Pukey pasta

If I were a YouTube star or a Facebook live person, I'd start this off with "Hey guys" but since I'm not a star, I'll just keep on typing. I have several new blog posts to share with y'all (I know, it's only been a million years since I posted and we actually don't even say y'all here in Oregon, but I've always wanted to say that) but then I thought, "Oh no, no, no, they'd MUCH rather hear a graphic, disgusting, TMI, description of what went down this week/evening, so here goes! It all started last Saturday night. We took the kids to a popular, crowded pizza place (I could just stop right there and end my story since crowds and people, both kinda disgust me, but that's not even the disgusting part of my story, so I'll keep going). The kids were touching EVERYTHING in the restaurant and the arcade (except for their overpriced food of course). I'm talking they were pounding and pressing on buttons, knobs, dirty, sticky, slimy steering wheels that doubled as a Kleenex, etc, ALL things that a million grubby little hands touch on any given day. So yeah, there were my darling "healthy" kids happily playing, touching, putting their hands in mouth, more touching, grabbing whatever drink was sitting on our table and drinking it (not knowing if it belonged to them or not), probably picking up the chewed gum they found on the ground and eating it, etc.

The following day my dad came over to pick up the grandkids to take them out for the day (doubt he'll be doing this ever again, but please keep reading). They went to McDonald's for lunch and then out for ice cream, I should stop and mention here that my dad is a total pushover/sucker so the kids always con him into the triple scoop, it's bigger than your head, no parent in their right mind would EVER in a million buy that asininely-sized ice cream cone for their child (can I get an amen here?) Shortly after digging into his 10,000 calorie ice cream cone, Peanut apparently began to projectile vomit ALL over their upscale, trendy, expensive, "gelato" for you snobs too good for ice cream, restaurant (yet another local public establishment here in town that we're probably banned for life from ever entering again).

My dad apologizes to the restaurant staff, and attempts to help clean up what he can with those cheap little restaurant napkins (wish I had video footage of this), but they insist on calling in their emergency cleaning crew because it's THAT bad, and my dad slinks out in shame and brings the kids straight home and I can see that Peanut is just one big giant pukeball before he even enters the house. I briefly considered not answering the door and pretending that we weren't home...kidding, but seriously, this is not an enjoyable moment in any parent's life and you briefly imagine what your life could've been like, had you only raised dogs or cats, because at least when a pet starts barfing you can just open the sliding door and push them outside until they get it all out. NO, I didn't actually do that to poor little Peanut so no need to get excited and write me a nasty email. This boy had so much puke ingrained into his clothing, there was even puke smashed into the tiny little grooves of his brand new Adidas that I still have no clue how to get out (washed them twice already and they are still bright McOrange with chunks of gelato). Within 24 hours of Peanut, Mahlon proceeds to throw up on our couch during family movie night (I personally enjoyed Daddy's Home 2 and didn't think it needed that harsh of a review, but that's just me). Poor Mahlon threw up all night and into the morning.

We woke up today all paranoid like "Alright who's next?" like we were on an episode of Survivor and we're ready to take each other out if need be to protect ourselves. Seanie Mac only wanted dad all day and since he's usually a hardcore momma's boy, we were both on edge like "Watch out, this kid's gonna blow any second" because this boy is SO insanely attached to me that whenever he goes to dad instead (like on purpose), we automatically assume something's up and he's sick because #momlife. As the day progressed without any puke, we loosened up a little bit and were like "It's okay. We're all good. Crisis over" and I took Seanie downstairs for a small pre-bedtime snack. I barely had time to hand him his sippy cup when without any warning at all (because almost two year olds are kinda selfish and inconsiderate) he starts projectile vomiting all over my kitchen. This wasn't just a little puke folks. Nope. Remember the puke scenes from Stand by Me or Problem Child 2? Well, that's exactly what my kitchen resembled tonight. I'm not quite sure how he did it, but he somehow spewed all over every square inch (I always knew that boy was gifted). My husband graciously cleaned it up, while I carried a drippy, pukey baby upstairs and straight into the tub.

So, here I am, sitting on my bed, next to a gurgly, rumbling, squirming baby with scratchy, uncomfortable towels spread out all over my bed (just in case he gears up for round two which we'll call "The bedroom scene"), armed with a large shiny puke bucket at my feet, (AKA the big metal pan that we cook our spaghetti in and will still continue to use for pasta after this is all over with). You've been warned if we ever invite you over for an Italian theme night at our house. 

I took my four kids to the museum alone and lived to tell about it

Monday was a school holiday (President's Day) and my kids were bugging me bright and early to "take them somewhere fun".  Of course they typically choose crazy stuff that's not really possible for me to do on my own with three kids and an infant, like some type of skating, the local water park (the younger kids don't swim that great yet and I'll be damned if I'm going to squeeze my glazed donut filled hiney into a swimsuit in February), glacier luging, etc, you get the idea. I'm not a big fan of venturing out with all four kids alone, so I don't do it very often. It's tiring, stressful, and anxiety provoking (just the mere thought of it makes me bust out in the flop sweats with puffy hives).

For Christmas this year my dad bought our family a year long membership to the High Desert Museum, at my request since the thought of more toys coming into this tiny, overcrowded, cluttered rental house briefly turned me into the robot that goes haywire on RoboCop. Unfortunately Bend doesn't have a children's museum, or OMSI like we had in Portland, but the HDM is still packed full of fun, and the perfect place to spend an afternoon.  Plus, I was feeling a little guilty that I had only used our family membership once since Christmas, since we've been buried under 10,000 feet of snow and haven't ventured out much these past couple of months. So I told the kids we were going to the museum, and that was final.

It took me about two hours to get all four kids ready to go. Not even joking. Two freaking hours. By the time I got everyone locked and loaded into the car, I was already completely wiped out and dying for a nap. I was spoiled with having older, independent children before Seanie Mac was born. I thought my infant/toddler days were long gone and all I really had to worry about before we left the house was that the kids had brushed their teeth, were all wearing pants, and went to the bathroom so we didn't have to pull over to pee a million times along the way.

Now that Seanie Mac is here we had to wait for his morning nap to end (because taking a cranky, non rested baby on an outing on purpose is like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute, you know it isn't going to end well), feed him, clean him up, change his diaper, then change his diaper again because he took a dump as soon as I put a fresh diaper on him, etc. It seriously never ends with this kid. This is the same baby who almost always dumps the dog's water dish all over himself just seconds before we're ready to leave (or toilet water...he doesn't discriminate; he loves both).

