I have the typical fears, of course.  I don’t want Pee Wee to invite him to his playhouse nor do I want him to pet any strange puppies.  I also fear he won’t be able to navigate basic hygiene requirements without my assistance.  Since I am obviously not the only parent with this fear, thankfully more and more businesses are adding the family restroom.

Hank is at an age where he requires a little privacy and I try to respect his boundaries.  If we are in a family restroom and he asks me to turn around, I will comply.  Since Hank bequeaths all credit to Jesus for creating his junk, I no longer try to convince him I had anything to do with his DNA.  I am not offended by this revelation.  Craig might be.

On Mother’s Day I found myself with Hank, Sophie, and Maren in a family restroom.  We were simply going to wash our hands prior to ordering frozen yogurt.  Hank decided he needed to use the bathroom and requested we women assume the position and, “not look at him.”

No problem.

Unfortunately, I turned around too soon to check the status of the situation.  The kid who lives a Pants Optional lifestyle went in for the block with his hand midstream so I couldn’t see him.  Fortunately he was finishing up on the low flow setting to deliver more of a golden sprinkler than a golden shower.  Either way, it takes more than yogurt to make up for getting pissed on by your brother.

The job I quit prior to the mothering gig was the only real gainful employment I had after college.  It didn’t require a degree, yet it paid well, gave me a sense of self worth and I felt competent.

Despite no opportunity for advancement and really shitty hours, I was content for 10 years.  As my family grew, I believed I would have the option to share a position with another employee as others had done before me.  Ultimately the opportunity wasn’t available due to staffing levels when I found myself at my breaking point.   After 3 years of waiting for a job share position to open, I quit.

The first year of full time mothering flew by with a 3^rd pregnancy and caring for a newborn.   Between baking treats, wiping noses, and watching Oprah I was always busy, not bored.  We went to story time at the library, attended Baby Boot Camp, and met friends for play dates.  My days weren’t spent in my bathrobe.

By year 3, combat fatigue had set in.  I turned to the loving arms of the internet.

With no research and no idea the scope of the sport, I started my blog.  On Typepad.  I posted a few random things a few times a week and I didn’t tell anyone.  I put a link on my Facebook “about” page.   I didn’t promote, I didn’t visit other blogs, and I didn’t follow blogging rule because I didn’t know them.

The first time someone I didn’t know read my words, I was shocked.  I had no idea a blogging community existed.  I thought you wrote for yourself and sometimes your friends and family might read.   It took months to figure out how prolific blogging really was.

The point of this post is to link up with two wonderful women I have met through blogging, Galit and Nicole, who are asking the question of bloggers:

Who Do you Speak For?

I speak for the quitter inside of me.

• The one who left ambition with her diaphragm in a drawer 14 years ago, but still has something to say.
• The one who doesn’t get a paycheck, but never has to miss the 50 kisses offered at bedtime by her son with a well developed Oedipal Complex.
• The one who spends her days wasting sarcasm on a literal audience.
• The one who really wants to pull the stick out of the ass of the PTA President.
• The one who needs encouragement and validation that I made the right decision 5 years ago.
• The one who is connected to a community of other really smart women who stay home with their kids.
• The one who is still nursing the recent bite of applying for a job and not even being considered

I use my voice to prove I still have one.  I use words I can’t at home.  Though it cracks on occasion, I will continue to speak.

What could possibly be holding the attention of 3 generations of Marler men?

Boobs, balls, or cars would all make excellent guesses.  So would a big truck filled with rocks.  When it was decided that the only rock I was going to get for Mother’s Day was going to be 9 yards of basalt, Craig was happy.  When we decided it would be worth the extra money to have it delivered and distributed by a fancy truck with a rock shooting conveyor belt, it became a family affair.

Though our rock delivery was scheduled as an “our driver will call you after noon,” my father-in- law arrived at our house well before to make sure he didn’t miss the production.  I know he is retired and all, but I think an afternoon of babysitting Hank would be just as exciting as watching a truck spit rocks.

I guess it is a boy thing because Hank was absolutely fascinated too.  Who could blame him since the giant conveyor was controlled by remote.

Instead of a day of a hard labor, the men just enjoyed the show.

The Miracle Rock Spitting Truck filled with accuracy in less time that it usually takes Hank to find his rubber boots.

It would be weird to check my father-in-law and son, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a hammer in my husband’s painter pants.

Boys and their toys.

Alicia, who is the head booze master of Boozed and Infused, hosted a tasting of all her wildly imaginative concoctions and invited complete strangers into her home.  We were greeted with a “Blueberry Pieball.” The base of which was gin infused with blueberries and blueberry pie spices.  It was garnished with lemon and fresh blueberries.  It was as pretty as it was refreshing.

After we were treated to the most delicious milkshake I have ever had in my entire life.  Ice cream with coffee infused bourbon served in a martini glass.  If I would have known these ladies better, I might have licked the glass.  I did, however, slurp.

