Zen and the Art of Motherhood

I woke up this morning to yet another bug -- this time the common cold. I've been getting sick almost continuously since school started. So much so that I was wondering if I had some terrible illness that was wrecking havoc with my poor, abused immune system. I even went to the doctor, who promptly put half of my blood supply into little tubes to see what was the matter.

Turns out I'm fine. Well not exactly fine, but close enough. So then I started wondering if I was just a hypochondriac and that my various ailments were all just figments of my sometimes overactive imagination.

I kept up with this line of thought until a couple of days ago. That's when I made a discovery that blew me away. One that sent millions of tiny shivers up and down my spine.

I've always taught my kids to share. Actually, I've hammered it into their little brains from when they were knee high to a grasshopper. Well it looks like I might have overdone it a bit.

Two days ago, when I asked my soccer girl where her toothbrush was, I got the infamous shoulder shrug and almost incomprehensible I dunno.  She's a teen, what can I say.

Then I started to get suspicious.  With a little prodding (OK, threats of bodily harm might have been involved) I found out that because she lost track of which one was her's, she's been using any toothbrush that was in sight. Yuk!

Turns out all my kids have gotten in on the action.  They have all been partaking in a game of toothbrush round robin for a while now.  The best part was when I found out I was an unknowing participant.  All those times I saw them lingering in my bathroom, I thought they were just using my hairbrush or make up. How could I be so blind?

Is nothing sacred?

Nope.  There are no boundaries in this house.  My kids walk in on me getting dressed on a somewhat regular basis -- there's usually an eeeww involved (Thanks kids, I needed that.).  They will hold entire conversations with me while I'm on the phone and usually want me to help them with their homework while I'm in the bathroom.

So now, I'm turning over a new leaf.  I bought new toothbrushes for everyone and spent the evening labeling each one with their respective names -- its more like wallpaper, but I want no more questions as to who's is who's.

Then, I'm going to start with the lessons.  There will be no more sharing in this house!  And anyone who even thinks about using my toothbrush again might just see these pearly whites staring them in the face.

This has been one long week. First, the phone incident. Yeah, you know about that one already.

Then dearest hubby had a run-in with John Law. No, he wasn't speeding (not this time) but he had expired plates. A fix it ticket's not a big deal, right?

As our luck has it, this was not a fix it, but a Hand-Over-95-Smackaroos-and-Be-On-Your-Way ticket. Highway robbery if you ask me. To top it off, our old, shoddily built banister lost a post.  So now we're left with a gaping hole between the kitchen and family room.  As I went to call the handyman, I swore I saw visions of dollar signs swirling above my head.

Then, on Wednesday, the unthinkable happened. The Word Which Must Not Be Spoken was uttered. It was awful.  Traumatic.  I think I'm scarred for life.

Why so glum?

My laptop died. There, I said it.

I wasn't in the room when it happened. I did however hear the screams.  I made it down the stairs just in time to see two of my dear children, both looking so, so guilty.  And then I saw it -- the dreaded blue screen.  You know the one. The lovely That's All Folks shade that tells you all is definitely not well in computerland. .

After some requisite screaming and threats of groundings for life, we tried to resuscitate my old friend.  No such luck.  Today, as tears streamed down my cheek, I watched my hubby packed it up to bring it into the shop.  At this point, the best I can hope for is retrieving at least some of the stuff I had on it.  And, no, smart me did not back it up.  I thought about it.  But that's as far as it got.

Now that the shock is finally worn off, reality has hit. And boy does it bite.

My laptop. My life. It's all over now, plain and simple.

I never realized how dependent I have grown on the little sucker until I tried to do without it.  Yeah, we have another computer in the house, but its not the same. No more writing posts from bed?  Or declaring "Mommy's taking a time out" only to steal way and shop while watching Monk in the peacefulness of my room?  How's a Mom supposed to get any peace around here?

Instead I'm left to share a computer, sitting in the middle of our family room, with three kids -- two of which don't know how close they came to biting the big one.

So if this post seems a little rushed, that's because it is.  Right now, I have about two more minutes before the door opens and the circus begins.  Ahh, there's nothing like a deadline looming to get those creative juices flowing. 

Uh-oh, the knob is turning.  Let the games begin. Until next time...

