Just nod and smile

You probably already know this. My husband and I have 4 kids. They range in age from 2 to 18. The first two are 15 months apart, and having had them at such a young age, I was fine with being the only girl in the house, and not having any more children. God laughed at my Grand Plan of Marvelous Theory. So, 7 years later my Clone arrived, and 7 years after that, the Blur landed on scene - quite literally. Blur exited so fast the doctor almost didn't get gloves on, and she certainly did no catching of the human torpedo.
I can't tell you how many times someone has been amazed that I have four, or that I look old enough to have an EIGHTEEN year old. I'm quick to tell them about the various friends who have more kids than we have. Seriously people, four kids isn't all that large a family, but it's not without advantages. Long term, I have a larger pool of elderly tush wipers, or people willing to share the cost of nursing home care for me if none of them kill me before then. I unintentionally spaced them apart and ended up with built-in babysitters. There's the side benefit of those babysitters realizing how much work kids are, and do everything possible to avoid making any of their own. I am soooo not ready to be a grandma before I'm fifty 65.

And your comments? UNoriginal. How about saying "LOVE IT!" or "awesome!" instead of the trite junk? If you have more than 1.5 kids, I'm sure you've heard it all too.

Don't you know what causes that? why yes, Devildog & I have had a good 20 years practice. Or my favorite response that makes the guys blush? ::serious face:: "no. did you want to show me?"

Getting fixed? well it's very CLEARLY OBVIOUS that nothing is broken and all systems work as intended. Why does no one ask if stupid people are going to get fixed? Oh wait, they're the ones asking us if we're getting fixed.

Done? yes, I was done with the last 3. (Instead of saying "crap happens", I should probably start saying "sex happens when you're married")

Hands full: yes, so is my brain, and right now it's about to explode for being overworked. I've lost 28% of my cognitive function just growing these humans. I don't know if it will ever return, and I hope coffee hasn't killed the remaining brain cells.

Busy: duh. Can you imagine if I was one of those moms that scheduled my kids for activities? oy!

Catholic? Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. But my husband is not. So really, that doesn't have as much to do with it as you might assume.

"I don't know how you do it" - I don't. I try, but a lot gets past me, and I pray it's not a big mess. I attempt to delegate. It has mixed results.

"I barely handle one, I don't know how you handle four"
I don't handle it, I just live it. And if you're constantly entertaining your only child, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG! Stop living FOR your kids and live WITH them. And by that, I mean "in conjunction with" your kids. I can't tell you how many times I've said that every mother must establish an identity outside of being someone's spouse or mom. Give those kids the tools to function independently of you so you can have a life of your own. Don't coddle them, constantly entertain them, or do everything for them. It's your job as a mother to put yourself out of work. Don't freak out when it happens, just get your own life and enjoy it.

Now, pardon me, but Blur has gained possession of the remote and that is NOT a good thing. And my coffee got cold while I typed this.

Last Hurrah

We hit the beach one last time this summer before school starts tomorrow. My husband and his friend like to go to the beach on the north side of the city where you can still drive on the beach. It's an ordeal and a drive, nevermind that we live 5 or so miles from other beaches that you have to park and schlep. I don't need to camp out at the beach, but they like it. So does Blur. Today's visit brought us to the beach when the tide was coming in, so parking was limited. We ventured to a spot on the other side of the jetty as that was the only available place for our crowd. Four households converged, and we took up a chunk of real estate. As it turned out, being on that side of the jetty was great for Blur, especially since we forgot her life jacket. She could play within our eyesight and we didn't have to worry about her getting knocked around like she had previously. And like every place this little beauty goes, she made friends there.
Now, getting there is not a hurrah. It's more like an aw, hell. Devildog is good about loading up the Bronco with the stuff we need, but there is a lot of packing involved to have the luxury of grilling on the beach. Blur has moments that she fights with us to get IN the vehicle to go somewhere. Then there are times, she's tired of being in the car and she's had her fill. Tell her she's going to the beach, and she's willing to walk there if that's what it takes. The drive takes about 30 minutes, and about 15 minutes into it, she was asking to unbuckle. When we left, she was tired and cranky, and told her brother she wanted him to get out of the truck. She's a demanding little thing, isn't she?

