that we live on the corner of two culdesacked (I am coining that--it is now a word) streets so "taking off" meant that she rode in the street in front of our house and next to our house. IN THE STREET. And she did NOT have her helmet, which is a bit...ironic? Hypocritical? since someone I know VERY WELL just wrote an article for the Examiner on the subject of helmet safety. Ahem.

 I know all of this because even though I let them go outside without me I check them every few minutes to make sure...well, to make sure that one of them isn't riding around helmetless in the street.  When I peeked out, I only saw the oldest two and my heart sank. I yelled for them ALL and the oldest two came running noting that they had no idea where Addison was. At this point, she was riding her bike along the side of the house where we could not see, but when my son said, "She's inside--she went in a LOONG time ago!" I thought I would be sick. Seconds later, little Addie comes squeaking around the corner with a huge smile, not a care in the world. Until I grabbed her and mauled her and told her to ALWAYS answer when we call her name. Nothing like freaking out the five-year-old.

Why ARE we so much more protective of our children now? I blame Lifetime television. I don't watch it now, but in my twenties I LIVED (AND cried) by it! There is always something happening to some sweet child and the nice neighbor is always the serial stalker. AND it is ALWAYS a true story! I will NEVER get the image of the parents going to bed in the room of the husband/killer and when they turned the lights off the room GLOWED to show how much blood had been on the walls. CREEPY. Anyway, I knew I had to give up Lifetime and I haven't watched it since. if only I could give up chocolate and baked goods that easily...FOREVER.

Only, I don't WANT to give up yummy treats FOREVER--or even for a short amount of time, really, but Lifetime HAD to go because it was messing with my brain. I am constantly afraid of something happening to my babies and watching Lifetime would make it SO MUCH WORSE! it's a shame because those movies usually are SO GOOD.

I have a whole thing about certain movies and when I am allowed to watch them--I'll have to revisit it in a different post.  Now, though, I will have to settle on reading Tummy taming tips and writing back to my Nigerian uncle. Speaking of keeping children safe, where ARE my kids anyway...? I would have done GREAT as a parent in the seventies...

Plan shmann...

Here I am. It's Thursday and according to my new "plan," it is one of the only days for me to actually write a full blog. Only, I kept Addison out of school today because all of her friends from last year's play group came over for a play date (or--if the authorities ask (do the authorities CARE about preschool?)--she was feeling a bit under the weather...which is HILARIOUS because she has been happily squeaking (yes, she is a squeaker--she squeals with excitement over--well--just about ANYTHING when she is in a happy mood) around me for the last two hours since her friends had to go home. Seriously, she is humming and singing and squeaking asking things like, "Don choo stink dat it is a WONDEWERFUL day, Momma?" and "Momma--Momma--MOMMMMMMAAAA--oh--teehee--guess what?! Dis is a gwryeat day!" So yeah--she's REALLY under the weather! I feel like that could mean anything. I  mean, she has a tummy ache at least five times a day (it only lasts a minute, but it's there), so technically she COULD be under the weather at any given time, but...I think I'm just gonna go with the truth. Especially because she keeps talking to me and asking me questions so I have NO IDEA what I am writing right now. I couldn't possibly keep up a lie, too!

Here is a snapshot of what is happening in MY world right now:

"Addison--why are you moving all of the chairs and bins around me? I won't be able to get up..."
"Yowewer at my wryestaurant. Don't fowerget to owerdewer food (in her highest, squeakiest, LOUDEST voice)!  "What would you yike? We have cake and cookies and muffins and cawrots and apples and..." (Remember--she is YELLING all of this and has done it for a good hour now. BUT--she is SO happy and in such a great, fun mood, I can't help but laugh.)

"OKAAAAAY (she's a little like Giselle from Enchanted--performing for an audience who is hard of hearing...)--let's make a SIGN! How do I spell  wryestaurant ? Mom? Mommy? MOMMA? How do I spell wryestaurant? "

"R."
"Awrewer? AWREWER? Okay. Awrewer. Okay Mommy. Okay Momma. Okay--what's ne-ext?  Momma? Mommy? Mom? What is aftewewre the awrewer? Momma? Mommy? Momma?"

"E."

"OOOOOHHHH...E. E, E, EEEEEEEEE! Fiwiwrst comes awrewer, then comes EEEE-EEEEE. Now is it S? Momma? Mommy? Mommy? Is there an S next? Momma? Momma? "

This continued for...well, she is still doing it, though she finished her sign. "Addie's Restaurant" is now full service and she is ECSTATIC about running it. You have NEVER seen a happier waitress in your life! And her sing-song voice would make me crazy if she wasn't so darn cute and if I didn't know that the exact opposite is what I usually get from my maniacs. I'll take singsong over brooding ANY day! Her voice is at a pitch that would make dogs wince, but again--too cute.

With all of this going on, I have no idea what I am writing, nor do I have an idea of what I WANT to write. I think we were discussing my "plan." My "plan" (I put "plan" in quotes because, let's be honest--the only "plan" I am ever capable of keeping is my "plan" to make more "plans." Plus, what is the saying? We make "plans" (I can't help it. I feel that it belongs in quotes...I'm like Joey from friends when he used his "air quotes"

Friends [Air Quotes FULL] -Hit Me- - YouTube

 SO. VERY. FUNNY.) (If you don't want to watch the whole thing, his first..."encounter" with the quotation marks comes within the first few minutes, but if you have time to watch it in its entirety, I HIGHLY recommend it. It may not be as funny as THIS mind-numbing rambling, but little is my friends. Little. Is.)

Okay...so I was talking about the saying that we make plans and God laughs. I like to think that I make God laugh more than most people because of all the "plans" I make. The average person probably makes fewer plans than I do, and probably follows more than I do. Which would make people who KNOW me (and I think God KNOWS me!) laugh even harder than those who don't. So at least I know I am doing SOMETHING to make God smile. Just sayin'...

