One of the things I hear most often in my job as a Floor Supervisor at a nationally known grocery store is "You are always so pleasant and upbeat. You seem so happy to be here!" I always chuckle and tell them that, despite the completely inept management team, and getting yelled at on a regular basis for things that I have absolutely no control over, my 32-35 hours a week at work really are the easiest parts of my day. They laugh and I say, "No. Really. I'm serious." Let me give you a little glimpse into my world, just a typical morning in my life here with my 4 Littles.
Because we are homeschoolers, we have the luxury of relaxed and non-rushed mornings. I have four children 10 and under, and they each have their own, quirky sleep schedules and I totally embrace that. I am such a night owl myself, and always have been, that I understand that some people really are just not wired to get up and about at 7am. Thankfully the ten year old is the earliest riser, and that is usually a really good thing. He is the least mischievous of the bunch, and can be trusted to keep an eye on things until I get up, usually around 8-8:30am, especially if I have worked one of my two weekly 6pm-330am shifts. Sunday night was one of those long shifts, so the events depicted below are from Monday. Just a typical morning in the Gallaher Household.
8:15am - I wake up and stretch, trying to get motivated to drag myself out of bed, smelling my coffee ready and waiting for me. Yay. I need my fuel, since I have a very long, ambitious list of things that I want to get done this bright and glorious morning. I shoo the dog off my pillow and hair, where she thinks she is supposed to sleep after Sweet Hubby has gotten up and left for work. I open the bedroom door, and see my sweet Chaos sitting at the computer, playing Minecraft and eating a big slice of yogurt pie, made the day before.
"Good morning, Chaos. Why are you eating pie at 8:15 in the morning?"
"I told dad I was hungry before he left for work and he told me to get something to eat."
"Did he tell you to have a slice of pie for breakfast?"
"No."
"OK. Because I probably have not specifically said this before, I am saying it now: no pie for breakfast. Is there any left?"
"No. That's why I wanted to eat it now. So I would not have to share." This child is the most honest of the bunch.
"OK." I shake my head slightly and walk over to the counter where my coffee awaits.I get my Life is Good mug out, put in a splash of caramel vanilla creamer, grab the pot full of delicious, energy-giving liquid heaven and begin to pour. I get splashed in the hand by hot coffee as a dandelion and clover flower pour out of my freshly brewed coffee and into my mug.
"Chaos. Do you have any idea why there are weeds in my coffee?"
"Yes." Silence.
"Could you please explain?"
"Sure. Last night we were playing in the yard while Dad worked in his shop. Havoc picked you some flowers and wanted to save them for you. He couldn't reach the cups, so he got a chair and stuck them in the coffee pot. I told him NOT to push the buttons, though, since the timer was set "
"Great. Thanks. Next time, please just help him get a plastic cup to put them in."
"Ok."
I wash the coffee pot, empty the grounds, refill and turn it on again. No fancy Kuerig action here. I did the math to figure out how much it would cost me to brew the 6-7 cups of coffee I drink a day, and I will just say, there is no way I will be K Cupping anything any time in my near future. At least not until I hit that big Mega Millions jackpot. Kroger brand French Roast in a #4 cone filter for me, thank you very much.
In about 15 minutes, just as I am sitting down to take my first sip of coffee and open my Bible to get a short reading in before the whole house is awake, I see Havoc begin to stir on the couch. He has a bedroom, and a bed, but refuses to sleep in it. And if he is taken in there during the night, noone gets sleep, since he is up and down every hour or so. I am not here 5 nights a week for bedtime, and Havoc settles right down and sleeps from 10pm til 830 or 9 am on the couch, so that is where Sweet Hubby lets him sleep. Works for us.
"Hold me."
"Good morning, Sugar! Do you want to sit with me while I read and have my coffee?"
"Hold me."
"I have a blankie and pillow right here. Why don't you snuggle up right beside me while I drink my coffee."
"HOLD ME. PEAS, MAMA!"
