Things that make you go "Bite me"

I will admit, I tell dorky jokes. And I'm great with a pun. Usually, I find myself much funnier than anyone else does. I have accepted this.

Once I asked The Hubs when he was going to laugh at one of my jokes. He replied, "I will when it's funny."

Fast forward to...

Me: Hey look, someone wrote in my comments that I'm funny. Seeeeeee... *points to comment*
The Hubs (does not take eyes away from TV): That's nice. Did you tell them one of my jokes?

Should I be a twit?

Since you all came through for me on the new car problem, I thought I would again use you as my psychotherapists life coaches consultants.

The question of the day...do you Twitter?

My answer...No.

But I'm thinking about it. I know, we're changing our life all over the place in Insta-land.

You see, I don't entirely get how Twitter works. Probably because I don't...tweet. (Is that right? Am I using the lingo right? Please say yes...I sooooo don't want to be that girl.) And since I'm not a big social networker outside of the internet, it would stand to reason that I wouldn't be a big social networker here, either.

Except that this place is toootally different than real life. And everyone who reads here has made me so happy and your comments make me think "Aw, shucks, I'm making friends."

Still, there's this sense that I'm missing out on something. I know...it's totally high school. But it's like all the cool mommy bloggers are doing something I'm not.

No, it's not just about fitting in. It's about this really awesome network of moms that I've found myself in. It's about wanting to nurture that network.

But it's also about whether or not I need one more reason to have the computer permanently fused to my fingertips. I mean, how much can The Hubs really take?

So enlighten me...to tweet or not to tweet?

Who knew cars could be so thought-provoking?

We did it. We took the leap.

I am the proud owner of...a minivan. Yeah, baby.

My jeans didn't rise to my rib cage and become tapered. I'm not wearing a sweatshirt decorated with glitter puff-paint. Sure, my hair isn't washed, but I usually wear at least a little make-up. So I think I'm still okay.

I'm actually kind of proud of the minivan. It's practical. It's logical. It's faaaancy. Can I get an amen to Anymommy's comment about the automatic doors? We have played with those for at least an hour. But mostly, it just makes sense.

Now that I have done something that was previously on my list of "Things I Will Never Do," I've gotten myself to thinking (I know, I know...time to get comfortable and grab that cup of coffee).

There are plenty of things in my life that I've been resistant to. Marriage and children come to mind. You see, I was never one of those girls who had planned a dream wedding before I was eleven and knew that I'd have 2.3 children, a Golden Retriever, and a house in the 'burbs. Nope. I was pretty content with the idea that I'd have a little apartment in San Francisco...maybe North Beach, maybe Bernal Heights...and be able to focus on my career. No pets, please--that would require a commitment. If I wanted diamonds, I'd buy them myself, thankyouverymuch.

I think we can figure out that all of that got shot to hell. My mother still likes to laugh and remind me, as I run around as the scattered mother of four sons, that I swore I'd neeeever have kids. Whatever.

But even as a wife and mom, there were certain things I'd never compromise. I'd never drive a minivan. Oh no...because I would be waaaaay cooler than that. My boys wouldn't want one of those moms. Hand me the keys to my SUV and toss those football helmets in the back, boys!

Then I got (obsessively) green. Then gas prices hit $4+ a gallon. And really, someone who has my lousy depth-perception should not be driving around in something the size of a small aircraft carrier.

Now here I am. Which makes me wonder...where do we get all these preconceived notions about what is and isn't cool, hip, or trendy. And when did being happily married, with great kids, and a sensible vehicle become a bad thing?

There's a commercial that shows two bridesmaids eating yogurt. They are talking about how great it is, saying things like "This is getting-out-of-these-shoes good" or "This is not-having-to-dance-with-the-bride's-gropy-brother good" (yes, I'm paraphrasing). One of the things they say is that it's "not-catching-the-bouquet" good. And what I want to know is what the hell is so wrong with catching the bouquet?

Sure, not every twenty-something (or thirty-something or forty-something, for that matter) is ready for marriage. And even though catching the bouquet isn't actually getting married, it's a symbol of the thing. And by putting down the symbol, aren't we, in a way, insulting the institution?

I never planned to be institutionalized. But now that I am, it pisses me off when people on TV talk about how much it sucks to be married.

While marriage and minivans are two entirely different things, I hope you're seeing my point. I bought into it all. I bought into the "minivan mom" stigma. And once again, the perception that something related to marriage and children is inherently negative really bugs me. Since when did what we drive define us as people? The last time I checked, never. Unless we let it.

Besides, just through this blog, I've met some really amazing women, who also happen to be moms, who also happen to drive minivans.

So today, I declare that minivans are the new hip, cool, and trendy thing. Practical is the new black!

Trust me...when you can fit a warehouse club-sized pack of toilet paper between the driver's seat and the second row without having to adjust your seat, you'll want a minivan, too.

This weekend's refrain...

Who says dads can't have fun with Leap Frog, too?

The house of brotherly love

Today, The Eldest Child came home. MiniMe practically tackled him to hug him. MiniMe chose to stay home with his brother rather than go play at Grandma's. They have not argued once.

Tonight, as I was getting them settled for bed, The Eldest Child whispered in my ear "Can we have a slumber party in my room tonight?" The Eldest Child has a two-seat futon/sofa in his room the MiniMe sometimes sleeps on. I folded it out and started to make a bed for MiniMe. The Eldest Child climbed up to his bed...then he grabbed a pillow and his bear and came right back down.

I tucked them both in, each with the special blanket Grandma made them.

MiniMe: When I see monsters, I'll just tell The Eldest Child.

The Eldest Child: I told him if he gets scared, just to wake me up and I'll be right here.

These are the moments I want to remember, the stories I want to tell them when they grow up. This what it means to have a brother.

Changing how we eat

Jen at Daily Mish Mash has started a little thing called Make a Difference Monday.

I'm all for a good cause. But before the Pumpkins were born, I was mostly a "sit on the sidelines and cheer for the people doing the work" kind of person. If you wanted to go clean a beach, I'd tell you how great you were. If you were fundraising for a children's charity, I'd write the check.

