Happy Happy Joy Joy

Last week my husband and I decided to surprise our kids with a trip to Disneyland during the Spring Break week.

And surprised they were.

"Oh my God!" our oldest kept saying. Even with our insisting she say "goodness", she was just too beside herself to adhere to the rules of etiquette. "I can't believe we are going to Disneyland tomorrow!" she exclaimed. And our younger daughter stated "that's the best surprise EVER."

Perhaps we should have just stayed in that blissful state and not actually gone on the trip.

Nah.

So we packed ourselves in the car and made the 8 hour trip down South. Of course not before some last minute panicking to move the trip departure up one day due to some expected rains in Anaheim. But we did make it out of the house at 8am and we were in the Disneyland park before 4pm.

Not bad for our brood.

That first afternoon was a little bit hellish. We were overwhelmed by it all and didn't know where to start. But after lots of sugar snacks and finally getting our oldest on a ride we were all off and running.

We hit as many rides and attractions as we could squeeze into 17 hours in that park. Our 2nd day was by far the most productive as we took on the "divide and conquer" approach and got our oldest on plenty of rides and roller coasters, while keeping the younger ones happy with repeat visits to Buzz Lightyear's ride.

So long as you don't mind eating fried, greasy, sugary or fatty foods and standing in line for about half of your allotted park time (with and without the kids, for your own sanity) then I think you could really spend more time at that park then we allowed. We didn't get to a lot of the rides that would have been fun to visit, but then again, there's always next time.

A couple of the wildest rides for our family took place after we left the park and went back to our hotel. Remember how I mentioned our last minute change to leave a day early? Well that led to us only being able to book a smoking room at our hotel, lest we stay at a different hotel or lose one night's deposit.

Mental note if that ever happens again: we'll just stay at a different hotel and/or lose the money.

Upon walking up to our room our oldest found the right number and said "There it is! But why does it say "smoking" under the number?" I then try to set realistic expectations and say "well it's a room where they allow people to smoke so it will probably smell a little bit..." and then my husband pipes in and says "now we don't know that it'll be bad so don't put that in their heads..." and then we open the door.

"Jesus Christ! That's disgusting!" my husband exclaims. Way to go daddy. Nice management of the expectations.

Immediately I plug in the air freshener that I brought and start burning candles. While we are all adjusting to the overpowering smell and trying to keep in mind that the room really is clean, even if it doesn't smell like it, our daughters start fighting about who gets the sofa bed. Even with a queen size hide-a-bed, the girls don't want to share. Our benevolent middle child volunteers to sleep on cushions on the floor. Meanwhile our son is doing the same thing in the bedroom where we will sleep.

After a brief episode of tears from our younger daughter, while she says over and over "I want to go home", we finally get them all to sleep.

Overtired is understated.

In the morning we all shower and get out of that stinky room as fast as possible. We pack up, leave our stuff at the front desk in anticipation of our non-smoking room for that night, and head to breakfast. As we are leaving the hotel I try to pump everyone into a good mood by saying "Okay guys, today is all about fun. Today is happy happy joy joy! Right!?" and a guy walking past us just smirks as he sees our small army make our way to the land of Mickey.

After a long day of crazy fun, our next wild ride was still ahead of us as we got back to the hotel that night. Again, it was a long, exhausting and overstimulating day, so we were really happy to enter our clean room, that even smelled clean this time.

We start to settle in and I decide to partake in the chocolate chip cookies that the hotel gave us when we checked in. My oldest grabs one and takes a bite, but then says "Yuck! It has nuts!" and puts it down. But my younger two and I decide that the nuts are okay and we munch away.

Almost immediately my son says his upper lip hurts. I figure he must have bit it and I pretty much blow it off, trying to offer him some juice to get his mind off it.

He then says "That doesn't help....see? {insert long sip here} It still hurts!"

Then he starts to really cry. I'm not real sure what's up with him, but I figure he must just be overtired.