I was really nervous that the kids were going to conspire against me and all hell was going to break loose and I'd have to use my one phone call from jail to call my husband at work to come bail me out, but to my surprise, the kids were all super duper well behaved, and no, I promise, I didn't drug them before we left.

We walked around the museum, checked out the exhibits (even though they really hadn't changed much since the last time we visited), the kids played in the kiddie area, and we even walked through the gift shop without anyone throwing a tantrum or breaking something, although my oldest started to get a little squirrely over an overpriced stuffed horse, but I held strong because if I bought her the horse, I'd have to say yes to the stuffed rodents that my boys were holding up and waving just inches from my face. Besides, I'm pretty sure we already have some rodents living behind our kitchen stove.

A shot of all four of them looking at the camera and I didn't even have to bribe them

 

Seanie was irritated that the stroller suddenly stopped moving 

 

A pathetic attempt at a selfie...we really could've used a selfie stick! 

 

Peanut loved this volunteer dude...he talked his ear off 

 

How I eat during PMS week

 

Seanie the rock climber. 

What do you mean your ten month old can't rock climb yet?

Kidding, he's still on the ground

 

I'm really happy I decided to take them out of the house and let them burn off some steam instead of yelling at them from the couch to be quiet while they ignore me and act like wild dingos at a rave.  Plus this gave me some confidence to know that not only could I do it, but that maybe I should be doing this kind of stuff more often. Of course you know what this means!! The next time I take them to the museum alone, I'll turn my back for one second and Peanut and Mahlon will end up falling into the snake pit. But at least I can always look back and say, "Remember that one time, when I took them to the museum and it was a total success?"  Yeah, I'll always have that.

Valentine Schmalentines

I apologize for not posting every day like I promised. I haven't been in a very good place lately. I don't know if it's winter depression, or maybe some leftover, residual post partum depression or what, but I've been down and out and just blah about everything. The motivation has been sucked out of me like a vacuum and all I really want to do is pull the covers over my head and sleep (which can't and wont happen because I have a hyperactive ten month old who is now taking steps on his own).

So, it wasn't really any big surprise that I would be blah about this year's Valentines Day as well.  Not that I was ever really all that excited over it. I'll admit, I'm not very romantic. In fact I'm pretty dude-like in many aspects. If you absolutely must have an example, I just finished clipping my toenails on the couch and then I stuffed my face with nachos (after going on a taco binge earlier today). The sexiness is just radiating out of me today so ladies hide yo men!

Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for those of you who have cheesy, romantic, flower filled, gushy Hallmark card holidays. Everyone should feel loved and appreciated, and just because I'm having a woe is me, poopy flavored lollipop of a year, doesn't mean that everyone should suffer (although I hope you all choke on your chocolates....KIDDING.....I choked on a Mexican pizza many years ago at Los Dos Amigos and it was pretty damn terrifying). 

My husband isn't much better. If it were up to him holidays wouldn't even exist at all.  Yes, it's true, he was super duper romantic on our first Valentine's Day, but let's just say that over the years it's just sort of become another day for us on the calendar.  Last night we had to run to Safeway so while we were out we grabbed a box of chocolates that were on clearance and then upgraded our coffee purchases to include travel mugs (they were offering them for half off).

Happy Valentine's Day honey, here's some discounted chocolates and a plastic coffee cup

I may sound bitter, but I swear, I'm really not at all. I'm terrible with flowers. TERRIBLE! I'm like the Black Dahlia of the gardening world where all living plants come to die a slow, torturous death (luckily I'm better with children, right?) And I don't wear jewelry, other than my wedding ring and my plain silver hoop earrings that I bought at Target for five bucks many (many) years ago. Romantic trips are out too because, well, do I even need to say it? We have four young kids still living at home.  

There is one teeny tiny little thing that I wish my husband would do that doesn't even cost any money, and I've hinted at it so many times that I've honestly just given up at this point. And that's okay. I know there are several things on his list that I've neglected, despite him nagging at me, so we're even, and that my friends is marriage. It's a compromise, and there are lots of good days and bad days, and many in between, just okay days. He shows his love in many other ways, as he's an amazing father and provider (hello, the poor man works his tail off so his wife can stay home with their 10,000 kids) and he does lots of little things for me that I probably take for granted and don't even recognize half the time. For example, sometimes he'll pick up little items for me on his lunch break, like a new pair of shoes, a pair of pj's, a dessert he knows I like, etc. He grabs our favorite vegan chicken strips at Trader Joes which we consume late at night after the kids are in bed, sometimes even with wine! Bonus! 

I don't need a dozen roses or a fancy box of chocolates to know that he loves me and is committed to our family. In fact, tonight we're actually celebrating V-Day as a family, which we've also done in previous years, and those are always my favorite Valentine memories to be perfectly honest. The kids will only be with us for so many years and once they're gone we'll have many years of intimate dinners and weekend getaways.  So for now it's quick trips to Safeway for discounted chocolates and plastic coffee cups. But hey, for dinner we're having cheese fondue (I make the best cheese fondue by the way), along with some chocolate fondue for dessert.

I hope that all of you have a wonderful, amazing, love filled Valentine's Day.  And if you're not having a wonderful, magical V-Day, let me leave you with this little fun filled image.....once I finish posting this, I will be heading back to my bathroom to continue scraping the stuck on, sticky icky Amoxicillin which spilled out all over my drawer, ruining what little make up I owned (it's a sign that I should never wear make up), with a butter knife. 

You're welcome.

A Vegetarian Thanksgiving

Ah glorious Thanksgiving.  A day of food, family, football and tofu? Yeah, you guessed it. We're vegetarians, and let me tell you, nothing makes a person more uncomfortable than a vegetarian on Thanksgiving.  Some assume we don't celebrate the holiday at all, as if we're some strange hippie cult that hide out in our VW vans, eating tofu straight off the block, or we're holding signs of slaughtered turkeys and protesting in front of Foster Farms or something.  Well, never fear, I'm here to break those stereotypes and set the record straight.  Our holiday experiences are much like yours, they just happen to be meat free.

