Being A Mom is Gross

I will say again, I love being a mom, and I love my girls. However, there are moments when being parent is straight up gross. I mean ick factor 11 here.

I have been pooped on, and puked on many times. I've been sitting on the couch, baby on knee, when it came pouring out of a diaper. I've had the baby poop while changing a diaper. Even when hey get older, the poop still abounds. I've cleaned it off furniture and walls. You get used to it.

I've been puked on more times than I can count. From babies who eat to much, to sick kids that can't make it to the bathroom, puke and I are no stranger. I hate cleaning it. I hate it. Last year, the girls and I experienced a stomach bug that caused things to come out of both ends simultaneously. The Big One and I were sharing a bathroom at night, with one of us over the sink, and the other the toilet, until we broke the bathroom. The Little One actually walked from one end of my kitchen to the other, vomiting the entire time. That was fun to clean.

I've even been puked on by the children of friends. Once, down the front of my shirt so that it actually come out the bottom of my bra.

All in all, I would say I have had my fair share of gross moments.

Tonight, however, I got to experience a brand new one. This one, I think is a little rare in the "puked on mom" category of life.

The Big One started getting sick this afternoon. I could tell she didn't feel well. She didn't want to eat one of her favorite meals tonight. She even ask to go to bed. I gave her a bath, and put her down for bed. She wanted me to lay down and read with her. We were totally into a great Junie B. Jones, when I first saw "the face". There is that certain face your child makes, before the cheek puffing, when you know they feel sick, and are about to blow chunks. She made "the face".

"Do you feel sick? Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"No, Mom. I'm ok. Just keep reading."

I picked the book back up, and before I started reading, she made the face again.

"You look like you are getting sick. If you need to throw up, lets go to the bathroom."

"I'm really ok. I'm....."

The cheeks puffed. I started to roll off the bed. Just as I hit my side, back to her, she lost it. She hurled all over the bed......and my back and butt.

I grabbed the trash can and shoved it under her. Started moving her, and grabbing the sheet at the same time.
I got her down stairs, stripped,and washed off. Only then, did I fully appreciate the fact that I had vomit on my ass. I mean, how often in one's life do you get to say that phrase? I fully believe in the sentiment that if the choice is laugh or cry, to laugh. So, I had no other choice, but to laugh.

I walked into the living room where my parents sat, and told them what happened. They apparently had to make the choice to laugh as well, because they did. A lot. I stated that I would wash myself as soon as I got her all cleaned up. My father, the incredibly selfless man that he is, told me he had to shower first. I replied that was a great big negative. My vomit trumps his shower any day of the week.

So, the next time all my mommy friends and I get into a grossest mom moment contest, I think I have my ace in the whole. I'll just keep this one in my packet until I need it; my back pocket, of course.

I Admit It, I love My Pot

I know, it may not be cool to say it, but I am all about my pot; my crock pot. (ha)

I fully realize that just saying crock pot ads about 40 years to your perceived age, but I think it is time for people to rethink the crock pot. They are making a serious come back, and for good reasons. In the world we live in today, if you aren't too busy, then you aren't really living. At least, that is what we tell ourselves. So we have kids in soccer, ballet, music, swim lessons, and anything else we can get them into all at the same time. We have social clubs and hobbies that take up full days. Many families have two working parents, or one parent who works, or just parents who spend their entire days out and about, that we rarely have time to make great, healthy, home cooked meals on week days. So, why not use the method our mothers, or maybe their mothers, used years ago; the slow cooker (aka crock pot).

I've been using mine hard core for a few months now. It started with Mondays. Mondays was Girl Scout day, and between moms group events with The Little One, school, homework, and the Girl Scouts with The Big One, I was always struggling to put out a good supper before bed time rolled around. So, I simplified and re planned. Granted, in the beginning, we were doing a lot of chili or black beans on Mondays, but my family happens to like that. So, once a week was totally fine with us.

