for heavens sakes….why the world expects WAY too much effort from me (this is a sarcastic post)

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Yes, I gave a disclaimer in the title, so be warned. Should you comment or message me as though I am being serious, prepare to be cyber mocked, although there is actual truth behind each statement….not gonna lie…

1.) All yogurt should be mixed already. I really have no concept why, in today’s day and age of phones that transcribe your voice and recognize your fingerprint, there are any stir-it-yourself yogurts STILL on the market. It is an unpleasant surprise to open a new container of a greek yogurt with a name I can not pronounce properly, only to discover I have to actually put forth the effort of stirring it myself.

2.) After running 4 miles, it is counter productive to have a body that then craves chocolate chip cookies. Specifically, an entire batch of the homemade ones. Or maybe even worse, an entire vat of sausage biscuits and gravy.

3.) When you have breakfast at a nice restaurant (as opposed to breakfast in a diner), it is INSANE they they don’t carry Aunt Jemima or Mrs (Miss? Ms??) Butterworth’s. Home made maple syrup only. WHAT?? Not ALL of us like the real, homemade maple syrup. It is gross. I literally can’t stand it. But I find that it is discriminatory that the fine breakfast establishments think they are too good for normal syrup. They look down their noses at Aunt Jemima. Aunt Jemima is the BEST people. The BEST!!!!! I won’t eat breakfast at those kinds of places. Nope. Not me.

4.) Silly putty. Just the sight of it angers me.

5.) Sharpies. I have 4,816 markers and crayons and colored pencils in my house. I hide the sharpies like they are osama bin laden. And yet, no matter how well hidden, the sharpies are what my vermin kids find and use to destroy something. (why did it take years to get osama, by the way?? someone should have gotten 300 toddlers together and shown a picture of the crazy terrorist, holding a super sized sharpie, and then released those kids into the desert and within an hour they would have had him pinned down, taken his sharpie and any other weapons of mass destruction from him. easy.)

6.) Would it be wrong, in today’s world, to develop one of those hamster water dispensing things for babies? You know, like, hang it in the crib and the kids, when they wake up at night, can just mosey over there and suck out some milk or whatever until they pass back out?? Marlowe waking 3 times a night for a new bottle is REALLY old. I am 40, people. And tired. I mean, kids can’t drink milk til they literally explode, like fish, can they? And on that note I always hear that…but has anyone ever actually seen a fish eat to death? Eat til he bursts? Yeah…hmm….this is suspect….

7.) Science projects are the devil. I stand by this, yet I am expected to sew together mentos, yes SEW them, to help my kid. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get the needle through that hard candy shell, solid center, back out through the shell, and then have the thread snap? Seriously? I LOVE being a mom, and would give my life for my kids if some armed attacker came in, like it osama had his peeps launch a counter attack because my kids busted him with that aforementioned sharpie. But I did NOT sign up to sew mentos. And no, they are SO not the freshmaker. They are the bleeping blister maker.

 

 

a birthday party murder scene, and how they are all asleep by 10:30…

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Tonight, while I type this, I have 9 little girls, in various states of snoring and drooling. And it is 10:30 p.m.

This pleases me because we are avoiding the all too common post-midnight bedtime crash that typically occurs during slumber parties. How do I do it, you ask? Well, I have a multi pronged approach.

1.) I exhaust them. They stay busy, nonstop, from arrival until 30 minutes before bedtime. They all got here by 4. It was immediate play upstairs, entertain the baby, etc. Then it was fancy dress up time with makeup application by the now worshipped 13 year old cousin present at the party. (They literally could all not get enough info on her first boyfriend, now exboyfriend.) Anyway…next up was chocolate covered strawberries to snack on while they made their own pizzas. Then they ate the pizzas and changed into their suits. Pool time! Sure, it was a little breezy. Oh well. Next up? Cake, in this case, a red velvet bundt cake that Chasey and her two cousins made prior to the other ladies showing up. I iced it, lit the candles, and the girls ate a couple of bites, then promptly smashed it into each others faces.

