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Nap time is golden, kid!

Nap time is golden, kid!

I don’t get it.  I just don’t understand why my kids fight nap time.  Don’t they understand that by the time they are teenagers that they’ll be begging me NOT to wake them up?

The truth is that I love nap time as much or more than they do…when they stop fighting sleep and finally drift off to La La Land.  I cherish nap time because this is “Me Time.”

O.K., don’t think that I finally put my feet up and eat bon bons.  I actually get things done while they are asleep.  As soon as they are in their beds, I began my frantic attempt to get everything done as quickly as possible.  By everything, I mean all the things that are impossible to do with little ones underfoot.  You know…phone calls, emails, shopping lists, ironing, laundry, mopping, and general cleaning up.  When my kids are awake, I am spending most of my time breaking up fights over crayons, changing diapers, or finding something to entertain them so I CAN get something done.

Occasionally, (and I really mean once in a blue moon) I will nap when my kids nap.  This is usually when I am sick or have not slept due to one of my kids getting sick (see earlier post on Haz Mat suit and projectile vomit).

Anyway, I noticed today that my youngest, George, fell asleep in the van.  I had to run a few errands, which interfered with nap time.  When we arrived back at our house, I gingerly picked up a sleeping baby and placed him in his crib.

He slept.

For ten measly minutes.

Then he wailed like a banshee.

What’s up with that?  I know he’s tired.  I know that he needs his usual two hour nap.  For goodness sakes, Mommy needs his two hour nap.  What’s wrong with this kid?  Doesn’t he realize that nap time is golden?  In just five or six years, he’ll be begging me to let him sleep in on Saturday, take a nap on Sunday afternoons and unwilling to wake up before the crack of dawn.  Even my five year old is now a lump in the bed in the early morning hours….unlike last year, when he’d pop up at five o’clock each and every morning.  (No kidding, folks)

I even hear Kindergarten teachers complain about how hard it is to get their class to settle down at nap time.   One friend of mine says it’s the hardest part of her day to get all of her students resting or at least staying still for 30 or 45 minutes on a mat.

What’s wrong with this picture?

Wouldn’t you just love to return to Kindergarten?  I would.  If I could go back, I’d relish nap time.  I’d snuggle down on that mat and cover up with my best flannel blanket.  There’d be no begging me to take a nap.  I’d also gladly wake up to a snack of milk and cookies.  Are you kidding me?  Take me back to the good ol’ days where nap time was mandatory.  I know plenty of adults who’d welcome nap time at work.   I’m all for a little siesta.  Bring it on.

Anyway, I’m letting my youngest whimper a bit in his bed.  I think he needs a good nap.  Napping in the car seat is no nap at all, in my humble opinion.  He’ll thank me for it later.

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“Hey!  Don’t you know that juice boxes are for drinking…not for hurling at your brother?!”  This is what came flying out of my mouth as I treated Will’s black eye with an ice pack last Sunday.  Jack and Will were “play fighting” and things quickly got out of hand.  With boys, it’s like they start out playing nice, then the testosterone kicks in and suddenly they’re in a frenzy.   Anyway, I realized after the incident that I have said the most ridiculous things within the past week to my sons.  Here is a sample of some of the things that have flown out of my mouth:

1.  Juice boxes are for drinking..not for hurling at your brother.

2.  Yes, I did know that Jesus loves Spiderman.

3.  No, you cannot eat things that fall on the floor of Chick-fil-A…and no, I don’t care if it’s only been on the floor for five seconds.

4.  You may not stand in the window naked. (I pronounce this word “nekkid”)

5.  Maybe Daddy will take you on his next business trip. (This is said while child is having a temper tantrum)

6.  Yes, Daddy is a lawyer.  Mommy is a lawyer, too…I’m just at home with you guys right now.  (This is said to unbelieving children)

7.  Stop making farting noises in the van.

8.  Eating green beans will not turn you green.

9.  No, I will not drive “real fast” down this hill so that your stomach will do a “flip flop.”  Plus, there’s a policeman at the bottom of the hill…we’ll try it later.

