Mom to the Screaming Masses

Disgusting This article is

Disgusting

This article is a disgrace on so many levels that I can't quite even figure them all out. How in the world can you possibly equate military service with slavery? (Keep in mind that the quthor of this article is an ex pro football player.) The article insults the intelligence of the average soldier. Your basic enlisted guy or gal, although young as it says in this article, knows more about computers, language etc. than I ever will. If I recall, slaves - at least the ones brought to America - were forced to board boats, by whips, guns, etc. They were denied food and medical equipment, and forced to work in less than ideal situations. I have yet to see anyone forced into the US military by similar means. And I live in a hugely military town. Just a quick count puts me within fifty miles of, let's see, at least 5 Navy bases, piers, an Army base, a CG base, and a Marine camp. (Forgive me if I got the terms wrong - I grew up the daughter of a Navy man, so it's all a base to me.)

I'm not certain how I feel about Iraq, or any of our military offensives. A luxury that I have, the ability to take my time - too much time, some would correctly say - to decide what I want to support. One thing is for sure, though: I am damned proud of our men and women in uniform. I have to be - I know a lot of them. The pilot flying the plane? Why, that's my girlfriends husband, father of six. The soldier driving the tank? The guy I went to high school with. The SEAL? One of my neighbors. The Veteran of WWII - my father in law. The man who served 20 years and got out? My father. All very very smart people, much smarter than me in lots of things. They are all out there, working hard, so I can type away here on my keyboard in relative peace. They deserve our thanks and gratitude, not profanity such as this. Particularly on the eve of Memorial day - a day to HONOR our Veteran's, not denigrate them. Even if you don't support the war, and you don't have to, still support the people.

Gag.

Update: Go here to read Sgt. Hook's input on the matter. He says what I want to say waaaayyy better than I ever could.

Alana's written a wonderful

Alana's written a wonderful post about being a mom at home. She said lots of things that have been on my mind. Go here to see it if you want. I will caution you not to read it if you are at all touchy about the old tired work out of the home vs. stay at home. Which isn't what she is saying at all. I just know it's come up before. I think it's a wonderful piece but don't get annoyed if you don't agree with it.

In particular I agree with this: Oh, and add to this the pressure that is on ALL women to be healthy, slim, beautiful, and to NOT snack at 4 pm...HA! When you are caring for five kids, at four pm, you eat that snack, because if it's between having cellulite and being a bitch to these small people you are around and not having the energy to fold that pile of laundry, it is better to have the cellulite.

***I just edited what I had posted before, cuz I think what she wrote is better read in it's entirety. ****
Well, that's part of the article. If you like it, go read it. And let me know what you think.

Night time is the

Night time is the right time

Last night, the hubster and I went to bed. (I know, what a surprise. Never saw that coming, didja?) I read for a few minutes, as I do every night, and hubby went straight to sleep, as he does every night. He goes from awake to asleep in about 2.4 seconds. That drives me crazy. I finished my magazine article and turned off the light. I scooched down in the bed and got comfy. Pretty soon, I was drifting off. Foom! Hubster rolled over and and popped his hand on top of my head. For whatever reason, I didn't move. Maybe I was feeling especially close to him, or I was just too lazy to move. Yeah, that was probably it. I started to doze again, and was soon in that really lovely sleep place. The place where, you can tell that you are just about to go into a deep sleep. If you move, you'll lose it, but stay still and you'll be in la-la land. All of a sudden, hubster's hand, still resting oh-so-firmly on the top of my head, began to jerk and shake, as if he was being electrocuted. Talk about your rude awakening.

Then, in the morning, his alarm went off and he kept sleeping. I rolled over and prodded him, and this conversation ensued:
Me: "Wake up! Your alarm is blaring that crappy Rap again!"
Hubster: "But I was asleep!"

Uh, dude, we all were.

Blooger seeds Question of the

Blooger seeds Question of the day (yeah, I'm a couple days late):

Random Questions; Random Days... Monday, May 24
How do you feel about organ donations?

I posted this one because of something that I saw yesterday at the airport. While dealing with an insanely chipper reservations clerk, I perused the other people at the counter. One guy was a Red Cross worker, and he had four large white boxes with red crosses on them. In large letters, the boxes had written on them: HUMAN BLOOD NO MONEY. That made me a bit squeamish, although I'm not certain why. I've given blood, although not for a while. Then, I noticed the other, smaller box that was causing a bit of consternation. Folks, it was eye tissue and corneas. I know it's necessary, and a good thing. But it gave me the willies like there was no tomorrow. Apparently, it was freaking the clerks out. Where to put it? The blood just went into the hold along with the luggage - the boxes were pretty big, and I don't know that I'd want to fly sitting next to boxes of blood, you know? No one could figure out where to put the box of eye tissue - it was stamped all over fragile, so it couldn't go in with the luggage. But the Red Cross worker wasn't flying with the boxes, so he couldn't hold it. That would be a bit weird, I think, anyway. Can you imagine sitting in your seat, watching the flight attendant talk about safety, and looking over to see the box of eye tissue? It was finally decided to keep the box in the cockpit with the pilots.

