Our Last First Communicant

Isaac had his First Communion this past weekend. It was a big deal. He had been dreaming of this day for weeks, no months, maybe even years. It is kind of a coming of age thing especially being the youngest in our family. I know how much he was looking forward to it because almost every Sunday, during mass, for the past nine months he has been asking "Can I take it today?", knowing full well the answer was going to be "no, not today". I guess he was hoping I would just look at him one of those times and say "Sure, why not? I won't tell the Pope." It didn't happen that way.

So on Sunday April 30 Isaac willingly dressed in his Sunday best (sans the "tuxedo" he was worried he would have to wear) with his hair properly styled, (the more straight up the bangs the better, it's like 80's hair all over again) and posed for a few pictures before the ceremony.

Learning the art of shoe shining from his dad.



Getting dressed....



Realizing his mom was taking a picture of him while his dad was tucking his shirt in his pants.

Getting that clip-on just right.

Doing whatever it is that dad is doing...

We went outside for some more "official" photographs. Here's our first attempt...

Then Isaac jumped right in and came up with some more interesting poses...

No, I did not pose him in this one either....

Definitely did not pose him in this one either.... had to bite my lip to keep a straight face...




Now this one I did pose him in and he handled it like a true JCPenney model. It's a zinger baby!

Congratulations Isaac!!

Farts and Thunderstorms

Maya had to have a set of 50 Squinkies (I prefer to call them Squonkies or Stinkies) which she ordered off the internet last week. Thirty bucks for 50 cutesy pencil toppers in the shapes of different animals, fairies and what-nots. This pack of 50 initiated the other two Squonkie minded individuals in our house to, and I quote "HAVE TO HAVE THEM IMMEDIATELY". Tim graciously (and because I told him to) took the kiddos to Target to acquire said Sponkies on Saturday.

Now, my refusal to call them by their designated name probably stems from the fact the I cringe at the money they are spending (their own of course) on these little rubbery, marketing masterminded thingies that they may only be crazy about for the next week. But it has kept them busy for the whole weekend. And I must say they are very creative with their Spankies. For instance when we got up for school this morning and Isaac was watching tv and eating his breakfast I heard him say from the other room "thunderstorm!" So I looked at Tim with a questioning look on my face and asked if we are supposed to get storms today. He said "Yeah, they were playing with their Squonkies last night and Isaac passed gas. They decided that was like a thunderstorm to their Slinkies."

Parent-texting and Percocet (a little heavy with female information in first few paragraphs - you'll get through it.)

I'm sitting here trying to cure my hangover with a cup of decaf coffee. That's like trying to lose weight on a cheesecake diet. But whatever, maybe it will help.

The week started off with both Eva and I starting our periods. This was Sunday morning right before Tim left for Vegas for the whole, ENTIRE, week. (It was a long one.) As we are driving to church Eva asks if I have any extra pads because she has yet to become responsible for her own monthly cycle. Seeing as how I was left a little vaklempt by Tim's leaving, I, at the tender age of 43, also was not responsible for my own monthly cycle.

Ahh, but we muddled through our week OK. Eva was an ornery bugger. I even confronted her about her attitude by Wednesday because I was over it. She responded like she didn't know what I was talking about but with more attitude. So, I said, "THAT attitude, that one right THERE!" I should carry around a full length mirror with me so I could show her what I've been dealing with. The attitude was exacerbated by a big Social Studies test Tuesday which I wisely chose to just not pick that battle. There will be other social studies test to pass marginally. why should this one be any different?

But as usual the week ended with a bang when I came down with a whopper of a headache. It had been bugging me a little on Wednesday, a little on Thursday, by Friday I was ODing on Tylenol and Advil to no avail. I was able to vegetate most of the day praying that immobility and by sheer lifeless determination the pain would abate. Nope. Nada. Wasn't going to happen so at precisely 3:15 I popped a Percocet. God made drug makers for a reason. I was walking around trying to not think about the pain and pretending I didn't have a headache and that wasn't working either. By then the kids were home and at first quite oblivious to my dire state despite the fact that I was a lovely shade of mint green, I was carrying around $25 worth of baggage under each eye and as Tim assuredly stated over the phone "Yeah, and I bet your hair is pretty bad too." Huh.

It didn't stop Maya from asking if I'd made it to Kohl's to pick up the tennis shoes they were holding for her and why I wasn't on my way there. I responded with "I'm not feeling well Maya, look at this." As I pointed a finger to my face and covered it in a circling motion. She laughed. Obviously the visual worked.

By 4:30 I gave up the "My head is really not splitting open, I'm just imagining it" charade and went to lay in my bed. I was feeling pretty desperate, desperate enough that I was considering calling my neighbors and asking what kinds of drugs they had in their cabinets. But I had enough sense to realize I was probably at my drug limit for the day. Or I had already far exceeded it.

The next thing I remember is Maya waking me up at 5:30 and me pretending to be coherent. I thought "Hey, it doesn't hurt so bad" and also "I'm stoned out of my mind." Maya told me not to worry about dinner. If I had been more coherent I would have worried about that statement. But I wasn't more coherent, I was heavily intoxicated. Hallelujah!

At 6:30 Maya announced dinner was ready and somehow I ambled my way to the kitchen where I found a table set with candlelight and a meal that included chicken fingers, corn and apple slices. I also found Isaac seated at the table with his head in his arm crying his little eyes out. It was perfect.

Somehow I managed to lean down to Isaac and talk him off the ledge and balance myself without falling over. We sat down to eat and I immediately realized my stomach was not into this meal so I oohed and aahed over how great everything was took two bites of apple and excused myself so I could go briefly hug the toilet.

