WHAT. A. DAY.

I had the kind of day one just can’t NOT blog about. It’s a nice example of EVERY DAY I’ve been having for the last 3 months of my life.

TODAY 1.15.2013

I woke up to Starling speaking Spanish into his phone and an explosion against my bedroom wall. After officially WAKING up and becoming coherent, I realized the dude working on our fireplace was chopping up stones and hammering them into the mortar or something loud like that. Before 8 in the morning.

My newest addition, Boeing, was lying beside me kicking ferociously while grunting. ‘I did NOT wake up all night and change him,’ I realized. ‘I unconsciously fed him ALL night, though, so I don’t completely suck,’ I rationalized. ‘Just half way.’ I commissioned Brooklyn, who had emerged from her “big girl bed” that she is BRIBED to sleep in with chocolate “kitty-kats” even though the bed is a mere three feet from OUR bed, to get me a diaper for the baby. Brooklyn obliged. I wasn’t wearing my contacts and Brighton destroyed my new pair of glasses, SO I blindly unsnapped Boeing’s clothes. Since I am SERIOUSLY sight impaired, I had to stick my face like three inches from Boeing’s bottom to SEE what I was doing. I unsnapped the diaper and very CAREFULLY opened it. Immediate regret. Pee shot me RIGHT in the dang eye. NOT kidding. The boy’s got stream and he’s got AIM. I closed it and waited. NOT long enough. The boy’s got a LOOOONG pee. I waited a LOOONG time and finally peeked and dodged. Safe. I changed his diaper and removed his clothing so I could wet wipe wash him. Yeah. Don’t judge. One gets lazy with number 3. Heck I was lazy with number 1.  ANYWAY- he had poop on his shoulder. Not up his back… just chillin up there on his shoulder. I finally got him all cleaned up and dressed.

“All clean buddy!” I told him, feeling quite accomplished. AS he projectile vomited ALMOST simultaneously DRENCHING me. Him. My bed. Awesome. JUST awesome. So I REPEATED, and only half heartedly, the wipe down. Oh. And had to RE-FEED him because we were all wearing the gallon of MILK he previously drank.

While I fed him Brighton woke up. So much for getting ready before all three kids got up. Brooklyn and Brighton climbed all over me and Boeing for the duration of the feeding. I hate being touched after about 5 continuous minutes of fingers poke, poke, poking me. Well really five seconds, but I LOSE it when it doesn’t STOP. And it never stops. My kids would love nothing more than for me to lay on the ground and have no toys. Just me. On the ground so they could just poke, poke, poke me.

 So my nerves were completely shot before I even got OUT of bed and put in my contacts.

So then I spend half a decade feeding my children breakfast. I still hadn’t even gotten to PEE at this point. Then of course after they finished eating breakfast the “I needs” start. Chocolate milk. Well, I let them have some after breakfast EVERYDAY. However. We were out of milk. So I did what any self-respecting fed up mom would do after my one year old refused to comprehend the words “I HAVE TO GO TO THE STORE TO GET MORE” and my three year old said, “OKAY! LETS GO!” I grabbed their two sippy cups, pumped milk into both of them, stirred in some Nesley’s and WA-LA!! Chocolate milk.

Jessie, my friend in a very similar canoe with THREE children, (our kids are a week apart) texted me to see if Brooklyn could go over and entertain her 4 year old, to which I was VERY happy to oblige.

I told Starling, who was working on our house all day, that I was running Brooklyn over to the Spiers’ house and Boeing was asleep in the swing. That was the plan. Easy plan.

No. My battery was dead in my van. WHAT?? OH yes. BRIGHTON had turned my overhead lights on and apparently NO adults noticed. So FABULOUS. Starling has to STOP his project to come jump me off. Not so hard, right?

Wrong. HIS vehicle goes ku-put when trying to jump off mine. Double terrific. So Starling has to get his stone layer dude to stop HIS project and come jump me off. Well, because the whole ordeal is taking FOR flippin’ EVER, I get out of my van to go check on the baby. Because, we would have been BACK to my house by that point. He is still swinging. I look out the window. Starling and Milton, who only speaks Spanish, are trying to explain to Brooklyn how to unlock the door. All I can think is "I did NOT pray for patience. WHY is this happening!?" Apparently her ability to follow directions? She gets from me. For a solid ten minutes my three year old wanders aimlessly from one spot to another completely and totally NOT understanding what to push or pull on while my one year old digs out tootsie rolls from the candy stash under the passenger seat.