I hold my sweet Havoc, and try, unsuccessfully, to relax and sip my coffee. After ten minutes of feeling like I am wrestling an octopus, I decide to get up and get started on my day.
Just then, in walks Princess Sassy, sleepy and grumpy.
"What time is it?" she grumbles.
"OUR TIME!!" screams Havoc. (This is the back and forth chant ManChild yells with the Little League team he helps coach, that Chaos and Mayhem play on. Havoc is kind of an honorary member.)
"NO. What time is it really?" Sassy asks.
"OUR TIME!!" screams Havoc.
"MOM! Make him stop! What TIME is it?"
"OUR TIME!!"
"Ok. Everyone stop, please! It is about 8:45, baby. Do you want some breakfast?"
"Yes. Can I have waffles?"
"Not this morning. Cereal or oatmeal with milk and sugar. Which would you like?"
"Coffee cake?"
"No. Would you like cereal or oatmeal?"
"I had pie for breakfast!" comes from the computer desk....
"WHAT?!?!? Why did he get pie??!! Can I have pie?"
"NO. He ate the last piece without permission. What do you want for breakfast?"
"You all are ruining my life!!" and she stomps her way upstairs to her room. Great. Good morning.
I throw a load of laundry into the washer, grab the wet load and get it going in the dryer, and head into my bedroom to fold the two loads waiting in the laundry bin. Havoc wants to help. If there is anything less fun than folding laundry on a Monday morning, it is trying to fold laundry with a four year old helper who simultaneously wants to jump on the bed. I work at it for about 10 minutes and abandon the pile for later in the day.
"Do we have a game tonight?" comes from the doorway.
"Good morning, Mayhem. How are you today?"
"Fine. Do we have a game today?"
"No. No game til Wednesday. Practice tomorrow. It is all on the calendar."
"I don't like calendars."
"Oh. OK. Do you want some breakfast?"
"Hey, Mayhem! Guess what I had for breakfast!!!"
"Chaos! Enough!"
And we go through round two of the pie for breakfast debacle. After assuring both Sassy and Mayhem they will get a treat of some kind while Chaos has none later in the week, and getting everyone fed, we settle down to get some math started. We get through 6 pages each with minimal struggle, and I am ready to start working on history.
We sit down and begin reading together. Except that Chaos has decided to take one of his educational detours and wants to talk more about ancient Egypt. Mayhem and Sassy are done with Egypt. Chaos has questions that I have no idea the answers to and that are not covered in either of the two texts we are using. Havoc wants to draw and can't find the crayons. He needs them RIGHT NOW!! I step away to find a new box. While I am gone, Mayhem and Chaos get into a heated debate as to who was smarter, Bilbo Baggins or Sam. Just as they get ready to break into fisticuffs, I come back in the room and decide we will work on reading. Everyone to their rooms, working on flash cards or reading books. I get more coffee. Havoc has broken 12 crayons in half to show me "I am VERY strong, mama!" and is now crying because all his crayons are broken. Sassy goes upstairs to get her crayon melting craft machine (worst Christmas gift EVER! We have only ourselves to blame for this one!) so she can make jewelry out of all the pieces of crayon. "And you wont be able to touch MY crayon rings, Havoc!" Sassy tells him. More tears, and they are off to the races, Havoc chasing Sassy, Sassy screaming, and the dog following behind and barking. I wait a minute or two, just to see what will happen, and call everyone back together.
"How about some outside time?Y'all head out back and play and I will get a few things done, then we will water the garden."
Great idea. Everyone is dressed and outside in ten minutes. I catch up the dishes, get 2 loads of laundry folded, and then wonder why they are so quiet and happy out there, noone running in and out. This is not normal. so I am sure they are up to something.
Ans they are. I look out onto the slate patio and find the four of them huddled around a pile of pine tags and leaves, magnifying glass in hand and 4 water bottles nearby. I have 4 boys, I know what is happening here.
I open the door and scare them all, as they are intent on their pyromaniac training.
"What are you trying to do?"
"Start a fire!" yells Havoc.
