Tradition Express

When I was younger, we would read the story of The Polar Express while at the extended family's Christmas gathering. There, in front of a roaring fire and nestled in heaps at my uncle's feet, my cousins and I would sit in wonder as he made the words come to life with his rich baritone voice. That tradition has gone by the wayside, but the movie has allowed me to share memories of my childhood in a new way and create a tradition of our own. During the first weekend of December, we don our pajamas, pop the popcorn, make hot cocoa and snuggle in for a family slumber party in the living room, kicked off with the annual viewing of "The Polar Express."

This year we watched "Arthur Christmas" instead, which is fast becoming my favorite Christmas movie of all time.  There is serious competition for that title, because we take our holiday movie watching seriously over here.  There have been actual tears shed this Christmas over the death of our VCR, lack of an affordable thrift store replacement, and thus the elimination of much of our current collection of beloved classics.  I should amend that to "classics" for our family - "Bob the Builder's Christmas" and "The Snowman" are hardly in the "It's a Wonderful Life" or "The Bell's of St Mary's" caliber, but no one here watches things the old black and white movies. Even though I absolutely adore "Arthur Christmas" and its decided lack of creepy elves and spin tingling action meant for a 3D theater screen, I still felt something was missing without the annual viewing of "Polar Express"

So when Snickers begged to have a family pj party, I was 100% on board.  The pigs in a blanket dinner morphed in to plain old hot dogs with mac and cheese, as that I ended up having cavities filled on both sides of my mouth during dinner time. But the dance-a-thon was a success, followed up by a semi cozy viewing of the cinematic delight.  I added in facts about the movie for the older kids, and the younger kids watched it like they had never seen it before - squealing ecstatically when Santa appeared at the end.

I know that my children don't extrapolate upon the true meaning of the "first gift of Christmas." The it represents more than a bell, more than believing in a jolly man who bestows gifts upon children, but rather that, within the story, it represents faith.  How precious a belief in something greater than ourselves, a God greater than ourselves is.  How a benevolent God gave the whole world the greatest gift we would ever receive, because He loves us.  He chose Mary, because of her great faith.

To them it is still just a movie, magical, wonderful, a train that takes them off to dreamland where they too will receive bells. 

Because they believe

Family Pictures - First take

As has been briefly covered in the past, I have a small picture addiction, coupled with a picture perfectionism trait that strikes terror into the hearts of my family. If I am looking for a little piece and quiet, I just say "family picture" and everyone scatters - leaving a blissful silence.

Starlet, however, asked for us to have family pictures as part of her Christmas present. With such a sweet request, no one could refuse, and they even had to keep their grumbling to a minimum.


So we waited. I don't care who says what about global warming. I live in a place where people travel from all over the country to ski - it is December -I better have snow! But here we are, mid December, and only just last night did we get a light dusting. Not a decent snow by far - it was however enough of a snow that it made the outdoors Christmas card scenic. Outfits on, cameras ready, we trudged out to do our best.

We did not get the family shot we were aiming for. The "good" camera died early. Starlet ended up being terrified of the spot we chose, absolutely certain she was going to plummet to a painful rocky death. Which really narrows ones ability to get a decent smile.

We got some pretty shots, which will l use in make a photo collage for each child as part of their Christmas presents. With packing, cleaning, and sorting as our moving plans go forward I haven't done as much of the holiday celebrations as I would want to, and am making plans to do better next year. That being said, I hope that I can teach my children that the greatest gift and true meaning of the season is love.

The first step - get help!

This post has been much more challenging that what it was supposed to be.  So much so that I have rewritten it 17 times, walked away from the computer more times than I can count, and spent several hours playing with blog layouts and backgrounds instead of actually typing it.

Previously I have posted about some of the challenges facing our family, and the blessings that we are receiving during those challenges.  I have learned a lot in the past seven weeks - about my family, but also about me.  I haven't really liked those posts, because I feel they are somewhat whiny and somewhat sappy, and not nearly as funny as I would like them to be.  But part of the reason I write this blog is because I want to share something raw and real.  So many times we read blogs and we look at Pinterest and wonder what is wrong with our lives.  How can these other people be happy all the time? How are they able to be so creative when I am struggling to make plain old paper chains?  Is it cheating if I just buy the craft kits instead of coming up with ideas on my own?  Will all of this lack of creativity scar my children and set them behind because I don't great them with first day of school survival kits and weekly themed treats?