So my "plan." Thursday is one of the only days to freely write my blog, but I am clearly having a problem with it! I'm not sure if it is because my children are LITERALLY yelling and screaming in circles around me and I'm feeling guilty or if it is because I'm feeling the pressure of only having two days of free writing, so it should be HILARIOUS--I don't know. It could also be the fact that the only consistency I have in ANY of my plans is the fact that I actually MAKE them, so this one is destined to fail. That's the spirit, right?! Wow--I think I need to suck in some of my daughter's enthusiasm! Insert squeaky, high-pitched, happy, yelling here:"THANK YOU! I CAN'T WAIT to write again tomorrow! You think I should write again tomorrow? I would LOVE to write again tomorrow. THANK YOU!"

I am looking at three blocks of cheese, a plate of carrots, a couple of cheese sticks, an apple, some bran muffins and a glass FULL of some smoothie type of drink that came from the depths of my refrigerator. Perhaps I need to have a conference with my "server" now... 

.

Read this, or WALK home...

Did you hear about the woman a few years ago who told her daughters (I think they were like ten and twelve or something like that) to get out of her car and walk home? I don't remember the exact story, but I do remember that one daughter had a cell phone and called the police on her mother (who was--I believe--in her vehicle following behind the girls).  The mother was charged and I couldn't help but think (then AND now) about who will run that household after this event? The mother has been undermined in the worst way and the girl knows that SHE has control.

I remember feeling sorry for this mother BEFORE my children became mouthy and unruly. I remember wondering WHY she was in trouble. Clearly the children were misbehaving to a point where she thought they needed to learn a lesson. She didn't RUN THEM OVER with her car. She didn't LOCK THEM UP in her car. She didn't even strike them in her car. She removed them from a difficult situation and forced them to look at their actions while getting some exercise and fresh air. Hearing about this story made me think about my own childhood. We used to walk to school on our own from kindergarten on (though most younger students had parents or older siblings to walk with them) and it was  at least a mile--in the rain or in the snow near BUFFALO, New York (and it was uphill BOTH ways...and we didn't have shoes...and we LIKED it!).  No one called the police THEN (though they may have offered us a ride!). Why is this behavior considered abusive now?

I do not have all the answers--in fact, I don't have ANY answers, but I do know that as a society we are making parenting  MUCH more difficult than it already is and it is SO VERY DIFFICULT. Maybe it's because we blame our parents for so much instead of embracing how well WE turned out--so they must have done SOMETHING right...I don't know. What I DO know is that I would N-E-V-E-R--EVER speak to my parents or question my parents the way my children do me. I was afraid of my parents--still am. My children scoff in my general direction (usually) when I discipline them. I was grounded for most of my childhood. I'm lucky to get a ten minute time-out from my son. My children (my son especially) argue about EVERYTHING. We were taught never to question authority.  I use the word "taught" loosely--we were TOLD and did it or suffered consequences--REAL consequences. Why is it so easy in theory yet so difficult in practice?

My son does not care about consequences. He gets pissed (yes, I said PISSED)  if either of us questions or corrects him--as if WE are the children and HE is the parent. SERIOUSLY PISSED. Like a grown up with an attitude. He  does not humble himself--EVER and he rarely accepts responsibility which is why it is impossible for him to correct his behavior. You can't fix something you don't believe is broken.

Brayden has always been extremely intelligent and  when he was really young, it was easy to talk to him about his behavior. We discussed (too much it would seem) consequences from the time he was two and for a while he even put himself in time out if he knew he did something wrong. Now I see that he did that so that he could have control. Now if I tell him to go to time out, he refuses. It turns into a power struggle and one or both of us ends  up in tears and hurt in some way or another. The funny thing is, I am sending him to time out for his own safety usually--I know if he stays with me for one more second I just may hurt him. The school gave us a fifteen second cool down card which I thought would be helpful--quite honestly, we BOTH could use the fifteen minutes seconds when things get crazy, but the child is so very stubborn...I just may lose my mind.

When we first moved to Montana, my maniacs were four, three, and Addison turned two the second week we were there. Brayden had just started to get a little mouthy and rebellious. My formerly compliant and peaceful preschooler turned into an unhappy tyrant. He started fighting about EVERYTHING. If the other two were happy and behaving, Brayden would pinch them or hit them or do something to make them unhappy. It was particularly difficult to do the shopping. The three of us were together ALL THE TIME, We were unable to grocery shop without one (or ALL) of us breaking down completely (and don't even get me STARTED on our trips to Target--I shudder to think of those trips!).  We would talk about the rules in the car before we got to the store. I would bring a fun thing for them to do and a snack for them to eat so that they would be busy, but they had no interest in anything I brought for them. No matter what strategy I stole from Parents magazine or Dr. Phil, it always ended the same: Me lying in the fetal position and rocking back and forth--wishing I could become a crackhead so they would send me away to some fancy rehab where the celebrities go--without any children OR Target.

I remember one late night there was an ad on television with a woman grabbing her son by the arm, dragging him out of the store yelling, 'Why do you ALWAYS make me do this to you?!" and another woman put on a cape and rushed to the child's aid. The byline read: "You have the power to stop abuse or neglect!" I started to bawl and woke my husband to tell him that I needed to be sent away because I was an abuser. He placated me--mostly because it was like one in the morning, but that commercial stuck with me. I couldn't let it go and it prevented me from parenting at all. I was always afraid that I was being abusive, so for a few months anyway, my children were beasts with a mother who didn't want to raise her voice (HA!) for fear of being abusive.

After a few LOOOOOONNNNNGGGGGG weeks of THAT behavior, I changed my attitude. I became angry at the advertisers. We really didn't get enough information to make a fair assessment of the situation. We didn't see the small child knock over the Vlasic pickles and the Hormel chili while trying to shake up the Pepsi and coke bottles to see which one had more fizz upon opening. We didn't see this child kick an old man in the shins to get him to move away from the Reeses and Kit Kats. We didn't see the child hurl himself on the floor when his mother told him "No, you may NOT climb up the shelves in the store and you may NOT jump from cart to cart! The lobster's claws MUST stay banded together and you are NOT allowed to dive in to play with them..." We didn't see ANY of that and I can't help but wonder how THAT public service byline would read. "I too have been tempted to abuse or neglect. Call for help or guidance--BEFORE you make your child (EGADS!) WALK home..."