I still have to make a massive trip to the store and spend a small fortune on a meal that I will slave over for hours, while my family devours in two minutes and then begins to whine over wanting pumpkin pie.  Our Thanksgiving meal is pretty traditional and consists of mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, Hawaiian rolls, stuffing (homemade so I can use vegetable broth), deviled eggs and our vegetarian roast.  In some ways we actually have it worse than non vegetarians because turkey substitutes cost a lot of money and they are teeny tiny. Apparently the people who make these substitutes assume we have the appetite of a toddler because I had to buy two separate roasts this year for a whopping $30 at Whole Foods. Most grocery stores offer deep discounts on turkeys or hams during the holiday, some even offering them for free if you spend a certain amount. Not only do I spend the same amount as non vegetarians, but there are rarely ever any deals for vegetarian roasts, and the only way you're getting a free roast is if you're hauling one out of the store in your coat pocket and I do not recommend that as Thanksgiving in jail would not be much fun (or maybe it would be depending on your family....who am I to judge?)

Our turkey replacements...not too scary, right?

 

The holiday roast before it went in the oven...

this one is my favorite

Every other year we host Thanksgiving dinner for my husband's sister's family, but this year it was just us so that meant I could relax and breathe a little easier as I didn't have to worry about getting dinner out by a certain time, blowing up air mattresses or cleaning toilets for company. Instead I woke up, drank my coffee (thank you Starbucks for being open), watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with the kids and then got the distinct pleasure of listening to my husband scream at the television while his favorite football team lost. Thank you Redskins for ruining my holiday experience, you bastards! Of course I had to make an impromptu trip to the store because I was unaware that my kids ate all of the eggs last week and my twelve year old started pitching a fit over Thanksgiving being ruined if we didn't have deviled eggs, which is totally ironic since she scoops the tops off of them anyways and only eats the egg whites.  Nothing says Happy Thanksgiving like standing in an express line with nine hundred thousand other people who also forgot something.

The boys watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade this year 

because they wanted to see the Diary of a Wimpy Kid float

 My husband watching the Redskins...

or more like yelling at the Redskins

 

Safeway selfie...

one simply cannot go holiday shopping and not forget something

The best part of my Thanksgiving was cooking the entire meal by myself. Yes, I could've made my kids help, and I probably should have, but that would've included blood, sweat and tears and the kids wouldn't of been very well behaved either.  I wasn't exactly up for my kids arguing over who got to dump the milk into the mashed potatoes. Instead I kicked everyone out of my kitchen and got to work, threatening anyone who dared to cross into my threshold. The only one who got a free pass was our eight month old, Seanie Mac, because every so often he'd wander in on his baby walker and run over my foot, but he's a baby so I didn't mind so much. The other kids, along with my husband got the "If you come into my kitchen one more time, I'm sneezing on the pies."

By the time I got everything out onto the table, dished up the kids' plates and sat down, I realized that I wasn't hungry at all because I had already eaten an entire meal while cooking.  Of course that didn't stop me from stuffing my face like the little piggy that could and then waddling back to my bedroom while I held my muffin top and moaned in agony.  I had just enough time to pop some Tums before the kids started coming into my bedroom one by one while they whined, "Mooooom, when are we going to eat the pies?"

 Me trying to get a good pic of the kids before dessert...

 this is exactly why we don't do professional pics!!

Despite having a good day with my loving family, I have to say my favorite part of Thanksgiving would be breaking out the wine after the kids finally passed out from their imitation turkey comas.  After all, wine is made from grapes and grapes are fruit, therefore wine is totally vegetarian you know.

We drink our wine in martini glasses because we're classy like that....or more like all of our wine glasses got broken and you gotta do what you gotta do (classier than drinking them out of Spongebob mugs...no we've never done that...okay yes we have)

On a serious note, I did want to thank everyone again for all of the love and support you've given our family. We are still sorting through mail (I think we're almost done), and we will be putting a video/slideshow together as a way to show our appreciation.  The outpouring of support still humbles me and brings me to tears. I'm not just saying that either. I literally tear up every single time I help Mahlon open and read his birthday cards.

Thank you again from the bottom of our hearts! I seriously wish we could send an individual thank you to each and every one of you, but we had absolutely no idea we were going to receive the amount of mail and packages we did. We literally received tens of thousands of cards and letters from all over the world! Mahlon will be keeping some of the gifts, but the rest will be going to a local charity (we will be including this in our video footage), as there is no possible way we can keep it all. Plus, part of what makes Mahlon so special is his kind and generous heart and he really wants to spread the love so I hope that those who sent gifts will feel comfort in knowing their generous gifts are going to make a child happy this Christmas (ack, and I'm crying again). He is opening every single letter, card, and package, so even those items he isn't keeping, he has been so excited to get to open up the boxes and envelopes to see what's inside, so we deeply appreciate every single thing that has been received.

The best update I could ever ask for!

 After some recent unflattering stories were written about me, I was feeling a little down. I started to reflect on everything that's happened over the last few weeks and felt very overwhelmed by all of the sudden attention. Part of me wondered if I did the right thing by publishing the RSVP post, not having any idea that it would spread like wildfire across the World Wide Web.

I needed a break from the non stop media requests and numerous messages flooding my inbox, and decided to step back and enjoy some much needed downtime with my family.  On Saturday my husband and I made our weekly Costco run, and stopped to pick up some pizza on the drive home. While he was inside waiting for the food, I opened up my email, and innocently clicked on one of my emails from a reader titled, "Don't worry about replying".  As I read through her message, tears began cascading down my face.

*I asked her for permission to post this, as I know all too well how it feels to lose your sense of privacy. I did leave out their names in order to protect their privacy as I promised I'd keep her anonymous:

Hi Kristen, 

I saw your post about the birthday party fiasco shared through Facebook.  My child had received an invite from a classmate we didn't know, and I wasn't planning to go to the party.  We've been horribly busy, and I've been under the weather for weeks, and it was scheduled shortly before Halloween.  

Also, I was pretty sure she only got the invite because class rules state that if you bring party invitations to school, everyone in class must receive an invitation.   After seeing your post, I decided to make time, buy a gift and take my child to the party.  

 I'm so glad we did.  She was the only kid from his entire class that came. In fact, she was the only child besides his siblings. He was so happy when she arrived for the party at the restaurant (you should have seen his face!) and they played together the whole time.  If you hadn't shared your post, he would have had the same experience as your son.   