It will be interesting when the kids are off at their first day of school, and how she handles it with all 3 of her siblings gone from the house all day.

~~~~
side note: I went wandering my blogroll after posting this, and wouldn't you know it.. a few days ago, someone else said they went to the beach for a last hurrah before school started. I swear to you, I heard Hitchcock music for a second. That, and I really did NOT plagiarize. I mean, I have clearly neglected my blog for real life and that other vortex that shall not be named. So honestly, I didn't steal that phrase, and the beach idea was totally the gang of husbands' idea. I would've gladly sat at home clipping coupons or playing with my yarn.

fiber funny

One of my yarn shop pals brought this to my attention. Not everyone understands the appeal of knitting and crocheting and what it does for people like me. Yes, it's just string and a hook or some pointy sticks. Yes, I could go pay $5 for some sweater that everybody else got from the big box super-retailer. But, I do enjoy taking a length of string and making it into something else. I'm trying to use up my current yarn stash to get rid of the cheap stuff I bought as a newb who didn't know better. I couldn't imagine paying $5 for a ball or skein of yarn, much less a sweater's worth of it at that price. Now - I get it. I understand the pull of nicer yarn, and want to upgrade my stash. So, I found myself involved with a blanket project group, and now have several squares crafted of acrylic yarn awaiting my next trip to the post office. It's a win-win, in that I deplete the stash and the yarn gets put to good use and blesses some other folks. Yes, I got the yarn with the intention of making things for specific people out of it. However, if in the time since 2005 when I figured out the crochet hook, and 2007 when someone helped me learn the knitting needles, I have not found the first end of those skeins and made those intended projects - it is time for the yarn to be elsewhere.
Which leads me to this: the nicer yarn is apparently addicting. Someone related the addiction to something non-knitters could probably understand a little better. So here you go, The Yarn/Drug Compendium.

ABC's of Feisty

• Age: 35
• Bed size: queen
• Chore I dislike: cleaning the fridge
  
• Dogs: none
  
• Essential start to your day: No talking till I've had my coffee - cream & sugar.
  
• Favorite color: blue
• Gold or silver: gold
• Height: 5’ 4"
• Instruments that you can play: none - former Euphonium/Baritone horn player
  
• Job title: wife, mom, & book slinger
  
• Kids: Oldest, 18. Beast, 16. Clone, 9. Blur, 1
  
• Live: North Florida. And no, it is NOT Georgia.
  
• Mom’s name: Mom
  
• Nicknames: Several, including some unprintable words.
  
• Overnight hospital stays: four - something about spawning.
  
• Pet peeve: I'm deathly allergic to B.S. & stupidity.
  
• Quote from a movie: Hakuna Matata? Heck, I don't watch many movies, much less remember them enough to quote them.
• Righty or lefty: Righty
• Sibling: #4 of 6 for dad. #1 of 3 for mom.
  
• Time you wake up: at the last possible minute.
  
• Urban or Rural: somewhere in between.
  
• Vegetables: I don't eat enough of them.
  
• What makes you run late: anything and everything. Kids, my own A.D.D., I'm better about being on time.
  
• X-rays: dental, wrist, full spinal
  
• Yummy food you make: cookies, pork chops in sour cream, rubber chicken
  
• Zoo favorite animal: the ones behind the safety of walls and gates.
  

Parenting PSA

Do not act as a helicopter hovering, or a lawnmower to plow down obstacles for your children. You will assuredly end up with full sized ninnies who can't handle the simplest of things when they get remotely unpleasant. If the worst you can handle is a frown, the failure rests with those who did not raise you to learn how to put on the big pants and deal with it.

A few people who criticized my parenting in the past can suck dirt off my shoes. Because the approach I took with my kids is reflecting as such that my kids can handle life in general, and function independently of me and even go so far as to help other people. So my insistence that the boys learn to cook and do laundry is not selfish and lazy on my part. True, I may have had selfish and lazy intentions because I was tired of doing so much for so many capable beings, but at the same time, I've long held that it's a life skill they must learn anyway. I have other interests that I want to develop. I don't want my daughter-in-law to hate me because I failed to teach her husband the basics. I needed to have my own hobbies and life away from my children so that when they grow up, move out into the world and have lives and families of their own, I am not that meddlesome MIL who drives a wedge somewhere it doesn't belong. I don't want my grandchildren living across the country because I'm a pest. If they're that far away, at least it ought to be due to jobs or something else more worthwhile than evading an intruding old woman. If I must invade their territory, I at least hope to be helpful, and maybe entertaining while there.