Then I see that his upper lip is starting to swell. And the tears won't stop. Then the drool starts running down his chin. When I say "where does it hurt?" he just points to his throat.

Uh-oh.

I now alert the husband and we bring him into the bathroom where I can get a good look at him.

Since my son has so much saliva that's building up in his mouth because he's avoiding swallowing, he can't help but inhale some while he's crying. Which then brings on the gagging. And his upper lip is only getting bigger.

Now panic sets in. I tell my husband that I think he's having a reaction to something. He goes and gets the cookie wrapper and says there are walnuts in the cookies.

Now you should know that my son eats nuts all the time. His favorite drug snack mix has peanuts in it. He's addicted to the stuff.

But then I realize that I don't think he's ever had walnuts. We have a nut mix at home that he eats too, but he sticks to the cashews mostly. And that mix, to the best of my recollection, doesn't have walnuts.

My husband then says "I'm not messing around with this" and he picks up the phone and calls 9-1-1. He explains to the dispatch operator what's going on, making it clear that our son can breathe fine, as evidenced by the persistent crying. But since his lips are getting bigger and the gagging is also persisting, they send out the Calvary.

Then the manager of the hotel meanders up to our room, apparently alerted that we called 911. I tell him the scenario and together we walk down to the lobby with my son to meet the ambulance.

But much to my delight, we are greeted in the lobby by a full size fire truck. Lights spinning, sirens blaring.

By this time my son has calmed down and is in awe of the big fire truck. And I'm feeling a little silly for all of this fuss when he seems to now be getting better, not worse.

Three fire men and a medic come in and take a look at my son.

So you see, it's just another ordinary day for me, hanging out in the lobby of a hotel with a bunch of young fire men.

In the end, he was fine. Lungs were clear and no hives. Just seriously fat lips and a light rash on his face. And of course the throat thing, which seemed to subside pretty fast after he calmed down.

And while all this was going on I couldn't help but think that I always knew our first call to 911 would be because of our son. I just figured it would be because of something he did, not because of something we had any hand in.

The medic offered a shot of benedryll, but I remembered that we had some antihistamine in the room, so we just went back up and gave him some drugs.

It did take about 12 hours for his lips to go back to normal. But the next day, including the car ride home, was relatively uneventful.

And returning to our smoke-free, walnut-free, line-free, low-sugar, high-comfort home after all that craziness was what I would definitely call happy happy joy joy.

Gr8 Expectations

Long time, no write. It seems I'm not finding enough time in my schedule as I'd like to spend on writing. But alas, that can be said for a lot of things. So I'll just be thankful for the little time that I do get. And you be thankful too, okay?

My husband and I have found lately that we seem to have great expectations for the aging process of our children. We want the children to accomplish so much during their growth, and it seems that these things happen much slower than we'd like. For example, cleaning up after themselves. At least some times. Being kind to their siblings. All the time. Being respectful and thankful toward their parents. All the time.

Perhaps we are asking too much? I think so. We are quite anxious to be liberated from our daily woes, that's for sure. Breaking up arguments, correcting behaviors, urgings to say "please" and "thank you", wading through a sea of kid crap scattered about the house.

The sibling rivalries and fights have become quite common lately. But that's really to be expected. We've been breaking up skirmishes so often that we started to ban the words "stop it" from our family vocabularies. We were saying it so much to our kids and they were saying it so much to each other that it was becoming annoying. We said whoever says it has to put money in the proverbial pot (it's definitely proverbial since we haven't heard any clinking of spare change) and my kids were calling my husband and I on it all the time. I think we owe them a few pizzas.

So the other day I switched to "knock it off".

Pretty good, huh? Of course this induced an out of body experience where I became my mother. I could hear her voice so clearly, even though the last time she uttered that phrase was probably over 20 years ago.

We just want them to all get along. Is that too much to ask? And to clean up after themselves, and follow directions, and be grateful for their plentiful lives.

