Come on Get Happy

I'm a planner. I just can't help myself. I plan everything. For me, this lifestyle works well. I never seem to miss a date, appointment, birthday, etc. I'm sure some find this a very rigid way to go about their days, but it gives me a sense of calm to have planned things out in advance.

Like every good plan, there comes a time when one must realize that fate sometimes has a way of intercepting all good intentions. Case in point... the last two days.

I will not go on about problems since if you haven't noticed, the name of this post is Come On Get Happy. So in a nutshell, the synopsis goes a bit like this: Sunday 9am Karate Tournament, Potter brings home 2 Gold medals, off to soccer game where everyone is a "winner." Off to the firehouse to visit Potter and Scooters uncle. While running through the firehouse Potter misjudges, and plows head first into the front of a firetruck. Tears, meltdown, Ice, Ice, (Baby).

Dinner, baths, sleep, Desperate Housewives, ZZZZZZ! Next morning (today) wake Potter to find him covered in blood. (Nosebleed from hell). Flashback to yesterday sends me into Mommy panic and I bring Potter to hospital to have his head checked (concussion?). Potter turns out to be fine.

Make appointment for Scooter regarding thick slime that refuses to stay in his nose. Have mini-van appraised due to the promise of an "aggressive offer" letter that arrived a few days before chaos ensued. (SIDE NOTE: Please refer to post titled The Golden Crap Award to understand my true feelings toward that beaut of a car I drive). Take kids to Denny's to satisfy their starvation needs with a Grand Slam. Take Scooter to doctor. Give Nebulizer treatment to scare slime from Scooter's nose.

Scoff when I find out that the one time I have to watch Oprah she decides to do a show on child predators. Where is Tom Cruise when you need him?

And so there you have it, the last 24 hours in a nutshell. Nothing that has taken place remotely resembles what is written in my date book. Turns out when I reference said date book, today's page is blank. How could that be? Every other day has something written on it, yet today I'm free. Looks like fate took over again. Lesson learned: Roll with the punches, and do not leave blank pages in your date book.

As I mentioned earlier, I had the mini-van appraised, and the offer was quite nice. So I am currently in the market for a new car or van. I am looking for some help with this decision. Is there anyone out there carting around kids in something that has enough room for all your needs? Something that drives incredibly well, and requires no maintenance? It doesn't have to be too fancy, but a few bells and whistles are nice when the noise level inside the van continues to rise with the temperature outside. Here are some of my top picks: Chevy Traverse, Volkswagon Routon, Honda Odyssey, and Toyota Sienna. I would also like to add to the list anything from Cadillac. (Here's hoping that Powerball ticket in my purse is a winner!)

A sincere thank you to all who commented on my last post. I was kept in stitches all weekend. I am hoping to get around to everyone very soon. By the way, Hubby fixed the faucet. Can I get a whoot?

No Such Thing As A Day Off

I was so looking forward to Easter vacation. My son began his yesterday, and it extends to Monday. I had so many things I wanted to do with them: from dyeing eggs to going to the park. Then something so crazy happened. Should I say my children became little monsters?

Maybe it's just the fact that Potter is so use to having a regimen at school that he just needed to let loose for a while. And seriously I may just buy that excuse, but Scooter made sure he had a few surprises for Mommy as well.

Yesterday began with a sinus headache. All right, not the best of beginnings, but I made promises, so off we went to have a great day. Somewhere between mid day and late afternoon, the whining ensued. It finally tornadoed into a full blown meltdown. (You know the type: The one that only other people's children are capable of having. The one you witness at fast food restaurants and promise your children if they ever try that stunt, there will be no tomorrows. Yep, that's the one).

And so it went on and on and on, until finally, Mommies head exploded. I loaded the minivan, children and all, and headed back home. Fifteen minutes into our ride, both children were sleeping. Ah! Sometimes peace and quiet comes in the strangest of places. I could of driven that minivan until the cows came home. If only I had filled up on gas.

So I woke up this morning hoping for a brand new start. Since it's holy week, maybe my children had been visited by God himself last night and he made the proper threats so that Mommies day could be just a bit easier. No such luck.

Off to the grocery store we headed. The trip felt longer than the one to Disney World we took 2 weeks ago. It began outside the store when Scooter realized there were no more car carts (you know those oversized roller coasters that supposedly fit children and a whole week of groceries. Not to mention they weigh 300 pounds and no one else can fit around you in the isles) So I was forced to choose a regular cart (tears, sniffles).