It always starts at home.

It's a sure sign Devildog watches too much wrestling and UFC fights, oh and boxing. The Blur was laying on the couch last night, slapping the cushion saying "One! Two! Deeng Deeng Deeng!" repeatedly.

This makes me glad I have managed to control my colorful language. She's already saying "oh dang it!" so "motherless goat" is next I'm sure.

Happy Birthday Dad!

It's my dad's 84th birthday. It's his brother's 88th birthday. It is also the 92nd anniversary of their parents' wedding.
He'll tell you Grandpa was a mathematician, but I'll tell you that Grandma had a very regular cycle.

Hanging On

Some days, I feel just like this apple looks. Hanging on by the end of my small stem, clinging to the very net that holds me together. My net is not nylon and red though. It's blonde, brown, red, tan, Hispanic, Irish, Philipino, or who knows what. I have survived this long in my life with the help of many people around me, total strangers, and people I know solely online. I've not gotten where I am alone, and I'm sure I won't get where I'm heading without a few flight attendants to help me.

You know it's busy when my oldest sister calls the house to tell me about our Dad's birthday dinner on Sunday, and tells my 16 year old that I need to call her more often. This from the sister that just doesn't do talking on the phone. Somehow, I channel that Jewish mother voice when I hear her in my head, saying "You should call me more often".

My job takes me to a few stores each week. Then for 2 weeks out of the month, I squeeze in a bunch more stores that we visit monthly. Those 2 weeks are the ones that usually have me looking like this apple. The kids and husband are tired of "Fridge Fiesta" extending beyond the pre-trash-day Thursday. I tire of food I didn't cook. Yes, I'm weird like that. I enjoy cooking dinner for my family. I just don't enjoy forcing my brain to think farther ahead than the next 3 minutes and plan meals, because I'm constantly trying to stay ahead of the Blur's antics.

She's been in extraordinary form lately because it's been either too smoky from the vast number of wildfires surrounding us, or the heat index is high enough to simply put food outside to cook - thereby sparing the expense of using a stove and the associated cost of the air conditioner trying to negate that extra heat. So she's got cabin fever and she's making me and everyone else crazy. Devildog has homework to do, and I have work to submit, and now Beast has summer school work to do daily. The day to day stuff of family life still must be done. And my brain reaches shut-down point and all I can muster is vegging out, with the occasional brainless bit of crocheting a blanket square. You know it's bad when you go get the mail and she's very excited to go with you. If she'd sit still long enough, I might be able to teach her to knit so she can fidget productively.

What? She's gotta get a break from her Ph.D. thesis at some point.

How to deal with a teenager: send him packing.

I'm down a child, and my house is quieter for it. Of course the Blur makes up a lot of the Oldest Child's noise deficit created by his absence. She's taken to shrieking and squealing at every opportunity. She's proven very well that her vocal cords work, as well as the lungs, and that the decibel tolerance of my ear drums is significantly gone. She's also proven that her brother the Beast shouldn't breed any time soon, as he's got a short attention span and is long on impatience with her. My oldest is now currently spending his summer before his senior year of high school in Ann Arbor, Michigan. He turns 18 in a couple weeks, which makes me feel like I am old, but then again, it feels like "hey wait, I just turned 18 last week myself" too. Oh and it may surprise you to know this: He also has his learner's permit.

Yes, I violated my own rule for my kids to drive. Yes, I allowed a looophole in the one that requires them to get a job to pay their insurance when the bill comes due. The PreggoX3 is on bedrest and since she blacked out a few weeks ago, she's not allowed to drive herself to the multitude of doctor appointments a high risk pregnancy entails, and the stuff involved with the BabiesX3 big sister. DadX3 is trying to finish his PhD stuff at U-Mich and GTFO of that forsaken place. So the Oldest child is up there serving as what amounts to a wife for H.D. because she can't be the kind of wife she's accustomed to being, minus any sexual favors of any party aforementioned. This is not the boy scouts here ok? So far he's learning to drive from a person who is an excellent teacher of anything she teaches. And she's probably going to teach him all the other things he refuses to act like he's learned from us. Because she's not his mother and kids don't listen to their own parents. They will listen to anyone not related to them by blood, and the child free siblings of their parents.