10.  Your teachers do not live at school…they are people, too.  Yes, they live in houses just like we do.

11.  It won’t kill you to drink a glass of milk.

12.  Fruit roll-ups don’t count as a fruit serving.

13.  Big boys always brush their hair before going to school.

14.  Stop making faces at the people in the cars behind us.

15.  Yea!!!!!  Good job on wearing big boy underwear!

There’s more to come…..

Juice boxes are for drinking...not for hurling

"Juice boxes are for drinking...not for hurling"

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Its a three ring circus over here

It's a three ring circus over here

It’s Sunday and we’ve survived the day.  It’s a miracle that we even get to church at all considering the craziness that ensues every Sunday morning.  My husband is back from his business trip and we are trying to get back to “normal.”  Normal means going to church on Sunday, including Sunday School.  When people see us unload our crew from our minivan on Sunday morning, we are a frazzeled bunch.   I half jokingly tell people that it’s a three ring circus at our home on Sunday.  Today went something like this:

Saturday @ midnight (officially Sunday) : Mommy lays out everyone’s clothes to make it easier for Sunday morning.  Mommy goes to bed.

6:00 a.m. – Daddy hits the snooze button

6:30 a.m. – Daddy hits the snooze button…again.

7:00 a.m. – Daddy turns the alarm off.   (We are now running late…let the craziness now begin….)

7:45 a.m.- Jack & Will run into Mommy & Daddy’s room & proceed to pounce on sleeping parents.

7:50 a.m. – Daddy gets up and realizes that he is to be at church early because he is helping with the offering and freaks out.  Family must be at church by 9:45 a.m.

8:00 a.m. – Daddy gets Will, Jack & George into the shower for a “quick soap up and rinse.”  Mommy makes up parent’s bed and places boys’ clothes on top of the comforter.

8:15 a.m. – Daddy hands boys off to Mommy.  Daddy gets into shower.  Mommy dries off each boy in assembly line fashion and gets them dressed accordingly.  Will whines that he wants to wear the blue sweater and not the yellow one.   Boys brush teeth.

8:30 a.m. – Will & Jack go downstairs to watch Max & Ruby on Noggin.  George stays in Mommy & Daddy’s room while Daddy gets dressed in bedroom and Mommy goes into shower.  Jack sneeks back upstairs to change from his church clothes into a Spiderman costume.

8:35 a.m. – George finds sippy cup full of juice in Will’s room and unscrews the top.  George pours juice down the front of his outfit before running into Daddy.  George clings to Daddy’s leg with wet clothes.  Daddy’s pants are now saturated with sticky apple juice.  Daddy & George must change clothes.

8: 40 a.m. – Mommy is putting on makeup, but must stop to help Daddy find another outfit for George.  Mommy finds Jack in closet dressed as Spiderman…with cowboy boots.  Jack doesn’t see what the fuss is all about and announces that “Jesus loves Spiderman.”

8:45 a.m. – While Daddy changes clothes, Mommy changes George.  Mommy convinces Jack that “Yes, Jesus loves Spiderman, but Spiderman’s mask is in the wash, so let’s wear something else.”  Jack agrees and changes back into his original outfit.  Mommy sends Jack back downstairs and resumes getting ready.

8:50 a.m. – Mommy and Daddy hear screaming coming from downstairs.  Will comes upstairs with a black eye.  Will and Jack were “play fighting” and things quickly got out of hand.  Jack has hit his big brother in the eye with a juice box.  Will’s eye has started to swell.   Mommy must abandon attempt to put on hose to get an ice pack for Will’s eye.  Daddy has put Jack in “time out.”

9:03 a.m. – Jack’s time is up in “time out.”  Jack tells Will he is “sorry.”  However, Will’s eye is swelling and it is official…he will go to church with a “shiner.”

9:07 a.m. – Mommy finally has clothes on, but realizes that there is no time to “do her hair.”  It looks like a ponytail day for Mommy.  Daddy is downstairs getting the diaper bag ready when he announces that this would be a great day to get doughnuts.  Boys all scream with delight.

9:10 a.m. – Mommy pokes herself in the eye while rushing to put on mascara.  Mommy’s eye will not stop watering.  Mommy throws on a pair of black sling back pumps.