I've been Punk'd--I'm CERTAIN of it...I think...

Sometimes I think I must be getting Punk'd. I look around and try to locate Ashton Kutcher in my closet or under the bed because there is NO WAY that these things happen naturally. Take our sleepless nights for instance. I am NOT exaggerating when I explain the pattern of events at our home(s) for the last few years.

Night number one (in the cycle):

Light knock. A little louder. An all out BANG...

"Momma?  Momma! I'm ascawewrt!"
"Who are you--Brayden? Ryan? Addison? You're fine--go back to bed!"
"Nooooo. I'ma not fine...I'm ascawert! I haddabad dwreyeam!"
Sigh.  Pause.  fall back to sleep for what feels like hours until I hear:
"MOMMA! I wan toseepif YOU! I don WANNA seep in MY bed!"

Now, this is where the story changes depending on the day. Day number one usually consists of me getting up and carrying her to her bed and staying there for an hour or two until she releases the death grip she has on my arm. I then spend the next hour or two trying to fall back to sleep which only happens five minutes before the cacophony of alarms informs my husband (and everyone in the tristate area) that  he must wake up and start the day. THIS is when my real sleep finally begins--when my husband is in the shower and I am  supposed to be getting myself and my children ready to start OUR day. Only I'm not READY to start ANYTHING that doesn't include me snoring.

By this time, Ryan is up and rattling the door. Rattle, rattle, rattle.  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Rattle. Rattle rattle. Five minute pause. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Pause. RATTLE, RATTLE...you get the point. The good news is, I get a good two to three minutes of sleep in between rattles and scratches. YAAAAYY...nope--I can't even feel it for the sake of the story.

Anyway, night number two:
"MOMMMMMMMMYYYYYY!"  "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMYYYY!"
"MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOM--"
"For all that is good and green on this earth, WHAT?!" If you didn't get it, the child screams at the top of his lungs until I get there. Sometimes it's Brayden, but sometimes it is Ryan. It's ALWAYS on the second night.
"I had a nightmare."
"Again? I'm sorry honey, but you seem to have nightmares all the time. Do you want to talk about it? Did you dream that you were peacefully sleeping until someone screamed like a crazy-person and woke you? THAT'S a nightmare..."
"NO! I dreamed that I had bad thoughts."
"Bad thoughts about WHAT?"
"Nothing. A nightmare about bad thoughts."
"I don't know what that means. Think about happy things and get some sleep or you aren't going to feel well tomorrow."
"I want to sleep in YOUR room. MY room is scary."
"Your room is fine--you just had a bad dream. I'll cuddle with you and rub your back until you fall asleep."

Depending upon the day, this conversation can go in circles for up to two hours. On a particularly good day, we don't even talk about it, I just immediately climb into bed and sing a song or rub backs. On a particularly bad day we go back and forth for hours and the child finally ends up in bed with us--kicking me in the kidney the rest of the night.

Night number three--Addie's back. Night number four--Brayden's turn. Ryan is only seen or heard from once every two or three weeks, but she REALLY packs it all into one night, let me tell you.  On the fifth night, it gets interesting. THIS is the night when I hear from EVERYONE. it is usually once an hour and I get up no fewer than five times. FIVE times. How is THAT even possible? By this point in the week I am crying when I hear the knock, scratch or yell. And I am looking for Kutcher.

If I am lucky enough to get a night without children screaming me awake, my husband usually steps up to the plate with his incessant--I mean--endearing-- snoring. OR I am lucky enough to get a pounding and debilitating migraine. Yaaaayyyyy me.

I just don't understand WHY this is happening. Ashton Kutcher usually shows up when the victim is nearing the end of  her rope and could very well lose his mind. SOOOO...where IS he? Kutcher? KUUUUTCHHHERRR...I'm ready to talk about how very SILLY all of this is now. Hahahaha! VERY FUNNY. Joke's on ME! HELLOOOOOOO...?!

Since Kutcher was either A. not brave enough to face me or 2. not really a part of this conspiracy, I suppose I have to deal with it on my own. Only, I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHY THIS IS HAPPENING!

Yes, I know that consistency is key in all aspects of raising children and yes, I know that we are VERY inconsistent, but have you seen how little sleep we (I) get?! I am lucky I am still standing most of the time. PLUS, my children are FIVE, SIX and EIGHT. There is NO REASON for them to get up so frequently. I KNOW they are waiting for the day when we let them sleep with us and I KNOW it inevitably does [happen], but...well, I don't know what to do! When I am THAT exhausted, I just want the crazy to stop. I don't want to talk, laugh, rationalize, walk, MOVE...so I give in to the behavior and make things oh-so-much worse!

Sleep on my floor, sleep on your floor, lock the door, open the door, no television before bed, television before bed if you SLEEP all night, no computer or DSI, use all of these things if you JUST SLEEP ALL NIGHT PLEASE! I know we need to stick with one thing on a regular basis, but I am not equipped to do this on little to no sleep. Do OTHER people go through these things? I know it is expected for parents to get up frequently every night with babies at home, but my children are certainly old enough to sleep through the night, right? I know I spoke about my conspiracy theory in http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2012/01/let-ranting-begin.html , http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/12/children-of-mass-destruction.html , and
http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/soveryt-i-r-e-d.html
 and that I have complained about this sleeping thing ad nauseum, but I HAVE to know. I MUST know. It HAS to stop. Kutcher--I'm watching you...

