Classy Chaos

GUEST POST: The OHmommy Hijacking

2008-07-18T00:00:00.001-04:00

( Hi, my name is Amanda, and I am totally hijacking HOmommy, I mean, OHMommy's blog today. I normally hold down the fort at my own place, Shamelessly Sassy. I am a mother, wife, student, and business owner. I normally write about anything and everything under the moon. One of my favorite subjects is my redheaded, three year old Allie. She is also one of my more rambunctious subjects.)

As a parent of an only child, my husband and I are often her playmates. Allie has many cousins and friends to play with, but at home, it's just us. I suppose for her this is getting boring, because she has recently been coming up with suggestions to thwart us as her playmates.

Her first and most recent idea was to spread pregnancy rumors about me. While most pregnancy rumors are the brainchild of a smutty tabloid about a superstar, Allie conjured one up and reported to both sides of our family in secret.

'My mommy has a baby in her tummy,' she told them.

As if her small rumor wasn't enough, she eventually decided to expand her fortress of lies:

'My mommy is having a brother and a sister for me.'

So the alleged baby in tummy soon developed into a set of fraternal twins. Our relatives eventually ratting her out by asking about the rumored (and false) pregnancy. She was very disappointed that plan was squashed and soon developed a new one.

'I'm trading you guys in,' she told us at dinner the other night.

'Trading us in,' we asked inquisitively, never quite sure what she will come up with next.

'Yes, I'm trading you in for a new mommy and daddy if I can't have a brother and sister.'

'Where will you get a new mommy and daddy from, Allie?' I finally broke down and asked.

'Target,' she replied swiftly, 'they have everything.'

And so if you've stop by my place, Shamelessly Sassy, in the near future, and I seem to be gone. My daughter traded me in for a new mother at Tar-jay. I hope this one is good at keeping up with the laundry, because I know I'm not. :)

GUEST POST: A Whole Lot of Nothing

2008-07-17T00:00:00.001-04:00

Watch out sistas, I've got the keys to the Classy Palace while Ms. OHmommy is out gallivanting at BlogHer!

I'm Angie, owner/operator/big brains behind A Whole Lot of Nothing. Since I'm not in San Fran (and I'm thinking neither are you), today, I'm taking over this blog and share a little story about a little place I like to call Heaven on Earth.

...........................................

I've learned from Oprah and Jeebus that by putting things "out there" to the world and letting things be known what you want, you will get it. According to ~~The Secret~~ some, this can mean a bike, a lovah, or money, so I'm putting it all out there.

Mama ~~wants~~ needs a lake house.

Not a house on a retention pond made from dirt and rain runoff water. A real lake house. One that I can take my imaginary SeaDoo out on, float in the clean freshwater, and enjoy my Mandarin Madras ~~served to me by my houseboy~~ while sitting on my dock.

My lake house would come equipt with a hammock. I'd gladly supply it if ~~no one else buys me one~~ need be.

My girls would enjoy it as well. They'd even cry and cry just to stay away from the water, so I'd never worry that they'd ~~be eaten by alligators~~ fall in the water.

I'll even make them do a dance of joy for the lake house.

My girls' eyes match the color of the water, so it's fate that I should have a lake house.

HockeyMan has a new passion: the jet ski. To save money on storage and gas driving to and from the lake, we need the lake house to keep our jet ski ready and waiting ~~and calling my name~~.

Just think of all of the science I could teach my girls! It's an educational right that they be raised in a home with ~~alligators~~ nature around them. As for now in our current home, the only nature they see is the bastard sugar ants that invade our house every summer. That's just not fair. They need to learn by actually living among ~~alligators~~ nature.

Our family could use the lake house as the perfect vacation place to get away and enjoy being with one another. Just see all the fun my dad had ~~helping~~ pushing my Grandma in the water on her 75th birthday. That's quality family-time that would go un-wasted.

So, please world, Oprah, and Jeebus, show me the way to getting my lake house. I've found a few that are well out of range of my non-existent price range, but anything can happen, right? Mama can live her dream of living among ~~alligators~~ nature. I live in Florida for Jeebus sakes! I need to live the lifestyle instead of an HOA-limiting cookie-cutter Pleasantville house.

Mama needs it. Mama needs it bad.

Fess up. Who did it?

2008-07-16T13:16:00.006-04:00

Minutes ago, a tiny package arrived addressed to me. My horoscope yesterday informed me that I would be receiving a small package today.

The return address was one that I did not recognize.

There was no card.

I opened up the box to see a meticulously wrapped box, in the most magnificent shade of blue.

Inside the box was the world's cutest luggage tag.

Who would send me such a wonderful gift on my actually birthday just hours before leaving for San Fran? Who is so incredibly classy? Fess up. Who did it? I love you.

UPDATE:
My best friend in the entire world fessed up. Dear God I love that woman. Thanks for the classiest of all birthday gifts ever.

UPDATE 2:
There was even a smaller package tucked away in my mailbox this afternoon. Also from an address unknown to me.

This time. There was a note: "OHmommy, A little gift you might enjoy Miss." This time. I opened up the package to reveal pure class. The most beautiful monogrammed classy stationary from the ThePaperPrincess.com Oh. My. Joy. It was delicious.

You see. Some weeks ago, I sent Miss my copy of Petitie Anglaise with no note attached. I had no cute and classy stationery. What a random act of kindness she performed today, a nice reminder of the kind of person I would like to be. A person that thinks of others. Dear God I love that woman. Thank you Miss.

