Vacation Day gone bad

Picture this:

A warm sunny day, with nothing on the agenda except trying to play a few more new board games from Christmas, maybe painting my nails, perhaps a good movie...

A few chatty phone calls later, my sister and I decide that what would be really fun would be to load up our eight kids in her van and drive them 30 miles to the fun kid book store! The one with the whole room just loaded with toys! Are we great moms or what? Wow. Even on our day off, we are just thinking of our angels.

Three hours later, the toddler screaming, the baby starving and six other kids "bored" and wanting to do something "actually fun," we reload with boxes of new books (did I mention we were at the homeschool consignment store and they were having a sale and give-aways and maybe we were just a tad there for our own selves, I mean just a tiny bit) we leave. Then we go back because we forgot the diaper bag. Then we re-leave. Okay, over the toddler SCREAMING I try and raise the troops from near-death boredom to get excited about an adventure at McDonalds Playland! Yeah! Again, who is the Mom of the Year?!

Since we are way across town (in the neighborhood we grew up in), we decided to go ahead and hit the closest McDonalds, give them all an ice cream, let them bask in the glory of having the best two moms in the history of the world, and then get home in time for dinner with our eternally grateful husbands. What a genius plan.

45 minutes later, I can barely hear myself think, everything I touch I stick to (including my kids), the toddler is still SCREAMING, baby is spitting up, and we are worn down. And where the heck are we anyway? Didn't we grow up in this part of town? Why are we the only ones speaking in our native language? Can't wait to get home and watch a quiet movie.

I yell across the table at my sister that its time to lock and load. We bribe and scream the kids down from playland, find shoes, catch run-aways, and get out the door without anyone getting run over. Whew. Lock in the now-crying baby (anyone though of changing a diaper in three hours?), pray to God the toddler passes out, slam the last door and climb into the front seat. My sister is not starting the car. She is talking on the phone with her hand over her mouth. My head is pounding, since the noise somehow has followed us into the van. Let's go already!

The vehicle is not starting when she turns the key.

I'll just let that sink in.

The van is not starting.

I am serious. I think about running away and hoping for the best for her. I'm sure she'll forgive me eventually. She always wanted a bunch of kids. This would be like the ultimate mom test. I should let her have it.

RUN AWAY I tell myself.

I try my cell. The battery is dead. Maybe I better not run far. Hey. There are two cop cars in the parking lots with us, lights flashing. Again, WHERE ARE WE? Just as I think that maybe they could help, the cop cars leave. Okay, lets see, tow truck across the street. I run across and they are busy towing cars, as any idiot can see. But just call this number and they'll get someone out to jump us in no more than 45 minutes. Dodging traffic back across the street, my sister and I yell across the seat that maybe the kids should go back in and play while she figures this out. Kill me now. I don't care who gets mom of the year.

I get away with just taking six inside. But something has happened. Its now dinnertime. There is no place to sit, no more room for shoes. There are at least 30 kids screaming in Spanlish running wild. Within the next hour, things went bad. Tate and his cousin set off the alarm, which blares for 15 minutes. I act like I don't know them. Mike smashes his face somehow and screams and cries for his mom forever. Lacey, the one with her own opinions thank you, repeatedly informs me that she would go outside, get the credit card, and order dinner for us. I almost lost her several times before I took to blocking the door with my body and just yelling from the sidelines -- like all the other dazed and stressed out parents -- at my kids to stop hitting that kid, get off that kid, stop kicking those kids, don't push on the alarm anymore it wasn't funny the first time, don't steal the ball from that baby, for crying out loud don't push him!! etc...

I finally see two brothers-in-law outside working on the van. I pound desperately on the glass, and they wave and smile. Not funny.

We did eventually fix the van, we all got dinner at a sticky table, and started for home, exhausted. Not a mile away, lights are flashing behind us. Becky pulls into a parking lot and just sits there, like she is bored. Like, don't you want to get out your license and papers? Act contrite? Nope. License is expired... and come to think of it, I never got around to getting the title to the van put in my name. Are you kidding me?

Again, letting this sink in.

I should've run away when I had the chance. Now we'll be in jail for the night.

The officer for some reason doesn't ask for her license or registration. She is not even impressed.
When we finally get to the gas station where I left my Honda to ride with her, it is way dark and closed up. But.... what is that little light shining from inside the car? Is my DOME LIGHT ON????

Yes, it is. Luckily, by now its all just funny.