I blame EVE

I'm not sure why, but I don't laugh the way I used to laugh. I don't mean the ACTUAL laugh--I still have a deep guffaw type of laugh (though I HAVE added a snort recently. That's new--and not completely welcomed)--I mean the MATERIAL that prompts the guffaw to escape my lips. You know--the gut-wrenching, tear-flowing, body shaking kind of laugh that easily came when I was younger, but is now trampled by the child-whining, rule-establishing, incessant-nit picking life I now lead. Nothing seems as funny when I am constantly being touched, pulled or whined to by pretty much EVERYONE I spend time with these days. I can't help but think of the consequences of whatever is funny or to dwell on whether it is "fair" or not to the point where it is uncomfortable. I knew there was a problem when I was watching Seinfeld reruns and I didn't laugh. Once. This was definitely a turning point for me because I LOVED Seinfeld and would watch the reruns ALL the time. This time was different. I just felt like he was being abused by a friend who seemingly pays for nothing in his life, which stands to reason since he has NO JOB and treats those around him as if they owe him something...not to mention the psychotic mailman, best friend and ex-girlfriend--it's exhausting. The same happened with Everybody Loves Raymond. It turns out that not everyone DOES love Raymond. I used to REALLY laugh and I always thought that the wife (Debra) was a bit of a b@#$! After having children of my own, I started to DESPISE Raymond and even the funny parts didn't get me laughing because I was still stewing about the OTHER parts or the things that were SO WRONG! And Debra...well, SHE is NICE compared to what I would be if I had that life. Look at me now--I have a pretty good gig going here and I'm STILL a b@!#$! My friend and I were talking about mothers the other night (relax, mom--you didn't come up. THIS time.) and she was asking what her mother's problem was since she always had to "...put her nose in or be a part of EVERYTHING" and it was "EXHAUSTING!" I totally GOT what she meant (no mom, that is NOT a dig--I promise!), yet as I was removing one child from my leg, dislodging a lego from a nose and balancing over a doll house that miraculously moved from an upstairs location to RIGHT BEHIND ME SO THAT I WOULD POTENTIALLY FALL AND KILL MYSELF, I could COMPLETELY see the other side. "You know...I just have to say...maybe she doesn't really KNOW what her role is. She HAD to be in control of EVERYTHING FOR SO LONG (I know--it goes by in a blink--yada, yada, yada--I SO miss the Seinfeld of my youth...) and now she has NONE. LETMETELLYOUSOMETHING--if I am doing ALL of this simply to be DISCARDED one day, I will C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E-L-Y lose my S@#!--MIND--my MIND." But really--do we REALLY give up our minds, our bodies, our...MINDS only to shove our progeny out of the nest to never look back again? Are we not allowed to put in our two cents EVER without getting a snide comment or dramatic reaction? I think of my own mother (or mothers, since I was always lucky enough to have MANY women nurturing and loving me (aunts, grandmothers, cousins, stranger from Wegmans...) AND giving me their...two dollars and fifty-seven cents--and FORCING me to take it (even when they had conflicting opinions about where I should SPEND said two dollars and fifty-seven cents) probably because I was the only one who would LET them! I used to hate that about myself, but now I applaud me! I'm GLAD that I was able to do that for them for any given amount of time because there had BETTER be someone out there willing to take my hundred and forty-three-seventy-five I'M going to have left to give when these three maniacs leave the nest! Stupid Eve. Oh--I probably should tell you--I blame Eve for EVERYTHING in my life. PMS? Eve. Traumatizing (at least as far as I was concerned) labor and delivery pain? Eve again. Migraines? Eve--and that STUPID apple. It was an A-P-P-L-E for crying out loud and it WASN'T even DIPPED in chocolate! Before that day, people didn't even EAT apples let alone have someone core them and peel them and slice them into little bites for a smoother eating experience. Nope. Before Eve, no one even ATE an apple. And it was a pretty reasonable request. ONE THING. I'M ASKING ONE THING OF YOU. And what did EVE do? She BLEW IT FOR THE REST OF US! She couldn't let ADAM take the apple first? THEN DADS would lose their minds JUST LIKE MOMS do. But NOOOOOOOOOOO. Stupid Eve. Now, every time I have ONE request and they blow it, I KNOW it is because of Eve. HOW HARD IS IT TO FOLLOW ONE, SIMPLE INSTRUCTION?! I say these words more often than I breathe--okay, THAT'S a little dramatic, but I definitely say them more often than I EAT--apples or any other food--so WHY is it SO DIFFICULT?! Eve. And THAT is why I do not laugh anymore. Though some would argue that I laugh at EVERYTHING, which is a conversation with my OTHER personality for ANOTHER day. I think I want an apple...

Let's talk Twitter...

