life with WE

Predictable

It was bound to happen. 

Warren losing it because Mike's out of town and because well, he's Warren.

He woke up today on edge.  He was snappy and then weepy.  And just now at the bus stop, he lost his marbles because I don't know, it's cold?  Or windy?  Or he can't take a joke from the other kids today?

It's going to be a rough day in Warren-ville.  Here's hoping he makes it through the day!

She just can't process time.

Me: Good night Lainey.  I love you.  Sweet dreams.

E: Good night momma.  Hey, when daddy gets home will you tell him to sneak in and give me a hug and kiss?

Me: Remember Elaine?  Daddy is out of town until Saturday.  That's three more days. 

E: Okay.  Just tell him to come in and give me a kiss.  He can sneak in.

Me: Elaine...he won't be home tonight.
Me:
Me:
Me: Or tomorrow night, or the next.  He's out of town for work.  He'll be home in a few days.

E: Right!  Okay.  So he'll sneak in tonight when he gets home.

Me:
Me:
Me: Yep.  But he'll probably be gone to work already when you get up in the morning.  Good night sweetie, I love you.

E: Love you too momma!

Donuts? Serenity? Anyone?

Some nights there is a neverending stream of sleep interruptions.  These interruptions can be in the form of snoring husband, snoring dog, random loud truck on our street, or one of my offspring.

Lately, it's been the offspring that have been the problem.  Nights like these seem to come in waves.

Warren will be there, hovering, on my side of the bed (although its the farthest from the door).  I think he must stand there a few minutes before speaking because I feel his presence before he speaks.  Regardless of me knowing he is there, the moment he talks, I jump out of my skin!  "Mommy, I had a bad dream."  And off we go.  I'm up, we're down the hall and in his bed.  A twin bed where he makes little to no space for his mommy.  I immediately fall back asleep while he flits and flits around.  I wake again, ask if he wants to talk about it.  If he says no, I try this thing where I start a "good dream" for him.  "Okay Warren.  Imagine we are at a monster truck show.  And Dennis Anderson has climbed into the cab of Gravedigger and is about to compete in the Freestyle portion of the evening.  He's getting ready to do a really cool jump followed by some donuts...."  Meanwhile, I'm thinking, 'donuts.  Mmmm donuts.  I haven't had a good Krispy Kreme in A LONG TIME,' and I'm now wide awake and starving.  The boy though?  He's snoring away, grinding his teeth and dreaming of his very own monster truck Monster Jam.  I slip out of Warren's bed and head back to my room.

Guess what's waiting for me?  Snoring dog and snoring husband. 

I try not to trip over Truman, climb back into bed and dream of eating a dozen warm glazed doughnuts from Krispy Kreme.  (You want them now, don't you?  Just because I've typed it.)  Hours later, another little face is near mine.  "Mommy.  I need to change my panties. "  Again, I jump out of my skin.  She screams, I scream.  Now that we are both sufficiently freaked out, I get up to go change the sheets and pjs.  I do this in as much dark as possible because I don't really want to wake up.  I want this to be a dream.  It isn't, but it's over quick enough.  Tuck her back into a now dry bed.  Blow her kisses at the door.  Putthe pee sheets and pajamas near the steps.  Wash hands.  Walk back down the hall.

Step over Truman, crawl into bed next to snoring husband. 

Damn.  Now I have to pee.  Up again.  Back past the dog.  Back in bed with snoring husband.

Alarm goes off, I don't hear it.  Mike gets in the shower.  I still don't hear it.  I'm sleeping soundly, finally. 

Another face.  This one black, with a wet nose, and horrid breath.  He is as close to me as he can get without getting on the actual bed.  And since I sleep on my stomach facing outward, this means he is face to face with me, wagging his tail with all his might, doing those low growls and moans letting me know he needs to pee.  Badly.  And like NOW.

So I get up and begin my day.  And I begin the silent neverending chant, "serenity now.  Serenity now.  Children are a blessing and a gift from God.  Dogs are a blessing and a gift from God.  Serenity NOW!"

PS - I still want Krispy Kreme.  Anyone else?

Mr. Drooley McDroolerson

Dogs drool.  I get it.  Truman is no exception to this rule.