New Year's Resolutions

1. Play more.
2. Be aware of where money goes AFTER I spend it. Do the businesses/people I do business with spend that money directly against what I stand for? If so, do I care more about saving a nickel or my own convinience? Could I possibly go without? (gasp!!!) Hmmmmm (that wasn't a retorical question. We really will have to wait and see!)
3. Be nice to Chris. All the time. Even though he gets it when I'm not. After 11 years, lets surprise him.

Christmas Picture

Merry Christmas 2008!

Great Christmas Song

Ok, just for total fun, this song will make you smile over and over and over and over...

The group is Straight No Chaser and it looks like they are some sort of college mens group. Just don't wander around youtube unsupervised!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Fe11OlMiz8

Woodworking

It is way after dark, it is way below freezing, but my husband is outside. I can hear the saw. He recently remembered he likes to do woodworking. Who knew? I thought I married Mr. Urban. Nope. His mother once claimed the handsome TV cabinet in her living room was made by the high school version of Chris -- never met that skinny baseball player. I admit I have been a doubter. But maybe... Within the last month, he has made a bike rack (two boys somehow have about 7 bikes. I think Becky leaves her extras here, I'm not sure. Maybe my kids are thieves. Need to look into that); fixed a wooden picnic table; made two wood ricks (racks?); and.... drum roll please....... my very own, sliding doors, dual compartment, shoulder height COMPOST BINS!! Yeah! I guess me throwing veggies and egg shells out the kitchen door wasn't working for him anymore. Now I can compost like a pro. The current project is some sort of storage cabinet for the guest room. I'll keep you posted. I admit, having a husband who fights fires at work and makes things with his own two hands on his days off (after a full day of "Homeschool Dad" while I work) makes me want to put on lipstick and fix him hot chocolate. Gotta run!

(I will get pictures soon, but my trusty camera died. I buried it. If you want to get us something for Christmas, that would be it!)

Half Marathon

Well I ran 13.1 miles. Not fast. Nike won't be calling. But I did it! Everyone is already asking when I'll do the full marathon. I guess whenever I can figure out how to get all those hours of practice to work WITH my family. They are totally supportive, but it is just too much time away from them. I am not giving up, but I'd rather wait until they are on their own or have them run with me. I can only have them around for so long, and its already going way too fast (unlike my mile time!). My brother also ran his first marathon today. He did incredible, and BOTH of us reached our goals! Yes!! I guess I need to find another high energy burning hobby that we can do with the boys. Any suggestions?

Boys.. love 'em or at least don't get peed on

Here is the problem. Life is so funny I end up telling Chris all these hilariously true stories and I forget to write them down. Or video them. Like Tate used to have no front teeth, and he gets so giggly when I read funny books, I was going to video him so I could watch it over and over for years to come.... but I got busy laughing and forgot to video. And now his HUGE rabbit-sized adult teeth have come in and all I can think about are how much braces are going to cost us. He still laughs with his whole face, but I'll never get those gummy smile days back. And Sam did this goofy, grinny, little "hi mommy, how did you sweep?" voice in the mornings, and so I made sure the video camera had batteries, but he woke up recently and the little voice is gone. I could've cried. Now its, "The sun is up and I'm hungry." Still good, but where is the blankie-dragging baby? All that about "they grow up so fast" .... I know I will not be able to breathe if Sam ever starts saying "three" correctly. Its still "free," as in "No, I am not four, I think I am free, or maybe six, I don't wemembah." I tried to shove Sam into size 4 footsie pjs last night, but he is just too big. I was starting to panic, pushing his shoulders down and forcing the zipper. He said, "Mom, I think I am just too big for these. I can borrow bubba's." I wanted to scream: "No way mister, you are MY TINY BABY, wemembah?"

But then we also have days like Thursday....

I taught at the college, did one last workout before my half-marathon tomorrow (which we will never speak of again if Micah beats me) and drove home before dark. I was tired, looking forward to egg nog, snuggling time and microwave dinner. As I drove up, I noticed Chris on the roof, putting up a 12x15 tarp. I guess our indoor Niagara Falls days are coming to a close. But its not supposed to rain for days.... After I parked, I heard a booming voice, not exactly friendly, from above: "Sammy peed on the dog. You need to deal with it." As I stood in the driveway, bags in hand, I considered this greeting. Then I heard the dog whimpering from the backyard (she is an inside dog). I yelled up at Chris to come and talk to me for a minute, but he just said, "You need to talk to your kid.... And wash that dog." Then he stomped back over the eave and disappeared.