Let's talk Twitter. Yet another thing I'm too old for that I swore I would NEVER do. The good news is, I am too dumb to actually "DO" it still. I signed up for it (and a MILLION other things) when I first started the blog in October. My friend Kate said I would love, love, LOVE it and it would be so great for my blog. My "blog" friend Lucy, (I say "blog-friend" since we haven't actually met in real life yet, which reminds me of my friend Chrissy who would refer to some of her childhood friends as "pool friends" because they only came around to hang out with her in the summer. When she was swimming. In her pool. In simpler terms, they used her for her pool and she called them on it. Awesome. Anyway, my "blog" friend, Lucy)ISN'T using me for my blog, I'm sure (though WHAT a treat it would be for her!) and would much rather use my pool than read my blog, I'm sure, but she IS encouraging me to become a twitterer. Or Tweeter. Twater? You really need to be careful with this one--it can REALLy go in the wrong direction. She is encouraging me in that SHE loves it and says it is more addicting than facebook (which is not necessarily a GOOD thing for ME!) and she couldn't believe I wasn't on it. But I WAS. ON it. Twitter, that is. I was ON it, though I never CHECKED it or twitted...tweeted...twa--you get it-anything except for seven initial tweets(?) telling the one or two people who even FOUND me, to read my blog.( I LOVE how bossy hiding behind the computer makes me!) And I'm pretty sure that if they DID read my blog, it had NOTHING to do with my tweeting. I'm sure if I learned to do it correctly, this Twitter thing could really work for me, but there are SO MANY THINGS I need to learn to do correctly and I am SO TIRED! Far too tired to LEARN things. It's all I can do to keep my eyes open while I am typing this (and forcing my children to watch the Carebears (Addison's pick since she was home first and for those who believe they are "too mature" for Care Bears, when choosing between Care Bears and homework, CARE BEARS WIN. Who knew?!). My brain is starting to look like my college dorm room. Or my HOUSE these days. SO. MUCH. STUFF. Most of it useless and taking up space or overshadowing the important "stuff" so that it can't shine. So how do I clean up my "stuff" in my brain when I can't even clean up the "stuff" in my house? Do I just throw everything out and start again? And how do I even DO that in my brain? Drugs? Alcohol? Drugs AND alcohol? Have another baby?! EGADS! I can't even type those words without feeling a wave of horror wash over me. This is weird for two reasons. 1. I had not one, but TWO hysterectomies--EVERYTHING is gone. If I were to get pregnant it would be more than "Immaculate" and would even make Mary wonder. and B. I really wouldn't mind having a baby at this point. I think that once you have three (who are now 5, 6 and 7) this close together, you are outnumbered anyway and your brain is shot, so what's the difference? Plus, if I had a baby NOW, I would MAYBE remember some of the "baby" time, unlike my other three who must have come out of the womb at the age of four since I don't even REMEMBER HAVING babies--only mouthy preschoolers and...well, THIS. Child one and child two shoving each other off of a chair in the supposed-to-be-dining-but-now-messy-art-room because the other five [chairs] just aren't working for either one of them. Really. They BOTH MUST have the ONE chair or die trying to get it. Or kill me trying to get it. Meanwhile, child number three is making like 1954 Mississippi with her poor Tianna doll left in the dust and the other princesses frolicking and dancing. Noted, so now she decided that I could have Tianna. And Cinderella. And Snow White. Basically, the dolls she could do without. So my youngest is a "Mean Girl" and my other two are just mean and I am tired, but going on about not having, but "acquiring" a baby somehow (because THAT is what I need! Not to mention the poor child! No wonder God said, "No more" and made me need a hysterectomy. Of course, I'm just like my children--I needed TWO to REALLY get it and I'm STILL talking about having babies--so obviously I DIDN'T get it! Now I see why my children don't learn...) and my son is now MAKING OUT WITH Tianna to show Addison how much HE loves her and Addison is yelling, "NOOOO--SDOP KISSIN' MY DOWLIES!" and the middle child is upstairs plotting my demise since I wouldn't let the fist throwing over the chair continue (mean mommy that I am) and I JUST want to be able to TWITTER sbout ALL of it. Or maybe I just want to be able to write about all of it without being interrupted fifty times to make Snow White and Cinderella curtsy (REALLY?!) to tell Brayden to get his mouth OFF of Tianna, to "encourage" Ryan to remove her claws from Brayden's neck and to remind Addie that she does not need to eat her toes as we will be having dinner soon. Tweet THAT my blog friends!

Helpful or not?