A Baby, Jewelry Box, and some Legos

2008-07-16T00:00:00.000-04:00

"When are we leaving?"

"We aren't going anywhere today. We spent the day at the pool and now I have dinner to make." I explained to my daughter.

"Nooooooo. When are we leaving to drive YOU to YOUR mommy vacation?"

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow I leave." I explained.

My children have never been away from me, for longer then a couple of hours.

So when Lola asked me today if it was time for me to leave, I was a little shocked. I was expecting DRAMA and TEARS and HUGS and TANTRUMS as I walked through the security gate at the airport. This is what I envisioned our good-byes to be.

"When is it tomorrow? How many MINUTES? I want my toys!!!"

"I want MY TOYS too, sweet Mama." Jay chimed in. "When are you leaving?"

Over the weekend, when I explained to them I was leaving, I took them to Target and promised to buy them each a "medium expensive" toy. My children never get toys outside of their birthdays and Christmas. Sometimes I bribe them with knick knacks from the dollar section or they earn money for their own Legos. But very rarely if never, do I just buy them a toy. Heck, the last time Fifi got a toy was on trash day in our neighborhood.

I won't allow the kiddos to open their toys until I leave.

I figured that they would be excited with a new toy and not focus so much on my departure.

I figured right.

See how easy it is to replace a loving mother?

"How many more minutes until you leave, MAMA?!?"

"Tomorrow."

"Is it tomorrow yet?" Jay asked.

"Is it? Is it tomorrow yet?" Lola mimicked.

I legally changed my baby's name and it felt great.

2008-07-15T00:00:00.001-04:00

"You did what?"

"I legally changed her first name." I said.

"WHAT?!? When did you change Lola's name?"

"She was eight weeks old when we went to court and changed it." I explained.

"Shut up!"

"No. I am being serious. I can't believe you didn't know that. She is totally a Lola, isn't she?" I asked.

"Yes. Totally 100% a Lola."

My sister's high school friend sat across from me at my parent's house in Chicago, last week, in disbelief as I illustrated for her, the process of changing Lola's name a couple of weeks after she was born.

It was such an ordeal at the time we were doing it. And now, it has turned into one fantastic story to share with friends over a bottle of wine.

"I can't believe you had the balls to legally change her name."

"I know. I know. Me neither. But. What was I supposed to do... continue living my life knowing that something didn't feel right? Something was not right and I changed it. It was crazy at the time and now it feels so normal." I continued.

It is okay to legally change your baby's name after they are born. I did it.

Want to read the ENTIRE story behind changing Lola's name? I am hijacking "From the Land of Monkeys and Princesses" (one of my must read blogs) while Rachel is on vacation sans kiddos in Vegas. Go ahead and read the method behind my madness.

Their conspiracy to keep me from going to BlogHer...

2008-07-14T00:00:00.000-04:00

I am thankful to be raising kids in this day and age of electronic plane tickets.

The kiddos have conspired and made plans on how to keep me from going to "Cab-WE-for-knee-ya."

This mama needs a vacation sans kiddos in a bad way. I am requesting to be seated away from ANY CHILDREN under the age of 18 on the plane to San Francisco for the BlogHer conference, this Thursday. I will throw a temper tantrum if seated next to one.

Moving on.

Without further ado, their conspiracy to keep me home:

I can't always control the conversation...

2008-07-11T00:34:00.001-04:00

I was driving Lola to camp and desperately wanted to listen to the local morning radio show for two minutes. Every Thursday morning they have something called the "Thursday Hook Up" where three men answer one woman's questions and she picks a bachelor to have dinner with.

Although the show is rated PG, I listen to it on the lowest volume. My entry level Honda minivan does not have special volume controls and it is all or nothing.

The kiddos were completely engrossed in their own conversation as I was engrossed in figuring out who Nicole would choose. The computer engineer that prefers staying in, the roofer that likes to dance, or perhaps the accountant that has never seriously dated. I did not even notice the PG words they were using.

"MAMA!!! They said stupid." Jay yelled, over Fifi's wailing to get out of the car seat.

"And they said UGLY, Mama. They said UGLY!!!" Lola chirped in.

Ugly and stupid are two words I really dislike. I just don't like them, no rhyme or reason, and the kiddos know that.

"No one is stupid, Mama. Right?" Jay asked.

"No one is UGLY, Mama. Right?" Lola has started to mimic every single thing Jay says or does lately.

"I just don't like those words. Lola doesn't like cheese and Jay doesn't like mushrooms and I don't like those ugly words." I proclaimed.

"You just said UGLY." Jay broke out in a fit of giggles.

"But, Mama. You told me that no one is ugly." Lola declared. Yes, I did tell her this after she determined that one of her preschool friends was ugly and didn't want to play with her. I am determined to raise a compassionate girl. I had too many mean girl altercations in junior high.

"No one IS ugly."

"But some people are SPECIAL, not ugly, right Mama?" Jay chimed in with a smile. "When Uncle Mike took me to the movies in Chicago he told me that some people are SPECIAL."

"What did Uncle Mike tell you?"

"He told me that the kids on the SHORT bus are SPECIAL." He grinned out loud, proud of retaining some of Uncle Mike's great knowledge. "Uncle Mike said that all the kids on that very short bus are SPECIAL."