I have a confession to make.  It is about something that I have tried to keep secret, though not very well, from those outside my immediate family.  It is not something I am proud of, and the fact that it could be much worse doesn't make it any better.  I have been battling for several years now a problem with anger - specifically yelling.  I tend to react first and think about it later.  Though I always apologize, that doesn't take away that I got upset in the first place. And though I have made a point in our household and even when I yell to not use put downs, name calling, or anything that could diminish the self worth of whoever I am yelling at, being yelled at can still make a person feel like a failure.

Songbird and Sunshine can remember a time before I started yelling, and it is my hope that Starlet, Snickers, and Smash don't remember me yelling at all.  Unless it is their names from the sidelines, cheering them on.

I actually have not yelled in the past seven weeks - I consider myself in anger remission.  I am also considering making myself my own behavior chart to put next to the kids, and covering it with lots and lots of gold stars.  As soon as I peel them off my nose.

Not yelling hasn't taken a huge amount of will power, or biting my tongue all the time.  It actually had a fairly simple solution.  I figured out why I yelled and was angry all the time.  I knew that I wasn't really that angry about the inevitable mess.  Though I find messes frustrating and distracting, it is not enough to make me angry, because just as Starlet points out, messes go with kids like peanut butter goes with jelly. Kids forget to do their chores, or shove everything in other places and claim their room is clean.  No matter how many clear bins and labels you buy, things will be put away in the wrong place, and the bins will be used as battle helmets, bug houses, rock gardens, and footwear.  I find a lot of it really funny actually, so no, the mess is not what was making me mad.

My husband raised an eyebrow to me last night when discussing an extended family member's depression, I explained in a frustrated manner that I don't understand why so and so just didn't buck up and kick depression's butt.   Sure I get down, but then I go all Mortal Kombat on the blues that are bothering me and then they go away.  Perhaps being raised by a military man is necessary for this.

The point being is that when faced with interior personal challenges, my first answer is aggression.  I have been so angry, so incredibly hopping mad....at myself. I sincerely believed that I am failing as a mom.  At first I thought that my feelings of failure were just centered around dealing with the time it has taken to get a proper diagnosis for Songbird, and the extent of which several of her issues have gone untreated and un-noticed, as well as dealing with my inability to help Sunshine with her dyslexia.  Those two issues alone are massive, and certainly enough to make me feel like a failure.  Then I realized that my feelings of failure extended past that.  That Starlet isn't reading better than she is, even though she is clearly ready, because I haven't had time to give her that extra attention and push.  That I haven't provided enough opportunities for Snickers to get out all that boy energy that drives his sisters bonkers, and thus his favorite activities have been chosen out of self defense. (If I enjoy playing Barbies, maybe they won't paint my nails and stuff me in a tutu...again).  We don't have enough traditions, do enough crafts, miss out on important community events...the list goes on and on.  Basically I felt that I was doing nothing right, and because it was cyclical and constant, I couldn't take a kick butt attitude against it and make it go away.  Instead I kept running on the hamster wheel, spraying little shavings of anger in every direction.

So I stopped.

Right now I suppose I am still at that phase where the hamster lays on its belly on the wheel and lets it rock him back and forth for a bit as the momentum slows down.  I am not yelling, thus no longer running, and am gathering my bearings by making action plans.  I am working on slowly accepting that I am not super human, and shouldn't expect myself to be.  I am shifting my focus from chief fixer to chief advocate.  Instead of trying to help and spending anywhere between two and six hours a day talking to Songbird straight just to get her through to the next day, I am going to advocate more to ensure that she gets the additional help she needs from the counseling services.  I am going to continue to do all of the tips and techniques for Sunshine's dyslexia, but I am going to press harder to make sure she gets the special education services she needs from the school.  I am going to try to have a firmer schedule allocated to work with Starlet.  And I am teaming up Snickers and Smash together.  All my children can and will succeed in their chosen paths.  Though I cannot help them entirely by myself, I can be their voice and advocate for them.  Battle mode on!