"Ladies and Gentlemen in this corner we have Scooter at 43 lbs. In the other corner Potter at 42lbs." And the fighting began.

From who would weigh the bananas, to who would get to ride on the back of the cart, to who would get to play with the large beach balls on display in isle 10, to who would be the first to knock merchandise off a shelf (Potter won that bet...a bottle of Pledge).

I never prayed so hard for Valium in my life.

I tried every trick in the book. I tried getting them involved, asking them questions, so on and so forth. They had their minds made up when they woke up this morning. They were going to drive Mommy crazy. Mission accomplished at 10:20am Eastern Standard Time.

By the time Hubby arrived home from work I was in a coma curled in fetal position on the couch. Both kids had taken a nap. They didn't wake up much better, and I can't say I was surprised or unhappy about this. See, sometimes I don't mind if my husband gets a taste of the tantrums, the meltdowns, and the somewhat bizarre behavior that the children are capable of dishing out.

Like the optimist I am, I'm sure tomorrow will be better. The plan so far is a trip to the library and another birthday party. I think were expecting a thunderstorm so it looks like a day filled with inside activities. (Dear Lord!)

Ready, Get Set, Go!

To Dye For

Well it's that time of the year again. You know: Easter baskets, bunnies, candy, cavities, and of course dying eggs. So off we headed to Mom-Mom's this morning. Three dozen eggs, two young boys, Martha Stewart glitter, glue, Duddley Star Wars Egg decorating kit, and my computer neatly piled into the minivan.

After much preparation (boiling, cooling, laying down newspaper, laying down more newspaper, mixing dyes, vinegar, etc. etc.) we were finally able to begin.

Let me just begin by saying there should be a warning label on the side of those dying kits. Something like this may suffice: Despite every attempt you make to keep your children clean, there is a good chance that they will have as much or more dye on them then your eggs when finished. Soap and water may not/ will not remove the dye from their skin. Wise parents will reach for the Comet and scour your children to death afterwards. They will also invest in predyed eggs next year. Use at your own risk.

Warnings aside, stepping back and allowing your children to just have fun is the name of this game. For the first time, I was actually able to decorate a few eggs on my own. I sat in awe as I watched my kids need very little supervision. So we lost three eggs total...not too bad. Potter, Scooter and myself all took a turn dropping one on the floor. At least they were hard boiled.

A quick note if you don't mind to the famous Martha Stewart. Dear Ms. Stewart, as a loyal fan, you can bet your behind I watched that egg dying episode of yours. You can also bet that unless your name is Martha Stewart your eggs will never look even close to the ones you so gracefully displayed on your show that day. You can also bet that I will save my money next year by not purchasing fancy glitter any more at Michael's and relying strictly on Dudley Star Wars Egg Dying kits. All My Best, Mommy Maestro

Now that I got that out of my system, may I wish all of you and yours a blessed Easter/Passover or just a darn good weekend.

Just a Dusting

As I'm getting my younger son's lunch ready, I usually do so with the sound of the local news playing in the background. It gives me a chance to catch up with the world that lies beyond our front door.

Scooter rarely pays attention to the news nor rarely shows interest in anything that isn't animated. But let him hear that one word, yes, that word of joy, that word he's been waiting for, that simple four letter word; and suddenly the excitement that comes from within Scooter is no longer containable.

Mommies everywhere know this word. To them it is defined as a day without breaks, a day where we have to look for our car even though we know it's still parked in the driveway, a day where every towel in the linen closet will be used to keep floors dry, provide an extra place for boots, and wipe noses. Today we will plead with our husbands not to go to work, not because it's too dangerous, but because we could use a little extra help on the home front.

That word, that awesome word is SNOW!

Scooter jumped from a four foot stool at the kitchen island before the weather man had a chance to pronounce the last syllable. He was so overwhelmed with excitement that even the dog was wondering what had gotten into him. He took pride in reminding me every five minutes not to forget that it was going to snow the next day. He begged me to dig out the new snow tube Santa had bought the boys for Christmas. "You have to blow it up Mom," he pleaded. "Do it now, do it now...please!"

We picked up Potter from school together. Scooter told him the good news right away. "It's going to snow tomorrow!" Potter lit up from ear to ear. He too reminded me of my motherly duty to blow up the new snow tube.

The weatherman predicted 3 to 6 inches. Normally a snow storm would be a burden, but this one was coming on a Saturday so I didn't have to worry about school and I would have Hubby home to help me shovel.