"Next time you talk to Uncle Mike, tell him he is a VERY special guy." I told him and shook my fist in the air. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, trying to picture what in the world my brother and son were talking about.

The beginning: A 1974 Yellow Opel

2008-07-07T00:00:00.001-04:00

Twenty-five years ago, my parents bought their first car in America for $500 and we set off on our first family vacation for the banks of the Mississippi river. We were new to America and excited to explore it's vast beauty.

With a fist full of crisp bills, no hotel reservations, minimal understanding of English, no friends for guidance, and no camera to document our trip we took to the road paving our first memories of America, outside of Chicago's walls.

I was Jay's age and my memories of the trip are vague. There was a tire swing over the muddy Mississippi river. Our dusty highway motel had views of cows grazing in the meadows. We had a coffee machine in our room. I remember the taste of my first bag of salty American potato chips.

There was no parade. No fireworks. No fancy dinners. No pool. No friends.

Nevertheless, we always fondly reminisce about the cows in the meadow and the tire swing cast above the river. Today, we laugh about our unreliable 1974 yellow Opel that stalled at every corner and smile at how excited we were to be staying at a "real" motel.

Twenty-five years have passed.

Last week, I bought $500 worth of airplane tickets and set off to spend the 4th of July, in Chicago, with my parents. Armed with three credit cards, three children, a reservation to stay at my parent's house, and a professional grade camera we were ready to create some memories of our own.

There was a beautiful parade that threw out candy, water, and toys. We viewed fireworks from four different communities on my parent's private backyard beach. We had a fancy brunch at the Four Seasons where Fifi sipped her first orange juice from a crystal glass. And the pool.... my parent's backyard pool was used a dozen times a day; I could barely keep up with drying four swimsuits per each child. We were surrounded by friends and family whom my children politely passed out chocolates to during the party. "Would you like to try one of these?" They asked each person at the party before moving onto the next. They were so confident, so polished, so perfect after their two hour forced nap. I was so incredibly proud of them.

Our 1974 yellow Opel transported us to make our first memories of a 4th of July vacation in America. A Boeing 737 transported the kids and I to make our own 4th of July vacation memories.

So much has changed in twenty-five years.

But there is one thing that is the same. You can't move forward in life by staying still. If life is like riding a bicycle, my parents have been pedaling at Tour de France speed for 25 years. I see so much of that in my own children. Lola can't stay still, Jay is always thinking, and Fifi is no longer walking but running.

It makes me wonder what the next twenty-five years will bring us. An Opel. A Boeing. What will transport to our 4th of July family vacation in 2033? One thing is for sure, memories will be made.

Jay & Lola, on the 4th of July, running across Babcia's private beach.

Fifi's first taste of orange juice at the Four Season's Chicago.

We are home tomorrow.

Overheard in Chicago.

2008-07-03T17:43:00.014-04:00

On the way to the airport:
Me- "You are sending me to the airport without a dime? I have three children!"
Husband- "There's an ATM there."
Jay- "Mama, I have a dime. I have two dimes. I will give you a dime."

Patiently waiting for the plane with three children:
Business Man- "I don't envy you at all."
Me- ".........................."

Sitting on the plane with three children patiently waiting for take-off:
Another Business Man- "You sure have your hands full."
Me- "Better full, then empty."

Calling my best friend to cancel hot Friday night plans in the city, after traveling with three kids:
Me- "Dude, I am just way too tired, I can barely see straight. Actually, I can't see."
Her- A very disappointed, "Ohhhh, okay."
Me- "How about tomorrow?"
Her- "Cool."

Responding to new gossip via best friend, on the very next day, sitting at a posh lounge in hot Loubutins:
Me- ".................."
Her- "I know."

Waking up the next day, after tending to three children up at random points throughout the night not accustomed to the new sleeping arrangements:
My mom- "Do they typically wake up at 5:30am?"
Tired Me- "Well, it is 6:30 in Cleveland. And lunchtime in Europe."

Calling my husband, whom is alone in Cleveland, after two restless nights:
Me- "How you doing? Are you rested?"
Him- "I am so tired. The mulch arrived and I have been weeding and spreading like crazy."
Me- "Shut up."

Responding to an email titled, "I know you might not be checking emails, but...":
Me- "Yes. I would love a drink"
Her- "Great! When?"
Me- "How about tomorrow night? You name the place and time. I will be there."

Walking into a bar, meeting a fellow blogger for the first time:
Me- "Oh man, I read the sign on the door. This is a CASH ONLY bar?"
Her- "I have cash."
Me- "This is so silly. I always have cash. Just not today after a long day with the kiddos running around Chicago."
Her- "I have cash. I'll buy this round and you can buy the next, across the street."
Me- "Okay."

Walking into the NEXT bar, with the same fellow blogger, turned great friend:
Me- "Oh man, look at the sign...."
Me- "CASH ONLY again? What are the odds of this happening?"
Her- "Do you want to stay? I'll buy. I want to continue the conversation."
Me- "Yes, me too. Let's stay and see what happens... you couldn't make this stuff up for a blog.

In the middle of a GREAT CONVERSATION with the same fellow blogger, turned great friend, and realizing that she is also a perfectly toned marathon runner:
Her- "This is off the record. You can't blog about this."
Me- "Promise!"
Us- **giggling** In the middle of trying to write this post, at my parent's house:
My mom- "GET OFF the computer."
Me- "................" Shaking my fist.