FINALLY Brooklyn presses the right button and the car is open. I promptly removed my keys so I could load my THEN awake baby who was AGAIN ready to nurse. So I haul ALL my kids a full minute down the road where, instead of dropping Brooklyn, I drag us all in and vent my worldly woes to my friend with a new born stuck on her stomach with one of those carry your baby things, with a one year old pulling chairs up to the cabinet and a four year old having it out with Brooklyn over a mermaid outfit. Lets just say… SHE CAN RELATE. So we had our little moment. That lasted 2 hours. And I got what I needed to get off my chest and left Brooklyn in HER hair so she could get equally woeful.

And then it was lunch time. Back to my house I went to babysit the little girl I babysit four days a week. I tried to keep the kiddos occupied, but Brighton was more interested in watching the completion of the fireplace. When the stone layer would go outside to get something, Brighton would try to hurriedly grab the trowel and get his dig on. It was like policing a kangaroo in a pasture with one foot high barbed wire. He was hopping around me, going under me, etc. It didn’t help that I was trying to nurse Boeing and chase him at the same time without flashing the poor, innocent man who just came to work.

And then, like manna from Heaven, Kaylee showed up to help me with the kids so I could piddle. OH and did I! With Brighton thoroughly occupied- POOR Kaylee’s back- no telling HOW many times she threw him into the air- I washed dishes, put dishes in my finished cabinets! (And really- don’t ask about the cabinets. I would have had them finished BEFORE I ever went into the hospital- but NO- Starling really thought they should be sprayed instead of all brush stroky from my NOT professional painting. So we hired one of my FRIENDS to do it. And he did a pretty good job. The first day. But the second day when he was supposed to FINISH, I don’t know if he got HIGH or just went brain dead, but he went over EVERYTHING he had SPRAYED with a ROLLER and had my cabinets looking like a hot mess straight out of a student hair salon. AND didn’t spray the doors and drawers at ALL. AND even though he said he’d return and FIX the cabinets for the amount we had already PAID him, he won’t return our calls, texts, nada. TOOK that money and RAN with it. So when you see the cabinets that “I” painted and their brush strokes, just DON’T SAY ANYTHING. Its KIND OF a SORE subject). Now finished cabinets is only referring to the part of the cabinets hanging on the wall. I am STILL painting the doors and drawers. And I’ll never finish. BUT I did work on those, also. All while Kaylee held my grunting, farting, little man. Referring to Boeing. Brighton eventually passed out.

And then Susan made us dinner which was divine and I’m fairly certain Brighton hasn’t jumped up and down and said, “BITE! WAN BITE! MINE BITE!” that fast ever before. Definitely broke a record.

We tried to get the kids to WIND down after dinner and let us take a bubble bath to ease our tired muscles. Yeah. You should see us take a bubble bath. Starling and I in tub. Brooklyn and Brighton hopping up and down beside tub, laying over the side of the tub playing with bath toys, asking every five seconds, “Are ya done yet? Is it cooled down enough for us to get in yet?” So after about five minutes we are like, “YES. We are DONE. YES you can get in now.” And Brighton readily hands us a towel before we can even ask. And Boeing takes the ONLY opportunity I MIGHT would have to just VEGGITATE for JUST a second while the kids are playing in the tub, to get famished.

And can he just EAT and be done? No, no. Even though I can pump TWO sippy cups full of milk in ten minutes, Boeing- who only drinks like 2 oz at a time- supposedly, takes FOR. EVER. TO. EAT. It’s like watching grass grow. He takes a sip. Rests. Falls asleep. Has to take a poo. Takes another sip. Chokes. Unlatches. Milk shoots him all in the face, his eyes, up his nose. He starts sneezing. Relatches. And when I think he is FINALLY done I burp him. And then try to put him on the other side. NOPE. He’s good. So I lay him down. He’s asleep, after all. NOPE. Got the poops again. And this time he needs help. Its stuck. So I get to bounce him for twenty minutes until he’s about exploded my arm off with grenade powered gas and singed my nose hairs from stench of rotten egg, and I lay him back down. OH WAIT! NOOOOWW he’s ready to nurse the OTHER boob.

SOOOOOOOOOO glad I can blog again.

The Attack!

The Attack!

It’s 4:44 a.m. I am awake because I can’t sleep.