As the afternoon progressed, It turned out this exceptional group of PDX bloggers may well be crazy, but I don’t care.  Evelyn from Momsicle and Krista from Mostly Mommyhood are totally my new internet BFF’s and I love them.  At least I did at the height of the tasting!

After cocktail hour and appetizers on the back patio, the real fun began.  We were shown the liquor cabinet.  And then…. The liquor closet.

If Alicia weren’t a self disclosed germ-a-phobe, I’d be checking her bathtub for signs of a distillery.  Her closet was pretty amazing.  The best part was sampling all of the flavors.

My personal favorites:

Sesame Honey

Oatmeal

Apple Pie

Tamarind & Orange

Raspberry Mint

Ginger Citrus

Coffee Bourbon

Surprisingly, some of my favorites were bourbon based.  I always thought myself a vodka girl.  If I start to sprout a few hairs on my chest, I can always get out the wax.

Many thanks to Alicia from Boozed and Infused for inviting strangers into her home.  If you want some kick ass recipes, be sure and follow Boozed and Infused on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

I don’t mind performing my motherly duty as soon as I figure out who the hell they are and why they are in my room.  It just takes a few minutes for me to orient myself when awaking from a peaceful slumber.

A few weeks ago, when I was sleeping very soundly, I was startled by a hovering Hank.   Only Hank wasn’t acting like Hank.  He looked like he had just smoked a fatty and wouldn’t answer any of my questions.  After scanning his hands to make sure they were clear of butcher knives, I took him to the bathroom.

Hank was completely unsteady on his feet and didn’t even attempt to aim.  It finally clicked.  No, he didn’t come back from the Pet Cemetery.  He was, however, sleep walking.

I tested my theory by asking him a few questions.  It took him a few beats, but he correctly identified me as “mom,” he was unable to categorize Mickey Mouse as a cat or a dog, and he didn’t know why there was no ham in hamburger.

After I was done messing with him, I put him back to bed.  I returned to bed too after securing the sharp items from the kitchen drawers.  I also slept with one eye open the rest of the night.  In the morning, Hank had no memory of coming down to our room.  But either did Craig.  Huh.

I think it may be time to switch sides.

Are there any sleepwalkers in your life?

After witnessing the unnatural affection between a woman and her stoneware, I managed to avoid such parties until well into my second marriage.  With the temptation of half price items and the lure of completing my craft box by fleecing my friends, I even agreed to host a few such gatherings in my own home.  Translation:  The hostesses who tricked me into doing so served more than punch.

I don’t think there are many people who see a candle, home décor, make-up, or even dildo party Evite in their inbox and jump for joy.  It’s not like most people wake up on a Tuesday morning and think, “I really need a pineapple slicer.”   I do attend a few, though, because I either really like the hostess or I really want to get out of my house.

My resolve is always solid when I leave home.  The rules I impose upon myself for party behavior are similar to those of Patti Stanger, The Millionaire Matchmaker.  I vow to have a 2 drink maximum and won’t give my phone number up to the demonstrator no matter how committed she seems to me.   Unfortunately, I’m more like Patti’s whores than her millionaires.  Even though I intend to buy something small, I’m usually tanked by the time the 6 minute cake comes out of the microwave.

And because most of the time I am bewitched by something as equally useless to me as a jelly roll pan, I will return to my own garage left with a decision.  Do I hide the receipt or go in and round down my latest purchase of $159.00?  Which, as we all know in marital math, means dropping the 1.

I ran the Dragonfly half marathon last weekend and it was awesome.  Not because I cheated, but because I got to watch Maren kick some serious ass in the kid’s mile race.  The weather for race day was perfect.  It was overcast during the race and within minutes of finishing, the sun came out.

I felt strong during the entire race and felt pretty good about myself crossing the finish line even though I’m a filthy cheater.  To be fair, cheating wasn’t my idea or my fault.  A volunteer pointed me in the direction of the 10k racers and my mileage came up a little short on  the GPS program I was using on my phone.  It was in the fun run category and not a competitive race, yet I still felt compelled to confess to anyone who listen.

(Side note:  I would make a horrible partner in crime.  Sure, I may help you, but I would sell your soul immediately to save myself.)

Because I was desperate and couldn’t find a transient awake so early, my little brother Spencer, watched Hank and Maren while I raced.  When it was over, he dropped the kids off at the park.  For being such a prima donna himself, I was a little disturbed that he didn’t bother to brush Maren’s hair.  I’m thankful at least Hank was wearing pants.

I sacrificed the rubber band from my own sweaty ponytail to try and contain Maren’s faux dreads and got her to the start line of the kid’s run where she faced around 25 competitors (or kids participating in a fun run.  Whatever.)  She definitely looked the part of a scrapper with her matted and tangled hair shoved in a ponytail, but it was so much fun to see my pint size, 40 lb, 7 year old keeping up with all of the big kids.