The last couple of weeks have been pretty low key around here.  What?  My house quiet?

Well, we've had our reasons.  As I posted before, my oldest son came home with the Swine Flu a couple of weeks ago.  After a week, it looked like it passed over the rest of us.  Pheww!  But by a cruel twist of fate, the incubation period is 7 to 10 days, and on about day 9, the swine hit the fan.

The two girls got it, followed quickly by me and then my husband.  The little guy is the only one in the clear right now.  Not to be outdone though, he got an ear infection from hell instead.  It threatened to rupture, but so far, so good.

The worst part for him has been the medicine.  Because of the severity, the doctor prescribed a new antibiotic.  Not the normal pink, bubble gum flavored kind, lets just say it didn't go over too well.  The first time I tried to get the syringe into his mouth, he happened to pull back just as I squirt it into his eye.  I'm pretty sure that wasn't in the little directions packet that came with the bottle.  The second time (and third and forth and fifth for that matter) it got into his mouth, but was quickly launched across the room as he spit it back at us.

You try telling a three year old to drink something that tastes like crap.  All the "but it will make you feel betters" in all the world won't make a lick of difference. Its gross and that's that.  We even tried mixing it with some chocolate milk.  It worked once, but now he'son to us yet again.  So right now, we've back to the drawing board, trying to find new and ingenious ways of sneaking the smelly stuff past him.

If this wasn't enough, I found out a couple of weeks ago that I have mono.  That's right, the Kissing Disease.  The problem is, with all the bugs going around here, nobody's been kissing anyone.  How do you like that?  If I'm going to end up with the stupid ailment, you'd think I could at least have some fun doing it. Oh well, such is my life.

What I'm left with is a fine combination of fevers, chills and the unrelenting urge to go back to bed.  Come to think of it, my eyes are feeling a bit heavy as I type, so time to sign off and say Good Night -- or Good Afternoon or Good Morning.  Whatever.

Night. Night.

Confession of the Day:  I'm a rabid fan of anything Pink Panther.  The original, Peter Sellers version of course.  And just like one of Cato's surprise attacks, our nice pediatrician blindsided me this morning -- informing me my son now has the swine flu.  But instead of immediate dread, my first visual was of our dear friend, the Inspector.  Hey, it made me chuckle at least.

Unfortunately, my amusement has quickly given way to fear.  My Pond Boy may be the only one to come down with it so far, but I know its only a matter of time before the rest of us fall like dominoes.  That's just the kind of family we are.  Generous to a fault.

My oldest daughter has already been complaining of symptoms and the little guy was an amazing grump today. As I type, he's face down on his bed, fast asleep.  He went up there all by himself, and that's never, ever a good sign.  Peaceful, yes.  Comforting, no.

So right now I'm bracing myself for a very long weekend.  As soon as I finish typing, I'll start disinfecting   Then I'll be stocking up on the Echinacea and all things antioxidant. Oh crap, who am I kidding.  We're doomed.  You swine flu.

Yesterday we did the unthinkable.  The unimaginable.  The seemingly impossible.  As the neighbors lined the street and cheered -- OK maybe not actually cheering, but I'm sure they thought about it -- we began cleaning our garage.

Now, if this was a cutesy kind of thing, I'd post sweet before-and-after photos of the big day.  But believe me when I tell you this mess was way too gross for even me to document.  So, you'll just have to take my word for it.

Then again, I'm taking a bit of perverse pride in the whole situation.  After all, it took years of very hard work to morph our supposed car parking area into a mess of this magnitude. That's quite an accomplishment if you ask me.

I have to say I was amazed by all the crap we found..  There were bags of clothes from when my oldest was a toddler.  Boxes of books that I think were from the '80s.  Then there were the mystery objects -- the ones that even CSI would have a hard time identifying. 

But what took the cake lay inside an old trunk.  As the flimsy lid squeaked opened, I saw an old doll that was mine when I was a little girl.  But instead of the pristine, well-kept kind you will find on a shelf (in someone else's home perhaps), this one had matted hair, no clothes and divots in the arms.  There was one other thing.  It appears that over the years, the plastic around her neck wore a bit thin.  The result?  My old friend was now headless. Yep, it was pretty traumatic.  I'm still reeling from the experience.  I may actually be scarred for life.