"Just a science experiment, mom!" chimes in Mayhem.
"With MY magnifying glass!" exclaims Sassy proudly.
"But we have water bottles here to be safe!" says the ever-cautious Chaos.
All before 11am. Just a regular old morning around here.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Why This Title For My Blog
Blog naming is one of those tricky things. All the really cool blog names have been taken by folks way more creative than I am. I will find a new blog and think, "That would have been the PERFECT name for my blog, but now I guess I will have to just have to name mine something ordinary like "Marla's Thoughts and Ramblings, When She is Not Too Tired or Busy and Makes Time for This Blogging Thing." It somehow just doesn't quite roll right off the old tongue like you want it to. SO, while I was brainstorming blog titles, I thought I would try to use a phrase I use all the time in my diverse life as a wife and mom of 1+4 children. Some early prototypes seemed a little, um, shall we say, harsh. Considered and rejected titles include : "Yes, They Are All Mine, and Yes, We Know What Causes Them", "Please Get Out of The Bathroom. I Will Be Done in a Minute and I Can Help You Then" and my personal favorite among the rejects "I Can't Even Hear Myself Think.What Makes You Think I Can Hear The Sweet Nothings You're Whispering in My Ear?". All phrases I have used in daily life, way more often than you would actually think, but just not quite the perfect blog title. Then I went to a baby shower and heard someone utter the words that moved me to my "AH HA!" moment. "I will never." A blog title was born.
I have been on this Earth for 45 1/2 years. I have probably uttered the words "I will never...." a thousand times. And at this point in my life, I have had to take back and recant on probably 95% of those "I will never" statements. There are still some that I am pretty sure I can bank on being true. Those include things such as "I will never willingly jump out of a perfectly good airplane." Though I have friends who swear skydiving is the coolest thing EVER, I don't even like flying in an airplane. I get panicky, order too many in flight drinks, look out the window every 45-60 seconds making sure an engine or wing hasn't fallen off, and am just generally NOT an airplaney type of person. I feel safe making the statement that I will not be skydiving anytime in my future. Others that I feel safe in proclaiming, much to the relief of family and friends, are "I will never wear a tube top again." "I will never again help drink almost an entire bottle of whipped cream vodka followed by numerous beers" and "I will never again tape posters of Axl Rose and Jim Morrison to my walls and ceilings." (though I will ALWAYS love Jim!)
Marrying my Sweet Hubby was my first venture down the road of "never say never." So many I will nevers got tossed aside there - including never marrying someone who has already been married, marrying a man who would become a law enforcement officer (oh the irony for the rebellious 23 year old I was on our wedding day!), and never letting the love of my life see me at anything less than my best. Yeah, right.The poor man has been witness to 5 children being born, a badly broken collarbone, a nasty injury to my finger due to misuse of a screwdriver, thumb stitches, the removal of a 2 inch sliver of wood from under my fingernail (possibly the most painful injury I have EVER had!), and any number of other embarrassing and less than picture perfect moments. So those I will nevers got shot down pretty early on, and due to my proclivity toward clumsiness and general not paying attention to consequences as I should, I am sure he will continue to see me at less than my perfect self. I am finally to the point where I am ok with that.
Parenting brings you to a whole other level of "I will never...." When I was expecting our first boy, ManChild, I had a whole slew of I will nevers. They included not letting him play with guns or other kinds of weapon toys (ha), making sure he was always in clean clothes with neatly trimmed nails (see my previous post about the fact that I DON'T clip fingernails. It is a scary nail time in my house when grandma is out of town for a week or so!), and that he would always be the very center of my world. (4 more babies from the time ManChild was 11 until he was 18 kind of changed that whole dynamic around!) I have, over the course of my 21 years of parenting said such ridiculous things as "I will never own or drive a minivan!" (we are on minivan #2 and I am embarrassed by how much I love my Yoda van!), "I will never have another child! (Um, said that one twice! Once after Mayhem and again after Princess Sassy. I don't even breathe those words anymore! I know better!!), and "I will never get a tattoo."(Well, I haven't gotten mine yet, but I have it designed. Now I just have to convince Sweet Hubby that it really is as awesome as I think it is!)