I had a girl’s night with some of my friends and we ended our time together talking about ghosts. WHY we got off on that tangent is beyond me, but we DID. And if it hadn’t been after 1 a.m., then we would have changed the subject, and I would probably have forgotten all about the matter and NOT dreamt about ghosts. BUT, everyone was like “it’s after 1! We HAVE to go!”

I climbed into my cozy bed next to Brighton. Brooklyn was next to Starling. (I was actually shocked to see Brooklyn in bed at all because I left her NAPPING at 8:30p.m. and she’d been asleep since 5p.m. I assumed she would be wide awake). I fell asleep quickly, exhausted from a looong day.

I dreamt I was with my girl friends shopping in Florida. One of the girls had her three kids in her Suburban. One of the kids got sick and so I offered to take the other two kids shopping with us while she took her sick kid back to the hotel. My friend said, “Take the Suburban and I’ll take your car.” (Because, in my dream I was in my car without my children. None of us had kids with us except this one girl). My other girl friend climbed into the passenger seat and we headed off with the two kids. I noticed the kids looked terrified. I assumed it was because they didn’t know me. (I met the mother of the kids for the first time in my dream. And she isn’t a real person that I know in real life, either. Just some random girl and her three random children. Visiting me in a dream). When we got to the first thrift store, the kids practically jumped into my arms out of the van. Confused by this, I carried the little two year old boy and held hands with the little girl that was four. The kids were fine. They didn’t get antsy until we had to get back into the Suburban. The little one started to whimper and the oldest one started wringing her hands.

I buckled up the baby and shut the door. The baby started screaming. I looked at the six year old. Her eyes were wide with terror. “What’s wrong??” I asked her.

“Get him out! Get him out!”

My friend and I exchanged panicked expressions and I tried to open the door. All the doors locked with a loud click and I couldn’t open the door.

I looked back at the girl who was SHRIEKING, “Oh no! Oh no! Its going to get my brother!”

And my friend and I were banging on the doors, yanking them, crying, and an evil feeling came over me and I couldn't save the kid.

In real life, lying in my bed, my heart rate was increasing. I was getting short of breath. And suddenly I felt a presence loom over me and then a physical body lie across my chest. My eyes slammed open and I couldn’t move my arms because I was being held down.

I let out the “ahhhhhhh.” (You know the one. The precursor to the full fledged AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!). Starling, hearing the panic in my voice, sat up on the other side of the bed. “What’s wrong? What is WRONG?” I wanted to say, “I’m being held down by an evil spirit! I can’t move!” But all that came out was, “Ahhh!! Ooooeeek!”

And just when I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest, a little voice whispered, “I’ve got you, Mommy. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I would have jumped at the voice, but I couldn’t move.

Then I realized that the physical being holding me down was, indeed, a Physical. Being. It was Brooklyn. Starling was still staring at me asking, “What is happening?”, when Brooklyn finished climbing over me and took her place on the edge of the bed. I gulped in air like a drowning cat, sputtering out words.

“I-I… Brooklyn just… I’m okay.” So Starling asked NO questions, flopped over and was asleep before his head landed with a thud on the pillow. Brooklyn pulled my arms all the way around her and kept saying, “It’s alright, Mommy. I’ve got you. I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” And I really felt a peace come over me like I had my little guardian angel chasing off the remnants of that awful dream. After a moment, I lifted my arm to my forehead. Suddenly little hands gripped my arm, and YANKED it back down. I jumped, still jittery.

“I’m sorry, Mommy. Don’t worry. Your arm almost got away, but I saved it. I’ll protect you.” So I didn’t move again until 4:42 when I thought my bladder might burst. I thought I’d sneak out of Brooklyn’s iron grip, but she was just laying there awake, still guarding me. Charkley was lying sound asleep on the other side of Brooklyn. He was sleep- whimpering. I touched him, going to shake him awake, but instead he yelped and jumped. I wonder what HE was dreaming.  

“I have to pee,” I explained. She nodded and whispered, “Me too.”

So we got up. Charkley beat us to the bedroom door. I made my way to let Charkley outside and Brooklyn fetched her “stomp” (which normal people refer to as a stool). She used her stool to turn on the hall light, her bedroom light, the bathroom light, the living room, and both kitchen lights. And after we peed, Brooklyn said, “Mommy, I’m getting hungry.” So I heated her up some spaghetti-o’s at her request and now she is giving her hands “a bubbly bath. Just a little one.” While singing at the top of her lungs. At least I didn’t send her to the master bath. Maybe Starling isn’t being disturbed too terribly.