When I first got on facebook (about three years ago), I had SO MUCH FUN connecting with people I had truly missed throughout the years. It seemed I was constantly finding new friends and they were finding me. It was the BEST thing for a person like me--one who MEANS well, but has a little trouble with the follow-through. The road to hell REALLY IS paved on good intentions--I can feel the heat beneath my feet! I INTEND to be a good friend, but the truth is, I kind of suck. There is something else you should know about me. I think EVERYONE feels the same way I do about things. Let me correct that--I KNOW that SO MANY PEOPLE DO NOT SHARE MY VIEWS. I just refuse to accept that. It's not that I am a know-it-all. It's quite the contrary in fact. I admit to being wrong about pretty much EVERYTHING. Until I think I'm right. I base what is "right" to me on what benefits most people or what creates the happiest ending. I've found in recent months that MANY of my "friends" do NOT share this method of reasoning. Duly noted. I first started this...feeling...when I went off to college. I was blessed to find the MOST PATIENT roommate EVER. Seriously, she should be a saint with all that she had to put up with when I was there. Example? Day one. My parents and I set up the room before she arrived. We made SURE to take over every inch of one half of the room--maybe even going over that inch in some areas. No complaints from her. I went out--ALL the time and kept her (or woke her) up until all hours of the night. No complaints from her. I even passed my "line" and took over the ENTIRE ROOM with all of my...prized possessions scattered around like...well, a junk hole--no hyperbole here, it's the truth. Some complaining, but she still loved me. Don't get me wrong--I wasn't ALWAYS horrible and I used to be very nice actually. I also used to be the person who would do anything for anyone with a smile on my face. I think the old me would REALLY annoy the new me. In fact, I kind of feel like going back in time to punch the old me in the face. THAT is a conversation for another day. I made such good friends in college and loved how there was no...ranking...or anything to prevent me from being who I was or being friends with anyone. It didn't matter what I wore, or even what I said or did--my friends were my friends. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't necessarily COLLEGE that did this. I realized that everyone had grown up and we were all on the same playing field, unlike the competition and ranking in high school. This revelation infested me with confidence and I made it my goal to befriend--well, everyone. My friends used to make fun of how many random friends I had. From townies to transfer students, I made it MY MISSION to be liked by everyone (maybe too much in some cases, but my mom [may be] reading this, so I won't get into THAT). When I went home for the summer, I ran into this couple who went to high school with me. He was very friendly with me--always had been nice to everyone it seemed--but SHE was a different story. She wasn't Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls or anythhing, she was just...aloof. Having this newfound insight, I thought I was friends with EVERYONE and that EVERYONE got the memo about being on the same plaing field. Evidently not. I remember chatting amiably and telling them to give me a call if they ever wanted to get together that summer. Not because I didn't already have WAY TOO MANY people to keep up with (along with working three jobs), but because EVERYONE had to be my friend. As I walked away, I realized that I may have been off on that one...and unless they legitimately lost my phone number AND their phone books, I was. I tell this Sue Heck-like story not to make you sad for the bushy-unibrowed gangly girl I once was, but to tell you how I did a similar thing on facebook. (And if you don't know Sue Heck, check out The Middle. I think I laugh more out of the embarrassment that Sue Heck is ME circa 1986 than the fact that the mother is me now!) You see, I have a theory. I have A LOT of theories. THIS particular theory is about pregnancy, delivery and post-partum depression. I believe that pregnancy and delivery SUCK. I believe that those who THINK they love it are lying to themselves. That Duggar woman? Certifiable. I actually feel sorry for her because her brain is so far into that mommy cloud, it will never be able to come back, which is a good thing in her case. IMAGINE what would happen if her brain DID come back now? "HOLY *&#!! I have HOW MANY children? AND I'M PREGNANT?! What am I, A CAT?! Or worse--A RABBIT?!" Better she should remain in the mommy cloud. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about when I say "mommy cloud" because any woman who has given birth to a child and any woman or man who has (or are currently) raised or lived with small children KNOWS what a "mommy cloud" is. My sister calls is "Placenta brain" which I love, but it happens regardless of the placenta. It happens simply because there is a child or are children snipping away at your brain with their constant demands (Now I have to feed them AND be nice to them? Apparently I also have to LISTEN to them, though they don't reciprocate) and incessant whining. Add to that the fact that so many choose to stay at home to give their children..."The best care ever"(which in my case is a joke at times because, REALLY? They are better off with me as a raging psychopath than with children their own age and teachers who do fun activities with them each day? REALLY?! so they don't have contact with the outside world. THIS is where I have been for the last few years. After having my children I worked for just over two years (not consecutively) and have been home the rest of the time. My son will be eight this year. That is SIX YEARS of spending the majority of my time with people who seemingly cannot be taught anything and who do not listen to a word I say unless I YELL IT LIKE A LUNATIC. No wonder I have no brain. HOW does this relate to my facebook incident? I'll tell you. The year after I "retired" from teaching for the third time, I acquainted myself with facebook and spent my time searching for those I thought I had wronged in some way or had a falling out with for some reason. One of my closest friends in high school was on and he posted that his wife was pregnant with their second child. I was so very happy for them and (although we hadn't SPOKEN in almost twenty years)I somehow thought it was MY responsibility to to warn him about ONE of my theories (though in the eleven page email I sent him I did not MENTION it was MY theory...hmmm...)about parenthood and pregnancy. I believe that EVERYONE suffers through some form of "baby blues" or another. Not everyone goes all Susan Smith on their family or dislikes their babies, but simply being sleep-deprived is enough to mess with your psyche--add to it everything else that comes with the job (and the PREPARATION for the job) and who WOULDN'T be depressed or feel disconnected at times?! Notice you never heard Tom Cruise say another negative word about postpartum depression after HIS wife was pregnant. I mentioned ALL OF THIS (plus a little more, I'm sure!) to my "friend" and felt compelled to explain more. I'm SO VERY HELPFUL, no?! There are varying degrees of this depression and add to it ANOTHER baby (before your brain comes back from the first) and it can be madness. If your spouse doesn't UNDERSTAND this, imagine how bad it can get. Some of you know because you've been there. Wouldn't YOU want your spouse's freakish friend from a few decades ago to offer unsolicited advice about how devastating it is going to be when your new baby comes?! YOU'RE WELCOME is what I should say to THAT family. Only, I'm not sure we are even friends on here anymore and if we are I'm P-R-E-T-T-Y sure he "hid" me. Let's just say that the happy commenting we had done BEFORE my "helpful" note was no more and I could almost HEAR the crickets in the room after he read the note--probably aloud--to his spouse. Evidently we don't ALL think the same way and what may seem "helpful" to me may seem a little stalker-like to others. Who knew?! I'd like to say "lesson learned," but I think you know me better than THAT.

1:00 IS the Best Time...