We decided to take the kids out to dinner that night. You can guess the topic of conversation. It's so nice to have finally arrived at that age where you can take the kids out to eat and you no longer have to worry about high chairs, diaper changes, feedings etc. Although we're still working through the temper tantrum stages, we avoided those as well.

As soon as we hit home the kids continued to remind us that the snow tube still needed to blown up. As I removed it from the box I swore angels were singing. The children were mesmerized by its sight. Frankly, the smell of plastic made me a bit lightheaded, but I unfolded the snow tube for two across my lap and began the long task of blowing 20 lbs. of air from my lungs. A quarter of the way through Hubby offered to finish while I took my bath (and regained consciousness).

By the time I returned the snow tube had completely taken over my living room. Both boys were practicing the different poses they would be using once they hit the snow.

When we woke up the next morning it was flurrying, and there was a a dusting of snow covering the ground. Apparently through the night the forecast had changed and we weren't going to receive a storm after all. What the heck? How do I explain this to the kids? Someone should grab that darn weatherman by the neck!

We patiently waited a few hours until around 10am. The kids were at the window when I finally said: "O.K. everyone find your boots, it's time to go outside!" The kids began screaming. "Can we use our sled Mom," they asked?

"No, but we're going to have some fun," I said.

Believe it or not, there were no fights. In fact, they actually forgot about the sled. And boy did we have fun. We spent the time throwing snow balls, running and laughing. We ended our playtime with a cup of hot chocolate topped with marshmallow.

Well, it wasn't the big snow storm we were all hoping for; it was something much much better!

The Peril's of "The Santa Line"

So there we were in the middle of the mall starring up at the 50 foot tree. Like all children do, mine also wondered who was the moron that climbed all the way up that thing with a star. After said question was answered as best as "Why isn't the Indian Jones Lego set made for five year olds..Daddy let us watch the movie?" We moved on.

I took a quick glance at the portrait packages available. Suddenly it dawned on me that I wasn't the only one scanning my Santa pictures for our entire family. The elves must have caught on and despite economical difficulties, they decided to increase their prices three fold. Oh Goodie! I'll have to thank American Express for this night.

Aside from the Oscars (which I have not been nominated for yet) this was the only red carpet I would be walking on this year. But just as my foot was about to take its first step, a sound so heart wrenching went through my very being. I knew what it was, I had heard it before. In fact I hear it more often than I would like to admit some days.

As I turned to acknowledge the loud siren, which by the way, was coming from my little boys mouth, I put on my best Mommy pose and got down on my knee. In between his attempts to once again except fresh air into his lungs, he casually told me that he no longer wanted to sit on Santa's lap. (Oh fine, I thought to myself. What are we going to do now?)

My older child now took the opportunity to inform me that he will happily sit with Santa. A quick glare was given to his little brother. ("Oh no you don't Big Brother. Not here, not now. Mommy is on to that trickery. There is only one size Kids Meal at Chick Fillet. You Hear me little boy!"

I began to work my Mommy magic once more on screaming child. Hubby was already fed up after yes, dare I say, 2 minutes of tantrum....Amateur! I finally coaxed our little boy onto the red carpet. We began to talk about Santa's costume. Suddenly I realized I was having a conversation with myself.

My little boy had found the basket of goodies that Santa was handing out this year to all the good boys and girls who sat on his lap. He may have saw toys, but what I saw was ammunition. That's right I thought, two can play at this game. "If you want one of those toys honey, you'll have to talk to Santa." Basically it was true. Santa wasn't handing out Gingerbread gumby dolls to just any delinquent.

And with that, he made his choice. But I sadly learned the hard way, that bribery doesn't always work in Mommies favor.

My son gladly gave his wish list to Santa, and proudly collected his new toy, but sit for a picture...No Way! Just as the elf yelled cheese, the gut wrenching screams began again. The poor elf tried twice. Neither picture turned out like we hoped, but none the less, I pulled out that American Express card. (Don't leave home without it!)

Once our son recovered, which happened once he jumped off of Santa's lap (Ahh, a Christmas Miracle!) We were off to the food court. A big smile appeared on my son's face once the shining lights from the Chick Fillet sign were in sight.

Yes, I had been bamboozled by a three year old. It wasn't the first time, and I'm sure it won't be the last. Memories are memories no matter how good or bad. This one is still going down as a good memory.

For all you mommies out there that were wiping away tears this holiday season, this article is dedicated to you. The pictures will stay in a frame, but the memories go in our hearts! Happy Holidays!