Then the Pumpkins were born and for some reason something clicked. Maybe it was the older Pumpkin's time in the NICU. Maybe it was just how fragile and small they were at birth. Whatever it was, it was life-changing. My entire world view is different.

Several months ago we joined an organic co-op of sorts. I don't know that co-op is the right word, but here's how it works. Once a week, we go stand in line at a local church where a huge semi drives up and unloads pre-packed boxes of organic produce to distribute to the waiting masses.

The company is called Abundant Harvest Organics. If you live pretty much anywhere in Southern California between Bakersfield and the valley, there's a good chance that they deliver near you. You can find out here. If they don't deliver near you, click on the Community Host Sign-Up link, and start a delivery in your area. You'll get 5% of the proceeds.

To be honest, it can be a hassle. We have a designated pick-up time every week, and if we can't make it, we don't get our produce (although if we cancel in time, we don't pay for it, either). But for me, the inconvenience is worth the difference I'm making not just for my family, but for the environment. I don't get to pick and choose what I get like I do at the market, but it's been a great way to introduce my family (and me) to new foods. And I like that we're eating what grows naturally in each season. I just feel more in touch with the environment.

Not only am I feeding my family organic produce, but I'm also reducing the miles my food travels before it hits my plate. The average American meal travels something like 1500 miles before it gets to our plate. My produce travels about 100. I also know exactly what farm my food came from (salmonella outbreak anyone?).

The area where I live tends to be rather slow to catch up on healthy trends. But I know this is at least one of two organic co-ops in my area, so I'm sure there's one near you. Hit a farmer's market, join a co-op, do whatever you're able to do. It's a small step, but I think all moms know that even baby steps can cover a lot of distance.

A mommy's dream

To my dear and loving husband,

When you come home from work this afternoon, you may notice a few things missing. Just a few…like me…and the kids...and maybe some cash. And my passport.

Don’t worry, we’re all just fine. At least I assume so. The kids are with my mother. I am certain she has done her best to take care of them and that they are well. She may not be, but they certainly are. So I would imagine she would appreciate it if you could get over to her house soon to pick them up.

As for me? Well, that’s more complicated.

You see, I understand that you’re off earning a living right now. And I even understand that in only two short weeks, I’ll be doing the same. But right now, today, I’m here. Trapped. Losing my ever-loving mind. Why you ask? What has pushed me to this point?

Let’s begin with MiniMe. Have you ever had a three-year-old look you straight in the eye and say no? Have you ever had him do it, oh, fifty-nine trillion times a day? We have gotten to the point that he knows when he’s done something wrong and puts himself in time out. Clearly, our discipline method of choice is not having the desired impact. And while I would love to one-by-one remove his toys from his possession, I think we both know who that would really be a punishment for.

Television would be a wonderful thing to take away as punishment, too. I would relish not having to listen to another Noggin song. Do you have any episodes of Franklin memorized? Do you want to know what pet he ends up getting in the end (Spoiler alert: It’s a goldfish.)? Oh, and when the beach balls are all coming out deflated on Maggie and the Ferocious Beast it’s because that rabbit stuck his carrot in the thing that blows them up. Yeah. And don’t even get me started on Sesame Street or Curious George.

So you see, I could take television away. But there’s one problem with that plan. Sometimes, it’s nice to go to the bathroom. Alone. And sometimes, I even like to be able to stop playing games and coloring and putting together puzzles and reading Morris Goes to School for the 400th time long enough to send an email or make a phone call or read a blog or generally do anything that’s not designed for the preschool set. In truth, they don’t watch television all that much, anyway. Maybe just a little too much. You know all those things they say about bad mothers using the television as a babysitter? Well, I think ours might start charging hourly.

We probably shouldn't get on the topic of his naps. The naps he is starting to outgrow. The nap that he fights against daily. And the nap that provides me just a glimpse into the world of peace and calm every day. I would give up every pair of shoes I own if that child would just nap.

I know I chose to stay home more this summer than I have in the past. I will acknowledge my choices. And I know that the main reason is the Pumpkins. Well, you know those babies, the ones who smile sweetly at you when you leave in the morning, and break into giggles and screeches when you get back? Yes, them. Their heads start to spin the moment you leave. Okay, maybe it’s not that bad. But I swear to you, the more I try to get them on a schedule so maybe, just maybe, they’ll nap at the same time or eat just that perfect 15 minutes apart, the more they go the opposite directions. You know those nature shows that show the mother bird in the nest with five open mouths frantically chirping up at her. It feels like that. On crack.

Really, for six-month-olds, they have an uncanny sense of timing. Just when I get one of them happy playing, the other one starts to cry. No sooner is that Pumpkin happy, then the previously happy Pumpkin starts to cry. From play mat to jumperoo to swing to bouncer chair to kick-y bear thing on the floor back to play mat…. The cycle is endless. No really. Endless. Times two. And no, I don’t know whatever magic button it is you press when you get home that makes them happy wherever you put them. If I knew, I’d still be here, now wouldn’t I?

And the poop. Don’t even get me started on the amount of poop I interact with on the average day.

This is all without The Eldest Child. He won’t be home until Monday. But I really do think that if I stick around until then, the endless Harry Potter trivia, casting of Harry Potter spells, reading of Harry Potter supplementary books, Harry, Harry, Harry, just might drive me to the brink (or drive me to drink...what the hell, it rhymes).

I love them all. I really do. Dearly. They are the most precious thing in my life. But I have to tell you, a girl has to draw the line somewhere.

So yes, you may notice that we’re missing. It really is time for you to be going to my mom’s house now to pick up our monsters children. I’m certain they are being perfect angels for her, just as they are for you. Perfect, perfect angels. The little imps.

As for me, don’t worry about looking. I am on a beach in Mexico somewhere, perhaps. Maybe Fiji. A café in Paris. A vineyard in Italy. Or even maybe just hiding in the closet under the stairs. Just somewhere quiet. Somewhere alone. Anywhere.

I will promise you this, though. I will come home in time to drive them all to college.

Your close to being committed wife

At least they were fed, right?

There is no good reason why I should like this picture as much as I do. We were at Chinese fast food restaurant when MiniMe got a hold of Grandma's camera and started snapping away. Perhaps I like it because at this point in the meal, everything was still on the table! Maybe I like it because the isolation of the fork represents man's...oh ,who am I kidding.