Okay, I guess that is too much to ask. But we are asking for it anyway, hoping that it will sink in eventually.

And the one who is taking the brunt of most of this is our oldest. Being that she is indeed the oldest of the crew, we expect her to be the one that shows more respect and gratitude. The one that follows directions the first time we ask. The one that actually does clean up after herself. Without asking.

That last one is just not in her DNA it seems. But I'm willing to remind her plenty when her life seems to have strewn itself across her bedroom floor.

And now I'm using the "I expect more from you" speeches. The other day she as in the bathroom with her sister and she just couldn't or wouldn't stop bugging her. I had to step in and point the finger in her face. I'm sure I was turning a shade of purple as I let her have it.

She stomped off and went to her room. I followed her in there and she was under the covers reading a book, even through we were on our way out the door to school. I tried to apologize for being so harsh, and I tried to be empathic with her frustrations. Something must have made her feel better, because even though she uttered the "nobody loves me" phrase that I've been hearing a lot more of lately, she got up and moved through the rest of the morning.

And in case you are wondering, yes, I did tell her that she is very loved. By all of us. And I told her that even when we are yelling at each other we still love each other. And all of that good stuff.

But what I really wanted was to say is...don't you get it? YOU ARE THE ONE. You are the first one that will show us that we are doing all of this for good cause. The one that will light the way for the others. The one that will lighten our load.

But I didn't.

Thank goodness.

And truthfully she is helping us see the wonders that exist in childhood and parenting. She is living proof that we are doing a good job.

So I've decided that we really need to stop asking for so much. We should back off a bit on the lectures. Even the minor ones that just involve a finger in the face and the "I expect more from you" speeches.

She gets it. She knows we expect more. She just doesn't know yet that it's in her to be more.

But we see it. We just have to let her find it on her own, while we offer gentle guidance.

And also increase our own levels of patience.

We will give the occasional lecture too. Lest the value of a good "talking to" be lost.

Juggling Act

Over the last several months I have come to realize why three kids has led to the term "chaos of three" in my vocabulary.

Have you ever tried to juggle? Personally, I tried to learn how to do it when I was a kid. But truth be told, I didn't have the patience to stick to it long enough. You are supposed to start by juggling just two balls, with one hand or two. With a little work, you can get that one down pretty easy. It's when you add that third ball that you loose track of things. Somehow it's much easier when you just have to watch two things flying through the air. Maybe it's because so many things in our lives come in pairs that it's more natural for us. You know, things like your eyes, your ears, most body parts for that matter, and romantic relationships (at least we hope). And the list goes one. Pairs are just natural; evenly distributed and symmetrical. Orderly.

You add a third anything to where there was just two and things get exponentially complicated. Unevenly distributed. Unorderly. Or should I say disorderly.

dis-or-der: a state of confusion

That makes sense. Confused, unable to keep track of it all.

As many of you might be able to testify, it is possible to learn how to juggle. It just takes time and dedication. You have to overcome the disorder and confusion.

And once you master it, going back to just two balls in the air probably seems like child's play.

That's how it is around our house. Nowadays, whenever we have just two kids around we feel as if we are having some kind of mini-vacation. Even my babysitters have noticed this effect. So it's not just us crazy parents that feel this phenomenon.

On Thursday night this week my mom had my younger daughter over for a sleepover. She's been doing this from time to time as the girls have gotten to that age where they are comfortable being away from us and look forward to special time with their grandmother. And being away from their siblings.

The girls have also had times when they have both slept over at their grammy and grandpa's house. At those times we are left with just our son to look after. That's no longer child's play; that's baby's play.

We've also had more occurrences lately when my oldest has been away from the house for several hours at a time. She's getting to that age when she enjoys being with her friends as much as possible, so when she's invited over, she goes without abandon and will stay as long as the invitation is open. Of course the parents of her friends are also benefitting as she helps keep their child very happy and busy. And often times these extended play dates become really extended and turn into a sleepover. Again, we are left with only two kids to entertain and care for in times like this.