We are having a great time in Chicago and enjoying every one's company. The husband arrives tonight. My parents are throwing an enormous party tomorrow on the beach. We have four more days left in one of the best cities in the world. HAPPY 4th of JULY!!!

Lost in Translation

2008-07-02T00:00:00.000-04:00

Last night, on our Chicago vacation, my father and I took all three kids on an evening walk around the neighborhood. Lola was "tired" and convinced my father to push her in a stroller and I pushed Fifi in her stroller while Jay kept up with us.

It was desperately close to bed time and I tried my hardest to keep Fifi up, by pointing to every bird, chipmunk, dog, and sprinkler within a mile radius.

We walked past the train tracks that unloaded commuters from the city, walked past the gates of Ravinia (the oldest outdoor musical hall in the USA), walked past Frank Loyd Wright's original residence on the shores of Lake Michigan.

And then, we walked past a simple woman with her dog.

"Hello." She greeted us.

"Hi. Perfect evening for a stroll, isn't it?" I smiled.

"Absolutely. It is a perfect night." She replied.

Such an ordinary exchange of words between neighbors on a pleasant summer night. Jay ran to catch up with me. I could see that he was thinking about something, wondering, and processing it all. I could see it in his inquisitive eyes.

"What's up, Jay?"

"Do you know that woman? Is she from Cleveland?"

"No. I believe she lives here, in Chicago, and is just taking her dog out."

"So, she is not from Cleveland?"

"No. Why?"

"Well she was talking in Cleveland. She wasn't talking in Chicago."

It was my turn to process what he was talking about. I thought about it, before answering. Ah ha, we had just spent the day in the children's museum that was over run by nannies from across the globe. Each of them conversing in their native tongues. We had just spent the last five days in a house where English is rarely ever spoken. All of the adults catching up in native Polish.

Being in Chicago is much more of an ethnic celebration than one would encounter in Cleveland.

The ordinary encounter with the neighbor was so typical of something that would happen in Cleveland.

"Oh, honey. Cleveland, Chicago, New York and so many other cities are all part of the United States, like the map you have on your bedroom wall. We all speak English. Some of us, like me, were born in different countries. I was born in Poland. I speak Polish. But we all speak English."

"I speak Polish. Mówię po polsku." My stubborn father contributed.

Jay looked up at me and I was happy that the connection was made. He looked like he understood.

A mere 10 minutes later, two cyclists stopped in front of us.

"Excuse me, where is the Chicago to Green Bay bike path? We seemed to get off course." He adjusted his spandex shorts, not that I was looking.

"Two blocks west of here and parallel to the train tracks." I pointed west and shifted my eyes north.

"Thank you Ma'am."

Ma'am? MA'AM? Checking over my end-of-the-day outfit I realized that in fact I did look like a ma'am. I hardy noticed Jay tugging at my stained tank top. Jay witnessed the encounter and had an affirmation.

"I know, I know, they were asking for directions. I understood what he said.... they are obviously speaking Clevelandish." He confirmed.

"I speak Polish. Mówię po polsku." My father confirmed as he pushed Lola in her stroller, through the multicultural streets of the North Shore.

Cannonballs: If you don't believe in yourself, then who will?

2008-06-30T00:00:00.003-04:00

Perseverance
Noun. Steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc., esp. in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.

It is never too early to start teaching perseverance and never to old to remember.

When Jay was three and a half, I signed him up for ice skating lessons. I quickly learned that he would not become the next Wayne Gretzky. He screamed and cried on the ice as he desperately hung onto his teacher's hands throughout the first 8 week session. Never even remotely pushy, I tried to lovingly explain to him that all the other children were safe and I would never put him in harm's way.

He cried throughout most of the next 8 week session. He hoped his cries would be his ticket out of the rink but I had other plans. If I pulled him out, what would I be teaching him? I wanted him to stand on the ice safely and be overcome with self fulfillment. I wanted him to feel proud and accomplished.

You should have seen the look on his face when he stood on the ice alone and took his first steps. You should have heard him scream, "I am so proud of myself." The next day I pulled him out of skating lessons.

Exactly one year ago my uncle , unaware of Jay's fear of water, joyfully threw him into my parent's pool with his floaters on. As soon as Jay reached the surface he screamed. I knew right then and there that I would need to invest in private swim lessons. Costing a dollar a minute the investment was strenuous and hardly rewarding, for Jay cried during the first three months of swim lessons. $270 dollars completely wasted. Most sensible mothers would have had an incredible hard time watching their first born being practically tortured underwater and would have pulled them out. The other mothers at the pool glared at me, the teacher swore she never had another child scream for so long, I watched along silently hoping I was right.

After three months, I sat Jay down and again explained that I would never put him in harm's way and asked him if he remembered how proud he was when he stood on the ice. Yes, he remembered. Never even remotely pushy, I described the inner happiness he would feel as soon as he learned to swim.

You should see the look on his face yesterday as he cannonballed into my parent's pool and swam freestyle back to the steps. You should have heard him scream, "This is sooooooooo AWESOME!!! I love Babcia's pool. I love swimming!!!" Last month, I pulled him out of private swim lessons. Last year, I wasn't even able to wash his hair.

"Watch out!!! CANNONBALL." He yelled, 27 days short of being six years old. I watched him in admiration.

One of the things, I want so much for my children is for them to understand perseverance. I want them to be confident, independent, self worthy and proud. I want them to problem solve, ask for help, and I want them to proudly overcome difficulties. I want them to be proud of themselves. I want them to be happy.