 And I know that Brooklyn is up for the day. But what about ME? I had a whopping 3 hrs of sleep! (Day two of getting up this early, mind you. Last night Brighton woke up at 4:20 in the morning crying about who knows what. I gave him Tylenol and chocolate milk to get him back to sleep. But once I’m up digging around in the medicine cabinet and the fridge, I have an impossible time falling back to sleep). But I think I’ll at least give it a try. But if I find another kid trapped in a vehicle, I’m giving UP on sleep indefinitely.  

Preschool Day 1- Hurricane

August 23, 2012

Well, I finally got off my lazy tortoise and started preschool with Brooklyn again. (We did some preschool before all the kids got out for summer vacation, but with all the rig-i-miro, WE sToPped). NOW- it’s back to the fun of learning. After attending an AMAZING home-school conference in Virginia, starting back is EXCITING- not TERRIFYINGLY dreadful.

Brooklyn and Brighton LOVE learning! (Brooklyn likes to learn how things are put TOGETHER… Brighton likes to learn how fast he can destroy whatever it is we are working on. Brighton, so far, is a DANG quick learner)!

Since I found out we have a tropical storm coming that may turn into a hurricane (yesterday- better late than never), I decided that we should learn about hurricanes. Brooklyn has already learned about “cumulonimbus clouds” and really enjoys storms now. (She used to be terrified). So I looked up some fun facts for kids on the good ole’ GOOGLE and she gleefully listened while I told her about how hurricanes are formed. (Of course, the MAIN thing she got from my little lecture was not from me. It was this little simulation on the website showing water rise up over the land and push a house away. SO. “Brooklyn, what is a hurricane?” Excitedly, “It’s a GREAT big STORM that moves like THIS (swirling motions with the arms in a giant circle). It’s in the OCEAN! And it pushes HOUSES DOWN!” OH WELL. I guess that is part of it). THEN, we did a science experiment.

I have to tell you, my LEAST favorite part of school was science class and ESPECIALLY the lab. I didn’t mind the actual LAB, I suppose, I just CAN NOT follow a set of directions. (The same reason why cooking is beyond my capabilities. I can NOT follow directions)! So setting up this ONE step project to simulate a hurricane was actually CHALLENGING for ME. I think the details about how to duct tape the straw onto the glass 9x13 pan were a little TOO detailed. (The directions were 8 sentences long. Why didn't it just say- "Duck tape straw to side of dish."?) And I still don’t know if I taped it on right. They should have shown a dang picture. But it worked for us! (Mostly).

It also gave us an excuse to go OUTSIDE and wear swimsuits so we could get WET! (Because you expect to get wet when playing in a hurricane).

I showed Brooklyn how to “create wind” by blowing in the straw. If it’s a little wind, it makes a little storm. But if it’s a great BIG WIND, it makes a HURRICANE. Then I let her blow. (And then we put a little doll in front of the straw to blow her away. Just for fun).

It was hard to observe from her stand point AT the straw. I took pictures so she could SEE the hurricane she created. She was, of course, ECSTATIC! (And she made hurricanes until her face turned blue. And then she started wanting to make hurricanes in other places- like her kiddie pool. And of course I’m like- SUPER! Go ahead! Learn away! She hasn’t asked to watch the t.v. NOT once)!

And my major concern with homeschooling has never been Brooklyn. It’s been BRIGHTON. What to do with that little booger head while I’m trying to teach Brooklyn? Well- he loved making hurricanes just as much as Brooklyn. Every time Brooklyn would BLOW, Brighton would laugh until tears streamed down his face. Then HE wanted to blow. And he “blew” as HARD as he could. Too bad he doesn’t know how to blow. He sucked up half of our experiment and choked. BUT. He's learning!

And the cutest thing was Brooklyn's excitement in SHARING her experiment with her Daddy as soon as he walked through the door.

   

After we had fun playing/drinking our experiment, I shuttled Brighton off to the Night-Night for a nap so Brooklyn and I could focus on letters. She already knows all of her letters and the sounds they make from our previous schooling. NOW we are learning to READ. We bought the Your Baby Can Read ages ago and that's what I was using for her "schooling" but I really don't think its a great program. At. All. So I use the flash cards for FUN but not as my curriculum. (I'm actually not following a curriculum. I'm doing what makes sense to ME).