If I have learned anything in this journey of my life, it is that I try NOT to say "I will never...."anymore, because, way more often than not, I will! And thus, a blog title is born.
I have been on this Earth for 45 1/2 years. I have probably uttered the words "I will never...." a thousand times. And at this point in my life, I have had to take back and recant on probably 95% of those "I will never" statements. There are still some that I am pretty sure I can bank on being true. Those include things such as "I will never willingly jump out of a perfectly good airplane." Though I have friends who swear skydiving is the coolest thing EVER, I don't even like flying in an airplane. I get panicky, order too many in flight drinks, look out the window every 45-60 seconds making sure an engine or wing hasn't fallen off, and am just generally NOT an airplaney type of person. I feel safe making the statement that I will not be skydiving anytime in my future. Others that I feel safe in proclaiming, much to the relief of family and friends, are "I will never wear a tube top again." "I will never again help drink almost an entire bottle of whipped cream vodka followed by numerous beers" and "I will never again tape posters of Axl Rose and Jim Morrison to my walls and ceilings." (though I will ALWAYS love Jim!)
Marrying my Sweet Hubby was my first venture down the road of "never say never." So many I will nevers got tossed aside there - including never marrying someone who has already been married, marrying a man who would become a law enforcement officer (oh the irony for the rebellious 23 year old I was on our wedding day!), and never letting the love of my life see me at anything less than my best. Yeah, right.The poor man has been witness to 5 children being born, a badly broken collarbone, a nasty injury to my finger due to misuse of a screwdriver, thumb stitches, the removal of a 2 inch sliver of wood from under my fingernail (possibly the most painful injury I have EVER had!), and any number of other embarrassing and less than picture perfect moments. So those I will nevers got shot down pretty early on, and due to my proclivity toward clumsiness and general not paying attention to consequences as I should, I am sure he will continue to see me at less than my perfect self. I am finally to the point where I am ok with that.
Parenting brings you to a whole other level of "I will never...." When I was expecting our first boy, ManChild, I had a whole slew of I will nevers. They included not letting him play with guns or other kinds of weapon toys (ha), making sure he was always in clean clothes with neatly trimmed nails (see my previous post about the fact that I DON'T clip fingernails. It is a scary nail time in my house when grandma is out of town for a week or so!), and that he would always be the very center of my world. (4 more babies from the time ManChild was 11 until he was 18 kind of changed that whole dynamic around!) I have, over the course of my 21 years of parenting said such ridiculous things as "I will never own or drive a minivan!" (we are on minivan #2 and I am embarrassed by how much I love my Yoda van!), "I will never have another child! (Um, said that one twice! Once after Mayhem and again after Princess Sassy. I don't even breathe those words anymore! I know better!!), and "I will never get a tattoo."(Well, I haven't gotten mine yet, but I have it designed. Now I just have to convince Sweet Hubby that it really is as awesome as I think it is!)
If I have learned anything in this journey of my life, it is that I try NOT to say "I will never...."anymore, because, way more often than not, I will! And thus, a blog title is born.
Traumas In Parenting
As the mother of 1+4 children, I have seen my share of accidents, incidents, and just plain strangeness. We have had broken bones (two ankles, one finger, three toes), lacerations (two foreheads, one inner lip,one finger, one foot, and one tongue wound that I still have panicked flashbacks about), and a stomach flu the Middles had when I was pregnant with Havoc that I will NEVER forget.With 5 active kids, I have weathered these incidents, and countless other sprains, strains, scratches and scrapes, and that is just the children!
All this to say, I am pretty cool under pressure. I have taken my county's Certified Emergency Response Team training, and have a good grasp of emergency first aid response. I have handled my fair share of blood and yuckiness. I have a pretty high tolerance for gross and disgusting things, and am in charge of handling kid injuries while I am home. I thought I was invincible and ready for anything. I was wrong. So very wrong.