Lately, Truman has been drooling A LOT more than usual.  I mean A LOT.  As in puddles on my floors and carpets.  He's making this gross noise with his mouth all the time like an old person makes when they are out of saliva, except he has a ton of it.  He's not licking himself nonstop, so I know it is not allergy related.  I finally made an appointment with the vet, assuming something was amok in his gums or teeth or something.

Saturday was our appointment.  As the kids and I entered with Truman, one of the ladies behind the desk said, "well this must be our drooler.  I thought this appointment was ridiculous, but now I can see it's legit!"  As we sat to wait our turn, the dad in the family to our right said to his daughter, "that's a big dog!  I bet he weighs more than you!  What a horse!"  He said all of this pleasantly and laughing and that's generally the reaction we get to Truman, but I have to say, it makes me wonder if these people have ever seen Great Danes?  Because dude, compared to that, Truman's a lap dog.  Anywho, the family - dad, daughter and wife - were all sitting there staring at us.  Whatever.  And by the by, they were a large family - and I can say this as a larger person myself! 

It was Truman's turn for the scale, which is located in the waiting room in front of everyone.  He weighed in at 94 pounds, which I find hard to believe since he would not sit still, but whatever.  The dad starts laughing, "94 pounds!"  The mom says in the meanest, hissing-est voice possible, "dogs are not supposed to weigh that much!"

Really?  Because I shouldn't weigh what I way and either should you and dude, HE CAN HEAR YOU HE IS RIGHT HERE, and also, he is so NOT overweight.  So take that!

The vet couldn't find anything wrong as she poked and prodded and lost her hand in a pool of drool in his mouth.  He was put under sedation for better analysis, as she was hoping to find a bad tooth or a piece of stick stuck  in there or something.  We came back an hour and a half later to pick him up.  Nothing is wrong in his mouth at all.  So we're trying some meds for his esophagus to see if that works.  While we were waiting for him, the lady who gave props to our too much drool claim said, "Truman is really a good looking dog!  I mean, it's hard to see with that drool and everything; but when he was sedated I took a good look at him.  His color is amazing and he's all muscle!"  I have to agree.  Drooley McDroolerson is a rather handsome looking beast.  Then the tech who helped the doc examine him brought him out laughing and said, "I see what you mean about the drool!  I almost fell on the floor in the procedure room because of his giant drool puddles!" 

Yeah.  That's our dog.  Skid marks and drool puddles.

One class short

I have this recurring dream.

In the dream I realize I do not in fact have a diploma confirming my BS in Accounting.  No, I have an empty diploma holder because I missed one very important five credit Accounting class.  I have to go back to school to finish this class.  Clearly, a complete BS in Accounting is necessary to be a stay at home mom and to have NEVER HAD AN ACCOUNTING JOB NOR PASSED THE CPA EXAM.

Anywho, let's continue the dream.  I have to go back to school - Truman State University (formerly Northeast Missouri State University).  Mike says it'll be fine, he'll watch the kids and deal with work.  So I pack up my stuff and buy a loft bed (clearly I need this although I never did have one in college), and head back to the house I lived in for three years.  There's always a mix of roommates there who are in the same situation.  They too did not complete their majors and have had to leave husbands, children, careers, whatever behind to come finish.  But they don't think it's strange.  I'm the only one in the house who has a problem with it.  And although the house is the same, we are now all putting our loft beds in the dining room area because all of us refuse to live upstairs in the half story where 7 bats were sighted and removed during our three year stint.

And the campus.  The campus LOOKS the same, but is now technologically advanced and I cannot find my schedule or where my class is.  I don't know what book to buy and why is my class Monday through Friday for four hours each day?  Throughout my dream I keep thinking, "who cares?  Why am I back here?  This is ridiculous, I need to go home!" 

But my friends, my roommates - they find the whole thing fun.  They want to go out to our old hangouts.  They want to drink and dance and stay up late.  And I want to, but I'm torn.  And I also think we might look a bit ridiculous out on the dance floor what with being in our thirties and all hanging with 21 year olds.

In this dream I am so conflicted, confused and traumatized.  What am I doing there?  Why do I care?  And why are my friends so weird?

I honestly have this dream at least once a week, if not twice.  I can't figure out why I have this dream.  And then it occurred to me: 

This dream is a sign that I need to GO OUT DRINKING AND DANCING AND FEEL YOUNG AGAIN!