It never fails that whenever these events happen, my husband and I somehow feel liberated. Even when we still have two kids to take care of, it seems like something we can handle in our sleep. Or single-handedly. So without fail during these times, we will take turns sort of "checking out" of the parenting and letting the other one handle the two kids. We've never really coordinated this effort, it's just sort of what happens. We just think "s/he can handle the two kids for a while...no big deal". Since really that's what we are doing most of the time anyway. Taking turns with one of us handling two kids and the other has the third. Without the third child taking up that other slot, it's like a little vacation time that we get to swap back and forth.

There's also another aspect that makes things easier during this time. The two kids that are left at home get along better. There is no longer that third coming in and competing for attention or trying to upset a happy duo.

Now all of this is not to say that you shouldn't have a third child. Or that we shouldn't have had a third child.

It's just to say that it takes a lot of time and patience to master it. Just like juggling, when you have three balls in the air, it's easy to become confused and hard to keep track of them all. If you take your eyes off one for just a second, you are likely to drop it. So to prevent that you have to be on your toes at all times. There aren't too many breaks that you can take while you are juggling three balls.

With hard work and dedication, you can make it happen. The rhythm can be found if you are patient enough. And even with all the confusion and chaos, it's fun. It's fun to watch and fun to be a part of.

And tiring.

And demanding.

But did I mention that it's also fun?

It is. I promise.

Half Full

Anyone who knows me knows that I always try to be a glass-is-half-full kind of girl. If there's a bright side, I'll find it. And I'll hold on to it as long as possible. It's all about being thankful for what you have. Especially on a day like today, the Thanksgiving holiday.

Like, for example, if it's been 2 weeks since my last post, I'll just tell you that it's because I've been saving up something really good. And that life had been busy with all kinds of great distractions. It's not necessarily because I can't seem to find a half hour to sit at the computer and just idly write away to my heart's content.

It's all about staying optimistic. Noticing how green your own grass is so you stop checking out the nieghbors' yards.

Although yesterday I was certain that the glass was half empty. In fact it was entirely empty if you had asked me. It all started with my husband having what we thought was a bout of food poisoning late Tuesday night. But then yesterday afternoon both my daughters started having upset stomachs.

So I was thankful that on the way home from the movies I didn't stop at a store as I had planned, and I came straight home. Because the second after we walked in the door my oldest ran to the bathroom and lost her popcorn. After I wiped down every surface with Clorox (to hell with the all natural cleaners when there's a stomach bug in the house), I was hoping that would be the end of it.

Then, a couple of short moaning and groaning hours later, my younger daughter lost her popcorn too. All over our bed. Yes, that's our bed, not hers. Pillows, comforter, and all. After that it was hard to be thankful. And even harder to use clorox to clean.

Of course during this time my son had a pee-pee accident, which really seemed more like cleaning up a glass of water after all of those other bodily fluids that I'd been up against. Did I mention that he's now potty trained? We've taken advantage of the strong interest he was showing and over the last couple of weeks we've been putting him in his "big boy undies" more and more. Usually it was just a couple of hours, because that's as long as we were ever home to work on it. Then it was official this week when Monday morning he went off to school in underwear. Only one accident that morning, and the occasional one here and there since. Of course he timed one of them to be in the middle of all the barfing. Way to go, son. In this case, I was thankful I still had the Clorox wipes handy.

But all the wiping and laundry loads didn't end there. Shortly after putting her to bed, my youngest daughter was sick again in her bed. Off went more sheets and pillows to the laundry room.

By this time I was convinced that I was going to be praying to the porcelain god come morning time. I had lost all optimism and had become convinced that Thanksgiving dinner wasn't going to happen. And what's worse, I was convinced that my son would get it too. Which would mean a lot more laundry and carpet cleaning, since he would never be able to control when and where it happened.