From there, though, I began to realize just how easy this thing is. I love it. I put anything I can in the crock pot right after the school drop off. Then I'm good to go until time to serve. It is truly fantastic and freeing to know that dinner will be there and ready when we are!

Not only is it a great time saver, but the meals are so much healthier than many of the quick fix things that I would have otherwise gone with. It is such a win/win, that I just can't seem to get enough of it.

If I were to be honest, and I usually am, I have to admit that I use it more than just once a week now, and in fact, I cook more in it than I do out of it right now.
I just can't pass up an opportunity to make something in the crock pot, if it can be converted to do so.

We aren't talking just soups and chili anymore, either. One of my new favorites is crock pot lasagna. Coming home to a lasagna that is ready for you is too fabulous for words. I'm itching to get to the store to make things for chicken crock pot pie (which I will actually make with out chicken, and add precooked chicken in to each individual's bowl that wants it) and chicken coconut curry (that I will be making the same way with the precooked chicken).

I am always on the look out for a few good things to make. I'm dreaming of a breakfast casserole for out breakfast for supper nights, and some desserts that can make the house smell yummy while they cook all day.

I know it may not sound super cool to admit that I love my crock pot, but I am working on changing that. If all the moms in the world used their crock pots a little more, I think there would be a little less stress, and a few more happy spouses with full tummies.

The Blondest Of All

I love my daughters. I know they are both mine, but sometimes, I have to wonder how I ended up with one of the stereotypically blondest children to ever walk the face of this earth. I realize that there must be a genetic link, after all, I have talked about my sister before, but in all honesty, The Big One does take top honors for blond moments sometimes.

Today was one of those times.

Let me start with just a bit of back story. The other day, The Big One was upstairs playing in her room with silly putty. Silly putty is of the devil, and I know that now. Had I known it then, I would have thrown it away immediately, but alas, I did not.
She came down upset because she had somehow managed to get a small section of hair matted with silly putty. There was about a half inch wide section of hair really stuck. She had made things worse by trying to get it out herself, and basically rolling the hair into a big cylindrical shape of putty and hair mess.

Somehow, with a lot of time, I managed to pull the hair out. She lost a lot of hair, but I was able to wash out the rest of the putty, and get her all cleaned up.

After that, I decreed that she was not to play with putty unsupervised or with her hair down any more. She has such long beautiful blond hair, I didn't want to have to go though that again.

Unfortunately, we did have to go through that again, only worse the second time around.

This afternoon, she was up in her room again, playing by herself for quite a while. At some point, I hear her coming downstairs, calling for me, in a panic. I ran to her, thinking something was wrong, and boy was it. The entire rest of the egg of putty was now matted into on of the font quarter of her hair, almost up to her scalp. I can not even explain adequately how terrible it was. There was just a huge knot of putty and hair.

I took one good look at it, and told her in all likely hood we would have to cut her hair, and she would have to get a boy cut. I really didn't think we would be able to salvage it. As I tried looking at it, the hair looked like a bet of interwoven hair, covered and intermixed with silly putty. When I lifted up the hair, there was even putty in her ear, down her ear canal. In her ear, people.

I have no idea how she did this. It wasn't like there was a little bit in her hair, it was nearly an entire egg. It was everywhere. There was so much hair. I kept asking how she did it, but the reply was the same, she didn't know. Eventually, she did say something about putting putty in her sleeve, but that was as far as we got.

I just can't fathom how a six year old child can do this, except, of course, that my child isn't like most kids. She is very intelligent, but she really lives on a different plane of awareness than the rest of us. Just like when she ran her Barbie Jeep into a massive tree, she just didn't notice it. So, she just isn't sure how the putty got into her hair.

It really didn't see a way to even start working on it.

So, I did what every parent in my position would do, if they are able; I called my mom to ask for help. Mom suggested peanut butter, since it works on gum.