***For the record, when red velvet cake gets smashed on a white pool patio in chunks, the result is what looks like the scene of the most disgusting, grisly murder scene you can possibly imagine. The girls, of course, loved this, and capitalized on it.***

The remaining exhaustion came by way of whipped cream chasing, battles, spraying, etc. Good times.

***For the record, I never knew so many injuries could result in whipped cream wars. An accidental tube jab up the nose, whipped cream in the eye (grainier than one would think), tube torso scratches, etc.***

2.) I overfeed them, but carefully. I overdo the carbs early on. Same with the sugar. They get full. Heavy. But then as it gets later, we go to popcorn, then water, then nothing. I do NOT want to clean up puke, thank you.

3.) I then get them to relax. We do some movie time (cue the popcorn), which then rolled into spa time, where they all took turns giving each other foot exfoliation, massages, and scalp rubs. Then 20 minutes lights low, then no more talking.

That’s it!!

Crap, ok. I also lie. I lie like a dog. I lie like no one’s business. And I do so without saying a word. I confiscate all electronics, and then change my clocks accordingly. What they think is 10:30 is actually 8:45. So although the last words I heard uttered were at around 10:32, they will surely insist that it was well past midnight. And on that clock, it probably was…… ;)

mommy nails it…then mommy blows it….science projects and bikes and cookies, oh my!

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Ok. Yesterday was MY day. I mean, I made that day my you know what. Seriously. I rocked it, in every way you can as a stay at home mom.

I made lunches for the next day. I simultaneously cooked THAT night’s dinner while I also cooked the NEXT night’s dinner. I baked 2 dozen brownies for the book fair and grandparent school shindig. I worked out. I cleaned my closet.

YEAH. I was THAT awesome.

Then I got the kids from the bus stop, where I gave them their snack of HOMEMADE choc chip cookies. BOOM. Take that martha stewart!!!! We ate supper. I bathed them all. (And no that does not happen every day so yeah, I was still on a roll.) Heck, we went for a family bike ride minus Kenny because daddy is out of town becoming a godfather to someone else’s baby….(WHOLE other story….sigh……and yes I actually did say, “um, is there something you want to tell me? Is this actually your kid? You get a 5 minute pass to tell me anything” but nope, not his…still though, who shares a once a year email with someone and then asks you to be the godparent and then you don’t check with your wife on that and then when do you make plans to fly up away from your own family to go do that and still not check with your wife on that????? um, hello???? no it ain’t all hershey’s kisses and moonbeams and farting rainbows at the Sweet family home….). Anyway, I digress.

We arrive home.

Cue Jaws theme.

Kincaid drops the baby. Elis Rey headbutts Hadley. Chase forgot her math book. Hadley is starting puberty and is crying about how NOT tired he is. Hadley broke the chain on my bike.

And I YELLED. You know, like the yell you say you are not gonna do unless it is a major infraction?? Well I did it. The neighbors probably heard me. (Well, no they didn’t cause they are all over 100 so…..). I felt awful. But we got all cleaned up, laid clothes out for the next night, and I owned that I shouldn’t have yelled, and Hadley sort of owned that he shouldn’t have broken my bike, and it was better.

For an hour.

Because we then realized that, by accident, the housekeeper (I love you forever and always Adriana) threw out his science project.

You know, that bain-of-your-existence protract that all kids ages like, 3rd grade through 7th grade or whatever have to do??? We did the experiment part this weekend, recorded the data, made the videos. And the poster boards, which yes were neon green, and yes, looked like scribbling messes (because 10 1/2 year old boys with sharpie write in scribble language) but still, it got chucked.