Broken up, I pronounced her DOA and tossed into a pile with the rest of the trash.  The end.

So imagine my surprise when I pulled out of my driveway that night to pick up my daughter.  There she was, her headless figure shining brightly in my headlights.  Like she'd been waiting there...in the shadows...just ready to exact her revenge.  If any of you every watched a Chucky movie, you can understand my horror.

I finally managed to calm down, but as I drove away, my overactive imagination reared its ugly head again, this time with one of those perverse thoughts.  You know, the kind that you don't want to admit you had.  You see, all I could think of was those neighbors again.  Oh and the police.  And a late night arrest for the seemingly headless baby sitting in our driveway.  All because we decided to clean the stupid garage.  That'll teach us.
 

Did I mention I have a strict catch and release policy?  I had good reason for it and was standing pretty firm.  Until yesterday.  Unwittingly I gave in.  And today I pay the price.

The afternoon was another crazy one.  I had back-to-back meetings at the house as distractions abounded.  Phones rang, doors knocked and dogs barked.  So my son, being the smart, opportunist type that he is, saw an opening and ran with it.

With everything going on around me, its no wonder my son scurrying up the stairs went unnoticed. So did the hint of green sticking out of his pocket. I have to admit, I didn't even see the aquarium, sand and other accessories go up the stairs.

After the guests were gone, I started putting two and two together (yes, I'll admit I'm a little slow).  When I finally made my way up to his room, what should I see?  The biggest, greenest frog you've ever seen staring up at me from beneath the pond-watered aquarium set-up.

So after some high pitched screams, I did the unthinkable.  I acquiesced.  It WAS dark and obviously too late to return the creature to his natural surroundings. Tired from the day, and in a moment of weakness, I allowed him to stay the night.

This morning, screams were heard yet again.  Seems our amphibian guest decided the accommodations weren't to his liking and flew the coupe -- or hopped it I should say.  So right now we have a renegade frog loose somewhere in the house.  He's probably visiting with the caterpillars that the Little Stinker freed yesterday.  They're yucking it up, having a party at this very moment -- I just know it! 

I just hope his little bash isn't his last.  There are way too many dangers around these parts.  He'd need to make it past the cat (given her aversion to mice that probably wouldn't be too hard). Then the dogs -- the old one's pretty easy, but our young pup, well, he's a different story. And, let's just hope he didn't hop into the guinea pig's vicinity.  That creature has some sharp teeth!  The last immunity challenge would involve our Little Stinker.  Let's just say, he doesn't mean to torture animals.  He just likes to play with them.

Worse yet, I'm really not up to finding a shriveled up pond creature sometime next week.  We already went through that with the tackle box incident, and believe me, it ain't pretty.  So, today I'll spend my time cautiously creeping through the house, not wanting to be surprised by our little friend hopping out from under a bed.  Maybe if I just yell, "Uncle" the little sucker will take pity and this perverse game of hide and seek will end.

It started the moment I woke up.  Groggy as usual, something just seemed off.

As the morning progressed, I realized I wasn't the only one out of sorts.  The kids were grumpy, so was the hubby, and as for me...I was slow.  Way, way slow.

We had one girl upset about her outfit. And when a tween girl is not happy with her outfit, believe me, nobody's happy. Then our oldest boy was in full mope mode because he was "way too tired."  No amount of pleading or prodding could move him along. As for our youngest?  He was just downright ornery.

We literally had to fight to get the kids out the door.  One mishap after the next meant we left the house nowhere near to on time --  and it was our turn to drive!  Petrified of being kicked out of our lifesaving carpools, several remorseful calls of apology soon followed. 

The fun continued even after the kids were safely in their classrooms.   With the little guy in preschool for only two and a half hours, I have a very structured itinerary for my "free" time. Foiled again, I was plagued by non-working laptops, stores that didn't open on time and dogs that were none to shy about asking to be fed.  Topping off my day, I put my shorts on inside out...not for the first, or the second, but the third time this month!  This finishing touch came when I realized I had them on backward as well.  Thank God I caught it before I left the house.  I haven't been so lucky in the past.