All that said, I am a big proponet of organ donation. It's checked on my driver's license, and I've had the requisite conversation with the hubster. It still makes me squeamish to actually see the fruit of it, though.

I'm so excited! I

I'm so excited!

I still can't quite believe that I won the second place in Emily's contest. In fact, I think I'm so thrilled that I've lost my mind. Case in point: I bought three plane tickets today, for a trip that I am taking in July with 3 of my kids. I couldn't find where I had put the tickets, and then thought to myself "Hmm. I wonder if those tickets got tossed in the recycle paper bin, when I cleaned out the car." Yup! There they were! Later on, I realized that I had no idea where one of the teacher gift certificates that I had purchased was. Turns out it was in the paper bin as well. Geez.

I've been asked how in the world I find time to blog. Priorities, babybee. Seriously. My legs aren't smoothly shaven, my laundry isn't always put away the same day it gets washed, and there are nights that we have sandwiches with fruit and veggies for dinner. Now, don't get all irritable on me - all of those things don't happen every day, and usually not two of them at once. No, I blog alot of time when I'm nursing the baby. I've gotten really good at typing one handed pretty quickly. I blog a little bit at a time, when I can get a few minutes to myself. I have a laptop, so sometimes I take it and go to bed, and type there. I've also amazed myself at how little sleep I can get by on.

I'm also blessed (cursed??) with a brain that never ever shuts up. I'm constantly thinking of stuff to talk about, or write about, or just tell someone. My mother tells a story of when I was a kid, and on my way to ballet. She claims that she never said a word, and I changed the topic of conversation more than a dozen times. Whatever. I keep a notebook in the car, and I jot ideas for blog posts down all the time. I'm the poor soul you see at the stop lights - you know, the one you honk at, the one sitting at the stoplight writing. I have to write - it saves my marriage. My poor hubster can't keep up with what all I want to tell him. Most of it goes over his head, and he can't keep up with my topics. So, I write about them.

And the winner is..........

And the winner is..........
Redsaid. She won the blog entry contest. But, guess who won second? Little old me. Woo-hoo!!!!!! The best part is, someone who didn't even know me, and therefore wasn't paid to be nice, said I was an amazingly funny writer. I am happy beyond belief.

Here is my third entry. The first one, the potty story, is in the March archives, and the second one, My most embarrassing moment, is I think one archive back.

How to get my family ready for the day without going crazy

Number of children in the family: 6
Number of kids who need to be at school: 3
Time that the first alarm rings: 6:00 a.m.
Number of times that I hit the snooze button: 4

Yep, it's morning. I roll over and pull my way out of bed, being very careful not to squish the 4 month old plastered up next to me. Stagger to the bathroom, throw some water in the direction of my face, and stumble to the boy's room. I plaster on my cheerful mommy face, complete with the oh-so-chipper voice. I wake the oldest, trying not to wake the youngest boy. Next stop, the girl's room - waking the two big girls and not the youngest. Back to the boys room, and then back to the girls. It takes, oh, four trips back and forth before I am convinced that they are moving towards life.

Number of people to be fed: 8
Number of people who eat the same breakfast: 0
Number of lunches to pack: 4
Number of people who want to help: 0

Checking my mental how to list, I discover that food is the next step. One loves eggs, one hates them, two will tolerate them. So, eggs it is. I scramble up eight, separate them into four plates. I pull the pepper away from one child, put a bib on another, pour two milks, one soy milk, one regular oj and one low acid oj. The non egg eater gets a cup of yogurt and a banana. Into the blender goes breakfast for the hubby: 1 cup grape juice, 1 banana, protein powder, All-Bran and canned low salt peas. I try (unsuccessfully) not to gag. Next step: lunches. Three peanut butter sandwiches, three bags of chips, three pieces of fruit, three juice boxes, and cookies are tossed into the kids' lunchboxes. Hubby's lunch consists of whatever leftovers are available, or a grilled chicken breast. Ooops, forgot to do that - toss a frozen one on the George Foreman, set the timer for 16 minutes, and move to the next step.

Number of kids who have asthma: 5
Number of medications and supplements every morning: 4 for each child, plus five for the hubby

Check to see that the vitamins are chewed and swallowed, not sucked on. (All together now, ewwww!) Remind the oldest child that not taking his medication does NOT mean you don't have asthma - it can't be wished away. Tell him to take his medication. Tell him again. Stand by him until he actually takes said medication. Take a deep breath and wish for an instant infusion of sanity, and make it a double.