It is, however, a sad testament to Sunday dinner in the Insta-family.

I'm a winner (and clearly I thrive on external validation)

I want to pass on some linky-love because I actually won something! So you are all my witnesses...when The Hubs complains that I subscribed to another magazine after spending the last six months trying to pare down my subscriptions and thereby reduce the huge stack of unread magazines under the coffee table, please vouch that I won it from a giveaway at A Mama's Blog. He likely will not believe you, because I never win anything. I am so excited because I know that Kiwi is a magazine that will be read as soon as it arrives. Stop by Heather's blog because it looks like there are more giveaways to come.

Increase your chances of winning something and check out the Great All Mediocre Giveaway this week. So far, a $25 Shell gift card, a subscription to Real Simple, ArtHouse DVDs and art supplies, and a certificate for See's candy are all up for grabs. Which means you can put some educational DVDs in for the kids, sit on the couch with a magazine while you eat bon-bons, and not worry about the gas you'll spend when you have to go buy more stain remover because of the markers your kids got all over their clothes while watching art DVDs unsupervised.

Those are some hot wheels you've got there

Almost exactly two years ago, The Hubs and I bought a Ford Freestyle knowing that eventually we'd have a family of five (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) and not knowing that 0% financing deals would become a dime a dozen after the bottom fell out of the economy. We figured even with the very tall, very active boys we have, it would last us a while. We got the last '06 on the lot, fully loaded, at 0%...thinkin' we were all special and prepared and rock stars of the car buying world.

And then we had twins.

We've been fine so far. But the pumpkins are pushing the weight limits on their infant car seats. At least I'm assuming that when the handle starts to bow under the weight, it's a bad sign. I know, crazy assumption. And with all three seats in the middle row (including MiniMe's booster for those of you who are wondering how we suddenly went from two to three seats), we can't buckle MiniMe's seat belt. But that's totally optional, right?

Even if we were to buy narrower convertible seats, I think we'd be sunk. Three or four inches just isn't going to cut it. And I'm really kind of picky about car seats, you know, since they're keeping my kids safe and all.

I am officially in a big blue funk. I love my car. Now is not the time to buy a new one. My state is in a recession and making huge cuts to the budget that funds both The Hubs' and my salary. (I know, I know...times are hard for all of us, but this is my blog, therefore it's my place to whine when I really don't have it all that bad, m'kay?)

Sigh...I totally wanted to post something fun today. But I am way too bummed out. (Yes, that was a totally plea for you to bring margaritas to my pity party.)

So now I am reaching out of my funk and asking all of you with oodles of children (you know, school of fish, gaggle of geese, oodle of children)....

What do you drive? Do all the little monsters fit? I need input, people!

Help me out here, because the last time I checked, there were no blogs giving away a minivan.

Tag...I'm it!

iMommy tagged me for my first meme. Does this mean I've arrived? Am I an official blogger now? Or am I just really happy because this makes for one fewer day this week that I have to think of some decent content to post?

I'm not going to tag anyone specific, but since there are quite a few of you who are reading this who I'd love to know more about, I think everyone should steal it and then post in the comments that you've done it.

And no, I don't know why the questions skip numbers.

1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
Just the back? Two infant car seats, a convertible booster seat, a double stroller, my purse, a V-Smile, reusable grocery bags, a burp cloth, the favor from my sister-in-law's baby shower, a pine cone, an empty Diet Coke can, two Little Giraffe blankets, a ziploc bag of organic Winnie-the-Pooh cookies, my Pumas, MiniMe's hat, the price list from the place I get my pedicures, and probably a variety of Hot Wheels, baby toys, and pacifiers. And sadly, that's actually pretty clean.

2. When was the last time you threw up?
Honestly...I think college. But it wasn't pretty, which is probably why it hasn't happened since. Although I almost lost it because I took vitamins without eating breakfast the other morning.

3. What's your favorite curse word?
Clusterf*ck. I use f*ck-all a lot, too (as in "I'm getting f*ck-all done because I'm too busy blogging"). I figure if I'm going to swear, I'm going to do it right...f-bombs all the way.

4. Name 3 people who made you smile today?
My mom, MiniMe, both of my pumpkins (that is, the twins--does that count as one?), The Hubs...wait, I think that's everyone I'm even going to see today.

5. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
Breakfast ping-pong. Also known as trying to feed two hungry babies at one time. Lunch ping-pong was around noon. The Hubs will be home for dinner so either he'll play ping-pong or we'll go one-on-one.

6. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Getting MiniMe ready to go spend the afternoon at Grandma's so I can do laundry. I'm doing this while I wait for the load in the washer to finish.

7. What will you be doing 3 hours from now?
Waiting on the edge of my seat for The Hubs to come home. Probably playing on the floor with the pumpkins.

8. Have you ever been to a strip club?
No. Not that I wouldn't, but I haven't found one yet that has a children's menu.

9. What is the last thing you said aloud?
"Love you, Sugar Bear" to MiniMe as he left with Grandma.

10. What is the best ice cream flavor?
Toss up--either Mint Chip or S'mores by Ben and Jerry's.

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
I just poured a glass of iced tea. Before that, my morning coffee--five hours ago. How am I not dehydrated?

13. What was the last thing you ate?
Wild Harvest almond vanilla granola.

14. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
If you count this week as starting on Sunday, no. If you mean within the last seven days, yes: I spent a gift card at Old Navy and Gap and got five shirts. I need to buy pants, but I haven't come to terms with the fact that the loose, post-twin pregnancy belly may never go away.

15. When was the last time you ran?
For exercise? Three weeks ago...I have started the Couch to 5K running plan three times. I'm really not a runner. And our treadmill faces a wall (boooor-ing). And it's too hot to exercise outside. And...I make excuses.
For fun? At the park with MiniMe last week.

16. What's the last sporting event you watched?
The British Open. It was on the TV at the restaurant when The Hubs took me out to breakfast on Sunday morning. (We were visiting his mom so we had a babysitter! Yay!). Otherwise, I am counting the days until football season starts again.