I bought a bunch of wood letters for $3 a while back so that we could spell as MANY words as we wanted. (We were using blocks but its very frustrating to turn the thing over to see FOUR sides to find a letter you are looking for. THEN have to destroy words to make new words. This is heartbreaking to my VERY O.C.D. child. "Don't BREAK my NA-AME!"). So, now we have gobs of every letter. And, as with EVERYTHING I teach, there is a song involved. We are working on the word AT. (Not a hard word. Not a fun word? WELL). Here is my song. (Watch out. Its very complicated and difficult to learn). "If you have the word AT (pause) and you want to make RAT?" and then Brooklyn finds the appropriate letter and sings, "You add an R!" "If you have the word AT- and you want to make CAT?" "Add a C!" And we made Mat, Fat, Cat, Bat, Rat, Hat, Mat, Nat, Pat, Sat. NOW- in THEORY- Brooklyn should be able to READ those words. I'm sure it'll take a minute. But I'm patient. ;-(actually that is a blatant LIE, but I am WORKING on being patient). And I'm not stressed about Brooklyn's schooling as of yet. She is three. I just have to know that "I" can teach and be a patient, loving human being before I commit to homeschooling my beloved hulligans. 

After "I" tired of letters (because Brooklyn NEVER does), we moved onto numbers. Brooklyn loves numbers, also. She can count to ten in Spanish and twenty in English. BUT recognition of numbers, NOT so great. So I started with number 4 (bc 1, 2, and 3 she recognizes fine), and said, "TODAY our SPECIAL number is FOUR! Find me the number four!" She brought me the four out of her number puzzle and the four from her magnets. 

"Okay. We have to find FOUR of something. I need YOU. To bring ME... FOUR CARS as FAST as you CAN!" Giggling she brought me four monster trucks. (Eh- we'll leave her learning of automobiles up to her Daddy). Then we did our math lesson as follows.

"If you have FOUR trucks on top of the piano bench and one drives off, HOW many are left?" She drove one off and yelled "THREE!" And I clapped and said, "That's RIGHT! Four minus ONE equals THREE!" And she looked at me like I was speaking French, but smiled and nodded, "Your right, Mommy!" And we continued adding and subtracting trucks.

AND I actually have MORE free time doing school with her. After each "lesson," for lack of a better word, I wander off to work on other things and let her free play with her newly learned idea. She and Brighton played SO well together with the hurricane left overs. (Seriously. I would never have thought duct taping a straw to a cake pan and filling it with water would allow me two HOURS of free time). Granted they weren't playing "hurricane" the whole time, but who CARES? And Brooklyn played with the letters for a good thirty to fourty-five minutes after I was sick of playing with them. And she was still making words. And she never plays with Brighton's trucks- but BOY- she drove them off the piano bench and back up the piano bench at least fifty times. And she's happy because she's got LOTS of one on one attention with Mom, and she's not bored. So, I'll say, First day of Preschool? Success!  

Brighton's first words...

Two weeks ago Brighton was only making noises.

“What’s a horsey say?” And he’d say, “EEE-ha-ha” and “Brrr.”

“What’s a rooster say?” “er-er-er-er-WOO!”

“What’s a monster say?” “ARRRRRRRRRGHGHGHGH!!!!” (By far his favorite noise to make).

He could say a few words- car, Paw Paw, Da da, Ma Ma, GO!, Bye Bye, uh-oh, ca-at (which he calls our rabbits), Cha-Chak (Charkley), hot!, and he’d express everything else he wanted/didn’t want with a powerful scream that communicated his point. PERFECTLY.    

Last week? Wa-la. He decided to OPEN his mouth and SPEAK. He shocked us one day when we DRUG him inside SCREAMING. (That isn’t the part that shocked us. That is ALWAYS his reaction to coming INSIDE. He would rather have been born a dog… a horse, a goat, an earth worm that spends its days crawling through mud.... And live outside. No tent. Just OUTSIDE). It was also NOT shocking when he THREW himself against the closed door and stretched his little arm up to the door knob and attempted to open it, getting more and more frustrated by the second. What SHOCKED us is when he yelled at us angrily, “WAN Fo-gi-ga! Wan FO-gi-ga!” That probably sounds like pure gibberish to you. BUT, to the expert ear of a parent of BRIGHTON, we immediately said, “You want the four-wheeler?”

He gave a nod that nearly toppled his head off his little neck. Starling opened the door (because who can resist a little dude’s FIRST spoken request??) and Brighton tripped three times RUNNING to the four wheeler. He was on it in less than two seconds yelling, “Wan RI-IDE!” Starling took him riding. At eleven thirty at night. (Our neighbors LOVE us. Really).