9:11 a.m. – Because Mommy is blind from sticking the mascara wand in her eye, she can’t see and gets her heel gets caught at the top of the stairs.  Mommy falls as she is descending the stairs, ripping a huge hole in her hose.  Mommy must change her hose…and shoes because her heel broke.

9:12 a.m. – Mommy yells to Daddy to “Get the kids in the van!  Strap ’em in!  I’ll be there in a minute!”

9:13 a.m. – Mommy wonders why the kids couldn’t have just had a freakin’ cereal bar and juice this morning.

9:15 a.m. – Mommy has changed clothes and is running down the stairs…with different shoes in hand.

9:16 a.m. – Mommy is in the van and tells Daddy to “Haul it to the doughnut shop!”

9:20 a.m. – Mommy is ordering doughnuts and is obsessing about whether or not she unplugged the curling iron.

9:22 a.m. – Mommy asks Daddy whether they should swing back by the house to make sure that she unplugged the curling iron.  Daddy winces.

9:40 a.m. – Everyone has had a nutritious breakfast of milk and doughnuts – the breakfast of champions.  Mommy and Daddy load everyone back into the van.  Daddy has agreed to go back home, so Mommy can check to see if she unplugged the curling iron.

9:48 a.m. – Mommy feels like an idiot because she did unplug the curling iron.  Mommy wonders if she has obsessive-compulsive disorder.   Suddenly, Mommy smells poop wafting from the backseat.  Mommy looks behind her and notices that George has a hand full of brown “mud.”  (This is definitely not mud, folks)  Mommy tells Daddy to pull back into the driveway.  Mommy instructs Daddy to go on to church with Will and Jack, as she will meet him there in a second.

10:15 a.m. – Mommy is at church with a clean baby.  George had an “accident” and had to be bathed and changed (again).

10: 20 a.m. – Mommy must check George into the church nursery.  The church nursery rivals the Pentagon with its security clearance procedures.

10: 35 a.m. – Mommy plops down on a church pew.  (The service started at 10:15)  Mommy is very, very tired.  Mommy asks the Lord to forgive her for saying bad words before church and wanting to sleep during the soloists’ performance of “Amazing Grace.”  Mommy finds a half-wrapped mint in the bottom of her purse covered in lint and debates whether to eat it or not.  Someone interrupts her thoughts to comment on how nice the children look today.  Mommy laughs like a crazy lady…

10:45 a.m. – Mommy gives in and eats the lint-covered mint because she is hungry.  She didn’t eat at the doughnut shop due to worrying about the curling iron.

11:00 a.m. – Mommy is nudged by Daddy because she dozed off during the sermon.

11:15 a.m. – Mommy goes to nursery to pick up the boys.

11:30 a.m. – Off to eat lunch.  Woo Hoo!!!!!  We actually made it through another Sunday morning.

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Southern girls in smocked bishop dresses

Southern girls in smocked bishop dresses

Smocked john john

Smocked “john john”

It’s official….I’m giving up.  I’m throwing in the towel…at least where Will & Jack are concerned.  If the pictures on this post haven’t given me away, I’ll let you in on my distress.  I’m giving in and dressing my boys in conventional clothes.  They are getting too old to put them in “john johns.”  It’s just getting too hard to fight them.   On the other hand, I still have George to dress.  George who is 19 months isn’t that hard to wrestle into a “john john.”  Will and Jack are not so easily overpowered.   I’ll explain:

For the southern “Mama,”  it is an unwritten rule that children are to be dressed a certain way.   Little boys are to wear longalls or shortalls (a.k.a. “john john” in honor of J.F.K. Jr. who was photographed under the desk of his father in the Oval Office wearing such attire).  Little southern belles wear bishops, which are dresses with no waist and long with three inch hems.  No little girl is complete without a giant grosgrain bow pinned to her little head.  Southern Mamas favor smocking, appliques, and fanciful prints.  We love to dress our children in matching or theme clothes (Halloween, Christmas, Easter, 4th of July, etc.).   In formal photographs, you will see children in smocked clothes and in bare feet.  I don’t know why….it’s just the way it is.  Maybe we just like for our children to look like children.  Children grow up too fast anyway.  We just like to prolong babyhood.  Who knows?  I do know that there will be a time when all three of my boys will beg me to take down the 16 X 20 formal photographs of them as three month old babies…all wearing the same antique baptism gown that I wore as a baby.