18. Who is the last person you emailed?
The Hubs.

19. Ever go camping?
Yep. We try to go every summer because the boys love it. We used to tent camp. Now we have a 1983 Pace Arrow RV. It's the ugliest thing I have ever owned, which is saying something since I grew up in the 80s wearing Z. Cavaricci's and tie-dyed shirts with happy faces.

20. Do you have a tan?
To quote The Hubs: "Dang, you're pasty."

24. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
If it's out of a fountain, of course. I don't really drink much soda otherwise. But I do drink just about everything else out of a straw. My iced tea has a straw in it right now. A weird habit I picked up when pregnant with the twins. I couldn't drink anything unless it was through a straw.
25. What did your last IM say?
I don't IM. Does that knock my cool quotient down a whole bunch of points?

26. Are you someone's best friend?
I can confidently say yes.

27. What are you doing tomorrow?
Probably going to the park, maybe going to the supermarket, trying to get ahead on classwork so I don't fall behind on vacation...the usual except that tomorrow is the one day of the month someone else cleans my house. So I will also be letting the kids play on the carpet without worrying about how many inches of dog hair they'll be buried in.

28. Where is your mom right now?
Hopefully at her house with my child. Hmmm...maybe I should call.

29. Look to your left, what do you see?
End table with the phone, my glasses, two coasters, one remote control, two highlighters (why two?), a pencil, a CD my husband burned to try to update his XBox, and two binders for my classes.

30. What color is your watch?
Silver. And it was easily the best gift I've ever gotten. I have always wanted a certain brand of watch. I mentioned it to The Hubs off hand, maybe once years ago, and that year he saved as much money as he could each month without me noticing, and gave it to me for Christmas.

31. What do you think of when you think of Australia?
Diving. The Hubs and I want to scuba dive in Australia, but it freaks me out a little because that's always where the stories about people being killed or left behind come from. Sadly, the second thing I think of is Finding Nemo. (I totally wanted to title this post "You made me meme," but if you don't have the voice of the little octopus from Finding Nemo in your head when you read it, it just isn't funny.)

32. Would you consider plastic surgery?
Breastfeeding three babies, including twins, has not been kind to me. I have the doctor picked out. Will I go through with it? I'm sure you all will be among the first to know.

33. What is your birthstone?
Diamond. It's not as cool as you'd think because (a) you never get birthstone jewelry because it's too dang expensive and (b) the diamond jewelry I do have has nothing to do with my birthday.

34. Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?
Drive through. I'm also a grammar geek and spell it "through." I also write "doughnut" not "donut." I'm annoying like that. And those Guardasil commercials really piss me off because it should be "One fewer," not "One less." Oh geez...please, don't stop reading now...I only wear my nerd badge on occasion. Really.

35. How many kids do you want?
That depends...how many do you want and how much will you give me for one of mine? We have four, and I think we're pretty happy with that number. Any more and we run out of bedrooms. I would totally have more, but that would require corporate sponsorship because damn they are expensive!

36. Do you have a dog?
Explain to me the difference between a dog and a small horse, and I'll let you know. They say he's a dog, but slap a saddle on him, and we could make a fortune offering pony rides to the kids in the neighborhood.

37. Last person you talked to on the phone?
My mom. Begging her to come juggle the kids while I did the pre-cleaning-lady cleaning.

38. Have you met anyone famous?
Yep. I did an internship for a guy who coordinated celebrity events. Mostly B-listE-list, but I did meet John Wooden, drove Carl Lewis to the airport, and ate dinner a table away from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. I also went to a Toni Morrison reading (my favorite ever author), and was so beside myself that all I could say was "I love your writing." I don't remember what she said, but it should have been "Yeah, you and everyone else. Is that as original as you can be?"

39. Any plans today?
Umm...oh, yeah. Laundry. I'm getting to that. Eventually.

40. How many states have you lived in?
One. But I've lived in two countries.

41. Ever go to college?
Yep. Too much. I'm a learning junkie. Two degrees and a credential later, I decided to go back for a certificate program. Someone stop me, because we're going broke from tuition alone.

42. Where are you right now?
Family room. On the red couch that I flipped the cushions on so I would have to scrub out the spit-up stains.

43. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
Work. Not because I go back in two weeks, but because the politics of trying to move up the ladder are stupid. It should be illegal for education to be this political. Sigh...if I ran the world.

44. Last song listened to?
"We're going on a trip...We're going on a trip." If you watch Noggin, you hear that probably a million times a day. Before that, whatever was on the Sirius yesterday driving home.

46. Are you allergic to anything?
Sulpha drugs and the air in the town where we live. All year long.

47. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
Flip-flops. The pair du jour are my Crocs flip-flops, or as The Eldest Child calls them, my Croc-flops. I think Crocs are hideous. These are amazingly cute and comfortable. And on sale.

48. Are you jealous of anyone?
Mmmm...that's hard. Jealous? Probably not. Do I sometimes think how nice it would be to be in someone else's shoes for just a little while? Yes. But I have a damn good life, so I have no justification for being jealous.

50. Is anyone jealous of you?
Yes, and for no good reason. Looooooong story.

51. What time is it?
1:04 PM.

52. Do any of your friends have children?
Yep. Most of them. And most of them are girls, so my sons will have great pickins on wives someday.

53. Do you eat healthy?
I try. And then I get frustrated that with PCOS I have to watch almost everything I put in my mouth, which takes all the fun out of food, so I bury my face in a bowl of ice cream (see question 10).

54. What do you usually do during the day?
Nine months out of the year I am a teacher. The other three, I'm a stay-at-home mom. I like the other three better.

55. Do you hate anyone right now?
Yes, but it is very complicated and has to do with my father's death. I don't spend my days thinking about it, but it's one of those things that I would be a better person if I could let go.

56. Do you use the word 'hello' daily?
Only when I don't scream "Why does this thing keep ringing?" when I pick up the phone.

58. How old will you be turning on your next birthday?
I will be 32. Wow...how did I get there?! But not for another eight months. I still have a good long time to get used to 31 before 32 comes up and slaps me back into my place.

59. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Yes. We live not far from it so I went a lot as a kid. I haven't been since high school...maybe even junior high.

60. How did you get one of your scars?
They filleted me to pull two humans out of my very over-extended uterus six months ago. I usually say they disemboweled me, but The Hubs says I'm exaggerating because he watched the whole thing and no bowel was removed. The recovery sure felt like that's what they'd done. I told him he can correct me when someone slices his uterus open.