So meltdown. Again. Not mine though, so that was nice. Still, now I get to go back to the store, buy another 20 Pepsi 2 liters, another 10 packs of mentor (the FRESHMAKER!!!!), foam boards, packing tape, sharpies, meter sticks, blah blah blah….AND WE HAVE TO DO IT ALL AGAIN.

Our old school had a teacher who held a camp. 1 week, five 8 hour days, and the kids created their experiment, researched and recorded the data, did their experiments, wrote the reports, decorated, and typed it all up. 250 bucks for the whole week. 10 students. 2500. That teacher supplemented her income. Heck, maybe that teacher went to bora bora every year. No clue. But yeah, attention teachers or creative OCD types. Please, someone, hold the camp this summer. I already have 4 kids ready for you.

Today? Hoping to buy supplies and not yell at anyone. And maybe I will just end up sitting around, watching Uncle Buck. Sounds good to me……

Can’t believe it has been 3 years….happy forever family day, Elis Rey!!!!

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My mind is like, totally blown right now.

It was 3 years ago today. And yet, it also feels like yesterday. Then again, it feels like we have had this precious soul with us since the day she was born.

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The joy….I can’t even tell you. Elis Rey is so much herself. And so much ours. All of the scientific and moral and sociological arguments about nature versus nurture….I don’t know. And all of those debates about first families, birth families, God’s plans and intentions and so on….I don’t know that either. All I can tell you is that this perfectly adorable little munchkin is exactly where she is supposed to be, right now, right here.

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People see us, all the time, in the store. The mall. The school. Disney World. Any and everywhere. They say, “Oh my. She is so lucky. Your girls are so lucky!” And like almost everyone else in the adoption community would respond, I too say, “nope. WE are the lucky ones!!!”

But really, it is so much more than that. It is not luck. It is pleasure. The purest, most beautiful kind of pleasure. The kind that melts and blurs into this big ball of mushy innocent perfection that only a child makes you feel. The kind that only the deepest of belly laughs and sweetest of ear splitting giggles makes you know, in the depths of your soul, what heaven is like here on earth, for a bit.

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To you, Elis Rey, I say this. Baby, my life is MORE of everything since you came into it. Not a day passes in which I don’t thank God for you. Not a night descends during which I don’t close my eyes, and think of your dimples, of your scent, of your incredible eyes and even more incredible heart. I have a passion for you, my little monkey, that well surpasses the combined passions of all of your favorite storybook princesses and heroes. YOU are MY treasure. And I love you more than there are stars in the sky, and more than there are fish in the sea, and more than there are grains of sand on the seashore. I am the luckiest mommy in the world.

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a quick post of a crazy kid car conversation…and yes, i lied….wouldn’t you???

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“Whore.”
“Um, what Kincaid?”
“Whore. What is a whore??”
“Um, honey, why? Where did you hear that word?”
“I am reading it, right now.”
“Um, honey??” I know I was getting repetitive but the words I wanted to exclaim were far less appropriate. “What exactly are you reading??”
“Oh, it’s just something for school. So mom, WHAT is a WHORE???”
“For school????? What are you reading?? Hand it up to me right now!!”
“But mom, you’re driving. You shouldn’t read and drive.” (love my kids….)
“I won’t read it til the stoplight. Pass it up.”

Some passing, kid grumbling, some dropping….and finally up to me. (My car, like the cars of all moms of 5 kids, is like 100 feet long…) The book is a cute school book, whereupon at the next stop light I see the word, “hour.”

“Honey, that is the word hour, pronouncer OW-er, like ow, like a booboo and then the sound er. An hour is a measure of time lasting 60 minutes.”
“Oh okay. Well, what is a whore then?”
“Nothing. It’s not a word, which is um, why I was so confused about why the school would give you books with nonsense words.”
“Oh. Okay.”