We woke up this morning and my husband and I said "let's wait until everyone gets up" before we decide if we were making the turkey that sat waiting a better fate in the refrigerator. But low and behold, everyone got up and everyone was fine. Including me. And our son.

I started making the apple pie and that glass was half full once again. Right then and there I put on a happy face and was thankful.

Thankful that the flu bug was short-lived and the vomiting was kept to a minimum.

Thankful that I escaped it's evil grasp.

Thankful that my kids are healthy enough, on any given day, to be running around our house, making noise, spouting their opinions, and leaving plentiful messes behind. Even if two out of the three didn't eat a bite of the dinner that took me all day to make.

Thankful that we didn't have more company coming over for dinner, and it was just an intimate gathering.

Thankful that my belly, and those of my family, is full. Even if some of them are full of chicken nuggets instead of roast turkey and homemade gravy.

And thankful that my glass - of wine - was always half full tonight.

Buried Alive

Do you ever feel like you are slowly being buried in a pile of crumbs, wrappers, and crap that says "Made in China" on the bottom?

What? You don't? Well, lucky you, because I do. At least 13 out of every 14 days that is.

My house cleaners came yesterday and the second I walked in a did what I always do. I stopped and looked around. And I admired. Ah, a clean house. It only happens once every 2 weeks, so I always stop for a few minutes and just smell the cleanliness.

And then I proceed to fool myself into thinking that I can maintain it for a while. For the rest of that day, every time the sink gets dirty, or food drops on the floor, I immediately clean it up. I'll even get out the dust buster just to make sure that the popcorn on the floor is banished from my site. On house cleaning day, I just want the house to stay clean. Is that too much to ask?

Of course last night's dinner involved some grated cheese, which always seems to attract my children like ants on honey. Now don't get me started on the ant problems we are having lately, because that's a whole other picnic my friends.

So those little grubby hands reach up on to the counter, grab grated cheese and shove it into eagerly awaiting mouths. With no thought to the fact that it's getting all over my spanking clean kitchen floor.

It's just all downhill after Monday cleaning day. I get to enjoy the clean house for that one day, and that's all she wrote.

Within one hour of all three of my kids being home this afternoon the playroom looks like it just survived a tornado. They have moved the couch into the middle of the room, with pillows and blankets strewn around it. Then my son has decided to get out all the pieces to four different games, none of which are being played at the time, and he adds his decorative touches the mess. There are game boards and dice, Zingo cards and pawns, not to mention the Uno cards, all scattered about, making it look like...well, you get the idea.

I started to clean it all up and then I just threw my hands in the air. Lately I just don't have the time to clean up as I would like, and frankly I don't have the time to care as much about it either. Which is nice. A bit of a refreshing change in my life. It's teaching me to let go a little.

But I really don't want to let go of cleaning day. Just that one day.

Every two weeks.

Cleanliness and order.

In an otherwise chaotic life.

Little Wonders

Today, for whatever reason, I was at my wit's end.

Wait a minute. Hummmm....let me think about that. Oh, I got it. I was at my wit's end because my three kids had eaten all the way through my wits until there was only a little crumb left. Yup, that's the reason why.

Although truth be told we were having a perfectly fine day. And in fact we've had quite a few good days lately. I think we may be turning a bit of a corner in our family now that our youngest is just over 2 years old. Although today a bit of my sleeve got caught in the door and pulled me back around that proverbial corner again, showing me that I shouldn't count my preschoolers before they've hatched.

Today's wit-eating all revolved around a crying 2 year old after he woke up early from his nap, which he sorely needed since he was up this morning at 5:45am. As far as the morning routine goes, he's been pretty consistent with getting up at 6:20am. He teased us a couple days and went until 7:30, but then he was right back at the 6am times just when we were starting to catch up on our sleep.