This just might make me a bad wife

Saturday mornings are so satisfying.

I spend five days a week at home alone all day. Five days that I change almost every poopy diaper. Five days that I handle at least two out of three feedings (an adventure with twins), that I fight to get MiniMe to take a nap, that I referee every tantrum. Five days of reminding kids to pick up after themselves and picking up after the ones who can't do it themselves. Five days of children's television, Candy Land, and crayons on the floor. Certainly five days of hugs and smiles and laughter, but also five days of tears and hysterics and rants.

So on Saturday, The Hubs usually lets me have most of the morning to myself. I do my classwork, I catch up on blogs I haven't read during the week, I sometimes get to write a post or two or work on an article. I drink a full cup of coffee uninterrupted. If I'm not feeling too lazy to go back upstairs, I might have two cups.

The most gratifying part of Saturdays is listening to The Hubs complain about the fifth poopy diaper he's changed before lunchtime. Or knowing that he waited too long to feed Twin B--who can go from laughing to full blown conniption fit faster than you can open a jar of baby food--and is paying the price for not catching the signals sooner. I know he is the one sitting through another episode of Oswald or Little Bear or Blue's Clues. For just those few hours, he is referree, maid, cook, circus performer, and bottom wiper.

I love that for one morning, he does for just a few hours what I do all week. I love that it's difficult and frustrating. I love how tired he gets doing it all.

Maybe it makes me a lousy wife, but I absolutely love it.

Well, now they've gone and made me feel all important

So there I am cruising through my emails, reading my non-lurkers' all of your lovely comments, and holey moley!, a PR person for Coffee Bean contacted me. I even got a copy of the press release about the program. I'm feeling so darn official.

But now I'm wondering if they pay someone to just do random internet searches for people mentioning Coffee Bean. I mean really...how did they find me? And do pay for that? And is that a job I can have and do from home? Pretty please with chocolate covered espresso beans on top? I have some mad skillz on the Google.

But I digress....

Now, I'm not one to stump for any ol' company on my blog. But (a) Coffee Bean is better than Starbucks, hands down, totally not a topic for discussion, and (b) this is something I already blogged about and believe in. (Did you know that coffee is rationed for the troops? Are they kidding me?!)

I have asked said PR person to notify me if and when all of this is available online, so I can give them some linky love for those of you who don't live near a Coffee Bean (bless you, my children, you have no idea what you're missing).

So the details from the press release are at the bottom of this post if you're looking for them. Seriously, go buy a pound. You have until August 31...pleeeenty of time.

We'll return to our regularly scheduled crazy-mom programming on Monday. Swears and promises.

Oh, and to the friendly people over at Coffee Bean: Do you see that right sidebar over there? (Well, if you're in anything but Internet Explorer, you don't unless you scroll waaaaaay down, but I swear, I'm totally working on that. Oh, and ignore the measly number of subscribers...the number may be few, but the quality is awesome.) I'd be happy to work out a little advertising with you in that sidebar--I love me some Coffee Bean. Just sayin'.

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The official 411...
"The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, the oldest and largest privately-held chain of specialty coffee and tea stores in the United States, today announced that it will host a"Support from Home" campaign in stores from July 1 to Aug. 31. During this time, The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf will invite consumers to purchase a bag of coffee, a tin of tea and/or retail merchandise to donate to the troops. The product will be discounted by 10 percent at the store register, and the purchase will be sent overseas to military personnel. The company is pleased to facilitate product donations due to the fact that coffee is a rationed item for troops posted overseas; sending coffee is a simple way to provide comforting products from home that may not otherwise be available to military personnel.

During this campaign, The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf will also sell "Support from Home," a limited-edition special blend of coffee. This packaged coffee item is designed with a special back label created to allow consumers to write a personalized message to soldiers. The company is currently working with the organization "Soldiers' Angels" to provide product donations to the troops. Additionally, the company will donate a percentage of proceeds from the "Support from Home" blend to the Fisher House, an organization that acts as a "home away from home" for families of military personnel and veterans receiving medical care at major medical facilities."

Internal dialogue (or "I need to spend more time with grown-ups")

Using the term "grown-ups" instead of "adults" is the first sign that you spend too much time with children.

The second is when you tell another grown-up you are going "potty."

Perhaps the overnight Pull-Up in MiniMe's hamper with the pajamas means I need to supervise the getting undressed process in the morning a little more closely.

I must seriously consider taking Vietnamese at the community college, because I swear that the woman giving me a pedicure turned to the girl next to her and said, "Did you see this four-foot long hair on her pinky toe? I'm going to buy this girl some tweezers."

I cannot believe I just told the entire blogosphere I had a stray hair on my pinky toe.

I wonder if Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Lopez would want to be in a twins group with me.

Would I want to be in a twins group with Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Lopez?

Julia Roberts...I would totally want to be in a twins group with Julia Roberts.

If I were in a twins group with Julia Roberts, I wonder what it would take for me to get on Oprah?

How did I go from five subscribers to twelve overnight? And how many of those subscribers are going to go away after they find out I had a toe hair?

Whoever invented the pacifier deserves an award for most genius invention of all time.

If only it were socially acceptable to shove a pacifier in an adult's mouth when you want them to shut up.

Didya see that? I used the word "adult." My brain is not totally atrophied.

Does the doctor really think he needs to tell me not to give my six-month-old a chicken leg? And what am I doing that I look like the kind of person who would?

Do not read blogs while sitting cross-legged on the floor. Both feet will fall asleep, rendering you useless when the baby starts to cry.

A cuppa joe for G.I. Joe

As I was ordering an Ice Blended, my survival kit to having four children summery coffee indulgence, from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, the incredibly perky and obviously over-caffeinated twenty-something behind the counter asked if I had donated a pound of coffee to the troops in Iraq yet. Honestly, I had no idea. So he filled me in...

If you buy a pound of coffee to donate, Coffee Bean will give you 10% off the pound and allow you to right a personal note to send with it (and they'll even warn you that the pound of Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee, which you picked because the troops could use something tropical, costs $50). I can't find information about the program on the Coffee Bean website, but I'm assured that it's happening at all Coffee Bean stores.