One of the joys of having many children is that the older ones teach the younger ones and they pickup things much earlier than they might otherwise. This can be a wonderful thing, especially when it comes to things like picking up toys and putting laundry in the dirty bin. With boys, it can be a slightly less great thing, especially when it comes to the bathroom. My Middle boys have convinced the 4 year old that he must stand to pee. I am in the "Sit until you can really aim better" camp, but alas, with older brothers, that's where we are and I am working at making peace with it. I try to give Havoc his privacy, while still lurking close by so I can survey how much of a mop up operation will be needed. I use his bathroom time to sort my linen closet right next to the bathroom, and that is how I first saw Tick Number One on Thursday.
As I was casually glancing over to see what was happening, it caught my eye. I told Havoc I needed to take a look. Yep. A tick. Now I am not one of those "All ticks carry horrible diseases and I need to save this specimen for the doctor!" types. Ticks really just don't bother me that much. But I knew I needed to remove it. Ugh. Ok. So I told Havoc what was happening and got my smart phone. I have removed lots of ticks, but never one so delicately located. After checking my go-to medical websites, I got ready. I have heard any number of "tricks" to make tick removal easier, from coating them with liquid soap and petroleum jelly, to burning them with a match (THAT seems like a particularly stupid option. "Here. Let me try to light this insect that is burrowing into your skin on fire. I bet THAT will make it stop!" Thanks, but I'll take the tick!). I use none of these techniques, as the CDC, FDA, WebMD, and any number of other sources have confirmed that these methods not only DON'T work, they can actually cause more harm by increasing salivary activity in the tick, thereby increasing the amount of nastiness they share with you. Nope. No easy-peasy, just watch the tick loosen and fall off methods here. Just me, Havoc, the tick, and a pair of pointy tweezers.Oh, and 3 Middles who were peeking in the doorway, by turns excited by their brother's bravery and completely freaked out by a tick "ON HIS YOU KNOW WHAT!!!"
I will spare you the blow by blow account. I WILL say the process of getting a 4 year old to lay still while repeatedly attempting to remove a tick involves lots of repeating the words "I am going to try not to hurt you." "Hold Still!" "I will be done in a minute if you will please stop moving." "No it is NOT off yet. Hold still!" Especially when said tick is attached to a 4 year old's nether regions. Repeat over and over and over. Havoc was very brave, as the tick was stubborn, and still nice and flat (good for medical reasons, suckish for removal purposes.), and after WAY more up close and personal time with my 4 year old than I ever hope to have in quite that way again, it was out. Done. Yippee and let me find his baby book so I can record THIS proud moment. A little alcohol (rubbing kind, not the drinking kind. It was still 11am and I do have SOME self-control left, thank you very much!), some anti-bacterial ointment, and a big hug and we were done. Whew. Another Parenting Hurdle successfully cleared. Until I looked at my sweet boy's face. What the heck is that on his eyelid? How do you get dirt on your eyelid? Except it is not wiping away. Oh no. YOU have GOT to be kidding me. A tick. On his EYELID?!?!
This was the point where I contemplated a glass of wine. Seriously. 11am or not. There are a few things that totally skeeve me out. Fingernail and toenail trimming (my mom takes care of that for my kids and has since ManChild was little and I cut his fingertip with the nail clippers. She is the official family mani and pedicurist, and for that I am grateful.) Loose tooth removal (I have gone so far as to convince Chaos that attaching a string to his tooth and tying the other end to both a bicycle ridden by Max and a Nerf bullet shot by ManChild is a GREAT way to pull teeth, all to avoid having to assist in the removal of said loose tooth.)