Its just one of those days.  So here it is 11:45 in the morning and I'm wishing for a Do Over.  Wouldn't that be nice?  Since I'm pretty sure I have a snowball's chance of that happening, I'm left to watch the clock -- waiting desperately for this nasty day to end.

My kids sure know how to push my buttons. They take this perverse pleasure in testing just how far they can push me before the veins in my neck heave, my nostrils flare and my head spins round on my neck like a top.

This week, I think we hit speed records in this little experiment of theirs. You see, the relative tranquility of the school day only amplified the decibel level upon their respective returns from school. Just as I became acclimated to the calm, I was rudely jolted back into the wonderful of the world of insult hurling, food flinging and tears streaming -- yes, it always seems to end with tears streaming. Or maybe its door slamming, I forget.

But anyway, back to my point. The normal chain of events goes something like this. Kids yelling. Kids rough-housing. Kids breaking objects or each other. More yelling. Repeat.

During this cycle not one dares to heed my futile attempts at keeping the peace.

"Kids, keep it down."
"Don't do that."
"Someone's going to get hurt, you know."

That is until I make the following statement...usually in an extremely forced, carefully measured tone. "If you keep this up, Mom's gonna blow."

That's when they realize the lady means business. Maybe its the calm in my voice, the strength of my convictions, or maybe its the fact they've all seen me blow like a volcano and it ain't pretty. I like to think of it as Mauna Loa. You know the one. Mighty and fierce, the majestic crater need only send a hint of black smoke into the air, thus sending everyone shaking in fear. Hey, a woman can dream, can't she?

Well so went our week. Except for the fact that more than once I screamed the above statement at the top of my lungs. So much for cool and collected. Seems my top had already popped by the time the words left my lips.

When it happened yesterday, my oldest son started running around the house, hands waving in the air, "Duck and cover, mom's gonna blow. Duck and cover, she's gonna blow." Did I mention he was laughing hysterically?

Soon his sisters joined in, along with the toddler, the dogs and the cat (held against her will by the toddler). All forming a conga line from hell, now adding leg and arm movements as they wound around the house. Thankfully, the procession finally ended at the dining room table, where they curled up underneath, feigning fright and laughing uncontrollably.

It was at this very moment I realized I have lost all semblance of order and authority. Sad as it is to say, I am Momma Loa no more.

My son tried to sneak something by me yet again. I found him, his mouth full of chocolate chips, unable to speak. This was right before dinner, mind you.

"Don't have anymore," I said.

In response he tried to covertly shove just one more handful in before putting the bag away.

"You know I saw that."

"Saw what?"

To that I launched into one my famous long winded explanations on how us moms have a sort of super power ability to see and know all. He may have bought it at 5, but these days its just one of those, "blah, blah, blah, Ginger, blah, blah" moments. The glazed look in his eyes told all.

Then, feeling rather witty, I explained, "You know bud, I'm smarter than the average bear."

Clearly not getting the reference (yes, I'm dating myself WAY back here), he looked at me very seriously. "Mom, that's not saying much. Bears are pretty dumb."

And so went my evening. Once again, outwitted by a ten year old.

You have to be one tough animal to make it in our house. Let's just say, with all the comings and goings, things like food, water and clean living environments tend to get overlooked a smidge. But so far, our passel of pets has turned out to be one hardy bunch.

Most impressive is Tiger the salamander. He's a living experiment on how long a creature of his type can go without the prescribed diet of crickets. I'm afraid to admit, he's even been known to go without water for awhile.

Now before you contact the local authorities, please know we do try our best. And for the most part our pets, especially the dogs and the cat, get fed on a semi-regular basis. We're just not one of those families who dotes on their animals.

In our home you'll see no jewel encrusted collars, designer dog houses or specialized "human" diets. We simply don't have the time for this kind of thing.

You'd think we'd go through pets faster than Kleenex. Nope. These critters seems to possess amazing longevity. Tiger is going on three. We had an aquatic frog -- you know, the kind you get as a tadpole in the mail -- for six whole years! Even our old Lab Beau is over thirteen years old and still ticking. Come to think of it, the only ones to meet untimely end were the hamsters. My poor Soccer Girl went through five in a year -- and we fed them and everything. Go figure.

Our home is home to some amazing research. We have proved once and for all that survival of the fittest is more than just a theory. Long live our amazingly tough pets!