Whew! That's all I can say. Whew! I am going to complain about something that I have NO BUSINESS complaining about and I am going to whine even though I should be counting my blessings. I am too old and too tired (and it is too late) to count ANYTHING right now (except drinks if my body didn't hate me these days and would ALLOW me to do so). So. Where was I? Right--counting blessings. So I am very lucky to have such a wonderful family and am even luckier that we are all---teetering on healthy. Blah blah blah, I love them, blah blah blah, it could be so much worse, blah blah blah thank God! NOW...I am going to be ungrateful and perhaps snippy--I think. 'Cause to be honest, I NEVER know where this is going to go. EVER. Shocking, right?! Here you were thinking I typed out these well thought-out posts--okay, I can't even type this without choking. SOOOOO...I had a plan. I did. My children don't have school Thursday or Friday so I thought it would be fun to get them just before the bus on Wednesday and take them to stay with friends in Princeton (maybe not-so-much fun for the friends, but WE would be happy!) for the night. On Thursday, we would all go to a children's museum for the day. (If you don't have a friends and family reciprocal yearly pass and you have children 10 and under (maybe even older) it is WELL worth it! I even did it when we lived in Montana and the closest one was two hours away from us! It REALLY DOES pay for itself--we visit children's museums everywhere we go and stop along the way when we are on trips.) LOOONG sidebar! Anyway, there was this plan and it was going to be great. Like plans often are. Then, LIFE happens. On Sunday, my poor Addie was complaining that her ear hurt when she touched it. What did we say? Right--don't touch it! Well, she mentioned it to friends and said it again on Monday morning when I was showering her. It looked bright red, but she was in a hot shower and wasn't really COMPLAINING necessarily. It went more like this: "Leilani left scooowul eawrly dee othewer day." "Really? Was she sick?" "No. She went to dee dentist at 1:00." "Well, I hope she is okay." "Umm...no. She didn't bwrush hewer teef so she had to get a cabity at da dentist. At 1:00." "Okaaaaayyy..." "Cood I weave at 1:00 to go to da dentist one day? But I could go to da doctewer to fix my eawer? At 1:00?" "Seriously, Addison--why are you so obsessed with 1:00? What if we go at 2:00?" "No. Because Leilani left scooowul to get hewer cabity fwrom da dentist at 1:00." This was at seven in the morning. She didn't mention it again until we were in the car on our way to her school at 9:20. I would write the conversation, but it was EXACTLY the same as what I already typed. AND it turns out she had the EXACT same conversation with my husband the night before and with my friend over the weekend. She even walked into the school and said to the sweet ladies in the front, "I hafta weave at 1:00 to go to da doctewer." The child NEEDED to leave school at 1:00. Normally I wouldn't just pull her out because she WANTED me to...OBVIOUSLY...but her ear WAS bright red and she did complain about the pain...what if I didn't bring her and she ended up with an ear infection? I stoped by the doctor and what do you know? "The only available time we have is 1:30..." I'm sure the lady behind the desk thought I was a freak when I said, "That couldn't be MORE perfect!" When I got to school, she ran to me with her sweet smile, but she felt warm and her teacher said she was a bit melancholy throughout the day (she is usually, what? Bouncing off walls? Probably...). Her eyes were big and glassy and she seemed to get hotter by the second. As we waited to be seen by the doctor, I noticed her ear. It was portruding off the side of her head, but THAT wasn't the bothersome part. There was what looked to be a flat blister on her ear where it meets the skull. I hadn't noticed THAT when we were debating times in the shower. The back of her neck was swollen as well. I couldn't BELIEVE I had missed it! It seemed to grow by the SECOND and I couldn't stand having to wait for the doctor. At this rate, her head would need it's own ZIP CODE if he didn't get in there soon! More unnerving than how disgusting her...gaping wound? looked was the fact that our doctor brought in several others (nurses, doctors, custodial staff...) to take a look as well. It seems that my family is famous for coming up with new things for our doctors to investigate. Aren't WE the lucky ones?! We left with an Augmentin script and a follow-up appointment in the morning. It seems that having a gaping woulnd so close to one's skull (and brain) is alarming and needs to be treated seriously. When we returned in the morning (and the swelling was taking over most of her head (yes, I use hyperbole...I'm THE MOTHER. It's allowed), our doctor told me to take her to the children's hospital in Philly (CHOP) as soon as possible. Not. Scary. At. All. Part two is going to have to come tomorrow because I'm falling asleep writing this. From home. Where my healthy children are sleeping upstairs in their beds. Until I decide to go to sleep and they commence the hindering of my sleep. It's good to be home...'Night!

"Prewarding:" The Newest Thing at Our House

So I told you already that Ryan wanted to go as "fun" for Halloween, but "fun" changed each time we went somewhere.After she was "fun," she was (what she refferred to as) a "ghost bride." She wore a green and pink (BRIGHT green and BRIGHT pink) striped shirt, a pair of Addison's jeans (ie-two sizes too small) and an old sleeveless bridal costume that she got for her birthday two years ago. I seriously need to learn how to post pictures so you can witness her wardrobe! I also need to post their Halloween...creations...so that you can witness for yourself Addison's Batman/Snow White masterpiece or Brayden's Spiderman/Cinderella debacle. At least they are creative... We were pretty booked last weekend, which I liked. I love taking my kids AWAY from my house. Maybe it's because they fight at home. Maybe it's because they make messes. Maybe it's because I see ELEVEN loads of laundry and a food-covered floor that I simply refuse to clean staring back at me. Whatever the reason, my kids go out--A LOT! The Saturday before Halloween was a prime example. Addison's very best friend from school (and her mom) told us that our mall was having trick or treating on Saturday morning and a local glass-blowing museum (which is set up like the most adorable small town) was doing the same on Sunday. "Fun," 'Beauty" and Karate Guy ( before they "created" costumes, they decided to wear the costumes as they were intended--except for Ryan (who was "Fun"). Addison wore an old Belle costume and Brayden wore his Gi (Karate robe), tied a red rope around his head and called himself a ninja.) decked themselves out in their costume--ON THEIR OWN I might add-- to head out in the freezing monsoon that enveloped our town. I shouldn't complain about the weather--everyone else seemed to be fighting "Snowtoberfest--" we were lucky by comparison! We rushed from the mall to basketball practice with a pit-stop home to "lose" "Fun" and "Beauty." While at basketball, another friend called to remind me that her church was having a Halloween party-trunk-or-treat chili cookoff and they would love for us to come. VERY exciting. THEN ANOTHER friend (this story is making me look MUCH more popular than I am...) called to see if we wanted to go trick-or-treating with them at Walmart at four. Hmmm. As I was trying to figure out the logisitics, Brayden and I stopped at Shop Rite to find pumpkins. They were out, but luckily THEY were having trick or treating, so thirty dollars (and one excited boy with his own bag of candy that his sisters did not get) later (cider, donuts, pretzels, chicken...) we headed to a different store. I already complained about the price of the pumpkins in one of my last posts, so let's move ahead to when we got home. The girls were "counting" all of their candy from the mall. Brayden joined them and I attempted to fill my husband in on all of the events we may or may not be attending. Unfortunately, my children cannot be alone together for more than five minutes without fighting. As the arguments ensued, I found myself saying to my husband (seconds after I decided Walmart would be too much), "Maybe we SHOULD go to Walmart. If we stay here they are probably going to get in trouble and we may not even BE ABLE to go to the church party tonight..." I was lost in the thought when I noticed the look on my husband's face. "What?" "WHAT?! We are going to "preward" them now? Let them do something fun BECAUSE they are children who get in trouble so to prevent them from misbehaving we are going to take them somewhere fun?!" "When you put it THAT way..." I laughed. "And really," he continued, "how many times are they going trick-or-treating? WE went trick or treating ONE TIME when we were kids. Once. Brayden has already been TWICE, they all are going tonight AND tomorrow, AND IT ISN'T EVEN HALLOWEEN YET!" He makes a valid (if not uncharacteristically LOUD) point. When did this happen to me?