Perhaps he liked the reaction he got from us when he talked. Later that night when I tried to get him to lie down REPEATEDLY, (to which he kept refusing), Brighton finally yelled, “Wan Boot-lan!” So I let him go and he grinned as he tackled Brooklyn and climbed in the bed next to her, pulling the covers up to his chin.

Last night he pointed to one of Brooklyn’s besties and said, “Lay-la!” And Sunday, while we were TRYING to keep his little hyper bootie on the PEW instead of climbing the stairs in the front of the congregation, he kept reaching towards the back pleading, “El-das! Wan el-das!” (The missionaries live in our apartment behind our house. They have completely won my children over with popsicles and other treats they bring them. Brighton ALWAYS wants to escape Ma Ma in refuge of elders that play with him outside and push him around in his cars).

Today he kept telling me, “Ma MA! Wan ou-side!” and “Wan wa-da.” (Which translates to “want water.” And he didn’t mean to drink. He said this while being pulled OFF the bathroom sink where he had CLIMBED and was PLAYING in the “wa-da”). So that’s awesome that he’s decided to talk. EXCEPT, I am left wondering, WHY can he say “four-wheeler,” a word I have NEVER tried to teach him, but he REFUSES to say the word PLEASE, which I chant to him about 678 times. A DAY! When I say slowly and very articulately, “Pu-leeeeeeeese?” He cocks his head and laughs at me. Sometimes he’ll humor me and whisper, “puh. Puh. Puh.”

Brooklyn certainly tries to help him talk. She always prays that he’ll learn to talk. (Although she might regret that. Especially if he talks a fragment amount of how much SHE talks).

UGH! I must get the kiddos to bed. Brooklyn just ran to me in a panic and said, “Mommay! My eyes are turning BLACK!” I suppressed a laugh and told her to HURRY and get to bed and I’d come get her ready.

My little angel takes EVERYTHING so literal. When she doesn’t want to go to bed, I tell her, “We HAVE to go to sleep. If we don’t go to sleep we’ll get big, black bags under our eyes!” Which is the truth. She WIGS out at the thought of it, though, and it makes her go to sleep.

She just ran to tell Starling her eyes are turning black and we have to go to bed NOW. And she also ran to the back door because the missionaries just left and she wanted to go tell THEM her eyes are turning black. And Brighton is tripping backwards trying to get away from me because I asked him if he needs a bum bum change. I’m surprised he didn’t yell, “NEVER!!” back at me. Maybe tomorrow.  

The New Daddy

Today was just too disturbing and/or funny not to blog about. Sooo Starling and I took the kids to Louisiana to look at a little Maxima that Starling wanted to flip. He decided the car’s ailments were within his expertise, so he purchased it and was driving it home. He pulled over on the interstate to clean his windshield so he could see. (It was covered in white shoe polish saying ‘for sale’ and blab la). I pulled over behind Starling since I’m not brave enough to drive home without following him. (BEcause I still occasionally get lost driving to Petal).

Brooklyn was extremely fearful for her father’s safety. Cars were driving by him and she was about to have a panic attack. Finally, Starling finished his window washing, opened his car and ZOOM! An 18-wheeler passed.

“MOMMAY! Did DADDY just get runned over by a CAR?!” I was only half paying attention, using the moment of being parked to return a cuzillion text messages.

“No, honey.”

Well we continued on the road, singing “If You’re Happy and You Know It Clap Your Hands,” “Hi, My Name is Joe,” “Rudolph,” “Jingle Bells,” etc. Brooklyn was belting out the words with gusto and Brighton couldn’t stop giggling and shouting Hooo-Waaa, throwing his hands in the air even though we were long done with “Shout Hurray!”- that being part of the FIRST song we sang. (Better slow than never I say).

Brighton let out a soft Hurrah, then slumped over in his car seat unconscious. I turned my mirror to Brooklyn, who moments earlier had been ecstatic and merrily singing. I noticed her face was scrunched up in thought and she looked rather melancholy.

“What’s up, Brooklyn?” I asked her.

“Well, Daddy got runned over by a car and so that I am sad. But, well… I’m not crying. But my daddy is just runned over right now.”

 Bewildered at her little comment, I ask, “He got run over? Well where is he?”

“Well, just- he is gone. He got runned over by a car to go live with Jesus and that he’s not okay. He’s just gone.”

“How awful! You don’t seem too upset. What are we going to do without our Daddy?”