Thanks for being brave.

Suddenly I knew I had absolutely done the right thing by sharing M's story, because this is all we were ever wanting to happen in the first place. My story was not about placing blame on anyone, as I'm far from perfect. It's not about nit picking over the party details, the decorations, the location, etc. It's about raising awareness that birthdays are a very important event for a child, and if we can take just one second out of our busy lives to reach out to the person throwing the party, it could make a big difference in the outcome (as you read above).

I thought at first when I wrote M's story, that the main issue was the lack of RSVP'ing, but I received so many heartbreaking stories saying, "We don't even do parties anymore because no one shows up".  I may be showing my age by writing this, but when I was a child, birthday parties were a very big deal.  Perhaps it's because we didn't have cartoons available to stream 24 hours a day, realistic video games, smart phones (or even cell phones for that manner), tablets, etc. Social media wasn't even a phrase yet. We had Halloween, Christmas, Saturday morning cartoons, and Masterpiece Theatre (admit it, you jumped for joy whenever this came on).

Some of the comments I received mentioned that M's party looked really lame and their child wouldn't of wanted to attend either.  This makes me really sad to think that we have to throw lavish, celebrity worthy birthday bashes in order for our children to attend.  It makes me wonder, "Are birthday parties becoming obsolete?" Are kids so desensitized from all of the above forms of entertainment, that birthday parties aren't such a big deal anymore?

And with that, I truly hope that M's story starts a birthday movement.  Let's bring back the RSVP and birthday parties, as I really think there are two issues here (lack of RSVPing which is causing parents to not even want to mess with throwing parties anymore).

I get asked often how M is doing, and I'm happy to say that he's doing really well. He's so incredibly grateful to everyone who has reached out and offered their love and support.  In fact, I have another heartwarming update to share. One of the invited party guest's moms recently reached out to me, and invited M over for a play date at her house yesterday. It was M's first ever play date and he was so excited.  I was so thankful to her for being brave enough to reach out to me.  We chatted for a long time, and I feel like I made a new friend as well. We are going to have him over to our house soon, and M couldn't stop talking about how much fun he had at his friend's house.

We are still working diligently on sorting through incoming mail and I just wanted everyone to know that we are reading every single card and letter that we receive. I wish that we could individually thank each and every one of you.  Our family has been forever changed by this and we appreciate all of the love so much!

Parents Please Don't Forget to RSVP

I write this post with swollen, puffy eyes, still raw and burning from crying myself to sleep on my pillow. What was supposed to be a fun filled birthday party weekend, complete with pizza, cake, games, prizes and friends, went horribly wrong.

To understand my devastation, I first need to tell you about our newly turned nine year old son. Mae Mae (nickname used for his privacy) is a bright, sensitive, caring little boy who loves animals and babies. We jokingly call him the baby whisperer as he has this incredible ability to calm a crying baby.  He's also an avid animal lover and a vegetarian by choice.  While his peers may be busy being wrapped up in their cell phones and video games, M's prized possessions are his stuffed animals and plushy characters from his favorite movies and shows.  He's also a naturally funny boy who loves nothing more than to make people laugh. He's known by friends and family as a future Will Ferrell in training.  In our large, chaotic family, he's the peacemaker child who's easy to please and looks at life with hope and optimism. He's the kid who would give the shirt off of his back to a stranger, hand over a beloved toy to make another child smile, and would give his mom his favorite candy bar without hesitation. He's a bit of a rare breed these days in an ever changing world where the majority of communication is done online, invitations to events consist of a social media announcement, and manners and etiquette are becoming obsolete.

As a home schooled child, he's never had a real birthday party before. Don't get me wrong, he's had parties, but they were limited to his mom and dad, siblings, grandpa and occasionally a family friend, but usually just his siblings and parents. This worked well for many years as he was young and didn't really know what he was missing but last year on his eighth birthday, he really started to notice that he didn't have any friends. We held his party at Chuck E Cheese, but couldn't think of anyone with kids his age to invite so we did the best that we could and invited a couple of family friends. Unfortunately no one showed up and even though he was used to only having parties with his siblings, my heart ached for him and I vowed that his ninth birthday would be different.  After his party ended, I patted him on the head and said, "Next year you'll be in public school. You're going to have lots of classmates to invite. Don't you worry buddy." He smiled and his big brown eyes sparkled with excitement as he replied with "Yay! I can't wait!" This ninth birthday was supposed to be his year. His special day. His first real party with friends.

His favorite book series is Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Since his dear old mom is severely challenged in the crafty department, I ordered him custom invitations on Etsy, an edible DOAWK cake topper, and turned to Pinterest for DOAWK themed games.  He handed out multiple invitations to his friends at school, and one from taekwondo and eagerly counted down the days, hours, and minutes until his birthday.

When his birthday finally arrived yesterday, he was up before the sun. He hung streamers, blew up balloons, cleaned his room, took a bath, picked out his outfit, set the table, and carefully assembled the treat bags for his friends.  "Only three more hours until my friends arrive" he yelled. "This is the happiest day of my life, Momma. I can't wait until my friends get here!"

Hours before the party...

 

Still very much full of hope and excitement

 

One of the many DOAWK inspired games we had planned..

M helped me with these 

 

Waiting for guests to arrive....

 

He was so excited and anxious....

His edible cake topper...which didn't exactly fit on the cake like promised but close enough

When the party time came and passed, and none of the party guests were here yet, I started to get a little nervous. I had asked parents to RSVP on the invitation, but hadn't received a single reply. Since we're new in town (and school just started a little over a month ago here), I didn't have phone numbers for any of the parents. M rides the bus to and from school, and unfortunately none of his friends are at our bus stop, so I don't have the opportunity to see the other parents (add in a super fussy baby to the mix and some days i'm lucky if I even get to leave the house). I expressed my concerns with my husband the night before his party but he reassured me that "Nobody seems to RSVP these days. Don't worry, they'll come. Kids love birthday parties."  I considered cancelling the party, but M told me that five of his friends had told him they were coming so I was worried that if I cancelled, they would still show up. Our daughter had a birthday party earlier this month and none of the girls RSVP'd but four of them still showed up anyways, so we were cautiously optimistic.