Don’t you judge me for lying. This was a non-win. Bad. I could have lied and given it a fake meaning. Lie. Bad. Or I could have given the real meaning to a 6 year old. Definite Bad. Or I could have given that “Oh honey, it is something really bad so we won’t discuss it,” which, as any wise and experienced mom will tell you is the WORST because then the kid either looks it up in the dictionary or far far worse, nowadays, on the internet.

So yeah. I lied. Oh well.

i know, i know…I am a total lazy, non-blogging bum. oh, and a funny few videos.

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But honestly, I have an excuse right??

Ok. We have been busy, with a capital B.  The good news?? Just five minutes ago I ordered our Halloween costumes. That’s a plus.

We took the kids, all 5, to Disney World. I have been there, hmm….somewhere around 500 times I think. I grew up a few hours away from there, spent 5 years living in Orlando, and now live a few hours away with my family. In high school we sang there for performances and Candlelight, toured the back scenes….heck, I dated a guy that worked at the Haunted Mansion and made out pretty much behind the scenes in every area of that ride. Ahem. Anyway.

But this was my first, and please Lord, ONLY, bad Disney experience. The magic bands, the room check in, the hotel food (we stayed at the Polynesian…) it was all awful. However, 1 out of 500 is not too terrible, so I am letting it slide. This time. Regardless, we had quite the family adventure. So here are some cute videos from the trip. Oh, and one from after the trip, when I went for a run with my friend Tzizzle and afterwards packed up baby and stroller to discover a little creature trying to get into my car…probably because of the huge amount of snack foods crushed into the seats and carpets…

Here is us riding Mt Everest…

Here we are having a room dance party (not just the Marlowe version from Facebook…)

Here is an adorable video of Elis Rey and Marlowe after the Epcot Nemo ride….M even waves hello I think….

Oh, and um, here is the killer squirrel video. Heads up…there is a naughty word. Got nervous for a second that the squirrel (or dingo) would try to eat my baby.

why yes, my social worker wanted to eat my baby….can’t say I blame her. and more cute Marlowe-isms

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I have posted about the illustrious social worker Carmelita before. Why? Because she rocks.

And no, I don’t say that to curry favor, to kiss butt, or anything else. I don’t recall kissing butt in my life. Ever. Probably to my own detriment, but it just is so wrong to me on so many levels. Once you sell out, you have sold out. And that just ain’t my style.

Man, she knows her stuff. Thousands and thousands of adoptions, international and domestic. She thrives and absorbs ongoing training. So I respect her. And additionally, she is funny, outspoken, real, and tells me, and everyone else, like it is. So I respect her more. I personally don’t think life should ever be sugar coated. Grew up that way, keeping all the stuff in the closet. Many years ago I said never again, and I have lived that way, good or bad, ever since.

But I digress.

While most folks worry or fret about the visit, and then want it to end as soon as possible, I do no cleaning. And I cook lasagna. And sadly she had to be on the road to another family, or I think we would have gone out to a movie and left Ken at home with the kids. (Gone Girl is opening, right??)

The point is this.

She loves my baby. And how could she not??
This is the same kid whose favorite toy is the bidet. (Yeah, the toilet kind of thing.)
The same kid who can slurp down fish tacos and guacamole like a professional.
The same kid who wrestles and rough houses like she has been here since day one.
The same kid who has, by far, the most pungent, eye wateringly, most awful farts in the history of man kind.
The same kid who loves to ride the bike with me, as she grips my hips and squeezes my butt and squeals.
The same kid who loves to climb on daddy and punch him in his man business. I swear, on purpose.
The same kid who grins from ear to ear when you pick her up out of her crib first thing in the morning.
The same kid who loves her bottle scalding hot at bedtime, but lukewarm the rest of the day.
The same kid who has the craziest little under eye dimple, and gives the best, biggest, wettest, open mouthed kisses.

And the same kid who, after hanging with Carmelita for a couple of hours, leaned in for lots of extra hugs and snuggles, again and again, as she went to leave.

So yeah, she loves my baby. Because no one in their right mind wouldn’t.