These girls aren’t brats. I’m just that funny. They do listen. Sometimes.

When I was a kid, my mom was the least scary mom. Ever. Quiet. Never really raised her voice. When my brother came along, we started to team up and find it hilarious when she tried to discipline us. The face, the voice…the it was all hysterically funny. Were we brats? No. Not at all, but it certainly wasn’t her mean face or serious tone that caused us to do as we were asked.

Fast forward to 2010.

My girls are definitely testing me. It used to be that I could bug out my eyes and speak in a serious tone and they would listen. Or, just staring at them silently showed them I wasn’t joking. Now, they appreciate the silence. They’d appreciate me not barking at them and just go about their business of ignoring me. Now I’m just another source of amusement. Do I want them to find me very scary? No, I don’t. Do I want them to find me a little scary? Maybe. Do I want them to take me seriously? Absolutely. Do they take me seriously? Never. They laugh and laugh, and say things like, ‘Oh, mama. You’re so funny’ when I tell them the consequence for not listening, picking up, sitting down.

It doesn’t help that Joe finds it pretty funny, too. He can’t hide a smile or laugh for anything. He also doesn’t realize that he can leave a room before he cracks up.

To them, I’m not scary. I’m just funny Mom. The one who needn’t be taken seriously. The one always good for a laugh. The one who would have a 24/7 time out if she followed through every single time someone didn’t listen to her. I definitely don’t want to be that mom. I can’t be that mom. But seriously, how long will I still l find this funny? How long before I have ruined my chances of ever getting results from my serious voice?

Do your kids find you funny when you absolutely do not intend to be?

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1. Lying or Poetic License?
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It’s because today is September 2. September means SCHOOL!!! This isn’t your average, run-of-the-mill school year either. Both of my girls are going to school. Don’t get me wrong. I love these girls. But these girls love school. They like the structure as much as I do. They want to be with friends. They want to do messy projects. They probably want a break from my face 24/7.

Let’s recap the Summer: We joined a pool club, we hung out with friends, we enjoyed ourselves. It was nice. I think we are finally at the stage/ages where things get a bit easier. Abs likes the pool. M isn’t terrified anymore. I can almost relax while they play at a pool or playground. Almost. But, I’m kind of pool-ed out. I’m ready for my routine again. I’m ready to be forced to get up, have breakfast, get dressed and get out of the house. Bring it on!

I’m also ready to say goodbye to a few things, namely sunblock and air conditioning. My arch enemies. My nemesis (nemesi? Whatever.) I hate air conditioning. I would rather be too hot than too cold. I just don’t think it’s right to need long pants, socks and a sweatshirt in your house when it’s 80 degrees out. I think that’s a good sign that it’s too cold. One would never go outside on a 75 degree day and complain about the heat. Why does my house need to be any colder than that? Why?

Then there’s sunblock. Don’t even get me started. So far this Summer, I have spent ridiculous amounts of money on sunblock, because Abs reacts to everything. Her eyes, her skin…so irritated. I have resigned myself to the fact that I need to buy her the $25 tube that is the size of travel toothpaste, or watch the poor girl scratch herself silly. Couple that with a squirmy 5 year old, and it’s just not fun.

Back to my point. School. I can’t wait. They can’t wait. It’s a win-win for all. Sure, I’ll get a little emotional sending them off, but it will quickly pass with a coffee and a book and a few hours of silence.

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Not in a, “I won’t watch anymore’ kind of way, but in a, ‘You’re going to lose my interest if you keep introducing new types of supernatural characters and focus on the stupid story lines instead of just getting to the good stuff.’

Let’s recap the good stuff: Eric. Sookie and Bill. Jason. Pam. Sam, as a human. Lafayette (pre-Jesus.) Russell Edgington going off on television. Jessica and Hoyt. Alcide.

The stuff I’m just not caring about? Jason and his football record. Sam’s brother. Tara, in general. Summer and Hoyt. Alcide with clothing.