At first I hoped maybe they got lost, or were running late, but we live near the elementary school and our house is not difficult to find. I included our vital contact info-address, phone number, on the invitation, etc. I was most definitely reachable.

M who was starting to get a bit anxious, ran outside, and began to run up and down the street. Each and every car that turned down our street he craned his little neck to get a better look, while hoping and praying it was a missing party guest.

But no one came. Not a single child.

Shortly after my husband arrived home with enough pizza to feed a small army.  The party should've been in full swing at that point, but instead M hung his head, his tiny shoulders began to shake. "No one came Dad. I guess i'm not very popular at school" and he sobbed. 

Words cannot describe the utter and complete devastation that washed over me, my husband and my nearly 70 year old father who was almost brought to tears himself.  Seeing my heartbroken little boy sitting all alone at his brightly decorated, empty party table was more than I could take.  I briefly excused myself to my bathroom and sobbed quietly, as I didn't want to upset him any further.  My dad and husband did an excellent job of distracting him and we made the best of it.  One of our family friends did show up and even though he's an adult, M was really happy he came. We ate as much of the pizza and bread sticks as we could stomach, sang happy birthday and ate cake, and even played a silly game that M was eager to play with his friends.  He opened presents with a big smile on his face, because, well, that's our boy.  Despite his pain, he tried his hardest to have a good time. My dad offered to take him bowling, something he's been wanting to do for a while. We showered him with hugs, love and kisses in a feeble attempt to salvage the disastrous day. We came home tired and exhausted. Once the kids were safely asleep, my husband and I fell apart. There's only been a few times i've seen my tough, manly husband tear up, and last night was one of them.

Trying desperately to make the best of a very bad situation

 

So we packed up and went bowling...he loved it! 

I don't blame the kids who didn't show up, and i'm trying very hard not to blame the parents as i'm honestly too devastated to be angry.  There are a million excuses and scenarios that could explain why no one showed. Perhaps they didn't feel comfortable sending their kids over to our house for a couple of hours, perhaps they already had plans, perhaps their child was sick, or perhaps their child's invitation never made it home and is crumpled up into a ball at the bottom of their backpack, who really knows? What I do know though, is that M will likely never forget his ninth birthday. It will forever be etched in his memory bank as that one year when no one came to his party. And that kills me as a parent. And it could've all been avoided by a simple RSVP, via phone call, text, email, whatever, etc.  I know I will definitely never ignore those four little letters ever again. 

Parents or caregivers, please, I beg you not to ignore it either.  I know you're busy, tired, stressed, have a million and one other things to do, etc. I'm right there with you, but please the next time you're tempted to ignore the handwritten invitation from a classmate, please remember that there could be a child sitting at an empty party table, crying into his napkin, feeling unloved and rejected. Let the parents know one way or the other if your child is attending. If you have other plans or don't feel comfortable sending your child, that's fine, but do the right thing and let them know! Had we known that no one was coming, we would've changed the date or time, or we would've planned something extra special for him with the money that we instead spent on the party.  We would've done anything to avoid the pain and devastation he experienced.

This morning as he woke up and got ready for school, he seemed to be in decent spirits. His main concern was making sure that his friends still got their treat bags that he made for them. That's our boy though, always thinking of others instead of himself.  He's a good kid and we definitely did something right with this one. So please, please, please, do the right thing and RSVP!!

Watch Out Maddie, There's a New Dancer in Town

Tap tap tap. Is this thing on? Hello? Okay, okay so I know I totally vanished off the face of the blogosphere (is that even a word?)  I could give you my reasons but they are sad and depressing and who the hell needs that, right? Anyways, I'm back and better than ever with a few (a lot) more grey hairs than I had a year ago.

First off, I lost about forty pounds.  At least half of it was stress related, but hell, I'll take it.  With the weight loss came a big transformation.  As my depression started to lift, I started focusing on myself and my needs since everything has been nothing but kids, kids, kids for the last eighteen years (oh yeah, I have an 18 year old now…gulp).

I danced a teeny tiny bit in college and loved it, but then I got pregnant with child number three and pregnant women and ballet leotards don't mix, so I quit. I didn't think I'd ever get to take a dance class ever again, but recently I started looking around and there are actually quite a few options for beginner adults who want to learn to dance. Lucky for me, a friend said she also wanted to take dance classes, so we signed up together which made it a little less intimidating.

Although I signed up a couple of weeks before my first class started, I waited until the day of my first class to buy my dance gear. Yes, I'm a procrastinator of the worst kind (just ask my children when their school supplies or Halloween costumes are purchased). There is one main dance wear store in our city that is pretty much the motherlode of all things dance (tap, jazz, ballet, Zumba, gymnastics, probably even stripper attire although I didn't look--next visit).

Since I'm a big chicken and was too afraid to walk into the dance wear store myself, I forced my husband and two young boys to come with me. Much less stressful than going alone, right? Yeah. Sometimes these things sound better in my head than in reality.  Of course the boys thought it was great fun running around the circular racks grabbing sequined hats and feathered boas while I stumbled around the store being completely ignored by two employees who looked like actual professional dancers…tall, thin, elegant, and oblivious to the fact that I'm stumbling around their store like a husband lost in a lingerie shop on Valentine's Day.

I feel your pain Julia Roberts. We are the same.  

After I gathered up some nerve I walked up to the counter and said, "I need help" and one of them took pity on me and said, "Okay, let's get you fitted for shoes."  Of course I just had to wear my black flats without socks that smell so bad that you can't take them off without tossing them into the back of the closet, shutting the door and running away.  They are beyond Odor Eaters. They really should be burned, but I'm pretty sure they are flame retardant at this point. I have no doubt that my feet were disgusting and smelly but at this point I had bigger problems. Like how I was going to squeeze my sweaty, swollen foot into a slipper that was crinkled up to look like an elf shoe made to fit a Build a Bear.  I did manage to get my foot into the shoe, but my toes curled up and the thought of dancing in them made me a little stabby. So she handed me another crinkled up elf shoe that honestly looked the same size as the previous elf shoe, but she swore it was bigger and this time my toe went to the end of the shoe which I guess is how they are supposed to fit. Whatever. I did briefly notice that there were two elastic straps hanging out, but I'll explain more on that later. 