And eyes. I do wear contacts, but really prefer not to have to deal with eyes and eyelids. The thought of going after a tick on Havoc's eyelid with a pair of POINTY tweezers just went completely against everything I have ever been taught and have taught my children. "Don't run with that pointy fill in the blank! You'll poke your eye out!" It is a mantra repeated by parents and teachers the world over. And here I was, getting ready to break every convention of modern parenting and use pointy tweezers directly ON my baby's eyelid. And, because he has been so well trained, Havoc really wanted NOTHING to do with me heading straight for his eye with said pointy tweezers. It really was a great illustration of how we confuse our children. "Don't put pointy things near your eyes. Don't stay around people who are holding pointy things that might poke you in your eye. Tell Daddy or I if someone is playing with pointy sticks. Here, let me use this pointy metal object on your eyelid." And we wonder why our kids are confused.
After many, MANY attempts at getting off Tick Two, I was able to simultaneously hold Havoc's eyelid closed, hold him still, all while pulling out said tick by it's flat, teeny head. For a fairly uncoordinated and not particularly patient person, I felt quite accomplished for the day. After a thorough body check, Havoc got the Tick All Clear. And we decided to venture out to pick up some heavier duty insect repellant. And it was at my local Home Depot I had my next parenting trauma.
In our family, we do not use cutesy names for body parts. We just don't. Breasts are breasts and penises are penises and that is just how I roll. And my children have really no qualms discussing their bodies, especially when they are younger. Thankfully, the oldest 3 have learned some modicum of discretion in polite company about what most people find acceptable to talk about and what they don't. The 6 and 4 year olds? Not so much. Because of this beautiful openness, I feel I must apologize to the patrons and staff of my local HD, all of whom now know the reason we were buying Deep Woods Off was because "I had a tick on my penis!"
"He had one on his eyelid, too! It was disgusting!" all while the 8 and 10 year olds were trying to stay as far away from us as possible, as I am shusshing Sassy and Havoc, "We don't need to talk about that right now!"
There is a reason I do not make judgements about moms and kids in public places. Because it is just as likely that I will be that mom with the kids oversharing and acting like crazy people. Don't judge me and I won't judge you. Simple Mommy love.
All this to say, I am pretty cool under pressure. I have taken my county's Certified Emergency Response Team training, and have a good grasp of emergency first aid response. I have handled my fair share of blood and yuckiness. I have a pretty high tolerance for gross and disgusting things, and am in charge of handling kid injuries while I am home. I thought I was invincible and ready for anything. I was wrong. So very wrong.
One of the joys of having many children is that the older ones teach the younger ones and they pickup things much earlier than they might otherwise. This can be a wonderful thing, especially when it comes to things like picking up toys and putting laundry in the dirty bin. With boys, it can be a slightly less great thing, especially when it comes to the bathroom. My Middle boys have convinced the 4 year old that he must stand to pee. I am in the "Sit until you can really aim better" camp, but alas, with older brothers, that's where we are and I am working at making peace with it. I try to give Havoc his privacy, while still lurking close by so I can survey how much of a mop up operation will be needed. I use his bathroom time to sort my linen closet right next to the bathroom, and that is how I first saw Tick Number One on Thursday.
As I was casually glancing over to see what was happening, it caught my eye. I told Havoc I needed to take a look. Yep. A tick. Now I am not one of those "All ticks carry horrible diseases and I need to save this specimen for the doctor!" types. Ticks really just don't bother me that much. But I knew I needed to remove it. Ugh. Ok. So I told Havoc what was happening and got my smart phone. I have removed lots of ticks, but never one so delicately located. After checking my go-to medical websites, I got ready. I have heard any number of "tricks" to make tick removal easier, from coating them with liquid soap and petroleum jelly, to burning them with a match (THAT seems like a particularly stupid option. "Here. Let me try to light this insect that is burrowing into your skin on fire. I bet THAT will make it stop!" Thanks, but I'll take the tick!). I use none of these techniques, as the CDC, FDA, WebMD, and any number of other sources have confirmed that these methods not only DON'T work, they can actually cause more harm by increasing salivary activity in the tick, thereby increasing the amount of nastiness they share with you. Nope. No easy-peasy, just watch the tick loosen and fall off methods here. Just me, Havoc, the tick, and a pair of pointy tweezers.Oh, and 3 Middles who were peeking in the doorway, by turns excited by their brother's bravery and completely freaked out by a tick "ON HIS YOU KNOW WHAT!!!"