Very rarely, if ever, do I tell them that I am proud of them. "Mama, are you proud of my cannonballs?" In which I reply, "Are you proud of yourself?"

The confident smile and proud eyes that happily respond, "YES! I am proud. My cannonballs are aweeeesome." Those are simply priceless.

As my children's first teacher, I have to believe in my own lessons. I have to listen to my own words. I have to be proud and not doubt myself. I am their example. If I don't believe in myself, they will not either.

I am ready to cannonball. I am ready to believe in myself no matter what others think. Yes, I will be judged; but, that no longer matters for I am my own judge of character. I know that I am true. Thank you to the woman who confessed. It is what I needed for this next leg of my journey.

I am taking a break from blogging.

2008-06-27T08:43:00.005-04:00

I am sorry.

I deleted my post from yesterday.

I thought I was being helpful by providing a place where my commenters can come together and list their posts from the week so I can return the favor and visit their blogs.

Apparently. Not everyone reading my blog is a mature adult.

Last night, I stayed up way too late watching links being placed for URACOPYCAT and IMNOTCLASSY and NOTSOCLASSY. I spent 20 minutes following the person and deleting link after link. I tried to block that person(s).

This morning I woke up and saw this (see number 25):

1. suburbancorrespondent
2. Tall Drink of Life - Reach the Day
3. celticbuffy
4. Kelly K
5. Just Jamie
6. Latte Mommy
7. Jenn of the Roof
8. duchess @ FourEds
9. Karen MEG
10. Flea

11. Marketing Mama
12. Beth (little princess chronicles)
13. Anglophile Football Fanatic
14. MommyTime
15. Rachael (Mommy Learns to Blog)
16. Maggie's Mind
17. Huckdoll
18. nap warden
19. krissy
20. Good&Crazy --Tales from the recently handicapped

21. Cecily
22. Mr Lady
23. Stop Screaming I'm Driving!
24. Petite Gamine
25. H8N Klass
26. Kim- Jogging In Circles
27. dysfunctional mom
28. Beth (A Mom's Life)
29.

You're next!

I am officially taking a break from blogging. That is all.

I just want them to act normal for 10 days.

2008-06-26T00:00:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow, I will be sitting on a plane with three beautiful children and a huge bag of candy headed for Chicago. We will be living along side my parents for 10 days. The last time I spent a week with my parents and my children, my father exclaimed, "You let them get away with everything." He said that out of love for my well being after witnessing the day to day chaos of motherhood with three active kids.

I don't have to explain just how crazy in love I am with my children. I know. That is enough.

However.

My kids are not perfect. Jay cries too much. Lola is rude too much. Fifi is a blessing. My parents are obnoxiously in love with all three.

Today, like any "good" parent, I started threatening them. "If you are rude to MY parents. I will be rude to you and you will spend a lot of time in your room." She rolled her eyes. "If you cry over silly little things, no one will understand when a big thing happens. Do not cry wolf." He started tearing up. "Fifi, you better not change one thing you are doing. Keep eating. Keep sleeping. Keep pooping. Keep it up, or else." She clapped her hands and smiled.

Honestly. I just want them to behave or pretend to behave or just pretend to act normal for the 10 days we are living under my parents roof. That is all I am praying for.

I have packed lots of candy, packed lots of threats, and have some tricks up my sleeve, if for some reason my prayers are not answered. I know that the big guy is busy actually answering more desperate calls (I do have his number memorized). As much as one tired mother of three can pray, I know my calls are petty.

If that is the case I hope the windy city and my parents are prepared for our kind of classy chaos.

********************************************************************
I wanted to thank each and every one of my commenters on my post regarding COMMENTS. As always, I read and reread each comment and really absorbed them all. It isn't humanly possible to visit all 134 blogs to thank you personally... but I do think I have stumbled across the most perfect way to stop by regularly offering my laughter, my advice, and my love. Stay tuned tomorrow.

Faster then a speeding daschund.

2008-06-25T00:00:00.000-04:00

One year after getting married we started to "settle down." My husband and I purchased a teeny tiny bungalow on the city's edge and painted the front door a vibrant red. We played house all spring and when summer arrived we asked each other, "What's next?"

"Do you want to have kids?"

"Naaawww. Not yet."

"Good. Me neither. Not yet."

The feelings were mutual, so my dog loving husband convinced me, the-not-so-much-an-animal-lover, that the first step in filling our new home should be with the purchase of a dog.

"Let's see how we can handle a dog. Okay?"

In came Murphy. We were DINKs with a daschund. Murphy ate well, he slept well, he was the king of the tiny fixer-upper castle.

Then came Jay. Shortly thereafter, Lola followed. And suddenly, Murphy was no longer the king of the castle. Until. Until both my chickadees started to eat on their own. They would sit in their high chairs and burst out in fits of giggles when Murphy scrambled around to eat their leftovers off of the floor.

It became such a hysterical routine that Murphy was locked up during feeding time.

Lately. Both my husband and I have noticed that Murphy has thinned out a lot. We keep food in his bowl and now we have THREE CHICKADEES to add to the hysteria. He should be well fed. There is still plenty of food on the kitchen floor.

However, there is someone that is faster than our dog. There is someone that is sometimes lovingly neglected, when we are rushing off to the next play date, pool party, tennis lesson and can't sit around waiting for her toddler meal to be completed.

The third child.