I had no idea if it would work, but at least there was a start, and that was what I needed. So, I pulled out a new jar of peanut butter, and started rubbing it in. The Big One thought I was crazy. I had to explain about four times that I hoped some of the oils in the gooey stuff would start to break down the silly putty or help it slide out. I got her hair good and covered in peanut butter, and decided that some time marinating might help it. So, I took the new box of plastic cling wrap from a kitchen drawn, and opened it to wrap her her up. Of course, this being one of the most fantastic days of my life, I managed to cut my thumb open on the box in the process. After the bleeding stopped, and I got a Scooby Doo band aid, I wrapped her up and let her sit.

Let me tell you that peanut butter does nothing for silly putty in the hair. In fact, I would venture that it makes the situation worse. All it does is coat the hair in fatty oils so that any substance that actually would work, has a harder time.

When mom's advice fails, I turn to the next most logical place to look for solutions, the internet. Well, I facebooked it immediately, but got no instant comments. So, I turned to google, which rarely fails me. Yet again, Google came through. I found a ton of potential solutions to our problem. The most promising appeared to be hand sanitizer. The idea is that the alcohol cuts the silicon the putty is based in. Sounded smart enough for me to try it. The next idea was to use baby oil. I started searching for both.

From all of my trials and tribulations today, let me share the entire process that actually works for silly putty in hair.

1. Calm Down. You can't do this angry. Put your child's hair in plastic cling wrap so that nothing else gets matted in, then put them in time out for a while. Put your self there for a while, too, preferably with some chocolate. Dark chocolate works best in my case.
2. Rinse out anything you have already tried and failed with, like peanut butter. A kitchen spray device works best.
3. Try the foamy hand sanitizer that you carry in your purse. While it won't work best, it will start to barely break the putty down, and give you enough hope not to whack off the hair, or start drinking.
4. Search frantically for the old school gel hand sanitizer. If necessary, run out side in your slippers and pajamas, with your house bra on, or no bra if that is how you roll when at home, when you remember that you keep a small bottle in the car.
5. Take the gel hand sanitizer and start to work it into the matted hair. Ignore the burning and stinging from the small cut on your thumb. The gel will being to loosen the knot of putty.
6. Put half the bottle into the hair, and keep working it in. Realize that you need a band aid, and go get one.
7. Try to loosen the strand, and start combing through the hair, working in the smallest section possible, and coming the bottom out first, then working your way up.
8. Put more sanitizer in as needed to loosen the putty.
9. Give up on keeping the band aid on and just learn to ignore the burning.
10. Rinse the hair often, to try and keep the alcohol from damaging her hair. Then replace gel in only the section needed.
11. One you have most of it combed out, or at least to where it looks like hair, rinse thoroughly.
12. Switch to baby oil. The baby oil will begin to remove the rest of the residue. Coat hair liberally with baby oil, or baby oil gel in this case.
13. Comb through. Rinse putty mess off comb and repeat until the comb no longer comes out coated with putty.
14. Wash child and hair. Be sure to condition bad part thoroughly.
15. Put child to bed no matter what time it is, or park in front of TV, which ever is your preference, and take second time out for yourself.

That should get you though most of it. The optional part, an option I plan on exercising shortly, will be to leave the kids in the capable hands of someone who did not have to experience the whole mess, like a grandparent, and go out for coffee. In addition, pick up something bad for dinner, since you won't want to cook, as your back is going to be killing you from the hours of standing at the kitchen sink.

I hope no one else ever has to do this, but if you do, you should take heart in the fact that there is a way to get through it, someone else has done it, and they really are only young once. While mine may always be blond, she won't always be calling me for help. Eventually, someone else will have to take care of it, be it a room mate, husband, or whom ever. One day, I'm going to be the mom who gets the call, and I will be ready, with both advice and a story.

That I look forward to.

Snow Clue

I haven't lived in a cold winter area for nearly a decade. So, being back in an area where it is too cold to put your car tag renewal decal on the car, because cold temps cause them to break, is quite a change for us.