That's ok though, because PreggoX3 and I are doing our part to overpopulate the world so that our siblings don't have to do it.

Zumba & Midway Island

My Saturday was totally exhausting. For starters, my friend Jackie teaches Zumba at a gym near her house across the big ditch from me. I've been interested in this fitness thing, but just haven't gone to a class. So, Jackie talked to Father H and worked it out so that whatever is collected at the door for class fees, would get donated to the church for something. Today's class was to help fund VBS. Jackie took it easy on us, and it kicked my gringa butt. But it works all the areas I need to reshape after the Blur-baking flabbed it out for me. Plus the chiropractor has been after me to rebuild my core muscles. So this would make him happy too. I can see why it's so popular.
Then I rested, cleaned my kitchen, and next thing I knew, it was time to get dressed for the Midway Dinner. The local Navy League branch puts on this big dinner to commemorate the Victory at Midway Island. There was even a record set as having the largest in attendance, totaling 624.
Dress was formal or business, and I debated what to wear. I didn't have time or budget to go shopping, and my luck nothing would've suited my preferences to leave cash and prizes to the imagination. I remembered the formals in my closet. Yes, I have dresses from high school. One was too big because I was pregnant with the oldest when I wore it, and one is quite honestly very dated looking. It either needs to meet a tailor or my daughter's dress up bin. There's the bridesmaid dress from SIL's wedding, but Devildog didn't want to see me in that again after I wore it for the wedding, and then Easter. (Yes, I went there. I wore the dress for Easter with a short sleeved sweater to cover my bare shoulders. I don't wear spaghetti straps to church either. I'm old school like that, just not at the point of veiling.) I didn't want to wear a black and red dress that I wore for Christmas that Devildog said he preferred. Do you see me rolling my eyes? Oh dang, will you catch my left one please before it rolls into traffic? Thanks.
Then, I remembered "oh wait! the one I wore to the Marine Corps Birthday ball!" The last time I tried it on, was several months after the Blur was born, and I still hadn't shed the hips enough to wear it. I nearly ripped seams. I never got around to consigning that one either. I am glad I kept it. It was open back though, which was a ballsy move for me 12 years ago when I wore it last. Having classic tastes pays dividends in the long term, and for cost-per-wear. I got the dress off season and dirt cheap. I think I paid $40 for it in October, because it was still in the store after the Spring prom season. It has a side split in the skirt, when at that point, everything had a split up the front of one leg. I remember that detail because I was mildly annoyed when I bought it that it didn't have a front split. But it was blue, and I look good in anything blue. This time, I tried it on, and it fit. I'd had 2 more babies since wearing it so I needed some help in the northern end of things. I didn't have time to take it to the seamstress for the sewn in boobs because I was trying to find shoes and a wrap for it, so I bought some sew in boobs at JoAnn and did it myself. It's far from a professional job. At least I wasn't directing traffic or looking like I'd had a mastectomy. I did do some power, mission-mode shopping to find shoes and a shawl - to no avail for either. I'm thankful for other big-footed friends with silver shoes, and my nearby JoAnn store having just enough navy chiffon & ample supply of steam-a-seam.
We had a good time, debaucherous group that we were. The friend that gave us tickets seated us with Dick Stratton. Most of the tables had a significant designee such as a POW, wounded warrier, or VIP of some sort. Ours had the most debaucherous POW, who spent almost the longest amount of time as a POW. When forced to make a propaganda video telling how well they were being treated, Mr. Stratton, out of sight of his captors and between his knees, extended both middle fingers on camera. At that point in the ceremonies, we understood why the softball goons got seated with that particular POW. We had a good time with Dick, and his wife Alice. Interestingly enough to me, Alice & I both wore long, navy blue dresses. Hers had way more sparkle to it though. I should've gotten pictures of that stuff, but didn't. I didn't think to get someone to take pictures of me and the Devildog, before he had enough alcohol to make his liver spasm. We did get a bartender to take a picture of us before we left.