But there are also chocolate chips!

 Part Two

So in the first part of the post, life for our little family (okay so five kids is probably not little)  was looking a little on the bleak side. We certainly are facing challenges.  But we are also incredibly blessed

Chocolate chip #1 - Communication!

For a family full of chatterboxes, it turns out that we really don't say very much to each other - or at least what we should be saying. The past seven weeks have opened my eyes to how much has been left unsaid.  We have all been working together so that we saying the things that need to be said, and avoiding things that don't need to be said.  This means less arguing and snapping at each other.

Chocolate chip #2 - Songbird

Now that we know more about what is going on with my little Songbird, we are learning more on how to help her spread her wings in the best ways possible. 

Chocolate chip # 3 - New directions

Our business had been struggling for a while, causing massive issues with our personal finances as we tried to help keep it afloat.  In retrospect we probably should have hoisted a rowboat and abandoned ship long ago, and we definitely have taken on some water with trying to stick it out.  But now we know better, know what to do the in the future, and know with certainty that closing the business and making different choices are what we need to do.  Onward to the next adventure!

Chocolate chip # 4 - New locations

Moving here caused a major blow to Songbird's personal identity that she has never quite recovered from.  After three years of trying to make it work, with the Grimm determination of Cinderella's evil stepsisters and their desire to fit into a glass slipper, I give.  We are in the process of making arrangements to move.  We have a final destination goal in mind, and might have to make some temporary spots along the way, but we will get there.  With the weight of constant arguing and needling about giving here a chance, and making more of an effort to like it lifted, things feel so much better in the house.  Aside from the poor air quality, we can all breathe again.

Chocolate chip # 5 - Letting the little things go

I admit it, the little things drive me crazy. Walking from room to room and finding mess in each one was enough to make me a raging volcano of burning lava most days.  The fact that having a house clean to my standards and having five kids were two completely incompatible ideas did not escape me, but that didn't stop me from trying.  It also didn't escape Starlet, who said on a frequent basis

"Mommy, you love kids right?"
Yes honey, I love kids very much.
But you don't like messes.
No
But kids make messes.  You might have wanted to think about that."

With everything that has happened, the mess has been the least of my concerns.  It's a mess, and it will get cleaned up.  And a new mess will probably replace it.  .And that is okay.  Since I stopped erupting about messes, I have made a few observations.  One is that my house is just the same amount of clean, or perhaps a little cleaner that when I was erupting all the time trying to get it clean.  Two is that I have an easier time letting go of things we don't need.

Chocolate chip # 6 - Remembering what's important

Recently in my hometown there was a huge amount of community support for a young child struggling to battle cancer.  I knew many people who were close to the family of the child quite well, and had met the family themselves previously.  The battle was both horrendously and mercifully short.  One day he was just a little small fry going about his business, then he developed cancer, and less than two years later he was taken up to heaven, just a few weeks shy of his ninth birthday.  His family is amazing and humbles me through their example.  In the clenching grasp of their grief they have been generous to others. Rallying support for donations of toys for Toys for Tots, paying for people in line around them, baking cookies, and singing carols. 

I shared their story, when it ended, with my children.  I reminded them that though their siblings could be a royal pain, that they should still be grateful and appreciative of their lives, and the joy they bring us.  I hold each of my children closer now, and am so grateful that I have the opportunity to get frustrated with their choices, to worry about them, and to love them.  To kiss their foreheads and the palms of their hands, and breathe them in deep.

Sometimes there are crumbs

Part One of a two part post -

I must apologize for the long break in writing - I think mostly to myself. Sometimes getting things out on here means I don't dwell on them in my head and can actually sleep. Or try to sleep. Or think about trying to sleep. Sleep isn't really all that necessary anyway. With two little snuggle bunny boys that like to crawl into my bed, I often wake up warm and wet for exactly the reason you are thinking from BOTH of them. That is really not the way you want to start your day off. So skipping the sleep process doesn't look so bad when you skip the warm welcome to the day and the accompanying laundry.

As you may or may not know, for years we have struggled with Songbird and what we thought was severe depression, and a case of bad behavior/attitude. Turns out that the diagnosis of depression was completly inaccurate and the medication she was taking for it - risky for teens to start with - actually was sending her plummeting down into an even darker world that includes delusions, hallucinations, and a stronger level of depression.