This perplexed her greatly. But finally she sighed.

“Well. But we have to go to Wal-Mert to get a new Daddy.”

My eyes bulged and I suppressed a giggle.

“What kind of Daddy will we get at Wal-Mart?”

“Well, I’ll just have to ask one of my friends at Wal-Mert to let me have their Daddy.”

“Which friend’s Daddy do you want to be your new Daddy?”

She thought long and hard.

“Well, I’m just going to ask Alayna’s Daddy to be my new Daddy.” (Alayna is Brooklyn’s cousin. Her daddy, Eric, is about as close to a clone of Starling as you can get). I tried not to cackle.

“Can you just call Eric so I can ask him that my Daddy got runned over and he can be my new Daddy?”

I called STARLING and said, “Hey- Brooklyn’s DADDY got hit by a car and she wants to ask uncle ERIC a question.” Giggling I handed the phone to Brooklyn. Not once did she consider the person on the other line to be her ACTUAL dad. Nope; she was talking to Eric and that was that. She told him ALL about how her daddy got “runned” over and that “she was sad but NOPE- not crying.”

Starling said, “Well, your Daddy can get fixed in the hospital and…”

Her face fell and she slung the phone at me. “Uncle Eric doesn’t WANT to be my new daddy.”

I hung up with Starling and said, “Don’t you want Daddy to get better?”

Brooklyn's arms flung to her sides and she yelled utterly destraught, “YES! I do want him to be my Daddy and get better. BUT HE CAN’T! He GOT. runned OVER. by a CAR!” As in DUH mom! Are you an idiot or are you an idiot??

She fell asleep and I had to meet someone at The Barn to sell something for $75 and then fill up my van at the gas station for $65. (I love making that dough). I had a meeting at the church, so I drug two sleeping kids out of the van and made them walk.

When I finally got Brooklyn to walk KIND of in the right direction, more TOWARDS the church and not toward the random field to the side, I footballed Brighton under my arm and we made our way through the doors. Every person that Brooklyn knows had to hear about her daddy getting hit by a car. People's reactions varied, but they were ALL video worthy. Wide eyes, dropped mouth, immediate gasp and turn to me. (My smirk was probably confusing to them).

Someone asked her, “Well where did he go?”

Exasperated, she proclaimed, “We can’t FIND our FRICKIN’ Daddy ANYWHERE!” Yikes! I’ve never heard her say freakin before and it sounded AWFUL coming out of those tiny, innocent lips. And that is a SENTENCE that’s exited my mouth like a thousand times. Yes, I am ALWAYS losing my husband. WHEN we are both home.

Then Eric came through the church doors and, of course, Brooklyn thought she’d called him on my phone. He was clueless. And it was a great interaction of his niece, out of the BLUE, asking him AGAIN to be her new daddy.

She was, no other way to put it, SHOCKED to walk into our house and see her daddy sitting at the computer. She just stood there. Staring. BUT, as soon as Starling spoke to her, she went into a ninety to nothing recount of her time at church and showed him her “treasure” box that she found that she’d left. NOOOO comment about, “OH GOOD! You’re alive!”

Later she climbed on his lap and said, “I really missed you while you were DIED.” 

I’m glad to know parents are so dispensable. I wonder how much they run at “Wal-mert.” I’d be interested in purchasing a parent that likes cooking.  

The Booger and the the Roach

I MAY have mentioned that I enjoy scaring my husband for kicks. WELL, he LOVES to get me back. (Unfortunately for him, I get him at least 5 times as much as he succeeds in getting me).
I’ve been due for one for a while. Especially after I got him the other night.

I was reading to Starling out of Nicholeen Peck’s book, “A House United.” It’s a parenting book that teaches parents how to self govern themselves and teach self governing skills to their children.  ANYWAY- Starling started yawning and declared his self exhausted. So I started turning out lights and made my way toward the bedroom. Starling had some EFY music floating out of the computer. (It’s essentially soft church music). He was sprawled on the couch half-awake, half-asleep listening to it. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, removed my contacts, etc. and Starling STILL wasn’t in our bedroom. Starling was dragging.  Sooo I couldn’t miss an opportunity to lift his heart rate. I turned off our bedroom light and, LEAVING the bedroom, closed the door. I waited in the hallway by the kids’ bedrooms in a monstrous pounce position. And I waited. AND I WAITED. Just when I thought Starling was going to start snoring from the couch I hear him stand up. And to my dismay, this dreadfully exhausted man, picked up his guitar and started strumming in rhythm to the song on the computer. Then he stopped the music and he took over singing and playing the guitar. I plopped down on my butt in the hall wondering HOW long he was going to play. WELL- I’ll tell ya. LIKE 45 MINUTES. So I just sat there waiting (figuring I’d invested this much time into my scare that I couldn’t stop NOW). After Starling went through ten different songs, he finally YAWNED and put the guitar back on its stand.

