Stop and...Shop?

Last Sunday my college roommates came to visit. It was a fun time as usual, but one of those days where reality kind of sneaks up on you. Three carefree college girls have morphed into career women, home and dog owners, mothers....basically we're getting old. Ten years ago our Sunday would have consisted of sleeping late, nursing a hangover, getting a coffee and taking a drive. This particular Sunday still involved coffee of course, but a "drive" has transformed to a walk with a stroller and our beverage of choice at lunch, was caffeine free root beer. Gone are the days of sunbathing at the waterfall in the warm, early days of May. Gone are the parties, the bar hopping and the wet t-shirt contests (trust me, I'm a nursing Mother, it wouldn't be pretty). This particular Sunday, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Home to our hubbies, children and beloved doggies. It was 2 o'clock and although I'd been awake since 6am, it still felt like the whole day was ahead of me. I decided to grab Carter for some quality, one on one time at the grocery store.

We drove in my car with the windows down and the sunroof open, blasting one of his favorite songs, "Who loves you pretty baby...who's gonna help you through the night". Yeah, I was missing my girls, my college days, but I couldn't help but think about how great my life was now. It was a beautiful, sunny day, my child was being adorable and I was going to have a well-stocked fridge. What could possibly go wrong?

I'll tell you what. No matter how good I feel, how sunny the day, somehow I can always be taken down a notch and humbled. This day was no exception. We parked the car and grabbed a shopping cart. On this particular afternoon, I was excited because I was going to cash in old bottles and cans, which is kind of a new concept for me. We always recycle, but I had decided to make it a goal of mine to actually return them at the store. Carter and I headed over to the dimly lit bottle return area. We began putting cans and bottles in the machine and Carter was delighted to help out. Probably around the tenth or eleventh bottle, he was assisting me in putting one in the machine when, surprise! That evil Magic Hat was half-filled with warm, old, beer. Down my right arm it trickled, right onto my clothing and my two year old son.

Annoyed but not yet broken in spirit, I continued on with the task at hand, when suddenly, a seemingly innocent old man showed up. Before I could open my mouth to stop him, the sneaky little thing began popping his cans in my machine, with my running tab!!! I said, "Oh, I was using that one". He looked at me blankly (I swear it was a facade) and gave me my receipt. However, what he didn't understand is that I had put more cans in since that first receipt popped out. Ooh I was really peeved at this point but decided to let it go for the simple fact that I was always taught to be nice to old folks.

Carter and I finished up with the bottles and turned to leave, smelling like stale beer. As we entered the grocery store, my bare foot suddenly hit the cold tile. Yup, that's right. My flip flop had just broke, right there in the produce department. I had an empty cart and a long list. I managed to pop the plastic thong back into the foam hole and then proceeded to do so about nineteen more times.

There I was, hobbling around Stop and Shop looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and reeking of a fraternity house when who do I bump into but a former "flame". Of course, this would happen to me, I thought to myself. Now, as stated earlier, and many times before, I am VERY happy and content in my life, however you would be crazy if you told me you didn't want to look good in this type of situation. With a swipe of my wind-blown hair and a quick adjustment of my geeky glasses, I managed to exchange a formidable, "Hi, how are you?". Dear God, the only thing that would top this off right now is a big ol' box of tampons in my shopping cart.

As we drove home, I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Maybe not too much had changed at all since my days at Plymouth State. After all, like a typical college kid, it was the end of the weekend and I was tired, craving a home cooked meal, and missing a shoe!

Ode to my Hubby

A faithful follower of my numerous blogs,
he thinks he's portrayed as a bump on a log.

This theory could not be further form the truth
'cause when it comes to the kiddos he is never aloof.

He changes poop diapers and cooks us our meals,
he goes food shopping and browses for deals.

He reads them their stories each night before bed
He combs down the hair that sticks up on their heads.

He buys me pedicures to jazz up my toes,
each night he serves me milk and oreos.

He sleeps with the dog when the weather is rainy
and puts up with me when I'm acting so zany.