Yes, I said gown.  Southern Mamas dress their newborn boys in gowns…baptism gowns, christening gowns, day gowns.  Look, before long…Daddy’ll have ’em out there in a duck blind or on the golf course.  Let us have our moment, OK?

Why am I distressed?  Well, once Will became a “big boy” and started school, he starting wearing a uniform.  Will attends a private school and I am most grateful that he wears the standard khaki pants and polo shirt.  We don’t fight over clothes in the morning and it’s easy.  When I caught a glimpse of my firstborn for the first time in his uniform, a lump formed in my throat.  I shed a tear.  He looked so…. grown. He doesn’t look so little anymore.  For mothers, you know when your babies start looking more like children…they lose that precious baby fat around their wrists, the face thins out, etc.  (sigh) Anyway, don’t worry.  I would never even think to put him in a “john john” at this point.  I certainly don’t want him to be picked on at Sunday School.

Jack is 3 and hasn’t reached the magical “cut-off” for the “john john.”  However, Jack is tough looking….Bless his heart.  Jack never looked right in a longall.  Jack looks more natural in camouflage or cowboy gear.  He’s a little John Wayne.  So for Jack, he has escaped having to spend another year suffering through my attempts to make him look like Little Lord Fauntleroy.  It looks like Jack gets to jump right into khakis and polo shirts.  I think he is secretly relieved.

George is another story.  I took smocking classes right after George was born and learned to sew while I was pregnant with him.  I’ve made several outfits for him and need to start on his Easter outfit now.  However, I am tired….so very tired.  At the end of the day, after putting everyone to bed, I just don’t know if I have the gumption to sit up and whittle through a smocking project.  It’s just so easy to pick something up off the rack at one of those chain stores.  Herein lies the problem…

All of those chain stores cater to people who like for their children to look like little adults.  There are exceptions to the rule (Little Lambs & Ivy, Janie & Jack, Chocolate Soup, Strasburg).  However, I am always shocked when I go into one of these “adult-like” childrens’ stores and see leopard prints on little girls’ clothing or t-shirts that say “Hottie” or “I’m the one your mother warned you about.”  Who are they selling this crap to?  Pedophiles?

In the alternative, there are stores who sell clothes for little boys that appear as their aim to have boys look like 45 year old golfers, professional skate boarders, or pimps.  I’ll never forget a gift that I received when Will was a baby.  A very well-meaning relative sent us a suit for our three month old son.

A suit.

A three piece suit.

It was black pin stripes.

It came with shoes…and a tie.

Honestly, it looked like something you’d bury your child in.   I didn’t know whether to laugh or be terrified of the outfit.  I thought about dressing Will as one of the Blues Brothers for Halloween, but I couldn’t find a little black hat.  I tried to sell it on Ebay and no one wanted it.  I did get a question about the suit.  A woman in Oregon wanted to know if it would fit her ten pound Yorkie.  I told her that the tag said it is supposed to fit a three month old baby, but I didn’t know about a little dog.  I never heard back from her.  I even tried to put the suit in a garage sale, but it didn’t sell.  I finally gave it away to Goodwill.  Maybe someone thought it was “precious” and felt lucky to have the thing.

I realize that I’m tired from running after three little boys all day, but unless I want George to look like Tony Hawk at Easter, I better get busy on that “john john.”  Oh, the plight of the southern Mama….

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Steel Magnolias...sistahs

Steel Magnolias...sistahs

“I have a strict policy that nobody cries alone in my presence.”  – Truvy

O.K….so, I’m a huge Steel Magnolias fan.  I also love Fried Green Tomatoes and the Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood.  Yes, I’m a southerner.  Yes, I’m damn proud of it.  One of the underlying themes of these great movies is the importance of girlfriends.  Having a set of girlfriends seems to be very important to southern women.  I’m not really sure if it’s because we are bred to look forward to things like girl scouts, cotillion, sorority rush, etc.  Or if it’s because once we get older and married, we have to rely upon our girlfriends because our men seem to leave us on the weekends to play golf or hunt….a southern seasonal ritual.