Check out what she says when one piece actually makes it into her mouth, without falling to the floor. "YUMMY!"

Oh Fifi. My sweet beautiful Fifi. I adore everything about you. I love the way you make me giggle out loud. You are so incredibly yummy, funny, and terribly adorable. I can't wait to see how you turn out. I am positive you will not disappoint.

Oh, Yea. I am the mom.

2008-06-24T00:01:00.003-04:00

While waiting for Walmart to fill my contact prescription I weaved in and out of the aisles alone. The kids were with a dear friend and I embraced my freedom and found myself lost among cheap Chinese goods.

Need to write a letter of persuasion to Mr. Nordstrom convincing him of the need for a new optical department. One can only dream.

Naturally as a mom of three, I found myself in the baby section, moved along to the toy department, and ended up in the little girl section among the sluttiest of all Mary Kate and Ashley clothing line.

A business man walked past and observed me lonesomely laughing out loud, so I ducked into the little girl's underwear section.

Lola could use some new matjki, I shrieked with delight as I had found something to fuss over and purchase. The last time I purchased matjki for her was when she became diaper trained. Matjki. (MY-TEE-KEY) Polish for underwe@r.

There, among the Dora, the Princesses, and the Hanna Montana matjki were the classiest of all matjki in Wally's world.

Simple. Full coverage. Cotton. Heart quilted. White, purple, and pink. Teeny tiny satin bow. Matjki.

I squealed out loud, out of sheer cuteness, delighted I found such adorable matjki. I grabbed two packages and bolted upon hearing my name over the intercom summoning me to the optical department.

At home, I ripped open the packaging and displayed my goods. I was overcome with delight and immediately switched into "girlfriend" mode. I could not contain myself much longer.

"Aren't these the cutest, ever?" I held them up, so she could see. "Look at this darling bow. And the hearts.... do you see these hearts?"

"Uh-huh. I see." Lola replied. It was obvious that she did not share my excitement.

"They are soooooo cute. Look... you have purple ones too." I tried to sell my delight.

"This is weird, Mama." She said.

Still in girlfriend mode I asked, "What is weird? I think these are incredibly darling. So cute, Lola. So stinking cute!" Knowing how particular she is when it comes to clothing I continued to push the cuteness factor of the matjki. I did not want to go back to Walmart for a return.

"I know. But it shouldn't matter." She replied.

"What do you mean? What shouldn't matter?" I asked, as I slowly started to drift back into mommy mode.

"It shouldn't matter what my matjki look like cause no one will ever see them!" Lola looked me straight in my eyes.

"Oh. Yea." I swept her into my arms and smothered her with kisses. That a girl. She does listen to what I say.

The post where I am completely honest and lose all my readers.

2008-06-22T00:08:00.009-04:00

It is Sunday morning and Fifi woke up before sunrise the other two followed her lead and were up moments later. Both my husband and I are exhausted, neither one of us has had a recommended dose of sleep in well over 6 years.

Fifi had her morning bottle, while Jay and Lola ate fruit snacks in our bed, as we slept. For an hour they kiddos watched TV including commercials, while we slept besides them. When it came time to get ready for church, Fifi was ready for a nap. We missed church. Again.

It is now 11:21 am EST and the husband has taken all three children to the zoo and I should be cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming the upstairs, and sorting clothes for our upcoming trip to Chicago this week. Instead, I sit here before you.

I have had a lot on my mind.

I don't know how to say everything I want to say. But I will give it a try.

I have spent my entire life trying to make other people happy. Ask me to host a baby shower and I am unable to say no. You don't need to even ask me to babysit your children, I can hear it in your voice and it would be my pleasure to help. You need someone to proof read your work and provide constructive criticism, I am yours. Perhaps you don't know where to start when it comes to organizing your closet, I will be there too.

Throughout college, I was the head hostess at a James Beard, award winning, 5 star French restaurant. It was a perfect job for me and I played it well. I needed to look glamorous without over doing it and sported simple and classy black attire with killer heels. I was that person who greeted you, made you feel at home, started small talk, and laughed with you. One night, minutes before punching out and days before my wedding, I drove a drunk business man home AND stopped to purchase smokes for him. I like to make people happy. Working at the restaurant I had to create a persona that was inviting, even on my most terrible days.

Throughout the last year of blogging, I have been blogging under OHmommy at a pretty classy, sassy, and fun blog to document my life as a SAHM. It is the perfect hobby for me and I play it well. I do not need to look glamorous while blogging. I have opened myself up and shared with you my real life. The persona I have created, is so me. Last week my girlfriends and I were talking and they admitted that in real life I am much more nicer. How can that be, I thought? Some people have dubbed me as writing fluff and acting perfect.

This blog does describe me fairly accurately. I love dressing up, I love my kids, I am generally a happy person. I choose to write about things I want to share with my family and of those things I want to remember. Which, obviously, do not include the other side of me. We all have dark moments in our lives. I choose not to share those moments. There is another side to me, a more private one, but it will remain just that, private.

I am not a writer nor am I trying to play one. I write because otherwise, as a SAHM, my creative energy would sizzle. I need to stay busy and challenge myself intellectually. I am not looking to win the prize but instead to win a kiss on the check from my children and a hug from my loving husband.

Mama. Don't pick up the phone to call me all worried. I am okay, Dude. Keep reading before calling me. I'm just having blogging issues.

And so.