Since it was a mile and I had just run 13.1 (or close to it!) I didn’t follow along when the kids went over a hill and out of sight.  When those kids rounded the corner for the home stretch, Maren was STILL in the front group of kids, I started sprinting to catch up and run in with her.

She finished with the first group of kids and even though no one was keeping score because it was a fun run, she totally came in 5th overall and would have been 1st in her age division had there been one.  I may have relayed this information to every person I have come into contact with since the run last Saturday.  Again, forgive me, it’s a way better answer to “how are the kids?” than “Hank can’t keep his tinker toys in his Tuffskins.”

***Sarah V – was the winner of the GoodNites Bedmats for winning comment 34, thanks to everyone who participated.  Here is a link to $1.50 off at Target if you want to give GoodNites a go yourself.

Yes, his walls are purple and his linens bright blue.

*Congratulations to the winner of the BedMats, Sara V!*

What I didn’t admit last week when I went on and on about my girls weekend was inevitably our conversation turned to stories of our children.  When my friend Teri mentioned she had a Jack to match my Hank, I was skeptical until she relayed the following.

The Scene:  Jack (like Hank) sleeps without pajamas.  Also, nothing else because Jack (unlike Hank) doesn’t need a Pull-Up.  Jack called out to his mom in the middle of the night.  His mom, Teri, crawls in bed with him to snuggle.  Now you have to imagine the following conversation with Jack having a little lisp.

Jack:  Mom

Teri: Yes

Jack: I pooped the bed

Teri: Uh, where is it???

Jack:  In my hand.

Aside from cracking me up and wishing Teri, Jack and the rest of her family lived closer, it started an in depth potty training/bed-wetting discussion.  I complained about Hank not being potty trained and my friend, Mara, corrected and assured me Hank IS potty trained and just needs a little help at night.

We have been using Pull-Ups with Hank for over 2 years.  A few months ago I tried to take them away at the urging of my mother in law.  What a disaster!  My electric bill from washing all those damn sheets and frustration was scarring for both of us.  He wasn’t ready.  Now he has been having some dry nights too, so I think he is ready for another go.

With the right tools.

I was reluctant to go back to just underwear.  Since plastic sheeting seemed a little too 50 Shades of Gray, we tried GoodNites® disposable BedMats.  They are a peel and stick absorbent pad which is placed directly on the fitted sheet.  If he wets, it can be thrown away.  If he doesn’t, it can be reused.

We have been using Goodnites® for a week and he has only wet twice.  We have had the current GoodNite on his bed for 4 nights now and it is still securely in place.  Hank isn’t exactly a dainty sleeper either.  My only complaint was the adhesive is so good, they were hard to remove from Hank’s cozy fleece sheets when I was changing it in the middle of the night.  They are designed to be used on a twin bed and even though Hank has a double he has managed to “hit the mat” both times he soiled the GoodNite.  It’s a shame those skills don’t translate to the toilet.

So now the cool part, I’m actually going to giveaway something other than my ass on a mug.

What you get:

Gender Specific Booster Kit

• Pack of GoodNite® BedMats
• Really Cute Pottery Barn Bathroom Accessories
• Retro alarm clock that all the kids love (even the big one)
• $50 Visa gift card (we are saving ours so Hank can take Julie C. Gardner somewhere nice for dinner before prom)
• Tote basket

How you enter:

Leave a comment, like me on Facebook, tweet this post, and wash your hands after you go to the bathroom for up to 4 entries per person.  Just make sure you leave a separate comment for each entry telling me you did so.  Giveaway ends at 5:00 pacific time on Friday and I’ll pick a winner via random.org.

So you might have guessed this is a sponsored post.  ®=duh! I had never heard of GoodNites® before I was contacted to do a review and giveaway.  I was provided a pack of GoodNites® Bed Mats and a Confidence Booster Kit to conduct a reader giveaway.  I was not paid to say nice things about GoodNites®, my opinions are my very own.  Did I mention the adhesive is hard to get off of fleece sheets?  Use cotton.

I have been moving a whole lot more so I thought for sure I’d at least see a slight dip in the scale for all of my hard work.  Yes, I know exercise is only part of the weight loss equation.  It turns out I really like the empty calories of wine and butter on popcorn is really good.

Since publicly declaring to run 100 days in a row kept me motivated, I am vowing here to break up with butter and cut down to a magnum of wine a week.  Really, though, I have a very achievable goal of dropping 10 lbs in 2 months.

I’m not as brave as my friend Natalie who listed her actual measurements on her blog, Mommyofamonster, but I will report on my success or miserable failure.  While numbers are just numbers and Betty Draper Francis is just January Jones in a fat suit (Aiming Low post alert: Not the Betty I want to be), I know a modest weight loss would help my running economy and my clothes would fit better.

I’m also running a half marathon on Saturday.  Wish me luck.  With the chafing.