Tate was jumping on the trampoline, with Sam no where in sight. Tate informed me that Sam was grounded forever and asked if I wanted details. I should've said no. He was good for the play-by-play recap; I almost think he may have rehearsed it:
"Okay, we were jumping together like this (he jumps to show me what he means) and then Dana was under the trampoline down there (he point down as he jumps) and then she came out to chew her bone right there (he points to the NW side, next to the trampoline, still jumping), and then Sam stopped jumping (Tate suddenly stopped, very dramatically) and said 'I am going to pee on Dana now.' (Tate lets his jaw drop as he shakes his head, to demonstrate that he is very upset by this development) and then he just walked to the edge, pulled his pants down and peed on the dog (he points again to the crime scene) and then as Dana started walking away, Sam peed harder and got her more wet." Tate waits to see if I will laugh or cry. I am determined to not show any more emotion concerning Sam and urine. It only seems to encourage him. We have to get to the bottom of this.....

So far, besides the soccer field public peeing incident last spring and the unfortunate Mother's Day extended-family-gathering incident on The Rib Crib's front walk, we've had to endure other urine-related offenses. He peed on Tate's favorite stuffed dog in retaliation for a petty offense, and has aimed at innocent plastic army men when he lost them in a battle. Also, this is really unbelievable, he peed on Tate after he lost a heated verbal exchange. (Although, it is frustrating to argue with Tate. You always loose.) In general, he seems to be missing that part of the brain that warns us that peeing on a person to show dominance in not an accepted practiced in the human race.

Back to the present smelly situation.... Dana was not a stuffed animal, plastic army guys, or even a person who so easily fits into our built-in shower and can shampoo himself. This is my 60+ lb very hairy friend. And all I could think of was that only 72 hours earlier, Sam had been by my side as we washed her. I seemed so ironic......

Monday after work, Dana was certifiably stinky. I had been waiting for the weather to warm a bit to hose her outside. But after a week, I couldn't take another minute. So I gathered up shampoo, wash cloths, conditioner, six full-sized towels, a hair dryer and went to our never-used upstairs guest shower/tub. Never mind its reserved for guests and leaks through the floor somehow (we just try and not think about the water stained ceiling mostly), I'd already determined that the shower stall downstairs was just too tiny. What could I do? It was below 40, and to pay the groomer was over $50, plus I can't get her into a car. Literally. But Sam said he would help. Great. He stood in the tub and waited for her entrance. Long story short(er).... Chris ended up having to get the rope and pull her, choking and gasping, into the bathroom. She's never even been in there before! I had to push her into the tub, and Sam held the rope. We locked the door behind her. I didn't want to clog the drain, so I told Sam to try and pull off wet black hair and set it on the side of the tub. Which is also black. Sam didn't mind, but he was pulling too hard and hurting her. She was miserable. And my "don't worry honey I won't let even one hair go down the drain and Sam will help me" plan of setting the hair on the side of the tub wasn't really working. It was sticking everywhere except the tub: Sam's face, arms, clothes, head.. And we don't have one of those hand-held things, so to wash her I had to position her in the stream of water by shoving her in and holding her down, while Sam, also getting wet, scrubbed. The amount of black hair was staggering. I didn't know how to contain it. But them I had a grand idea -- A lint brush! I keep them everywhere, but the only one I wanted to send my little hairy wet guy to retrieve was in my car. So while he ran down, I held Dana. When he returned and handed it to me, I loosened my grip in order to turn and figure out where to start rolling, and she made a break... one jump out of the tub, slipping on the tile, banging into the cabinet, crashing into the door, slamming a large wet dog print on the hallway wall and tripping and dripping down our carpet stairs. Then she did it..... she shook over and over and over and over and over.... all over downstairs, running in mad circles as she did. Tate screamed and went into the bedroom, locking himself away. Chris was still on the roof, looking to never be seen again. Sam was singing upstairs, back in the shower, I guess no longer on the "help mom wash the dog committee." I tripped back upstairs and grabbed the towels and hairdryer, and went downstairs to at least fix my terrified dog. The house will be..... ignored until no children or large animals live here. 30 minutes later, I had a glossy, show-ready puppy, asleep on my bed, content and warm. ....... Ahhhhh, now time for egg nog.

Where is Sam? OH NO!! The water was still running upstairs! I ran back up and there SWAM Sam, in black, hairy, chunky, smelly DEEP and wavy water, still clothed, joyfully kicking as hard as he could, flinging black hair and murky water all over the entire bathroom.

I think the dog has been easier to keep clean this week, even after two showers. Luckily, on Thursday the dog shampoo and lint brush were still in the upstairs bathroom.