Since the medicine wasn't working, the doctors added another in July - which has caused her to gain 50 lbs since then. Gaining 50 lbs to anyone is tough, when you are a self conscious teenage girl who already was battling body issues and eating issues, it is life shattering. Add situational stress and anxiety and there is the perfect recipe for disaster. Which struck and rocked our family off the Richter scale levels. The quakes are beginning to subside, and the rubble is being cleared away, so now I think I can write again.

Songbird often seems very rational even when she is not, and it is often difficult to discern what is real or not - for her, and for those of us taking care of her.  When she says something, it becomes incorporated into her reality, whether or not it is real or not. She also incorporates elements of what people have told her, what she has read, and what she has seen in movies, tv, and other people's lives into her own experiences.  This has caused fabrications of entire people and events that never actually occurred, but to her are real.

Parenting a child with any mental illness is hard. There just aren't enough resources available. And the ones that are there tend to be clinical, stuffy, and have limited practical day to day application options available. Yes, there is prayer, but it is hard to remember to stop and pray, or count and breathe when you have spent all day riding the roller coaster of a child who is both hormonal and bipolar, as well as taking care of two preschoolers, a toddler, an emotional nine year old with learning disabilities, and you know, that whole house thing. 

During this time we have also been forced to close the business, and thusly loose our primary source of income. Ordinarily in a situation like this I would return to work, but there isn't daycare for a 14 year old, and I can't leave a child who is fine one hour and suicidal the next, who cuts, who doesn't know what is real all the time, home alone. Nor is she ready to be in a regular school environment yet.

My husband is also living temporarily in an apartment several blocks away, and has been living outside our home for almost two months.  Songbird's struggles have caused this to be necessary, though we still love each other very much and currently have goals of reuniting our family, it may be some time, such as several years, before we are able to do so.

So sometimes, life can be a little crumb - y.

Right hand girl

A while back, as part of attempt at compromise, we started attending a different, mutually acceptable church.  The services were enjoyable, and everyone liked going, but unfortunately it wasn't meant to be.  That being said, Songbird has continued to attend their youth activities.  She found out about a youth convention, plastered the note on the fridge, then set about earning money to go.  She almost vibrated with anticipation as the prospect of spending almost 11 hours younger sibling and parent free in a different city got closer and closer. At last the day arrived and she was off!

I think every parent has moments when their children are gone that they worry.  I have made concerted efforts to avoid having other people drive my children to and from places, including my own husband.  I understand that this doesn't mean an accident won't happen, but what it does mean is that I would be with them.  The day was cold and rainy, and my mind mulled over concern of 100 different scenarios simultaneously.  What if the car slid in the rain - or someone slid into them?  They would be coming back on a two hour drive late at night on a Sunday...what if the driver got sleepy, or another car lost control?  I kept these concerns mainly to myself, because I was sure my husband would roll his eyes, and kept myself busy.

Things went smoothly the first few hours on the home front...within five minutes the other children were pelting us with questions about whether Songbird would ever return, and during dinner there was a shared lament over that she wasn't there, but otherwise things were okay.  Then we got the type of phone call that every parent dreads. 

"I fell. I'm okay - but they said I had to call."

The usual questions followed about what happened and such (she had been roller skating).  With the wonders of modern technology we had her take pictures of her injury, and then the opposite arm for comparison purposed, then ultimately decided that if she felt that she could stay, that we would allow her to.  I thought for a few moments on how this technology would have eased the hearts of many parents in the past when their children called about accidents of one kind and another, to be able to know what they are facing.

I called every two hours after that, to check up and make sure she was fine, all of which were answered in the affirmative.  My husband was virtually beside himself, expressing as much concern as someone who is typically fairly stoic about his emotions does in the form of asking a question about whether or not we shouldn't go pick her up anyways...repeatedly....as in every three minutes.  For him this is the equivalent of someone wailing hysterically "My baby, my precious baby, she's hurt and I must see her now.  The very best doctors - nothing less. Oh my baaaabbbby."