WHAT a Bargain!

I LOVE to get a deal. I am one of those people who will spend HUNDREDS to say that she SAVED hundreds (or even fifty!). Back when I used to buy clothes for myself that A. didn't have an elastic waist or B. weren't made of old sweat pants, I can remember returning home with my purchases and leading with, "Guess how much I SAVED today..." My husband--who would pay double for YOUR old sweat pants if it meant saving HIM a trip to the store--would just assume we not buy anything. EVER.

Since that simply isn't reasonable, I try to get as many things on sale as possible and to make my purchases serve at least two purposes. For example, my daughter's birthday is in July...we need new pool toys and the first day of school is coming. She gets a raft, a dolphin water- basketball game, some diving rings, crayons, pencils, notebooks, glue and paint. The school supplies were purchased at the beginning of the LAST school year and the pool toys have been hiding since last Christmas. I also have a Christmas Barbie that has been hiding since last year's sale She is THRILLED. So am I. My husband? Not so much, but that man won't be happy until we operate on a barter system, so it's fine.

I stopped by Target yesterday to pick up...huh. I don't even REMEMBER what I intended to pick up at Target yesterday because I was pulled in by the 50% off sign on the Halloween stuff. I have a theory that all holidays need to be celebrated the week AFTER the holiday. I'm not saying we should ignore it [the holiday] completely, but the exchanging of the gifts and maybe even some of the decorating can wait. Nothing sickens me more (yes, I'm sure you can think of SOMETHING that would sicken me MORE, but don't) than seeing something I paid good money for on the clearance rack for pennies. That is why I try not to purchase anything just before a holiday...I either buy it months (maybe weeks) in advance, or (preferably) after the holiday.

Take Halloween for instance. When my children were younger (I know--at almost 5, 6 and 7, they are STILL young!), my mother decided that SHE wanted to but their Halloween costumes each year. Of course, that was when I only had ONE and that lasted...two years. I think it was an unfair situation--we were shopping together and saw the cutest monkey costume at Old Navy. I'm of the mind that if a costume is over $10, I don't want it. It's simply the principle that annoys me. My mother on the other hand felt that my son HAD to have the costume. We almost threw down at Old Navy, when she took it to the register and paid for it. In retrospect, I am SO glad that she did. All three children have worn the monkey suit and my son's nickname was monkey, so it fit (so to speak). Even when it didn't... My daughter was a chick another year and she was precious! The only problem was that the costume was so soft--SO SOFT that everyone would touch her. She wasn't the biggest fan of THAT. My neighbor gave us the most adorable witch costume the following year and there was a ladybug from my parents in there somewhere...These costumes served us well from Virginia to Montana--and my children never minded sharing or being the same thing two years in a row. They did, however, grow, so we needed to pass on our goods to others who would appreciate them.

I was in Walgreen's a few days after Halloween about three years ago and I saw that their costumes were 75% off the last sale price. SEVENTY-FIVE PERCENT OFF. I couldn't BELIEVE it and I couldn't resist. A previously marked down Batman costume (a REALLY nice costume) which was originally SIXTY DOLLARS (who pays that really?!), I bought for almost ten. A flower child costume, I got for a dollar fifty. A vampire? five dollars. I wasn't sure how I was going to justify buying all of these costumes when my husband saw them, but I kept stocking up on them. Mermaid? Three fifty. Princess? A buck and a quarter.

As I was ferociously searching through these costumes, I realized how perfect this was. My children LOVE to dress up. EVERY DAY. Why wouldn't I buy them costumes AFTER Halloween? They get a ton of costumes and I am all set for next year. THEN an even BETTER idea came to me. WE celebrate St. Nicholas's Day, (December...5th?! 4th?!) and the Feast of the Three Kings (January 5th?! 6th?!) and St. Nicholas usually leaves fruit, candy (usually left over Halloween candy!) [sometimes] nuts and a little present for each child and the kings usually leave gifts. THIS year, St. Nicholas would be bringing them each a costume! THEN on Christmas, he (this time as Santa!) will bring them ANOTHER costume and the three kings will bring another. THEN (if I can wait that long!) the Easter Bunny will get on board with this whole costume thing, too!

 That plan worked for that year--and my kids LOVED it! The following year, I waited too long to get to the stores. I was there at 50%, but decided to hold out for 75. Too greedy. By the time I went back, everything was gone. I would NOT make the same mistake THIS year! When I saw the 50% off signs, I was like a madwoman. I must have had fifty costumes at one point and even I saw the absurdity of THAT. Not for FIFTY percent off. Seventy-five, maybe...

 We now have a fire fighter, Iron Man, two Transformers, Frankenstein, The mushroom-top guy from Mario Kart, a Storm trooper (or something new that may not actually BE a Storm Trooper), three light sabres (ALSO fifty percent off!)--I couldn't let only one child have one, a "midnight" fairy, a cheerleader, a cowgirl, an Eskimo girl, a little devil, a princess, a butterfly, a purple wig and a pink wig with leotards that match--all for $100. Why WOULDN'T I buy them?! (My HUSBAND--I know!)















THIS Halloween, my children wore costumes that they already had. They went trick-or-treating THREE times (four if you count Brayden's trip with me to Shop Rite) and wore a different costume to each event. I was not able to do my costume thing last year, so these were costumes that were either given to them by others or were worn by them for other things (dance recitals, karate, etc) and I am very impressed with what they did with them. If I had purchased a costume for each of them at the regular price, I would have spent at least sixty dollars. Now for a hundred, I have costumes done and gifts ready. You may even get one for your child on his birthday--be careful what you say! THIS makes me very happy. My husband? Let's just say that THIS makes ME very happy...