The Big One was born in south Texas, where the summers stay over 100 degrees. The Little One was born in beautiful, sunny San Diego. They don't know cold weather. We usually get about a week of cool to cold temps when we come back to Tennessee for a visit each year. They don't usually get the full effect of winter, though. That is starting to change, and change rapidly.

It snowed today. Real snow. As in big white fluffy stuff falling from a very cold sky. The flakes were huge, beautiful, fluffy things. It wasn't quite sticking, but it was really coming down.

In all that big white fluff, I had to go get The Big One from School.

I wasn't thrilled about this. Me no likey the snow. Her teacher is usually one of the last to dismiss, and I decided that I was going to sit in the car, until the classroom door actually opened this time. I wasn't going to stand there and freeze while she waited for all 20 or so 6 year olds to get it together. No, I could pass that time in the warmth and shelter of my car, then book it across the street when absolutely necessary. So, I did. As the door opened, I got out, locked my car, then actually ran across the street and up the school yard. I don't run much as a general rule, but I find myself doing it more and more in short burst of late. The cold seems to be quickening the occurrence as well. I sprinted up to the door just as The Big One came out.

"Why are running, Mom?" As I've said, not something I do.

"Because it is cold, and it is snowing." Both sounded like very logical reasons to be running to me. Of course, often times when in a conversation with my gorgeous blond daughter, logic is not exactly the driving force of the conversation.

"Is it really snowing?"

Now, the flakes that came down at that point, and the rest of the day were incredible. They were really huge. They were big enough to see each point on the flake, and were probably the most beautiful ones I can remember seeing in person. However, the temperature was not cold enough for the snow to lay on the ground and create any accumulation. So, you had big fluffy white stuff swirling around, that disappeared when it hit he ground.

"Of course it is. Do you see all the fluffy white stuff?"

"What white stuff?"
I admit it. Snowflakes are generally small, but these things were massive for flakes. In addition, it was really coming down.

I held out my hand and waited until a massive flake passed across it.
"Did you see that white thing?"

"Yes."

"That is snow."

"That's what snow is? Really? Wow!"

I had to confirm for her several times that all that stuff really was snow.

I'm quite sure all the other parents around us must thing we are crazy. From their perspective, it would be unreasonable for a child of her age to not understand the concept of snow. However, even though she is quite blond and that often is the reason for our odd conversations, I get it. When you see pictures of snow, you see accumulation on the ground. You don't see just fluffy white stuff floating around the sky. In fact, having lived the last 4 plus years of her life in Southern California, it could have well been ash floating around from fires during fire season, something the kids of this area may not understand. I get it. In fact, I would dare say there is a lot she has been able to experience by living in a coastal community that many kids here would never believe.

I love that The Big One finally got her snow. I love that she was so excited about it, even if a little naive about how it gets here. While other parents may have laughed at us, and I laughed too honestly, nothing can be cooler than watching your children discover new and different things and loving them, at any age.

Sundays Rule

I have a feeling that Sundays are going to come to be really cherished for me.

We have had family Sunday traditions for a while, I've even blogged about them before. Of course, when your life changes, sometimes your traditions change, at least a little, too. Sundays have changed, but for the better in some ways. At least, better for me.
In the past, we have had pancake breakfast, then pizza and game night.

Now, some of that will stay, and some will go. We probably won't have time for a big breakfast anymore. The pancakes will have to move to Saturday mornings, which will be ok. Sundays now, will be church day with MimMim (aka Grandmother or My Mom). The girls get up early, get ready, and I take them all to church in time for Sunday School. So far, they love going to church with mom, and it is good for them. So, that is a definite score. The next win, is that I get the next one to two hours by myself! That is a total win! I can have the house mostly to myself, and just do what I want, like shower in peace. I mean, you can't get much better than that.