Nevertheless, I’ve never doubted the importance of having friends nor in the absolute necessity of needing other people in my life.  My oldest friend from childhood, Nancy (we’ve been best friends for 35 years), tells me that it’s wonderful to have girlfriends…but even better to have “sister friends.”  In the south, we call them “sistahs.”  You know the difference when you’ve got ’em.  Let me illustrate what I’m talking about:

Girlfriends are friends that you go to lunch with, shop with and have fun, etc.  Sistah friends do all of the above, but will tell you if you have spinach in your teeth and won’t let you buy anything that makes you look fifteen pounds heavier.  Girlfriends will come by your house and drop off a casserole when you are sick.  If you are sick, sistah friends will drop off a casserole and pick your kids up from school so you don’t have to.  Girlfriends will make you feel better.  Sistah friends will sometimes tell you things you need to hear, even if it hurts…because they know you need to know or will know when to keep their mouth shut.  Girlfriends will listen to your problems over the phone.  If you have a problem, sistah friends will cry with you and share some deep secrets of their own.

When I was a child, I remember my mother and her “sistah friends.”  They would play cards, drink bloody marys garnished with long celery sticks and gossip.  I also remember that they looked out for each other.  I distinctly remember when one of my mother’s sistah friends had a cheating husband.  My mother’s friend, Margaret (not her real name…bless her heart), did not know that the scum bag was cheating on her.  Well, let’s just say that my mother’s friends did something about the situation.  (I can’t go into any details due to the statute of limitations on certain crimes in the great state of Louisiana…I’m just kidding…Well, maybe not.) They let Margaret’s no-good scoundrel of a husband know that they knew about his cheatin’ ways….AND let him know that if he didn’t straighten up…he’d be next on their “list.”  My mother and her crew could give Tony Soprano a run for his money.  All of this was done without an ounce of bloodshed or Margaret the wiser.  At the next card game, Margaret was happy as a clam and announced that she and her husband had planned a second honeymoon to the Bahamas.  The sistah friends had saved the day.  Pretty cool, huh?

Sistah friends are real.  Sistah friends let you in on their own crap.  Sistah friends are forevah friends.

I consider myself very lucky.    I have some great girlfriends, but I also count amongst my friends some serious sistah friends.

Over the last six months, I’ve had Cynthia and Sharby who’ve volunteered to pick  my kids up from school when I couldn’t.   I’ve had Nancy who calls me twice or three times a week from Greenwich, Connecticut and it seems like no time has ever passed since we last saw each other…which, sadly, was seven years ago.  I’ve had Julie, who has grown into the best sistah friend and confidant that a girl could ever have.  Julie and I were friends in law school, but who would’ve known that two people who live several states away could have lives that parallel in so many ways?  I also have Windy, who will share with me her love for trash t.v.  Seriously.  Who else can I sit with and honestly say that I watch “Charm School” or “Rock of Love”?  Hilarious.

Some sistahs come and go.  Some move away.  Some fall out of touch, unfortunately.  One sistah, Teresa, was my rock and my assistant when I taught a classroom of thirteen boys, all with severe behavior disorders.  Teresa and I laughed and cried through my early years of teaching special education.  We managed to have some fun outside of the classroom when we needed to unwind at the closest Mexican restaurant with a group of fellow teachers.  We still keep in touch, not as often as I’d like, but the effort is there.  Who would’ve known that my early years teaching those boys would’ve prepared me for life with three little boys of my own?  It’s nice to know I had a sistah friend who was there to help.

I’m fortunate.  So, here’s the thing….everyone needs some sistahs.  It’s like finding your soul mates among girlfriends.  It’s good stuff.  For now, I’ll leave you with some of my most favorite quotes from Steel Magnolias – the original movie about “sistah friends”….Enjoy!