I will spare you the blow by blow account. I WILL say the process of getting a 4 year old to lay still while repeatedly attempting to remove a tick involves lots of repeating the words "I am going to try not to hurt you." "Hold Still!" "I will be done in a minute if you will please stop moving." "No it is NOT off yet. Hold still!" Especially when said tick is attached to a 4 year old's nether regions. Repeat over and over and over. Havoc was very brave, as the tick was stubborn, and still nice and flat (good for medical reasons, suckish for removal purposes.), and after WAY more up close and personal time with my 4 year old than I ever hope to have in quite that way again, it was out. Done. Yippee and let me find his baby book so I can record THIS proud moment. A little alcohol (rubbing kind, not the drinking kind. It was still 11am and I do have SOME self-control left, thank you very much!), some anti-bacterial ointment, and a big hug and we were done. Whew. Another Parenting Hurdle successfully cleared. Until I looked at my sweet boy's face. What the heck is that on his eyelid? How do you get dirt on your eyelid? Except it is not wiping away. Oh no. YOU have GOT to be kidding me. A tick. On his EYELID?!?!
This was the point where I contemplated a glass of wine. Seriously. 11am or not. There are a few things that totally skeeve me out. Fingernail and toenail trimming (my mom takes care of that for my kids and has since ManChild was little and I cut his fingertip with the nail clippers. She is the official family mani and pedicurist, and for that I am grateful.) Loose tooth removal (I have gone so far as to convince Chaos that attaching a string to his tooth and tying the other end to both a bicycle ridden by Max and a Nerf bullet shot by ManChild is a GREAT way to pull teeth, all to avoid having to assist in the removal of said loose tooth.)
And eyes. I do wear contacts, but really prefer not to have to deal with eyes and eyelids. The thought of going after a tick on Havoc's eyelid with a pair of POINTY tweezers just went completely against everything I have ever been taught and have taught my children. "Don't run with that pointy fill in the blank! You'll poke your eye out!" It is a mantra repeated by parents and teachers the world over. And here I was, getting ready to break every convention of modern parenting and use pointy tweezers directly ON my baby's eyelid. And, because he has been so well trained, Havoc really wanted NOTHING to do with me heading straight for his eye with said pointy tweezers. It really was a great illustration of how we confuse our children. "Don't put pointy things near your eyes. Don't stay around people who are holding pointy things that might poke you in your eye. Tell Daddy or I if someone is playing with pointy sticks. Here, let me use this pointy metal object on your eyelid." And we wonder why our kids are confused.
After many, MANY attempts at getting off Tick Two, I was able to simultaneously hold Havoc's eyelid closed, hold him still, all while pulling out said tick by it's flat, teeny head. For a fairly uncoordinated and not particularly patient person, I felt quite accomplished for the day. After a thorough body check, Havoc got the Tick All Clear. And we decided to venture out to pick up some heavier duty insect repellant. And it was at my local Home Depot I had my next parenting trauma.
In our family, we do not use cutesy names for body parts. We just don't. Breasts are breasts and penises are penises and that is just how I roll. And my children have really no qualms discussing their bodies, especially when they are younger. Thankfully, the oldest 3 have learned some modicum of discretion in polite company about what most people find acceptable to talk about and what they don't. The 6 and 4 year olds? Not so much. Because of this beautiful openness, I feel I must apologize to the patrons and staff of my local HD, all of whom now know the reason we were buying Deep Woods Off was because "I had a tick on my penis!"
"He had one on his eyelid, too! It was disgusting!" all while the 8 and 10 year olds were trying to stay as far away from us as possible, as I am shusshing Sassy and Havoc, "We don't need to talk about that right now!"
There is a reason I do not make judgements about moms and kids in public places. Because it is just as likely that I will be that mom with the kids oversharing and acting like crazy people. Don't judge me and I won't judge you. Simple Mommy love.
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