When I read the Twilight series, and Harry Potter, to an extent, my interest was exponentially related to the number of new supernatural creatures and characters that were introduced. The more far-fetched it got, the less I was interested in reading and paying attention.

It’s happening with True Blood.

Crystal the Were-panther (or Cougar-wolf as Joe calls her), Jesus and his witch doctor ancestors, Holly the Wiccan waitress. Fairies. I get it. Bon Temps is not your average town. They stay there willingly. Things are bound to happen. My brain can’t take all of the things that are happening. At the same time.

I love this show. Love it. This last episode was just not so great. A 7, when all other episodes are 9+, but I’m still hooked. As anyone else who read all the books knows, there is a MAJOR storyline coming up soon that I can’t wait for. Plus, the fact that the TV show is quite different from the book has me excited for the upcoming seasons.

I’m still a fan, but cold have honestly done without last night’s episode. Except Eric walking out at the end. 60 minutes of that would have been just fine.

Did you watch? Thoughts?

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Today, he reminded me, again, why I married him. I sent this picture:

His response, in True Blood fashion? (He’s M, I’m the lightbulb. I need to change that.)

I love this man.

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Thanks to a new friend, I am loving the Hipstamatic app for my phone. I am responsible for none of the fanciness of these pictures…

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I am also thankful that we have not ventured into the territory of peeing in front of each other. THAT is a mystery that I (and I’m sure J) am not looking to unravel. We all pee. We don’t need to see anyone else do it.

However…I know sometimes I go too far. For instance, last night.

We had a great night. Finishing up that game of Rummikub. Well, not really finishing, since we are playing to 100 and our score is currently 96-98. Yes, I’m winning. We were too tired to finish and called it a night.

We were upstairs in our room. Whether or not one is looking to get a little romance going, there are two things I said within minutes that should not be said to your spouse. Ever. Here they are:

1. “If you’re wondering what that gross smell is, it’s just my face mask. I can’t rinse the stink off.” Sexy.

2. “Ouch!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I pulled a muscle in my butt.”

“How did you do that?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“No, seriously. How?”

I whispered something inaudible.

“What?”

“I pulled a muscle in butt getting off the couch wrong! Satisfied? Are you glad you know that?”

“No.”

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It’s pre-school, and she needs to be potty trained. Or, let me clarify, she can wear a pull-up/diaper and I will get a phone call if she needs to be changed. My morning alone time with M will be over in a poop filled moment.

I started potty-training yesterday. At a friend’s suggestion, I bought, “Potty training in less than a Day.” She swore it worked. The author swears it works. ‘After 1 day, 100% of children were trained.’ Wow…can’t beat those stats. Can’t believe them either, but they sure sound great. I could let slide that he suggested you decide on a word for pee and poop and one of his examples was ‘defecation.’ Could you really see someone using that word with a child?

I started reading the book. The ideas made a lot of sense. Block off a 4 hour period of time with no TV, phone or other distractions. Buy a doll that pees. Have your child teach the doll to pee. All good ideas. We woke up yesterday ready to go. Doll? Check. Lots of underwear? Check. Elmo Potty that congratulates her in Spanish? Check.

The first time she tried? Nothing but a big fart. But she was proud of that sound! Of course, so was I! We clicked Elmo and he said something that had to be good (Does anyone have this potty? How do I switch to English?) She got up, I gave her another drink. A half-hour later, she ran in on her own and sat down in her underwear and peed. I call this success! So did Elmo. I think.

The day went pretty smooth. She asked a few times to use the potty, she had a few accidents.

We woke up today and started again. She has gone a few times on her own. No accidents…until…she decided to tell me she needed to go and then shit on the floor next to the potty. But, she told me. This time, I’m certain Elmo said something disapproving, but I told him to back off.

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“Mom, did you buy penises?”

“Um…what did you say?”