That which does not kill us, makes us stronger. – Clairee


The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize – Clairee

Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion. – Truvy

Ouiser could never stay mad at me; she worships the quicksand I walk on. – Clairee

I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special – Shelby

I find it amusing. Men are supposed to be made out of steel or something. I just sat there. I just held Shelby’s hand. There was no noise, no tremble, just peace. Oh god. I realize as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life – M’Lynn


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Breaker, breaker 1-9....its Superman and Lil Bear comin at cha!

Breaker, breaker 1-9....it's Spiderman and Lil' Bear comin' at cha!

It’s my own fault that it happened.  I slept late (late would be approximately 8:00 a.m.).  Will and Jack don’t have school this week, so I’ve been staying up late (this would be approximately 11:30 p.m.) to read, fold laundry, etc.  I am usually awaken by George yelling for me from the crib in his room or by Will and/or Jack prying my eyelids open and demanding juice and cereal.  Today, it was quiet.  Too quiet.  I sat straight up.  This was not normal.  Suddenly, I heard “loud whispering” (my boys can’t whisper…neither can their father…it’s a voice immodulation problem) and Jack howl with laughter.   Whew!  I could breathe again.

I thought maybe the boys were having fun together and hoped to catch a glimpse of the boys reading, placing puzzles pieces together on the floor…sharing a brotherly moment.  I tiptoed down the hall and flattened my body against the wall to sneek a peek.  I was totally not prepared for what I was about to witness…and hear.

I heard static…and a man’s voice.  This is when I saw my sons, in their own twin bed, each holding a Diego walkie talkie.  The exchange went something like this:

Trucker:  Breaker, breaker 1-9…this here is Blue Jay…I’m havin’ trouble findin’ 385 from highway 72…where’s the turnoff?

Will:  Take a left!

Trucker:  Take a left?  Where?

Jack:  Go to McDonald’s!

Trucker:  Where?! Did you say McDonald’s?  I think there was one seven miles back.

Will:  Take a right!

Trucker:  What?! Are you tellin’ me now to take a right?

Jack:  I want french fries!  (giggles)

Will:  I want a Happy Meal! (snickers)

Trucker:  Who is this?! Are ya’ll a bunch of kids?

Will:  I’m Spiderman!

Jack:  I’m Lil’ Bear! Go to McDonald’s!

Trucker:  Hey! Get off!

This is when I bounded through the door like it was a police raid.  Will and Jack looked up at me and knew that they were cold busted.  I confiscated the Diego walkie talkies.  I don’t really know how many truckers that they have sent to McDonald’s from Highway 72.  I cringe to think that Will, a.k.a. Spiderman, and Jack, a.k.a. Lil’ Bear, have diverted whole convoys from their chosen destinations.  Who knows?

I should say that I am frightened at their ability to take a simple walkie talkie to intercept CB radio frequencies.  Or maybe I should be in awe.  They are 5 and 3.  They are preschoolers and very, very smart. Plus, I haven’t even thought about “CB’s”, “handles,” or “convoys” since I saw Smokey & the Bandit when I was in the first grade.

Obviously, I need to start getting up at 5:30 a.m.   Otherwise, who knows what can happen next.  I only hope I can channel this “creativity” into something worthwhile.  I hope so.  I really, really do.

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Bout time SuperGirl gets some props!

'Bout time SuperGirl gets some props!

The boys think their Daddy is Superman.  I’m not joking.  They even talked me into getting him a Superman cake for his birthday.  Well..he does look a lot like Clark Kent, but that’s another story.   They want to be just like him.  On Sundays, Will insists that he wear a sports coat like his father to church and even asked for a necktie for Christmas.  Their father coaches their soccer team and spends a great deal of time with them.  I am very happy that my boys and their father have a good relationship.  However, my husband’s first business trip away from us gave me reason to ponder my role as mom.

A couple of weeks ago,  my husband had to go out of town on business.  In one of my “crazy moments,” I thought it might be fun if the boys and I took my husband to the airport to see him off.  This was a horrible error in judgment.  At first, Will, Jack and George took in the airport with total amazement.  They were so excited to see all of the planes as we approached the terminal.  We even ate dinner inside the airport before it was time for my husband to leave us and go through the security checkpoint.    After kissing all five of us, my husband said his goodbyes and told us all how he would return in four days..yada, yada, yada.  My husband waved to us and began his walk through security to check his bag, laptop, etc.  It was at this point my children “nutted up.”