In the journey of sharing with you, my SAHM stories, I have created a persona that many of you can relate too. Every time someone comments I feel the love. I do. I feel validated. But I am troubled with how to reciprocate the love. It isn't humanly possible, with three children, no nanny, no cleaning lady, no personal trainer, and no chef to visit every one's blog. But I like to make people happy. That is me. And. This is my dilemma. What I love most, is receiving emails from women that read me w/o commenting. They are just reading me? For fun? Without even commenting?

Reading blogs has turned into a job. I save this "job" for two or three evenings a week and it has taken away a lot of my alone time with my husband. My house is always dirty and I have started to dress the children from the mounds of clean clothes that accumulate on my bedroom floor. I need to spend evenings away from the computer.

I have my favorites that I would never erase from my feeds. Two of you touched me so much through your emails that I am humbled by your devout friendship. You have earned a place in my heart forever. As cheesy as that might sound, it is true. I am blessed to have met so many wonderful people. There is an amazing community out there.

This is where I lose the majority of my readers. I won't be commenting very much anymore. I just can not. I check my google reader each morning when the kids are eating breakfast and if I have something to add, I will comment. It is time to make myself happy. I need to make blogging fun again.

If you want to continue reading my SAHM fluff and experiencing my journey then jump on board. If you comment here hoping that I will comment back, just understand that I will do so on my own time, when I want to, when I feel like it.

This is the new me. The one that selfishly decides that it is time to devout more energy to herself. I need to work on myself.

This is me.

No makeup. No shower. Wife beater tank. Cup of Tazo Tea. Surrounded by a silent but dirty house. I am not perfect. I am just a mom of three awesome kids. Hope you stick around. I am off to clean the house before the chaos arrives and the husband cleans my closet again. That is all.

Oh. My. Gosh. I am not ready to stop singing.

2008-06-19T22:29:00.000-04:00

For as long as I can remember our "Goodnight song" has been a part of our night time ritual. After bath, after prayers, after books, after tucks, I lay in bed with each child while singing our made up "Goodnight song."

"Goodnight head. Goodnight ears. Goodnight nose, goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. Goodnight lips. Goodnight shoulders. Goodnight arms, goodnight, goodnight, goodnight."

As I sing our song the children sleepily gaze into my eyes and I lovingly touch each part mentioned. Some nights I sing our song in Polish. Some nights I sing our song silly... calling shoulders, an ankle. And calling toes, fingers.

But every night I sing to them. Even when I am away, I sing to them on the phone.

Tonight was no different. We bathed. We prayed. We read. We tucked. I sang to Fifi. I sang to Lola. I stopped into Jay's room to sing to him....

"Mama?" He sat up in bed.

"Yes, handsome. What is up?"

"I don't want you to sing to me tonight." He proclaimed.

Oh. My. Gosh. He doesn't want to hear MY goodnight song. Why ever not? What is wrong with MY song? Is he tired of my voice after a long day? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph what could it be? What was the matter?

"Why, honey?" I asked and later sulked.

"Tonight. Tonight I want to go to sleep like a big boy." He confessed staring me straight in my eyes.

Seriously people. I am not ready to stop singing. Yet.

***** CHECK out my classy giveaway to see the winner of the blog makeover. Winner will be announced June 20th when I get some computer time during the day. *******

It happened again. And. All I have is a paper to prove it...

2008-06-18T00:00:00.000-04:00

I figured the incredibly hot paramedic would notify child services if I asked to take a cell phone picture of my daughter in the ambulance's gurney, yesterday.

I thought about taking a picture.

You see, I need to start documenting Lola's accidents. I am starting a folder with all of her EMS papers, her insurance bills, and doctor co-pays. When some lucky fella, many many many years down the road, takes her hand in marriage I will take his other hand and hand over her folder.

Let's hope the fella is calm and collective. Both of which I was not yesterday at the community park.

I heard Lola screaming bloody murder as she slid down the tube slide. Somehow she managed to sprain her wrist. I sat Fifi down on the asphalt and started running towards Lola. She was holding her wrist and crying uncontrollably while walking towards me.

And.

Before I could get to her.

She froze.

I saw her eyes roll back. I saw her body go limp.

And. She fell backwards. Her head met the asphalt and she fainted.

I scooped her up in my arms and found myself again holding a lifeless child. As with all other of her holding breath syndromes her eyes rolled back, she started seizing, and I panicked and I shook uncontrollably.

The parents around me at the park were freaking superheros. They all jumped into action with no script. One mother silently ran to Fifi who was half way to China by this time, took her hand and strapped her into the baby swing. Another father grabbed his phone and dialed 911 and rushed over to give me some moral support. Yet another parent, grabbed Jay by the hand and started a conversation with him about soda pop. And I. I rocked Lola back to consciousness.

"Breath. Breath. LOLA...... BREATH!!!!!" I screamed out loud and looked into her eyes waiting for a response. "This is sooooo not fair!!!" I cried. I looked at Fifi safe in her swing and glanced over at Jay safe in conversation and peeked into Lola's lost eyes.

She came around after four agonizing minutes. Two minutes later the ambulance arrived.

After sitting in the ambulance with three children and two paramedics it was determined that she was okay.

Yes. She will outgrow this eventually. No. She does not hold her breath on purpose for attention... her body just "forgets" to breath when she hits her head. Yes. I am going crazy. No. No need to send me sympathy, really. Yes. You can feel sorry for her future husband... he is going to be with her longer then I am (cross my fingers...) Yes. It is okay to laugh with me, again.