“Did you buy some penises?”

“Well…no. But seriously, what did you say?”

We went back and forth for the remaining 5 minutes. Me, asking what she said, M telling me she wanted penises. I entered dangerous driving territory, as I was laughing so hard I could barely see, but we were home in no time.

Finally we pulled into the driveway, I turned off the car and asked again.

“Now, M. What did you ask me?”

“I asked if you bought any pee machines.”

Oh boy. I can’t even imagine.

“M, what’s a pee machine?”

“You know, the green vegetables that I squeeze to make peas come out.”

Pea pods.

Pee Machines. Penises. At least she is eating some vegetables.

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I had to weigh the pros and cons. Have the baby born in a car/at home because I couldn’t get to the hospital in time or have her born on the 13th. Sure, it was Monday the 13th, but that’s not much better.

Monday the 13th came, we were to report at 7:00am. The hospital told us to call them in the morning to make sure they were on schedule. At 6am, we called.”We’re backed up. Stay home, and call back at 9.” We decided to head in anyway, grab some breakfast, go to the bookstore, relax a bit. After all, we we having a baby within hours, and who knew when the next time we’d next get some alone time.

We called back at 9:00. “We’re backed up. Call back at 12:00.” Ok. So we sat in the car and read our new books. Joe had the luxury of listening to me curse out the hospital for 3+ hours.

I called at noon. “You’ll need to get in touch with your OB. I’m not sure what else to tell you.”

Shit.

Defeatedly, we went home. Still pregnant, and quite agitated.

I called the OB’s office later that afternoon and spoke to the nurse. I explained that I was scheduled for an induction, explained the reasons, etc. Luckily, she was sympathetic, and said she’d try to get in touch with the doctor and ask what we should do next. So, we sent my mother (who was watching M) home and just settled in.

My OB called at 6:15pm. “We have a bed for you at 7:00. Get down here now.” Yes, because that is likely to happen. Wait for my mom to come back, then drive to the hospital which IS NEXT TO FENWAY PARK on the night they return home after 2 weeks away. Did I mention their game was at 7pm?

We tried. We rushed. We got there at 7:15 and no one seemed to care we were late. They went through all the details, got me ready, and began the process. Nothing. Nothing for hours. She tried something else.

Boom. We’re ready.

Without going to graphic detail, this girl was ready to be born. It was 11:55pm. I explained my ‘situation’ about the 13th to my doctor, and, because she is the most wonderful woman in the world, we held off. Abs was born at exactly midnight on Tuesday, August 14.

She has been a joy, a handful, and almost anything else you can think of. The blue eyes and curls? We have no idea where those came from, but we love them!

Happy 3rd Birthday, Abs!

She is born:

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“No, M. You can eat at the table with your sister.”

“Daddy let me eat out of a bowl on the floor when you weren’t home.”

Oh really…

Let’s be clear. If she would eat salad, vegetables or anything remotely nutritious from a bowl on the floor, I’d do it and change her name to Fido. Today, I said no, mainly because our floors are filthy. Out of curiosity, I called Joe to see what he fed her on the floor.

In a very annoyed, are-you-really-serious voice, he said, “Nothing. I didn’t feed her on the floor.”

“She said you gave her a bowl of lettuce on the floor this weekend.”

In the meantime, M is visibly squirmy.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I hope I wasn’t dreaming that Daddy let me eat off the floor.”

I laughed. She’s a clever one…but…where do you draw the line between funny and lying. She did the same thing to Joe over the weekend, blaming her sister for a mess on her floor, after, she, by herself, emptied the art box.

She’s starting school. Lying is a big deal. Funny is good. Not funny is when the lines are crossed. I see humor in everything. I laugh at inappropriate times (you know, like when she sang the word ‘shit’ to the tune of the alphabet song) but need to get this under control.

So, help. Please. What do you do when you catch your kids in a little lie? Laugh? Time out? Ignore?

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