Regardless of where you stand on troop surge or troop withdrawal, the fact of the matter is that there are men and women placing themselves at risk because they truly believe it is good for the rest of us. A pound of coffee is a small token in return.

Lessons from the park

One of my favorite things about this summer has been my morning trips to the park with the kids. Since The Eldest Child is only with us half the time (and I am socially inept and have no group of mommy friends to go with), MiniMe is often forced to either play by himself or make friends.

The other day, MiniMe found himself playing with two little girls who had arrived together. Immediately, the screaming started (I've been told that's what little girls do). They were being chased by bats. The whole group of them, running wildly across the playground screeching that the bats were going to get them.

Once the bats flew away (I'm guessing, because suddenly there was no more screeching) one of the little girls announced that they were going to play a new game and she was going to be a princess. Without missing a beat, MiniMe piped in that he was then going to be the queeeen. The other little girl looked at the pair of them, utterly confused by the fact that all the roles she might normally play had been taken, and asked what she could be. "A dragon," determined the princess.

As I watched MiniMe play, it was not the fact that he makes friends so easily or that he has such an active imagination that made me happy. It was the fact that he has no concept of gender. He did not feel the need to shoot the bats to rescue the girls. He did not have to be the prince or the king or the wizard. The three of them played together, completely unself-consciously, without regard for trucks or dolls, blue or pink, footballs or flowers.

The innocence of it all was stunning.

Now I'm not some big women's libber. Sure, I can mow the lawn and check my oil and even use the occasional power tool. I do think, though, that there is a place for gender roles: The Hubs takes out the trash and I..well, I have really pretty flowers painted on my toes. I will also raise sons who know how to cook (and do the dishes afterward), can do their own laundry, and wipe the splatters off the rim of the toilet. They will also be able to throw a mean Hail Mary pass, know when to use their 5-iron or their 7-iron, will be able to put together furniture better than the instructions say, and will generally just know how to fix things.

I know it won't be long before he starts to understand that girls are girls and boys are boys and somewhere in between there is a chasm that will grow larger and larger as he gets older. Someday, he'll learn to make his way across. But until then, there will be that divide. The divide that will cause him to stop pretending that he's the queen, a divide that will make him feel the need to be the big, strong man who rescues the girls from the bats.

But not yet. Not now. For now, I can to revel in the innocence of my son playing with two other children on the playground with no regard for what he's supposed to do or supposed to be just because he's a boy and they are not.

Things you never plan to say

Yesterday the twins had their six-month well check. Since they were born a month early, they have been pretty consistently been below the norm in height and weight--Twin A has been hanging around the 30th percentile and Twin B around the 5th (my little runt).

Well, today, Twin B jumped all they way to the 15th (weight) and 30th (height) percentiles. There's hope!

And Twin A?

He's 50th percentile across the board.

Which caused me to scoop him up in my arms and say, "Yay! Look at you bein' all average!"

Welcome to the Insta-family...lowering our expectations, one child at a time.

It's getting a little Oedipal around here

When The Hubs and I got married, The Eldest Child was three. When MiniMe was born, I was basically clueless to the whole mothering gig (thank God I have The Hubs or I might not have survived this long--he was a challenging baby). But I felt like I totally had a grasp of mothering from age three on because, woo-hoo, I'd done it before. Right?

Those of you with more than one child are laughing your asses off right now because you already know what it took me about, oh, 30 seconds after the third birthday to figure out.

So let's say it all together...Insta-Mom was a naive fool.

Now, I'll grant you that I am a stepmother to one of them and a biological mother to the other, so naturally, the relationship is somewhat different. But we have managed to stumble ourselves across a phase that I was totally unprepared for.

Mommy obsession. Or is it Mommy infatuation? Or is it throw myself at your feet screaming "Mommy, don't leave me!"?

Nope...it's all of those.

That's right. We have the makings of a classical Greek tragedy in the Insta-house right now.

Picture this:
I go to tuck MiniMe into bed. Since he doesn't have one favorite stuffed animal, he sleeps with a rotation of sorts. So I ask him, "Who are you sleeping with tonight?"

He answers, "You, Mommy?" with wide eyes and the sweetest face ever known to mommyhood. The one that melts you.

Or this:
We get the kids nestled into bed, and I take a quick trip over to grandma's house (a whole two blocks away). Not a minute after a get home, there is a sobbing child on the stairs. Instinct tells me to rush to this child and make everything better.

"What's wrong, baby?" I ask.

He looks up at me with big elephant tears streaming down his face. "You left me."

And don't think it's just at nighttime when he's tired and emotionally drained. Oh no. Let's take the weekend trip to the supermarket as an example:
"MiniMe, do you want to go to the store with me or stay home with Daddy?"

"With you, Mommy."

So we get our shoes and our hat on, all ready to go out the door, and I ask to make sure The Hubs doesn't want to come since there is always something he wants that gets left off the list. To which MiniMe replies, "No, Daddy can't come. Just you and me, Mommy."

I could keep going on and on about how he wouldn't ride on anything at Disneyland with anyone except me or about how he had to be sitting in my lap, not just next to me, at the restaurant. Believe me, the list is long.

Don't mistake me...I am appreciating this phase. It's nice to be worshipped loved so unabashedly. And I know in about ten years, I'll be begging for him to acknowledge me publicly and wishing to have these days back. At least I hope so.

When even God can't make you smell good

I have been a mom for five years now. Five non-blogging years. So I have been contemplating lately starting to blog about those great (or not so great) moments that occurred during those five years that I didn't get to write about.

Then Meghan suggested that she might start a carnival called "How I Would Have Blogged It." I'm totally on board with her (because she is fabulous and all kinds of bloggy-wonderful), so eventually I hope this will be part of one of her big ideas. But for now, this is just one of Instamom's Great Moments in Mommying.

Warning: A lot of my "great" moments involve bodily fluids....
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Shortly after MiniMe was born, one of my dearest friends asked me to be godmother to her first daughter. I was over-the-moon flattered and excited. I absolutely adore her and her kids, so to this day it feels quite special that I am connected to them in a way that is more than just "Oh, that's my mom's friend."