After the shoes she said, "Now you just need to go find something comfortable to wear" and went back behind the counter.  Yeah, she totally abandoned me. Bitch. I looked out into a sea of various colored strappy spandex items and honestly felt like I was going to cry as I thumbed through racks and racks of leotards that claimed to be adult sized, but looked like they had a better chance of fitting my five year old.  Let's just say that the majority of these leotards are not cut for women with breasts, especially women like myself who breastfed four babies if you know what I'm saying. Mmmhhhhmmm. 

I finally found the plain, more modest looking black cotton leotards that didn't look totally Mormon, but at least allowed me to wear a bra and then grabbed some stretchy pants. I was going to buy some pink tights and a wrap around skirt but after trying on the first leotard with some short shorts, I'm glad I didn't. Did you know that they make about a million variations of tights? It's really kind of ridiculous. My husband and sons had already abandoned me at the dance store at this point so I ended up buying the first outfit that didn't give me a wedgie and left. Who am I kidding? They ALL gave me a wedgie.  

When I got home I still had a couple of hours left until class. I tried on my shoes and couldn't for the life of me figure out how to tie the elastic straps. First I tried to criss cross the straps and tie them behind my ankle. Not only did my foot look like a pig in a blanket, but I'm pretty sure I was mere seconds away from amputation, as my foot started to turn fifty shades of purple. I wondered if dancers just didn't have ankles? Or maybe I  had cankles?  

In a panic I started YouTubing things like, "How do you tie ballet shoes?" Several video tutorials popped up. Thank goodness for YouTube for realizing that people are stupid. It took a while but sure enough I found a video with the exact same brand of shoes that I had purchased and it said, "How to sew the elastic straps on your child's ballet slippers" SEW? Say what? Of course the black swan at the dance store failed to mention anything about sewing as I would've laughed in her face. Or perhaps she did, but I was too busy focusing on the fact that my toes were morphing into curly fries to notice. Either way I broke into a cold sweat. 

This is some bullshit. 

I gathered up my sewing supplies and began to sew. It took me over an hour to sew down the straps on shoe number one but I did it. As I shoved my sweaty, swollen foot back into my elf shoe, my heart sank. I sewed the straps on backwards.  No, really. I did. 

I threw the shoe across the room and started to think maybe I should take up a different hobby. A book club was sounding pretty darn good at that moment.  I cut the threads and started over. I finished the shoes just in time as my husband was calling me on his way home from work to ask if our daughter was ready for soccer practice. Daughter? Wait, I have kids? CRAP! Yeah, that was my reaction as I was so focused on sewing my shoes, I pretty much forgot that I had a child who was now late for practice. 

The next hour was complete chaos but somehow the husband and kids made it to soccer practice, while I made it to the dance studio, found my friends and got ready for class. Since it was listed as a "beginner's class" I was expecting that we would introduce ourselves, learn the positions (which I had long since forgotten) and take things slow and easy. Nope. Not at all how things went.  As soon as we set down our purses, it was pretty much "Okay ladies, line up at the barre and repeat these sequences after me" as she rattled off about fifty moves at a hundred miles an hour, followed by, "And then we'll turn and do it on the other side. Got it?" 

Beginner's class my ass. 

I briefly contemplated spraining my own ankle in a feeble attempt to escape any further humiliation or injury. Three of the ladies in the group were experienced dancers, who had multiple years of experience. The three of us friends who signed up together? Not so much. I'm sure we looked like an SNL skit but we hung in there until the very end, even when she was yelling out foreign words to us like, "fondu" which to me means "Oh cool we're going to the Melting Pot to dip some bread and shit into a steaming hot bowl of melted cheese" but FYI that's not what it means at all in ballet terms. 

After class I couldn't even walk down the stairs. My legs felt like Jello Pudding Pops. The next day was even worse, but today, I'm feeling okay.  I'm actually looking forward to my next class. I'm not giving up and I will become a ballerina dammit, even if it kills me. 

Maybe for Sia's next music video she will need a future version of herself in which she's a bit older, saggier mom to multiple kids, sitting in the carpool lane in her pajamas eating two day old soggy crackers out of her daughter's lunch box. If that's the case then watch out Maddie Ziegler cause I totally got this. 

My before class photo and after class photo

and yes, I should've gone to the bar after class and 

maybe I would've had I been able to feel my legs...

I'm a snake. Or not.

I finally sit down to type out a post and guess what happens?  My mind goes completely blank.  My Lifetime movie is blaring in the background, Peanut is yelling at me from the other room, and all I can think about is how quiet the dog is being, which usually means i'll be cleaning up dog poo or urine soon.

Things are still very overwhelming in our house, hence my long term absence on my blog.  The puppy requires constant supervision, and i'm struggling to keep up with housework and bill paying and all that fun stuff (as if I was caught up on all that stuff before we got the dog, but whatever).  I haven't purchased Halloween costumes for my kiddos yet.  At least I wont be needing to purchase a costume for myself, as I seem to be doing a fabulous job of looking like a hobo.  My son has a birthday in two days and I have nothing purchased or planned yet.  I'll include my address at the end of this post so you know where to send me my Mom of the Year Award.

At least we had a busy, fun filled weekend, as typically our weekends consist of sitting on the couch watching sports.  My sister in law came to visit with her family. I feel like I hardly got to talk to them or play with my newest, little nephew because the dog is just so demanding.  I'm hoping they come back up for Thanksgiving, and that Olive will be a little easier to deal with.

This morning I could barely get out of bed.  It was one of those mornings where I woke up before the alarm went off.  I had ten minutes left to sleep and those minutes were like my favorite chocolate that the kids never found.  When it was time to get up for real, I rolled my big, lazy body over the edge and hurled myself over the edge.  I staggered down the hall, tried to adjust my blurry eyes and freaked the hell out.

I thought I saw a snake.  I know, right?  But it was only some gaffer tape that Olive had chewed up from under the ottoman (cause we're classy like that).

It looks snake like. Sort of. Or not. 

But it does make me think of my favorite YouTube video of all times: 

Anywho, I certainly have my work cut out for me this week.  I need to get off this computer, figure out whether Olive is eating a dog treat or part of our ottoman (they look pretty similar to be honest).  Then I need to pay our water bill before the water company shuts off our water and we're taking showers with dirty gutter water.  I need to plan something for my poor son's birthday so he doesn't grow up and resent me.  Then I need to find Halloween costumes that don't look like they came straight from the Playboy Mansion.  Basically I need to become a magician.