Though it seems he is often the brunt of my jokes
and he may drive me crazy with his pinching and pokes,

I do love my hubby, deep down I do.
Here's your retraction dear, I love you!

Doggie Dearest

Northwestern Connecticut has it's fair share of unpredictable weather. And it seems that with crazy weather comes odd behavior! Last Friday was no exception. Rain showers and a thunderstorm passed through our town into the wee hours of Saturday morning. To tell you the truth, I probably wouldn't have noticed (again, the perma-exhaustion thing) if it weren't for my four-legged "son" Jack, who incessantly paced our bedroom, his toenails click click clicking on the cool hardwood floor.

Let me back up and introduce you (if I haven't already) to our beloved Jackie. Half golden retriever, half husky, Jack is the epitome of man's best friend. He's loyal, lovable and gentle with Carter and the babies. Jack is always ready for a game of catch and always good for a laugh. Take for instance, his new haircut. Poor Jack is freshly shaven, save his bushy tail and the normal fur on his head. Put it this way-As we led him out of the groomer's and into the back of the Jeep, I was embarrassed FOR him. Anyway, weighing in at about 75 pounds, he in no way, shape or form looks like a wimpy pup. Sadly, this couldn't be further from the truth. This dog is the biggest baby on the planet.

So back to the thunderstorm. On this particular night, Landon had decided to grace us with his presence, lying between us in our seemingly small queen sized bed. Shortly after his arrival the thunder began in the distance. Thus, the pacing began. Back and forth in the pitch black room. He would lie down. Stand up. Walk over to Ben's side. Lie down over there. Stand up, shake it off, walk over to my side. Let me tell you ladies, if you think that sleeping an inch away from your husband's face is bad, you should get a load of the hot steamy breath of a panting pooch greeting you when you roll over in the dark, with only his shadow illuminated by the lightning outside.

Before I knew it, Jack had jumped up onto the bed. In the past, we probably would have let him stay. The poor thing is simply terrified of thunder. I can't blame him really because I tend to be fearful of storms as well. However, with the little one next to us and his non-stop restlessness we just couldn't chance it.

I turned to Ben as the two of us lay there shielding our 4 month old from the hyperventilating dog who loomed over us. "Go get his drops". Although fearful, I am proud to say that unlike Jackie, I do not need medication to help me through thunderstorms. That's right ladies and gentlemen, our dog takes an herbal remedy to help with his anxiety. Just a few drops on his cute little nose, which he promptly licks off, can usually help him calm down. I'm told that it has the same effect as Bourbon, which OK...I'll admit it, sounded really great right about then.

I'm not sure which came first, the tail end of the storm or Jackie's special cocktail kicking in, but we did manage to get back to sleep that night. As I lay there in the darkness, dawn on the horizon and the last remnants of heavy rain hitting my windows, I couldn't help but think to myself (for the billionth time) "I live in a zoo". As I rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock's familiar red glow I forced myself to close my eyes because I knew it was only a matter of time before someone snored, cried, barked or tackled me, leaving me no choice but to start my day for good. Besides, I thought, it's any one's guess which combination of little boys/dog would be joining me for a slumber party the next night!

"Just another manic Monday"

Weekday mornings are hectic. Really hectic. It typically goes something like this. My alarm goes off around 5:15am. I then proceed to press the snooze button a million times, which in turn makes the alarm sound every five minutes like a mosquito buzzing in my ear. In fact, there's nothing much I can do about it other than wake up, because I can't for the life of me figure out how to reset the darn thing.

The past couple of weeks have been particularly challenging because my sweet little angels have had a sudden change in their sleep patterns. Thus, causing Mommy to be up a few times throughout the night or up very early, like as in 4:30am. The big boy has recently gotten in on the action and has ever so loudly been getting out of bed and has figured out how to open the child safety knob on the inside of his door. We have determined it's easier to admit defeat and let him join us. Therefore, the past few days in particular have left me overtired with all-day muscle aches, which I can only imagine are the direct result of lifting car seats, lack of proper nutrition and sleeping like a contortionist because my two year old has taken to sleeping horizontally between Ben and I.