I have survived yet another day of motherhood.

Once home I wrote an RX for some TV time and Lola admitted to being clumsy. I video taped it for proof. No need to check it out, unless you are dying to see the drama queen in action complaining about running out of band-aids.

One Whipped Husband

2008-06-17T00:00:00.000-04:00

When I created my tag line months ago, I thought long and hard about what adjective I would use to describe my husband. "Three organic children. One whipped husband. Dash of class. A heap of chaos. Sprinkling of love."

One whipped husband. It was perfect.

My husband. I rarely write about him. But today he deserves a virtual high five.

When we were dating I was smittened with his eagerness to learn, his motivation, his hunger for knowledge, his work ethic, and his gentle loving nature. And more so, I fell in love with his family dynamic. I saw how he interacted with his parents and in return how they interacted with one another. His parents were a team, soft spoken, affectionate, and kind. He had spent his entire life watching his parents.

I fell in love.

Furthermore. He was, and is, incredibly hot in my eyes. I'm just saying... this IS my blog.

Exactly six years ago today, I did my last load of laundry. I was 8 months pregnant with my first child, in the middle of the worst heat wave to hit Ohio. I was hot. I was miserable. I weighed in at over 200 pounds. My back was shot. I cried one night. He answered. "My love, let me do the laundry this time." He took the laundry basket away from my arms. I have never asked for the basket back.

18 months later, I was 8 months pregnant with my second child, in the middle of the coldest winters to hit Ohio. I was cold. I was miserable. I weighed just under 200 pounds. My energy was shot. I was "overwhelmed." I cried one night. He answered. "My, love. Tell me what I can do to help." He asked and I pointed to the dishwasher. Yes. He occasionally does the dishes today.

Before you quickly pass judgement and call me SPOILED or HIGH MAINTENANCE or a WHINER or a CRY BABY keep reading.

My husband grew up watching his father help his mother.

I have known his parents for over 10 years and not once have I seen his mother behind the kitchen sink. They are a team. After each meal, my MIL silently clears the table and brings the dishes to my FIL. He washes the dishes as she prepares the table for dessert. He grew up watching them work as a team.

I will admit one thing.

I am VERY lucky to have met a man that observed such a loving and functional marriage.

"Daddy does the dishes, Mama!" Jay yelled as I started to do the dishes last week. "I know, honey. I just wanted to give him a head start." Does anyone have a daughter for Jay preferably ages 1 to 4 that brushes her teeth?

Fast forward to yesterday.

What did my husband do that deserves a virtual high five?

He organized my freaking closet!!!

I kid you not. It has been on my "To do" list for weeks. I have been meaning to pack away all maternity clothes and burn them, put away my bulky winter sweaters, and get everything properly hung.

Not only did he do all of the above, he went above and beyond. He professional folded my jeans and carefully organized my stilettos. Years of working at the Gap have paid off. My closet is almost as perfect as my husband....

Okay... on second thought. I might be a little spoiled. My hot whipped husband rocks.

**************************

Husband proof read my blog post at 11:18 pm EST.

Me: "Dude. Do you think I should erase this post?"
Him: "No. Why? It's nice to be acknowledged."
Me: "I know. But... does it make me look spoiled? People are dealing with bigger issues."
Him: "Who cares.... you should be proud of our relationship."
Me: "I am."
Him: "Than who cares? I like getting a high five."
Me: "You are right."

POST.

The World's Best Gamer

2008-06-16T00:02:00.001-04:00

Jay saw the trophy "World's Best Gamer" and begged me to buy it for Father's day.

"Daddy doesn't have a trophy. Let's buy it." He explained. Jay earned his first trophy last summer for T-ball and ever since has been obsessed with trophies. He is in awe over Uncle's Mike collection of random trophies. Each trophy tells a story. In his eyes, Uncle Mike, is a world class Olympic athlete.

There was no need to explain that daddy is not the "world's best gamer" or has never really had much interest in gaming, Jay was already sold on the fact that daddy needed a trophy for Father's Day. A trophy for daddy.

"Look Mama. Look there is a controller thingy in the trophy. I know what that is. You plug it into the TV and you can play games on the TV." Jay held the trophy in his hands. I smiled at his innocence.

"My friend Connor has a controller like this at his house. He plugs it in and plays games RIGHT ON THE TV!!!" Jay looked up at me while explaining.

"Can you BELIEVE it? It is awesome. You can play games on TV. So awesome, right Mama?" He smiled.

"Yes, handsome. That is really awesome." I looked into his excited eyes and allowed him to carry it all the way to the register where we paid for it.

For Father's day, my husband, received a trophy for the "World's Best Gamer." Jay watched proudly as daddy opened up his gift and placed it on our kitchen buffet where it can be admired by all. I walked past it all day long and smiled.

Each trophy tells a story. This is Daddy's trophy.

The "World's Best Gamer" trophy is not very appropriate; nevertheless, perhaps we can live up to that title.

Perhaps, it is time to invest in a gaming system. Jay will be turning 6 at the end of July and we could use something to motivate him, a special privilege. There are many changes he will be experiencing this Fall: school bus, new elementary school, full day school, new friends. I am worried how he will cope with these changes and perhaps a new video system to play with daddy will keep him motivated. I have babied him long enough and I am positive that kindergarten play dates will include some sort of gaming. I think it is time to give in.

Any recommendations on systems? Game on.