She got home quite late, exhausted but moderately happy with the experience, and asked just to go to bed, verses going to the emergency room to get it checked out.  The swelling appeared to have gone down some, so we agreed.  As soon as I was up in the morning I checked her wrist, and after making sure she was fully awake, sending her on her way with my husband to the hospital.  Four hours later, we found out that it was as was suspected.  Broken.

Later the story eeked out in bits and pieces.  She was bumped into by a younger child and used her hand to catch herself and cushion her fall.  Not know for her grace and dexterity, in hindsight the choice to roller skate seems less and less of a good idea.

Unfortunately it was also her right wrist/arm and she is right handed.  This makes things, like completing her online high school course work, much more difficult.  She is also my right hand girl - helping with chores and household responsibilities.  Though she does no single chore by herself, the segment she does do - often involve using her hands - washing dishes, folding laundry, bouncing biting babies. 

Simple things like showering and getting dressed are also challenging.  Apparently when you are 14 the last thing you want is your mother helping you bathe.  Seriously.  It is right underneath being seen in your underwear in public.  Pointing out that you bathed this child on a regular basis until she was 8 years old makes no difference.  Her tight fitted shirts have no room for casts either, but we solved this problem by making some fleece ponchos out of some lap blankets.  She can put on a tank top underneath, and it is almost like wearing a snuggie, but more cuddly and permissible in public.

She is making the best of things, semi smug about the lack of chores and increased reading time combined with irritation about the itchiness (it is going to be a long long long 6 weeks) and general inability to do anything.  Just think what a wonderful Christmas present getting the cast off will make!  To make it seem less far away, the weather has even obliged her with some snow on the ground....

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...."

get the picture

The iPhone 4S  is the best tech thing ever in my life....and this is why

I love pictures. I love looking at pictures and examining the artistic composition.  I love taking pictures, and finding that perfect shot. The moments I see behind the lens are breath taking, and I capture them so that they will always leave me breathless. That, and it is the only way to "keep" the children little. When I hold Smash it seems like it was just last week that it was Songbird's baby fine curls and milky breath that captured my heart and refused to let go.  Songbird will be older than I am now when Smash graduates high school.  Pictures will help show how much she adored him when neither one remember.

Being the mommy, especially the stay at home mommy, I am the one who takes the pictures, not stars in them.  When the kids were little, they were too little to take pictures.  When they were older, they decided that they would rather let me take the shots, something about me being particular; and when I was hit with the combination of my metabolism grinding to a screeching halt along with being pregnant three times in a four year span, I was more than happy to keep hidden behind the camera.

With the arrival of Smash I began to realize something.  Aside from the fact that I needed to spend more moments without the camera and actually living in the moment, there were very few moments with me in them.  If something happened to me, would they remember me?  Would they remember how I loved them so much I swear my heart would burst? Would they remember my kisses on their cheeks, and holding them tight?  What would they remember about me?  And as I looked through the pictures, I realized they wouldn't have much to remember how I looked.  I may not like how I look, but they look at me day and night and love me.  Starlet informed me that I was "the most beautiful mommy in the world" today, and insisted that we carve a pumpkin with my face on it.

So I have started being in the picture, double chins, goofy grin and all.  Unfortunately I am still usually the only around who is old enough to take a picture, which leads me to having a new found love affair with my phone.  The flip camera allows some startlingly close, but inclusive pictures with my kidlets.  Pictures of us smiling genuine smiles and being silly.

Pictures of them nuzzled sleepily against me.  Pictures of Smash, so small and sweet, being nursed, worn in carriers, and laughing in his sleep in my arms.

I may never learn to leave the camera behind while the kids play in the sunbeams, swing on the swings, and jump in the leaf piles. I highly doubt the camera veiw of myself is going to be something that doesn't cause me to cringe (or I confess cry) while I still have young children that need carried, corraled and kissed. But for right now, in this time, the two things are combined - and for that I am gratful.

Right now, at this very minute, my floor lacks a decisive path through the room.  This lack of path aspect continues all the way into the hallway, and I am fairly certain that it also goes through the rest of the house.  McCauly Caulkin wishes he could set up hazards of this calibur.  Now that it is cooler, the stairs to the playroom/school room/ library no longer contain both a skate board and a set of rollar skates, I think, but I make no promises. 