The Hubs occasionally likes to make baked goods for the family on weekend mornings. Since even the treats in my house tend to be organic and whole wheat, I usually give in and let him make whatever sugar-laden boxed delicacy strikes his fancy. On this particular morning, since we would be driving close to two hours and sitting through a long church ceremony, he decided the kids deserved chocolate chip muffins.

We loaded up The Hubs's truck and headed out. To this day, I cannot remember why we took the truck since even in the days before you had to sell a child to buy a tank of gas we were disinclined to spend the money to fill up his behemoth. I only mention this because the truck just didn't have the nice smooth suspension of my Passat. (I know, you totally see where this is going because I am ruining the story with my foreshadowing, but I am an English teacher and I like my literary devices, m'kay?)

The Eldest Child, who was just past his fifth birthday zonked out on the way down. So when we arrived--a whole ten minutes before we were supposed to, rock on Instafamily!--I extracted The Eldest Child from the car. He started to whine that his shoe was untied, so I bent over and tied it for him. Then he started to cry. With the hindsight I have now, I know that unexplained crying is the first sign that The Eldest Child is going to throw up--great moments, I tell ya, lots and lots of great moments. But back then, back before I knew better, I just figured he was sleepy and a swooped him into my arms.

Just in time for him to throw up. Chocolate-chip muffin throw up. In my hair. Down my back. All the way to my ankles. Onto my shoes. On my white sweater.

This was the first time we found out that The Eldest Child tends to get a little car sick. Funny how we always find out the important stuff after the fact and the hard way.

To this day, I don't want to know what the poor old woman thought when she walked into the women's bathroom at a church and found me leaning over a toilet stroking a sick child's head and The Hubs, holding a two-month-old baby, using cheap brown paper towels to try to scrub brown vomit off of my white sweater, my pant leg, and at that very moment, my butt. Whatever it was, it caused her to immediately turn around and walk the other direction. No.Questions.Asked.

After cleaning me up, The Hubs fled from the women's bathroom to inform my friend that an immediate trip to the nearest store would be necessary to get replacement clothes. But oh no, she was having none of that. The closest store was a Target at least 15 minutes away and packed on a Saturday. We had about 30 seconds before the priest was coming in. She snatched her mother's cardigan to cover the mess on my shoulder and back, then informed me in no uncertain terms that my vomit-splattered butt would be in that pew for the entire ceremony.

The cardigan. The yellow, green, and orange hand-knit gem that really belonged on someone forty years older than me living forty years ago. The cardigan with the puffy sleeves. The cardigan that I am recorded wearing for posterity because no sooner did I sit my subservient butt in that pew than my friend informed me that I was sitting just a few people away from the professional photographer she had hired for the occassion. Yipp-freakin'-ee.

I love her mother. I hate her fashion choice that day. Damn sweater.

We managed to get through the ceremony without incident and stopped by Target on our way to her mom's house afterward since, after the bathroom clean up, everyone except the baby was wearing vomit.

When we finally arrived, her mother discreetly bagged the sweater and placed it outside until it could be burned washed. It was that bad. It was the smell that took on a life of it's own. We couldn't even put our dirty clothes in the truck. They rode in the bed of the truck on the way home. That bad.

With the vomiting incident seemingly behind us, I tried to mesh seamlessly with the guests as though nothing had ever happened. The conversation I unknowingly walked into? The one that is permanently burned into my memory?

Guest 1: Oh my God, what was that stench during the whole ceremony?
Guest 2: You smelled it, too?
Guest 1: How could you not smell that?
Guest 2: I figured someone just needed to change their baby.
Guest 1: That was no baby. That was awful. *Turning to me* You were next to us, did you smell it?
Me: Smell? Um...oh, the baby is crying. I think he needs to be nursed.

And so, I quietly left the conversation. Because that smell...that would be me.

For my Eldest

Today, The Eldest Child goes back to his bio mom for two weeks. Two long weeks. And I will miss him.

The Hubs will miss him, too. No matter how much The Hubs loves MiniMe and the twins, no matter how much pain the bio mom caused him, no matter how they finally became a "family" when I arrived, the bottom line is that The Eldest Child is his son--his first son. And that is special and unique and irreplacable. And so, The Hubs will miss him. He'll mope without realizing he's moping. He won't talk about how empty the house is. And when The Eldest Child calls their conversations will likely be brief. But The Hubs will miss The Eldest Child, nonetheless, because of who he is to The Hubs.

MiniMe will miss him terribly. Every morning he will wake up and ask if The Eldest Child is coming home today. And every day I will have to watch his sweet little face fall when I tell him how many more days it will be until his big brother returns. Even when I tell him "The Eldest Child will be back tomorrow!" with all the excitement and joy in my voice that the homecoming inevitably brings, he will still be sad because tomorrow is not today. He will forget how much he torments and harasses The Eldest Child, knowing only that his favorite playmate is gone for a length of time he is too young to understand. For a reason he is too young to understand.

There will be times during the next two weeks that I will stand in the doorway of his room and think of him, wondering what he's doing at that moment and what he'd being doing if he were here. I will dust shelves that hold toys he is not playing with, books he is not reading. When I do laundry, I will go to his room forgetting that his hamper will be empty. At dinnertime, I will pile the mail and other clutter in his spot rather than clearing it off the table like I do when he's here. Because if I clear it off, I will have to look at his empty seat next to me which will make me wish I could be telling him to chew with his mouth closed and not to pick his braces at the dinner table.

For the next two weeks I will wonder if he's happier where he is, and I will worry that he is. I will wonder if he misses us, if he misses all the differentness that here is compared to there. I will wonder if he is not happier, if he wants to be here, and if that makes him sad. I will wonder if he misses the chaos and activity and madness that is a house with three brothers. I wonder if he knows how empty this house is, in spite of those three brothers, without him.

I often feel as though it is written in the by-laws of being a stepmother that I am not allowed to love him "as much." Somewhere it is written that even though I know I cannot replace his biological mother, even though I would never want to, the very act of loving him as much as my other children violates those very basic tenets. I can accept that this is how life is. I understand that I chose this when I married The Hubs. But acceptance is different from enjoyment. Acceptance is different from making peace. And I have not done that. I have not made peace with this.

I never will.