When I finally do wake up, I try to squeeze in a shower if I'm lucky. Then comes my tradition of watching the channel 3 news (again, if I'm lucky and not interrupted by "Phinneas and Pherb" on the Disney Channel). I nurse the twins, then struggle to find clean clothes for the boys. This is not to say that Ben does nothing, because he does. However, my darling hubby usually waits til the very last minute to roll out of bed and I have to admit, I can't help but wish bodily harm upon him, as he lays there snoring while I deal with "feeding time", fighting Carter for the remote and juggling various outfit combinations in my head.

Most mornings Ben can be found ironing his work clothes downstairs while Carter screams the lyrics to many a song as he sits perched on the potty. After I change the twins I am usually running around trying to get myself (somewhat) put together while Carter chants "Nudie Mommy, Nudie Mommy". Let's put it this way; it is a daily struggle to remember deodorant, let alone to make my hair look good.

Once we're all ready, Carter slides down the stairs while Ben and I each grab a baby and we all meet in the kitchen, where the twins are strapped into their car seats, Carter screams for fruit snacks or anything else he knows he can't have in the morning. In fact, one day he had a tantrum because he wanted a can of beer, but that's another story. Every day we pack bottles, feed the dog, put my breast pump back together and rack our brains for the items we need to bring to daycare. Then Ben helps me pile everyone into the car, we exchange a quick "love you" and we go our separate ways. Once I arrive at work, I must then pull the stroller out of the car, put the babies in the stroller, attach my two bags to the stroller, then get Carter to hold my hand as we cross the parking lot. Sometimes I am also balancing a hot coffee and a handbag. It's quite the spectacle, which I invite you to watch. Bring your popcorn because it takes awhile and it's cheap entertainment.

One particular Monday morning, I was freshly showered but rushing like usual. I threw on my red shirt, grabbed my shoes and realized that my black Capri pants were folded in the laundry room downstairs. Because I was pretty much ready (other than the capris) and my hands were full, I slipped on my shoes and headed down the stairs. Clearly, I am a multi-tasker. Carter had gone down ahead of me, while Ben and the boys were still up in our room. As I reached the bottom step, I heard the back door slam. Carter was nowhere to be seen and panic mode set in.

I whipped open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the back porch, wearing nothing but my t-shirt, undies and wedged heels. "Oh my dear God", I thought to myself. "I cannot believe this is happening". I looked both ways. No sign of life from the neighbors. Then, Carter decided to make his appearance. He stood across the driveway from me, as if we were involved in a stand-off in the Old West, a perfectly mischievous smirk creeping across his face.

I could see the wheels turning in his head. Before I knew it he started to back up, his eyes never leaving mine. "Get back here", I growled. "NO!" he flatly shouted and scurried off through the dewy morning grass towards his slide. He looked back at me. "GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW", I loudly whispered, trying my best not to wake our neighbors for the obvious reason that the whack-job next door was screaming at her kid at 6:55am in nothing but her skivvies and a pair of red high heels.

Growing desperate I threatened that he would not be receiving a treat on the ride home that afternoon and that his clothes were going to get wet if he took one more step. He stood motionless, staring at me as if he didn't hear a word I said. With a huff, I spun around, ran inside, slid on my pants and took off into the back yard. I swooped up my little devil child, and carried him like a football, back into the confines of our home.

You might be thinking that this is one of those "once in a lifetime" moments. But I have to tell you the scary thing is, this kind of stuff seems to happen to me ALL THE TIME. The twins are now four months old and I'm already feeling outnumbered as the only lady in the house. Moments like these make me feel like I'm in the movie "The Truman Show", or "Candid Camera" at the very least. As I sit here blogging I look around and this is what I see: two different toddler sneakers, one flip flop, books scattered on the coffee table, disheveled pillows on my window seat, diapers, blankets, suction-cup darts stuck to the wall and to top it all off, a gigantic (boy) cat surveying the whole scene. I crack up at the thought of Carter reading this blog one day when he gets older and taking pride in his work of successfully making his mother look like a lunatic.