My house did not look like this all day.  It didn't even look like this an hour ago.  Part of the strategic implentation of the secret attack plan by the squadron is rotation and randomization.  Just when you think you can find a way safely across - yowzers - dinosaur spike to the bottom of the foot. Go to catch yourself and whoosh you slide on a discarded drawing.  Desperate flailing as you go down just rewards you with something precariuosly balanced, and full, pouring down in a storm upon you.  There you sit, wet, stuck - possibly even permanently affixed on the floor, with an impaled foot, twisted ankle, and thrown out hip - completely at the mercy of the small yet mighty forces that begin to surround you.  It is at this point that serious concern begins to form in your mind.  It is also at this point that Starlet will insist she has the medical knowledge needed to examine you and make an accurate prognosses, as well as provide treatment.  Songbird will start laughing at you hysterically, but the sound of her laugh is so awesome that it makes you laugh too.  Smash, though hesitant initially from the cacophony, will flash his break a thousand hearts smile, and give you a drooly kiss on the lips.  You will begin to feel at peace, and the sheer joy from being with the children will fill your heart.  Stomp it out.  This is part of their plan.  Notice how Sunshine and Snickers are missing?  That is because they are together in the bedroom war room playing planning the next attack.

Others may question the mess, thinking that I need to cut down on the toys, and organize, organize, organize.  This is not the right answer.  I routinely get rid of toys, only to buy them again a year later when I realize how much  I the kids missed playing with them.  Sterilite sends me thank you notes each year for how many containers I buy.  I even label them.  What happens is that though I have a squadron, I am not a master sargent, captain, general, or anything else that denotes authority just in the name.  I am easily convinced to read a storey, or two, or more, to a little cuddly cutie pie; or play a game with the teen and tween, instead of enforcing the chore expectation.

Besides, at least one room in the house is clean, close to company clean, several times through the day.  There is just no evidence of it, and no eye witnesses.

Book worm

I had some free time to spend today while running errands and decided to stop by the library that I adore.  Yes, it has a much smaller selection.  Yes, it is much farther from our house, and relatively inconvenient most of the time. Yes, their online web page is virtually impossible to accomplish anything on, and since I manage our library experiences primarily by checking things out online, this is a huge impairment.  That being said, I love going there.  It is the type of library that is inviting - full of warmth and light, with shelves that don't cause vertigo or claustrophobia.  I could easily spend an afternoon there with the children, an experience that would could only be improved if they provided patchwork quilts and hot cocoa.

Anyways, Smash was my only companion - which was great.  One munchkin at the library is an adventure, an experience, a treasured memory.  When Songbird was little I used to cut class and pick her up from the day care early so that we could nestle together in the children's section and spend the afternoon exploring the pages of well loved books.  When Sunshine was added to the picture, Songbird was old enough to play on the computers, and we set to reading the entire children's picture book selection, starting with the letter Z and working backwards.  Add in Starlet and Snickers, and suddenly there are children crawling through the bottom shelves into the other isles, rambunctious bouts of hide and seek, book towers built and then demolished, tug of war over head phones at computer stations, and quite a bit of squealing.  With the addition of Smash, we reach a sum of five children...Five creative and curious children with a healthy dose of enthusiasm and exuberance.  I am quite certain that they have contributed to the demise or removal of the library pets.  Especially in the most recent case where not only were they tapping the glass, they were also testing the water temperature for the fish.  So the trip to the library is still an adventure and experience, but not always the treasured memory that I would like.

Smash acted as Smash does, experiencing and exclaiming about the various elements and nuances that contribute to the endearing atmosphere.  Then we got in line to check out.  It was at this point that Smash folds himself in half over my arm, grabs a board book I had selected, yanks it from my hands and starts chewing voraciously.  With sound effects that would impress Cookie Monster. I admonished him not to chew the book, and the juggling in my arms to pry the book from his teeth allowed him to get the movie case.  This provided even more chewing satisfaction as that it allowed him to pull his head back with the case in his mouth, making a delightful "thwacking" sound.  It quickly became apparent that not only was this not the approved purpose of the case, nor was it sanitary, he was also leaving imprints of his teeth in the plastic. 