The 6:20's are still earlier than any of us need to be up, and way earlier than I want to be up. And then the occasional 5:30's are just down right rude. But to his defense they are driven by bad dreams that he can't seem to get over, and always seem to happen at that time. Then the morning starts even earlier than usual. In fact, my loving, charming, handsome and incredibly virile husband has been the morning volunteer, getting up with the little lad while I catch some more shut-eye. He's a saint. I'm hoping, more for their sake than mine, that our son goes into a later morning routine once the daylight time shifts and the sun isn't rising at 5:30am anymore. We'll see.

So, back to today. Here I was with a crying 2 year old, and I was just moments away from starting a scavenger hunt with my oldest. I had suggested it and gotten everyone excited about the idea, and then someone came along and rubbed his snotty tears all over the plan. And I mean that literally, since all the little scraps of paper that my oldest had prepared where lost somewhere in the juggle of my balancing act with the 30+ pound boy-wonder (plus his two favorite stuffed animals) and a sippy cup and a snack, all bobbling around as I tried to find something, anything, that he would eat so his mood would cheer up.

I endured about 45 minutes of this crying, with him occasionally pointing to something that he wanted to eat or do, only to change his mind when I went and got it and put it in front of him. All the while still juggling his dense little body and those of his two stuffed friends. No matter what I offered or tried, they were all short-lived remedies.

And of course during this time my sweet oldest child is getting her little sister's clues ready for the scavenger hunt. I really wanted to help get hers ready, since I was put in charge of doing them for my oldest and she was in charge of doing one for her little sister, but I had absolutely no patience left. Every time she would ask me something I'd just bark at her "not now!". But she was a trooper and stuck to her task at hand.

Then my younger daughter decided to start some coloring with the book I was trying to show my son to calm him down. Which was fine, but she didn't want to share and let her brother color, or rather scribble, on it, so we got yet another showering of tears.

At this point all three kids were in separate places, all asking me for things, or else just slobbering and snotting all over me. No one was especially upset besides my son, but I was just wearing out and wanting to run away screaming.

I felt pulled in too many directions. And frustrated from all the crying. A headache was starting. And I had a momentary flash of going to our bathroom and closing the door behind me. I knew he would just be blubbering on the other side of it, but I thought for a second there that I might find some kind of reprieve. Alas, I knew I was fooling myself. Plus I knew my sitter was only a few minutes away from showing up. Which in itself was enough to hold on for, as well as enough to keep me from locking myself in any room, lest she show up to such a lovely scene.

So I grabbed my son, still with his 2 stuffed friends, and took him out to the garage. I pulled out a chair and sat in the driveway. And then I tried the old distraction thing and said "do you see an airplane? a bird? a helicopter?". We don't get too many helicopters around our house, but he's really into them lately, so I thought I'd give it a try. What the hell.

But I got nada. Still the crying.

And just then, out of nowhere, flies a monarch butterfly. It makes a few circles right in front of us, and then pulls one of its friends out of hiding and they do a little fluttery dance right before our eyes. We were both mesmerized, watching them flit around with effortless beauty.

Then the tears stopped. And the smiles started. And we enjoyed the show.

Then I thought to myself, isn't that just so typical of parenthood? Just when you are all worn out and you think you have nothing left, something beautiful happens and you are reminded of life's smallest wonders.

You get an amazing smile and some cheerful giggles, a little snuggle, and the world is right again. You are restored to your normal level of sanity.

Then you go on with your scavenger hunt, looking forward to a little treat at the end.

My kids got some Oreos after their scavenger hunt.

I got the ability to leave three happy children with the babysitter and get some quality "me" time.

God bless the butterflies and babysitters of the world.

Cracking Up

Tonight at dinner I lost it. I started cracking up. And I mean that in the I-started-laughing-and-couldn't-stop kind of way. Not in the way that might mean I was starting to crack. Although that's probably the reason behind my laughter-driven tears.