You smell like gorgonzola

I'm bored. And please spare me your, "If you're bored then you're boring" because that's telling me something I already know.  Duh.  I am boring!  Seriously though, the endless summer days just draaaaaaag on at times.  I love my kids. I do. But there are only so many, "Mom, will you get me...." or "Mom, can I have a......." or "Mom, he called me a......" that I can take without snapping.  Jeezus!!!!

Yesterday was one of those days where I kept checking Facebook like a bazillion times, hoping for some excitement, but apparently boring people have boring friends because there wasn't any good drama to speak of.  Rather just pictures of cats or food or cats eating food...sigh.  Of course it's highly possible that i've been blocked from most of my friends. I don't really blame them.  I'm kind of a whiner.  I know people hate the whiners on Facebook, but I personally have a soft spot in my heart for the negative nellies.  I'm more of a "If you can't say something nice, then come sit next to me" kinda gal.

I was so bored that I decided I was going to grab the bulls by the balls and pay some bills.  Then I realized that we have several major bills all due this pay period and my hubby doesn't get paid for almost two weeks and I nearly vomited blood from the stress.  So, now i'm bored and broke.

My boredom continued throughout the day and by the time my husband got home from work, I was excited to finally have some adult interaction.  However, my excitement was quickly squashed when I looked to my left and saw him snoring away on the couch, thus leaving me on my own to get his spawn into bed.  That hard working bastard who thinks he deserves a nap!  Geesh!!!!

To top it off i'm almost out of Bengay and i've been in a crap ton of pain lately.  My medical problems suck but since we owe about five kidneys worth of medical bills, I can't really afford to go back at the moment.  I've been lathering myself up with enough Bengay to cover the Golden Girls.  Last night Peanut turned to me and said "Momma, you really stink".   Bo's also had an endearing comment for me, "Mom, you smell like gorgonzola."  Alrighty then.  So i'm boring, broke, in pain and I smell like stinky cheese.

The worst part (aside from smelling like gorgonzola), is that I feel guilty for not being one of those perky moms with tons of energy who dresses her kids up in matchy matchy outfits and takes them to the zoo by myself.  Have you ever been to the Portland Zoo? It may not be the San Diego Zoo, but that son of a biotch is huge!  I can maybe walk through the entrance and then i'm done.  I don't have the stamina nor the patience to attempt outings with my three youngest kids on my own (my teens are gone for two weeks).   I would be on the evening news for sure.

The headline would go something like:

"Tonight's top story....A mom of five got eaten by a gorilla as she fell into his cage while attempting to tie her son's shoe.  Investigators are still trying to piece it all together and many questions still remain like why couldn't her son tie his own shoes?  Zoo employees on the scene believe the gorilla mistakingly thought she was a piece of gorgonzola cheese."

Do gorillas even like gorgonzola?

But anyways, yeah, i'm kind of a klutz.  For example last night I tried to rub some lotion on my legs as I attempted to hoist my giant leg onto the counter.  Just when my hubby was starting to get turned on and had high hopes of getting lucky (yes, sadly when you've been together for a million zillion years, all it takes is a bare leg and the hubby takes that as a sexual advance), my foot slid off the counter and I smacked my face on the counter on the way down to the floor.

Today has been much better though.  My kids woke up screaming for brownies.  My husband said no as he was walking out the door and then looked at me and said, "It's up to you."  Great, just throw me to the wolves why dontcha?

Then the phone rang.  It was my dad who sounded like something was wrong.  I started to panic as he is the only parent I have left and he already had prostate cancer about 15 years ago.  He started off the conversation with, "I have some bad news".  I braced myself and took some deep breaths.  Then he continued with, "I have to go to Portland to do some judging" (my dad is a retired circuit court judge but still works on occasion in case you're wondering).   I nervously asked him, "Ok, so what's the bad news?"  He responded with, "That is the bad news. I'll be in town for a week."   Really, dad?  I mean you couldn't just say on the phone that everything was okay?  My dad thinks he's a comedian (kinda like me), but he's not funny (kinda like me), so his jokes are never funny and are typically inappropriate (now you know who I got it from).  After I recovered from nearly having a heart attack, we started talking about other stuff.  Then the kids realized I was on the phone and they decided that was the perfect time to start screaming about brownies.

The screaming and chaos got my dad off the phone real fast and could possibly explain why he would associate coming to visit us for a week as "bad news".  I would love to see what's in his suitcase. Probably a lifetime supply of ear plugs and Tums.   I don't know, but I must end this now as my son is yelling, "Mom, come wipe my butt". Apparently tying shoes isn't the only skill we need to work on this week.

My secret subject swap revealed!

This is the third Secret Subject Swap i've participated in now (I think), created by Karen at Baking in a Tornado.  16 bloggers came up with a subject or prompt for another blogger and in turn we were assigned one to blog about as well. Today we're spilling the beans about our secret subject.

My secret subject was "I will NEVER again take my kids to the...." by http://dinoheromommy.com

My first thought was, "Wait, I only get to pick just one?" When you have 5 kids every single outing is a circus side show. I'm the frazzled mom who looks like I should have the Supernanny and a camera crew trailing behind me taking notes on my multiple parenting failures and faux pas.

Honestly I try to leave my kids at home as much as possible. I go grocery shopping at night when the kiddies are fast asleep. I go to the post office, well never. Ok, only when my older kids are home to watch their sibs. The only time i'd ever take my kids to the post office is if it suddenly became legal to mail them to their grandparents in California for a surprise visit.

So I started thinking, "Hmmm, when is the last time I took my kids on a disastrous outing, where I was knee deep in the pits of hell?" Ding, ding, ding! It didn't take long to think of one and a Taylor Swift song suddenly popped into my head....

We eeeee are never ever ever going back to Walgreens. Like ever. 

The day was Dec.8th and my hubby was away in Seattle at a UFC fight for his birthday while poor little old me was left to deal with the 3 youngest kids alone. My teens were gone at bio dad's for the weekend. I was really truly on my own for the weekend. Gulp! To top it all off my 8 y/o daughter had a birthday party to go to in a nearby town. No biggie right? All I had to do was load up the boys and drop her off at the party. Piece of cake! We had already purchased a present a couple of days before the party (check one), wrapped it (check two), and mapquested the location (check three). Dang this momma was on fire!!!  We were good to go, so I thought.  I casually checked the invite one last time for good measure and that's when sheer panic set in. It was a joint sibling party and we had only bought ONE gift! How could I have missed this?!