I groggily lay completely flat on the ground. I was practically asleep by this point. Starling walked in front of me, pausing at our door to EASE it open so as not to wake me. As he turned the knob, I grabbed both his feet while whisper-shouting-moaning in a terrifying voice, “STAAAAAAAAAARLIIIIIIINNNNGGGG!”

He, who had moments earlier been dragging his feet, let out a WHOOP and started high stepping and kicking at the booger wrapped around his legs. I’m a pro, of course, and had already moved out of danger’s way. He flipped on the hall light and grabbed my cackling self. “HOW LONG have you BEEN THERE!?”   

WELL, yesterday Starling made the great attempt to get me back.

I was busily folding clothes. I picked up a pair of jeans and a giant roach leapt out at me. I high stepped it, squealed like a pig, and flung the jeans AND roach across the laundry room. When the roach landed with a thud on its BACK, I realized it was made of rubber. Umm hmm. Starling. I stopped folding laundry, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing I’d found his little surprise.

And even though I know good and well that I DESERVE a startle, I immediately sought revenge. I brought Starling some chips and salsa and we sat down to watch an episode on NetFlix. We were well into the movie. Brooklyn had salsa dripping down her arms, Brighton was standing up in his rocking chair which was threatening to dump him at any moment. Starling was completely focused on the t.v. with his hand in the chip bag. And it was at that moment that Starling found it. “AHHH!!!”
The kids and I looked at him. Brighton started giggling as Starling slung the plastic roach along with the handful of chips he’d grabbed, across the room.

“Took you long enough to find it.” I said. Starling picked the roach up and threw it at me. Brooklyn started screaming, completely clueless that it was a fake roach, yelling, “NoOOO!!! Don’t put it on mommy! Put it in the potty!!!” And Brighton, still giggling, rushed over to the chip bag and grabbed and handful of chips and slung them across the room in the same manner Starling had previously demonstrated.

We had to, of course, pause the movie so I could calm Brooklyn down, as she was crying hysterically because we were touching the roach with our bare hands, and Starling could vacuum. BUT. It was worth it.  

I just thought some of the pictures might sum up my life as the mother of Brighton Johnson.


Trouble.



I left Brooklyn's spagetti o's on the counter while I helped her find her purple princess shoes in her room. (It was of imminent importance. She was stuck only being a "BROOKLYN" until she retrieved her shoes to complete her princess transformation).  Left unsupervised for LITERALLY two minutes TOPS, Brighton found his way to the food. This is where I found him. KIND of to my HORROR. You can see the corner of his high chair, which he shoves around like a carpenter's scaffolding. He mounted the death trap and plopped himself on the edge of the counter to eat some grub. The fact that I haven't had a nervous breakdown is miraculous to me. 

And when I startled him by yelling, "BRIGHTON! What are you DOING?" This is the pic I took. All he said was, "HUH?" (I guess I should be glad he didn't jump and fall off. I didn't think that one through).

I picked him up, put him IN the highchair and let him finish Brooklyn's spaghetti o's. THEN it was, as you can see, BATH time.

Does anyone else have to BATHE their kid EVERYTIME they EAT?

IRONICALLY, I left this blog entry because I heard a HUGE bang. IN the KITCHEN. AND this is what I FOUND. (Since I mentioned me NOT having a nervous breakdown).

You'll notice Brighton doesn't seem too upset that he's covered in blood. That he bit through his bottom lip. Nope. He only got mad that I picked him up off the floor and wouldn't let him climb AGAIN; that I wouldn't let him reach whatever treasure he firmly believed lies on the counter. OH! And I didn't even take a picture of the HUGE knife he retrieved several days ago. (For obvious reasons). He just helped himself to half a tomato and the knife I'd been using to cut the other half. Luckily he let out his PROUD war cry of glee that sent me running. (He's never proud to retrieve rudementary TOYS, or objects that are dull instead of sharp). Woe with me. I better start looking into Major Medical Insurance. AND probabably some long term psychiatric care.