It all started with a long afternoon chasing around a 2 year old. And then we hit the unhappy hour. These days I have resorted to turning on the TV at 5pm so I can get some dinner cooked without 30 pounds stuck to my legs insisting on being picked up. But today I was feeling like I had already used the doctor recommended allowed time of 2 hours of "screen time" per day. In fact most days that allotment seems to go by the wayside before nap time. Oops. Perhaps I shouldn't admit that to the public. But hey, look at you. You're sitting there glued to the screen right now. So you can't throw stones from inside your glass monitor.

But they were all playing pretty well together at about 5pm tonight, so I just made a quiet move over to the kitchen and got things going. Now is when the fun starts. About every 3 minutes I am either pulling one of my kids off of their sibling or crawling on the floor picking up pieces of something that was thrown through the air or knocked over. At the very least I'm barking out orders to "leave her alone!" or "stop throwing things!", or the classic "STOP YELLING!".

This continues for the better part of an hour while I cook some ground beef and cut up some vegetables. Now in most homes across the country this culinary skill may take only 10 minutes. But in my home, with no "screen time", it can take up to an hour, which is what happened tonight.

Finally my husband gets home, which means the relief shift has begun. I finish what I need to for dinner and get everyone's food on the table. Then we all sit down for dinner.

Wait. That's an overstatement. There's not a whole lot of sitting going on. At least not for my husband or me.

First I forgot the napkins, so I was up again to get those. Then one of the girls needed more milk, so I was up again for that. Then someone dropped a fork, so my husband went to get a new one. Then my son finished his peaches, so my husband went to get some more. Then my younger daughter wants more peaches too. But she doesn't like "those kind" of peaches, can she have the other kind? And during this time my husband and I have barely touched our food, and yet my oldest claims "I'm done - can I be excused?".

This happens a lot at dinner time. She wolfs it all down and then wants to get up again. She's not the type to sit still for long, so I can't blame her. But we always make her wait until someone else is finished as well before she can get up. I'm not sure why, other than to make her pay for her carefree life and the envy she causes us at her ability to eat food while it's still hot.

Then my younger daughter decides her taco won't stay together so she won't eat it. My husband gets up to get a toothpick to solve the problem. About one minute later she declares that she doesn't like what she's eating and asks for a plain tortilla. As my husband is up getting a tortilla, my oldest decides she wants one too, but can we put butter on it and heat it up for her? Sure, WHY NOT? We were just standing around the kitchen wondering what else can we do around here besides sitting down to eat the rest of our dinner?

Now they are all armed with tortillas, plus the bag is now in the middle of the table, with the milk and an extra fork. Frankly, they don't make lazy susans big enough for all the crap that needs to be within reach of us while we sit at the dinner table.

As I approach my chair one last time I just start laughing. I think I had a moment where I saw this all through my husband's eyes, and I had to laugh. He gets home and every single day he gets the "hero's welcome". The kids run to greet him and give him smiles and hugs. And that's about where the fun ends for a while.

Because we go right into this song and dance we call dinner time. Suddenly I saw the past 30 minutes rush through my head all at once, like some crazy-ass dance you might see if there were ever a musical about whacked out exhausted parents of three small children.

Sit down...stand up...open cupboard...sit down..."eat your dinner"...bend over...pick up fork...stand up...open drawer...sit down..."eat your veggies"...stand up...open fridge...sit down..."don't throw your food"...bend over...pick up food...stand up...open pantry...sit down...standupsitdownstandupsitdown...TA DA!

And it just cracked me up. I was laughing so hard tears were streaming. My kids were asking me what's wrong and I couldn't answer. My husband just said "I think mommy's losing it." Which is a bit true really. Why else would I be laughing so hard at the very thing that drives us bonkers?

Because the alternative was to cry out of sadness and exhaustion I guess.

And I choose laughter.

My glass is always half full.

At least until one of the kids finishes it and asks for more.

Chaos of Three

This weekend I spent two lovely, quiet and fun days spent with nothing but adult food and adult conversations.  And with my four favorite ladies, no less.  I miss them all already.