Will began to cry and yell, “Daddy!  Daddy!!!  Take me with you!”  Then Jack began to wail,  “Daddddeeeeee!  Come back!  Don’t go, Daddddeeeee!”  George decided that he would not be left out of the ruckus and began to cry with his little arms outstretched toward his father.  I am not kidding you that every eye was on me and my hysterical crew.  It was a pitiful sight.  People looked at the children like they were homeless refugees.  I swear I thought I overheard one woman say to her husband, “Do you suppose that man is leaving his family…for good?!  Bless their little hearts!”  You would’ve thought that Daddy was headed off to Borneo.  The crying did not stop until bedtime…which was two hours later.

What is wrong with this picture?  Why all of the hysteria?!  Daddy would be home in time to eat dinner with us in four days.    What am I, chopped liver?

I do everything.  I’m not joking.  Since leaving the practice of law to be a stay at home mom, I can honestly say that I have done “my job” pretty well.  I cook, clean, sew, shlep the kids to and from school, grocery shop, volunteer at church and in the community, and manage to play several rounds of Candy Land all before my husband gets home from work.   My husband gets home at 6:00 p.m. and the children are in bed by 8:00 p.m.  You do the math.  He bathes them and reads them a story before bedtime, but I am the one who has to remind everyone to brush their teeth.  I am the Queen of Multitasking.  Daddy may be Superman, but I’m Super Girl for Pete’s sake.  Don’t I get any props?

I’ll never forget one trip we made to my mother-in-law’s house down in Florida.   Right after I discovered that I was pregnant with George, we flew down there with Will (then 3) and Jack (then 2).   The night before the trip, my husband had a business meeting, so I was left to handle everything by myself before our early morning flight.  I had to pack all of our bags and get the boys in bed…all with a horrible case of morning sickness, which sent waves of nausea through my body day and night.  Oh yeah…Jack was recovering from a stomach virus so I had been dealing with two solid days of disgusting diapers that smelled like rotting cabbage.

Once we arrived at my mother-in-law’s condo, I was exhausted.  Jack still had “bowel issues” and my morning sickness was on the upswing.  It was October and I was wearing corduroy maternity overalls in eighty degree heat.   Being hot, nauseated and pregnant…all at the same time…is not good for your psyche.  I could smell the stench of Jack’s diaper from across the room.  I sweetly asked my husband to change the runny diaper.  As my husband walked away with Jack, my mother-in-law said, “Isn’t that just wonderful that he helps you with diapers? He is such a “hands on” Daddy!”  This sent me over the edge.  I said, “Yeah, he should do those things…he’s their father.  No one thinks I’m great because I change diapers.  I change diapers all the freakin’ time!”  Let’s just say that I felt guilty for being so snappish.

I am glad that the boys love their father.  I’m glad that I am married to a Clark Kent…but Super Girl needs some props….

Who made 45 candy cane ornaments that looked like mice for Will and Jack’s classroom craft project? Who made George’s Christmas outfit and monogrammed the darn thing at 1:45 a.m.?  Who got Jack Batman pajamas and found a cape and mask to match?  Who makes Belgian waffles on Saturday?  Who books the birthday parties at gyms/inflatable centers/Build-a-Bear workshop?  Who hung the tire swing in the backyard? Who makes it all better with Bactine and a Superhero band aid?

Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  No, it’s …M-O-M-M-Y!!!!!!!

So, will we all survive while Daddy is away?  I think so.  I’m up for the challenge.  Yes, he will be missed.  Yes, I realize that boys probably miss their Daddy a little more because he is the one that they need to emulate..to learn how to be a man.

P.S.  My husband called me once he settled into his hotel room.  He thanked me profusely for packing his workout clothes and a sweatshirt.  It had finally turned cold out in the southwest.  I looked on the weather channel before his flight and slipped in an extra pair of sweats.  For this, he said, “I don’t know what we’d all do without you.”  Well….it’s about time! 🙂

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