No matter how many times he comes home or how many times he leaves, I will not make peace with this. No matter how well we all get along and how easy sharing this child becomes (I hate that...I hate the idea of "sharing" a child). No matter how much I accept this situation. No matter how much I understand the necessity of it.

I will always hate that my children miss their brother. That my husband misses his first son. That there is an empty room in my home.

I know I am his stepmother and therefore I am not supposed to view him as my child. But I do. I do because I know no other way to love him. He was given to me in a way that was completely different than the gift of my other children. And when we became a family we did it together, the three of us, choosing each other. Loving each other. Making a family.

So today, and for half of my life, my nest, my home, is one child short. And I have to accept that because I decided five years ago that it was more important to me to have him half the time than not at all.

What's wrong with this picture?

Do you see that child with the hose? Yeah, that's MiniMe. My three-year-old.

And the one in the grandma's spa. Yep, that would be The Eldest Child. Who is five years older than MiniMe.

And do you see what's happening? Do you see MiniMe sneak-attack hosing The Eldest Child?

The sad part...that's pretty much normal. My three-year-old who tackles, body slams, and generally physically dominates his older brother. And the much bigger, stronger older brother who totally takes it. Not because he's being nice, not because he can't fight back, but because he wants to drive me up a friggin' wall by ratting out his little brother forty gagillion times a day.

Call the dog. I think tonight there will be more amaretto sours.

Time for an intervention

Last night came at the end of a very long day and preceded a day on which there would be a job interview (don't ask because I don't know yet and if it's bad I don't want to talk about it). After bathing four children and prepping for the interview, I figured I deserved a little "something." Something known as an amaretto sour. A rare treat in Insta-land.

I went to the cabinet, grabbed the amaretto with one hand, the sour mix with the other and walked to the kitchen for a glass. The cabinet was left open since my hands were preoccupied with various libations.

After mixing the aforementioned libations, I walked back to replace the bottles and close the cabinet.

And had the absolute crap scared out of me.

You see, the room was dark. And the large dog who lives with us is dark. And the dog was up to his shoulders in the liquor cabinet.

I don't know who was more shocked: me when I walked directly into the dog's ass or the dog when I caught him sniffing Captain Morgan.

If he asks me to buy him a pack of smokes, I'm calling the vet.

Counting the days

Friday marked the one month point...one month until I return to the world of the employed.

They say that long vacations are one of the perks of teaching. And in some ways, I would have to agree. I certainly enjoy having a few weeks off from nine hour days followed by long nights of grading papers or planning lessons after the kids have been tucked in.

But I hate that those long vacations give me a window to what I would love my life to be. A window that is decisively slammed on shut on my fingers in August.

During those weeks we take morning trips to the park. I can talk to other moms, MiniMe gets to play with other kids, we can spend time outside before the temperature spikes near 100 degrees. During those weeks we bake cookies, put together puzzles, read books, tickle each other, dance in the family room. During those weeks I get to know my kids a little better and let them get to know me.

During those weeks I clean up spills, turn on TV so I can have a 20 minute break, soothe fussy babies, referee arguments, change my clothes three times a day because of the spit up/pee/baby food/dirt that they get covered in. During those weeks I watch the clock until The Hubs gets home because then I will finally have some back up. I know I don't appreciate my days with them like I should.

Because no matter how hard teaching is, being a stay-at-home mom is unquestionably harder. But I would give anything to trade jobs. Anything.

In four weeks, my three little ones will go back to daycare. For as much as I love their caregiver, she is not me. I want them with me. I want to be the one getting kisses during the day. I want to be the one cleaning up the mess after lunch. I want to spend my days with my own kids, not other people's.

This year, I decided this would be the summer I found something else. Some other job I could do at home. And now, with only four weeks before I have to be back at work, nothing has been found. After I had MiniMe, going back to work was hard, but there was a part of me that was okay with it. I missed him, but I also felt that my own identity was still intact.

With the twins, everything has changed. I am a different person now than I was four years ago. A different mommy. But I am in the same situation. And I have realized that this is it for me. These are my last babies. There will not be another chance for me to be the mommy I want to be. If I don't find a way to be that mommy, I'll have blown my chance completely.

I know that over the next four weeks I will continue to get caught up in the day-to-day of being a mom, and the time will go by quickly. I know that in August, I'll wonder where my summer went and why I didn't appreciate that time with my kids more. And in the coming months, I'll worry that I'm not being the mom I could be. The mom I should be.

The mom I want to be.

Let freedom ring

Happy 4th of July everyone. Celebrate what it means to be an American.

The buzz on bees

Slice of Pink was the first blog I ever read. And I have to say it is still one of my favorites. Janet, a former colleague of mine and current law student, is witty, clever, and just altogether too creative. I wish I had known all this about her when we worked together. Now I'm just that crazy woman who she kind of knows and who stalks her blog on a regular basis.

So while I was stalking catching up on my blog-reading yesterday, I read this post and asked Janet to let me share it here.

If you haven't heard about the declining bee population it's probably because your television rarely gets turned to anything but PBS or Noggin and your daily reading tends more toward Sandra Boynton than The New York Times. Yeah...join the club. And since I am clearly too busy talking about shoe prices and my own bruised vanity to be bothered with things like...oh, the survival of the human race (okay, maybe a little melodramatic there, but it is serious), I'll let Janet do the talking for me. She usually says it much better than I could anyway. And with prettier pictures.

And when you're done reading, you can thank her for the excuse to go out and buy a pint (or three) of Haagen Dazs.

July BOM: The Impressionist, by Hari Kunzru

After I graduated from college I went through an Indian literature phase: The Blue Bedspread, Death of Vishnu, Life of Pi, Arresting God in Kathmandu (technically Nepali, this one, so please forgive my loose geography), and anything by Jhumpa Lahiri, to name a few. Most of these writers are transplants to North America, but their writing all contains a sensuality that I found characteristic of this sub-genre. The scents are stronger, the colors more vivid, the air of the stories positively tangible.

So this month, I decided to read a book that I hope evokes some of the same sensations as the books that captivated me for so long all those years ago. I'll be reading The Impressionist, by Hari Kunzru. If you're looking for a good read, perhaps you can join me in experiencing this one.

For BOM history, click here.