Over the weekend my sister and I were chatting about what it's like to have kids, and whether or not she was considering having a third child.  In giving her answer she said she was really very happy with her family as it is and right now she doesn't need to invite the "chaos of three" into her life.

The chaos of three?  I immediately thought to myself, does it show that much?  Is my life so crazy that everyone can see all that chaos all the time?  I know I feel it all the time, but are my seams bursting apart in front of the world?

Then I inquired about her brother-in-law and their family, who just added their third child in the past year or so as well.  Indeed, she could confirm that it's not just me and my family, it's them too. 

Phew.  It's nice to know you aren't alone.  

Perhaps I should start a support group for mothers of three or more.  

But if you have more than four children on purpose, you aren't invited because then it's very likely you'd be certifiable.  No offense, but really, five kids?  You have to be a bit off balance to really want that.  Of course a lot of people would say that about three kids. 

After coming home from my weekend I was talking to my very-giving-very-loving-most-wonderful-father husband of mine and he confirmed the theory.  And better yet, he figured out the reason why life seems so chaotic with 3 kids.

It's the age span.  Seems simple enough, but I never really thought about it.  

Basically, by the time you have your third kid, you already have a 4 or 5 year old.  So by the time your youngest is up and running around, you have a child in primary school and another one in preschool, and a toddler.  The key words here are "primary school" and "toddler" in the same sentence and under the same roof.

Of course you could have a smaller age span if you have twins.  But let's just assume that the word "twins" and the word "chaos" are very closely related.

As my family has learned over the last couple of years, elementary school comes with a kit and kaboodle of fringe activities and necessities.  There's the obvious activities, like Girl Scouts, soccer, softball, dance class and what not.  Those are more or less under your control.   Although they often send out pleads of help, asking for coaches or troop leaders and the like.  Right there you are inviting chaos into your life.  But it doesn't stop with that.

Those are nothing compared to the buffet of volunteer "opportunities" that are offered at a public school through a mist of guilt and a cloud of the sense of duty, responsibility and obligation.  As a parent of a child in public school, I think I feel a bit obligated to help out, seeing as my child is getting a "free" eduction and all.  You know.  It's the whole it-takes-a-village concept.  And I really do believe in it.

That's the problem.

If you are anything like me, and there's no saying you are, but if you are reading my blog, it's more likely than not.  So if you are, your life opens up to a realm of activities that you never really thought about.  And they are big and small, depending on what you want to commit to.  

There's the classroom volunteering opportunities: room parent, donations for parties, party planning, charity planning and education, art lesson assistance, field trip chaperoning and in-room volunteering to help the teacher, to name a few.

Then there is the school-wide opportunities, including but not limited to: assistance with the hot lunch delivery, helping at festivals, helping with teacher appreciation week, being on the PTA, leading or being on a committee for a fundraiser, donating for charity drives, participating in fundraising activities and drives, or being on the committee to plan all the committees.  And the list goes on.

None of these things existed before Kindergarten.  And yet here they are, laid out before you at the school registration, like a buffet of needy, starving children that need your help.  Sign up now and you can save the life of this child, for just a mere 5 hours a week of your time and a pint of your blood!

Now I know that it's perfectly fine to not volunteer for anything.  But I also know that that's not my style.  And I know that our PTA President is a full-time working mom, as are most of the other PTA officers.  And the room moms.  So I always feel like, if they are doing it, so should I.

I think when you work you feel obligated to get more involved because you can't be there as much during the day for your kids.  And when you stay at home with your kids, you feel obligated because you are home during the day and it's supposedly easier for you than for those mothers that work.

You can't win.

So here you are, stretched thin between all those things you signed up for when you were feeling like you should do something to help, and all those things you signed up for when you got pregnant with your third child.  And let's not forget all those things that come with the child in between, as we too often do.

And you have to get your husband to cover things when you have evening meetings, and a babysitter for your daytime obligations and on and on.

TA-DA.

The Chaos of Three.

Can someone pass me my glass of wine please?