Lacking anything else, I handed him his library card.  This became a suitable distraction only once the opposite end was placed in my mouth and a game of tug of war started.  This whole time he is making various biting, gnawing, and chewing  sounds that sound like a cross between the beloved snack eating monster and a tyrannosaurus rex.  The librarians and patrons surrounding me glanced at me with looks of shocked alarm and disapproval.  I was powerless to do anything else however.  Smash missed his usual naps today and the temper tantrum that would ensue was not something I was mentally or physically prepared to deal with.  And besides, it was his library card.  So I playfully tugged and shook my head with the card between my teeth.  At one point he decided that he was tired of loosing and bit my nose.  Finally, after over 11 minutes in line, and seven with a library card in my mouth, it was our turn to check out.  I red faced apologized to the clerk, and quickly doused the card in hand sanitizer, drying it with a kleenex. 

This left Smash with nothing to chew, but it would be okay.  Oh no, it wouldn't.  He promptly seized my glasses and began gnawing on the lenses and legs.  You could hear the grinding and scraping across the plastic coating of the lens.  Holding the virtually frothing child slightly away, I requested very very quietly, if I could please have the library card back. 

I should note that Smash has literally two plastic shoe boxes of teething toys that he has never wanted anything to do with.  Nor has he demonstrated a need to gnaw, chew, tear, or imitate a certain blue animated alien as of late.  I was not being remiss in my parenting duties by not having something more suitable on me. He just suddenly, without warning, morphed into a ball of teething terror.  When I strapped him into his car seat, still slightly nervous and counting my fingers, he morphed back to the beautiful boy baby he normally is.

I will check my genealogy again, but I don't remember there being any canines.  Or Jim Henson muppets.  Or Disney aliens. 

I did, in a braver moment, check him mouth.  Sure enough there are two molars, one on each side, trying desperately to get through his gums.  He really doesn't like his teethers, or teething gel to help with the pain, and tries to console himself by gnawing on ME.  Given recent behavior, I am seriously considering getting a rawhide bone.

A bite of my cookie

This blog is my blog.  It is my mommy space that I get to have to share about how things are going behind the scenes homeschooling four children with a tyrannical toddler in tow.  It is the place where I can share funny anecdotes, rant about various subjects, and admit freely that I lie to my kids about movie due dates when we rent them so I don't have to listen to the same movie on a non stop loop.

In case it is early morning, late night, or you haven't had the right amount of coffee in your blood to function yet, the number of children that are practicing diplomacy and hostile take over tactics alternating equals five.  Three girls, two boys, ages ranging from 14 to 1.  If you ever thought that having teenagers and toddlers at the same time sounded like a good way to keep entertained...you would be right.  But only if your entertainment tastes run along the same lines as extreme sports.  You sky jumped over the desert - I nursed a baby velociraptor while simultaneously teaching Algebra, listening to Ramona be read out loud, and tracing alphabet letters in multi colored salt.

I often feel like I am an anomaly in the mothering world.  I am a crunchy momma, well almost.  Sometimes.  I would really really like to be, and I try real hard. I baby wear, co-sleep, use cloth diapers on occasion (when they are clean and I remember where they are and don't have any place to go where bodily fluids are not part of the accepted attire), practice "extended breastfeeding" and home school. I stare longingly at the organic products in the grocery isles, or even the wholesome middle of the road whole grain ones, but always end up buying the generic cheap orange death in a box and the nitrate laden hot dogs because my kids eat them and I live on a budget that laughs at me. Oh how I would like to be able to boast how my children drink the mysterious "green drink" and have it not be kool - aid.  I would love to be able to swap tales of how my children spent all day playing peacefully with nut shells and pine needles instead of alternating between watching tv and reenacting an alarmingly realistic version of Lord of the Flies. I would also really like to be tall, thin, and in my early twenties again, but then I remember that heels hurt my feet and wearing them puts my life in jeopardy with small children running about. Going to the gym takes time, money, and more energy than I have had in the past four years put together. I also spent a lot of my early twenties flat broke without a car. Hmm, maybe I don't want to go back quite that far. So I may be a granola bar, but I am the kind that has chocolate chips, icing, and possibly, depending on the day, sprinkles.