I was trying so hard not to scare the kids because I remember all too well when my mom was having terrible headaches (coinky-dink? I don't think so) and she just looked miserable and how I would worry. So the kids would come back one by one and check on me and I would muster up, what I thought, was some semblance of normalcy and reassure them that I was feeling much better and send them on their way. I think however I sounded something like this: "Smommy's feelin' smuch better..er. I'm fline."

I believe I spoke with Tim once or twice that evening and he coined the term "parent-texting". He had been texting the kids what to cook and how to do it. At 9:00 all three of them came in and I said they should probably go to bed and they announced that dad had said they could stay up until 9:30. Technology is an amazing thing. So they all hoped in bed with me and we read for 40 minutes - me, with my eyes closed.

I woke up on Saturday morning wondering "did that really happen and did someone blow out those candles?" Apparently it all did.

Aye, Aye, Aye...

Aye, aye, aye. Why did I think it would be a good idea to take all my kids to the doctor AT THE SAME TIME. I think if I point out the fact that Eva and Maya are 13 year old girls and Isaac is a 7 year old boy you might say to me "MICHELLE, WHY DID YOU TAKE ALL YOUR KIDS TO THE DOCTOR AT THE SAME TIME?"

In my defense... I'm just slow, I guess. And ok, it sounded like a timesaver.

So Isaac learned a new word yesterday - breast. This surprised me because unfortunately he is way to familiar with girl parts... and... things. Then I realized something. Perhaps we haven't used the correct terminology around our house. So I pointed to my own... um, breasts, and then said "You know them as boobs."

I could see the light bulb going off in his head.

A Gloriously Bad Mom Moment

I'm pretty sure I live with the Odd Couple. Unfortunately I not only live with them but I chauffeur them around as well. The other night as we were leaving a volleyball game Eva (Oscar) and Maya (Felix) began to argue about some meaningless, pointless piece of information. I instantly jumped in to put a stop to it and told Maya (Felix) to be quiet and keep her opinion to herself as she was nitpicking. Maya (Felix) replied with "Mom I can't help it that I'm technical." I stifled a laugh (and a groan) and explained that picking something into miniscule pieces was beyond "technical" and it was going to drive me crazy.

And this happens ALL THE TIME now. It's worse in confined spaces. I now go out to the garage and do a few deep breathing techniques before I can get in my van to go pick up Eva and Maya. And Isaac (Dennis the Menace) is just as bad by the way. I didn't know there could be three sides to every story. And if he's not arguing with them he's arguing with me.

All of this vocal debating has put me in a whole different mind set. I told my mom yesterday that all the kids had a doctors appointment in the afternoon and shots would be given. Usually these appointments make me nervous and apprehensive because my empathy level runs a little high when my kids are going to experience any kind of pain. But yesterday I said to my mom "They're getting shots, all of them, HA!"

I bet the Beav's mom never said that.

Some-teen

Ahh. Monday. When I say "ahh" I really mean "ack it's Monday". We had a good weekend though. Friday night Tim took the kids to a high school football game. Saturday we worked around the house (very little) and ran errands in the afternoon. Sunday morning I let Tim take the kids to religious education then Target and then to the Y to play volleyball. How could it not be a great weekend?!!? I was sans kids for a good 40% of it.

Lately it's like living with triplets. Sure Maya and Eva are 13 and Isaac is only 7 but together they all equal "some-teen". Living with triplets who are "some-teen" is like living with the Bickersons. It's gotten to the point where the thought of getting in a confined space like the van with all of them makes a bead of sweat appear on my upper lip. It reminds me of the dog when she gets in the car, she gets nervous and she drools and starts licking her chops. I should just leave a sweat towel in the car for both of us.

Tim and I often pretend we are closing the invisible sound proof shield between the front and the back of the van. It doesn't work. Yelling over and over that you can't punch buggy someone on any car you want (ok, I might have started that one) gets really old after a while.

I hear the ages 13 to 16 are the hardest of the teen years. But what if one of them is seven? How does that work? I need a light at the end of this tunnel. Some-teen could go on forever. Ack.

Cleanliness, Godliness or PMS?

I decided this morning that I would get some cleaning done at home. I usually try to leave some basic things for the kids to do on Saturdays so they can earn their allowance and I can pretend like I'm not the maid, but I'm too fed up with it all. I just want it clean, minus the arguments, griping, and the foot stomping joy of attempting to raise well adjusted children.

I tell myself before I begin anything that I will not, I repeat NOT (and I totally almost mean it) clean the kids' rooms. First of all I could spend all day cleaning two bedrooms and second that would be my whole day. (That second one may sound a lot like the first. It is.)


They just cleaned this room 6 days ago. SIX DAYS AGO IT WAS CLEAN. It's the dressers completely covered in stuff that drive me crazy. Half of it is trash and half of it looks like trash. So maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe expecting to be able to see the tops of dressers that belong to two 13 year old girls is just asking too much. Maybe I have PMS. ( Ok, skip the maybe, but really, isn't that completely beside the point?)

So I may get some grief about posting a photo of their room on my blog. I've already got my pithy little comment prepared. Something like "Well, when I'm living in your house and I don't clean up my mess then you can take a picture of it and post it on your blog." HAH! I was pretty freaking satisfied when I thought that one up! And ahead of time too. But then I envisioned myself old and feeble with no bladder control, living with one of them.

I'm going to have to sock more away for the old people's home.