Since the siblings were several years apart in age it wasn't like they could share a gift, plus I didn't want to be the cheap bastard showing up with the ugliest, crappiest minivan in the entire school district with one gift. So I had two options. Learn origami in 15 minutes with a piece of already scribbled on notebook paper or go to the store with an 8, 5, and almost 3 year old. I tried to make an origami duck but it looked like a vagina that used to be a penis but then went through a sex change. I couldn't show up at a party with an obscene gift and a broke down minivan that hasnt been washed since, hmmm, I honestly can't remember. Okay option two it was!

I loaded up the 3 Musketeers and off we went. I made sure to give the, "Remember, we're only going to the store to buy a birthday present for Ellen.  That's IT. I'm not buying you guys any toys, candy, food items, or anything else. I don't care if they end up having a Chia Pet shaped like Spongebob. I'm not buying it so don't even ask."  They nodded their little heads in agreement and gave me their solemn oath, "We'll behave mom, we promise." Apparently my kids are gearing up to be great politicians someday.

The closest store to us was Walgreens and since their toy selection sucks, I figured it would be a safe bet. I really shouldn't bet. Ever. My daughter Bo's quickly found a small pink glittery unicorn for Ellen and all was going well until my son looked up and saw a Mr. Toad plush from Super Mario Bros., something he's been asking for and wanting for a long time. I took a deep breath and prepared for battle.

My 5 y/o, "M" immediately squealed and placed Toad securely under his arm. I knew I was in trouble. I tried to calmly explain to M that Christmas was in a couple of weeks and that we weren't buying Toad today. I reminded him on his oath he had taken just a few minutes prior to entering the store. I reminded him of my "We're not here to buy toys" speech. This rationale might've worked on say a 30 year old, but my 5 y/o responded with, "No mom, we're buying him TODAY." Hmmm, not the reaction I was looking for. I once again told him to put Toad back on the shelf because we had to leave to get ready for the party. This time he proceeded to take off running around the corner while wailing, "NOOOOO, I WANT TOAD!!!" at the top of his lungs. I managed to run around the aisle and grab him and I felt the heat rise to my face. I could feel the disapproving looks from nosey shoppers. Yes, I was the mom with the bratty kid throwing a ginormous tantrum and it sucked!

After a few more pathetic attempts to try and pry Toad out of his kung fu grip, I began to feel defeated. I desperately needed back up. I needed my husband who would've simply picked him up and carried him straight to the car. But I was alone.  By this point I was humiliated, frustrated and not to mention, almost late for a party!  Peanut was happily playing with toys and jumping around in the aisle. My daughter was still clutching the small stuffed unicorn for Ellen. "Okay one kid out of three acting like Satan. I can handle this", I thought.  "I'll just buy him the stupid $8 mushroom and we can get the hell out of here! Damn those rich bastards who invented Super Mario Bros!"  I suddenly felt an urge to fly to Japan and kung fu some Japanese butt cracks! To make myself feel better I tried to reason with myself that I was doing the right thing. "You were going to buy him that Toad anyways. What's one little early Christmas present really gonna hurt? I'm not being weak, I just need to get out of this mother f@cking store!"

I told the kids it was time to go. Peanut and M start trailing behind me.  "We're gonna make it out of here" I start telling myself. Not even 2 seconds later I hear, "MOOOOM" coming from my 8 y/o. "You're buying M that toy? That's not fair! If he's getting Mr. Toad then I want this unicorn".

 What the F?!  Who in the hell has kids on purpose?!

I was screwed. No way was I buying a toy for Ellen, a toy for M and a toy for my daughter.  Did I mention Walgreens toys are grossly overpriced as it is?  I was angry. Like commando mommy angry. I grabbed the kids (who were all 3 wailing in perfect harmony) and drug them into the nearby aisle, which luckily contained laundry detergent instead of toys. I plopped their little hineys down on the cold cement floor. I got down on their level and threatened them with their lives (ok I didn't) but they knew they had pushed me over the edge as all 3 sat staring at me with wide eyes. Toad was successfully removed from M's kung fu grip and was now sitting next to some Magic Clean Erasers on the top shelf of the cleaning aisle.  An employee walked by and gave me that look like "You're still here?" I gave him the, "You say one word to me and I'm shoving this Swiffer so far up your ass you will be mopping the floor with your teeth" kinda look. He quickly looked away. Smart man.

After what felt like an eternity we actually made it up to the checkout counter.  I could see the double doors that led to the outside. I felt like a prisoner who was seeing a glimpse of daylight for the first time in months.  I plopped the silly looking unicorn on the counter and quickly pulled out my debit card.  "I had won this battle. I rock. Oh yeah, I'm the master" I told myself.  My celebratory thoughts were disrupted by the cashier, "Oh wait. There's a coupon for that unicorn."

Meanwhile I'm doing the starfish with my arms extended straight out at my sides with a toddler boy attached to each arm as I leaned forward while trying to block the candy bins with my droopy breasts. "No, it's fine" I tell her. "I'm kind of in a hurry."  Not picking up on my cues that I'm about to bop her over the head with a Pillow Pet she starts asking me questions about my name, address, phone number. At this point I didn't even know my own phone number. "Why do you heed to know this?" I ask her. "I'm signing you up for a rewards card. You'll save $4 off the unicorn".  I once again tried to tell her to forget it. I just wanted to pay and go.  She continued to ask me questions.  This lady was not going to stop so I gave her all the info in between screaming, "M put down the gum. Peanut drop the beef jerkey. No, Bo's we don't need a personal mustache trimmer."

After what felt like a good 10 minutes of giving her all of my personal info that the douche standing behind me was probably adding into his phone so he could steal my identity and drain my bank account, she hands me back my debit card and says, "I'm sorry maam. Apparently that discount is good on all stuffed toys except the unicorn."

And here's a picture of our lovely Mr Toad, courtesy of Santa, who got the distinct privilege of driving to every single flipping Walgreens in Portland just 2 days before Christmas because she waited until the last minute to go back and buy him.