Number of last minute details: 1,000,000
Number of people with tasks that need to be completed in the next 7 minutes: 7
Number of people available to complete all of the tasks: 1

Turn off the television, which no one claims to have turned on, but everyone is watching. Send the oldest girl upstairs to get the hairbrush and hair holders. Send the six year old girl to wash the egg off her arms, legs and face, and then pick the egg out of her hair. I run upstairs and avoid looking in the mirror as much as possible. Taking a quick glance at the shorts from yesterday, I decide that no one notices me anyway, so a second day in them will be ok. Yell downstairs for everyone to put on their shoes, quit bouncing balls in the house, stop flying planes in the house, don't tease your sister, and brush your teeth. Accidentally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, sigh, and vow to start that diet/exercise program. Sign the 15 papers that have appeared magically from the time of school dismissal, when there was nothing that needed to be signed, and this morning, when they MUST be signed or risk sitting on the curb during recess. Toss the diapers that were in the washer into the dryer, and start another load of clothes. Yell for everyone to head to the van, remember their bookbags/lunches/instruments/snacks and help buckle the little kids.

Number of seats in my van: 15
Number of car seats/booster seats/infant seats: 4
Number of people who can buckle the others in, besides Mom: 3
Number of people who feel like they should do the buckling: 0
Length of drive to school: 8 minutes, with no traffic, or 30 with traffic
Amount of coffee consumed so far: not.one.drop

After buckling everyone in, I back down the driveway and roll down the road. Turn the van around and pull back into the driveway for the forgotten lunches. I (briefly!) host an internal debate to see if I should put on a DVD, decide that it's only 7:30 and I should be able to deal with the kids. After all, once I get the big three to school, the day relaxes. Gaze longingly at the Starbucks with a drive thru that is right on the way to school, and promise myself if I survive the drop off, it will be my first stop. Encounter the first of 15 ill-timed stoplights, and try to placate oldest son who has the patience of a gnat. Promise that NO ONE will be tardy today, not if I can help it. Rummage through the car, locate the tissues and hand them out to the kids, who all have runny noses. This triggers the reminder that I need more tissues, and I grab a sheet of paper to jot down a quick grocery list. Pull over the first of four times to mediate an argument, and swear to myself that I will discover a better seating arrangement, one that will lead to a quiet car. Decide that I must be high to think that this will ever happen. Pull into the school parking lot, try not to cackle with glee that I am off loading three children, and promise that I will miss them the entire day.

Take a nice, deep breath, and turn the car towards Starbucks. Revel in the fact that the next 8 hours there are only three children here, and I don't have to repeat the morning routine for 23 hours.

How I was brought

How I was brought to my knees, with tears and trembling, by a stupid set of crayons

Yesterday, I was busy cooking dinner. I knew that the laundry baskets were overflowing, so I sent the two big kids upstairs to bring them down. I instructed the kids to take the clothes out of the baskets and inspect them, and to remove all the crayons/belts/legos/hairclips/doll shoes/pencils and so on, and then to put the clothes into the washer. I gave N the chore of actually putting the detergent in and starting the washer. When the washer buzzed, I had A go and move the clothes from the washer to the dryer and start it, since I knew I had to start the load of diapers later, and needed to have the washer free.

Much later, I remembered that the clothes needed to be taken out and folded, so I opened the dryer. That's when I fell to my knees. Apparently, the vows of "Oh, yes Mom, we cleaned out the pockets before we started the wash", were empty. SOMEONE, and I know who, but I'm not going to name her, left at least 10 crayons in various blue and purple shades in her pocket. The entire load, which consisted of khaki school uniform shorts, white uniform shirts, 2 new pair of ballet tights needed for next weeks performance, new socks, towels and washcloths, looked as if it had been tie-dyed. Not just a random spot here or there, but complete coverage. I was so shocked I didn't know whether I should laugh or cry.

The child who caused the whole fiasco is my child who causes the vast majority of the big messes. I didn't say anything to her, mostly because I feel like all I ever do is call attention to her accidents. The poor kid feels bad enough - there isn't ever a meal without a spill, a bath without a flood, outdoor play without a mud puddle, for her. She can't help it - it's just the way she is wired.

But, man, the clothes look terrible.

Are you sick of

Are you sick of these things yet?

THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My eyes
2. I am persistent
3. I (usually)am a go-getter

THREE THINGS YOU HATE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. I am so lazy with regards to exercise
2. I am stubborn
3. I have had songs stuck in my head for days and it keeps me from sleeping

THREE THINGS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND:
1. Catholics who don't follow the tenents of their religion
2. People who have kids and don't spend time with them
3. Reality shows

THREE THINGS THAT ANNOY YOU:
1. People who know it all
2. People who invade your personal space
3. No matter how hard I try I still can't control everything

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Internet
2. TV
3. Coffee

THREE THINGS YOU CAN'T DO:
1. knit
2. Algebra - that's getting ready to change, this fall
3. Forgive easily

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. see a balance in my checkbook over a million dollars
2. See my children grow old
3. Go to Ireland/Scotland

N and E with "do

N and E with "do rags" 

Angel baby

Angel baby