Then, for dinner/supper, we will still be doing pizza and game or movie night. That is also one of my favorite family things to do. We make our own pizza and play games. We love playing games as a family, even if The Big One cheats at everything, even Connect 4. So, the games and pizza will go on.

Yes, Sundays will be a good day. Me time in the morning, family time at night. Sounds like a good day for everyone.

Old Days / New Days

Sometimes, when you have heart ache and heart break in spades, it seems like nothing will make you feel better. Sometimes it feels like there is no hope of ever healing.

Then suddenly, you realize one day that you feel better.

Over the last year, I have had more than my share of heart break. I have had more than any one's share of heart break, but so be it. I have been devastated and down lower than low some days. My heart has been splintered into a thousand pieces.
Then, suddenly today, I felt a tiny fissure heal. It was simple. It was fast, and it was wonderful.

The craziest thing is that it wasn't anything big or new that made me feel better. In fact, it was really something old.

On top of everything going on in my life, my car has had issues. I picked it up, only slightly better than when I left it, from the local dealership's service division this afternoon. Since the slightly better was that I now have break lights, it was actually quite thrilling. Anytime I get my car back after having it be in the show for a while, or being forced to drive the other vehicle, or what not, I feel free all over again. Just like when you get your first car and know you can go where ever you want. I felt that emotional high again.

The radio stations in this area lack much to be desired. So, I grabbed my CD case from the trunk, and instantly found the old familiar pink CD of one of my favorite bands.
I popped it in, turned it up, and flew down the road. I was free. I had no children with me. I could sing the inappropriate lyrics as loud as I wanted. Suddenly, I was transported back to my glory days, riding down the road in a fast little black car, with Nirvana blaring, just jamming all alone. It was good. It was familiar. It was comfort and reassurance that I was still me, no matter how broken. And all that, just that, made me feel better. Much better.

I know that I have been beaten down, but I won't be kept down. I will go out and pull myself up by my knee high boot straps again, and I will be better. I will be ok. And along the way to better, I'll pull out any of the CDs by my favorite band, roll the windows down as soon as it is warm enough, and find that comfortable me feeling again.

When Your Children Hurt

The one thing in life that is always constant is change.
Sometimes that change is good, and sometimes that change is not.
Now, my girls and I are going through what I expect to be the biggest change of their lives and it is not a good change.

The change hurts me. Each day is a struggle, but I will make it. I will put one foot in front of the other and I will keep walking. I will walk until I can run again and I will be ok one day. I know I will be ok, but I also know that my pain is immense right now.

Their pain, though, is in calculable to me. It hurts more because I see them hurting, and I know there is nothing I can do.

I watch The Big One cry and I see the scars forming on her heart, and as her mother, my heart breaks even more than it already is. I wish I could grab her, and pull her to me, and make it all go away. I would rock her until all the pain was gone, and kiss her until it all felt better. But I can't. This kind of pain doesn't go away like that. No matter what I do, I can't keep her from hurting again and again. I can't keep the change that she had nothing to do with from knocking her down.

The Little One is younger, and fares much better because of her age. She doesn't understand the change going on. She doesn't quite get it, and can roll with the punches more. She is the lucky on, in all of this, to be so young, and not understand it. She is the one that I can hold until she feels better, and then watch her happily go play with someone else. She will adapt faster and better, and will come out of this with much less scaring than her big sister, but she will still scar from this change.

Change can be hard. Watching your children hurt is the hardest thing of all. I am angry that my children have to hurt, and I would do anything, and have tried everything, to keep them from hurting like this, but sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we just can't protect them from everything. Sometimes, we as parents are even the cause of it.

I know that children will adapt, and I am sure mine will too, but in the mean time, we have a difficult path ahead of us, full of so much more heart ache and heart break. I can only hope that I can be the best parent that I can for them both, and do everything I can to make this as easy for them as possible. In time, I hope this makes us all stronger, and better, having learned much from the hardest of situations.

Most importantly, I just hope that soon, very soon, The Big One will feel better inside.