But then I remember.  Back then, a hangover was rare.  Back then I could lie in bed the next day until 2 in the afternoon, only getting up to order pizza.  Back then I didn't have these two fabulous children who need me to get through a day.  I did have Mike back then, but he slept until 2 also and would help pay for the pizza.

Ah to be young again.  Anyone else have random dreams like this on a recurring basis?  Please, anyone?

The junkie needs a fix.

Wii Lego Starwars. 

That is Warren's drug of choice.  He wakes asking when he can play.  He tries to play any spare minute he has.  He talks about unlocking characters and getting more coins and showing daddy the cool new things he found.  Before he even says good morning, he asks, "can I play Wii Starwars when I get home from school?" 

On the way to the bus stop this morning, he said, "tomorrow is Friday.  We can stay up late playing Wii Starwars because it's the weekend!"

I told him this morning he has a problem.  A serious addiction problem.  I think he might go into withdrawals if I cut him off of Wii completely.

But he's a good kid.  He gets his stuff done before he plays.  Homework, getting dressed, feeding the dog - whatever I ask him to do, he does it willingly if it means more Wii Starwars.  So is it bad of me to use his crack as my currency?  Or is this modern parenting at it's best?

Also, if Elaine doesn't get over to her half of the couch in the next five minutes, I'm going to scream.  It's like I have a 42 pound tumor on my left side.  A tumor with a pink bowed ponytail.

Hmm.

Is it weird that my daughter has my framed senior picture in her room on her vanity table?

Yeah, I thought so too.

Oooh, maybe that means big hair and poufy bangs are coming back.  Surely a four year old is up on trends, no?

Fat cherubic faces

The other night the kids were up late and somehow we got to looking at scrapbooks.  And as they oohed and ahhed about how cute they were and what they were doing, I couldn't help but feel...wistful.  ( I just looked that up on dictionary.com to see if I used it right.  I did.  Yea me!)  Anywho, I found myself longing for those days.  Those days of giggles and innocence.  Of sweet round faces.  Of fat little feet with pudgy toes kick kick kicking.  Days of holding them tightly while just staring into their faces in perfect contentment.

For a brief moment I wanted it all again.  Very brief moment.

But then I remembered.  The other parts, the parts we don't scrapbook, yet they happen.  And yes, they are forgotten as our children grow and grow, but they are there.  Sure sure, we love them in spite of those moments.  But the moments - they are there.  You can just ask my Zoloft!  (Remember Warren losing his marbles and hitting and screaming and throwing and me putting him in his room telling him to calm down then holding his door closed crying?  Oh I do.)

I'm not equipped to do it again, and I'm enjoying this part of the journey just as much as the last.  But for one fleeting moment, I missed those innocent baby times.  Specifically, those times in the pictures.  You know, like the smiling Elaine lying down on her daddy's chest as he held her.  Never mind that she was at a party driving us all insane, and Mike had just grabbed her out of harms way and she didn't want to be held, but then suddenly settled in for a picture perfect moment.  Or wait, that sweet Warren taking pictures with me as we held the camera turned on ourselves, laughing and giggling.  Except that minutes after that, he lost his mind and threw stuff and then threw his body to the floor.

Ah yes.  Just a few wistful moments.  Reality then sank back in and that was that.  Shweh!  I am quite happy to "borrow" other people's babies.  Oooh, like the little sister of one of E's preschool classmates.  She is the fattest happiest baby on the block and she smiles and coos.  Oh that's good stuff.  I don't want to change her diaper though, or feed her in the night, or deal with her older siblings getting annoyed with her.  Ahh memories.

I don't really care about Valentine's Day, but...

I know I know.  Some are true haters of the holiday.  It's a hallmark holiday.  It's a reason for women to get angry with men for not being romantic.  Blah blah blah.   Some LOVE Valentine's Day.  All the mushy gushy confessions of love and whatnot.

I'm someone who falls in between.  I don't love it, and I don't hate it.

There was a time I loved it.  I guess there were times (plural) that I loved it.  I loved decorating my shoebox as a mailbox to hold my classmates' valentines.  In high school I loved it if I had a boyfriend on Valentine's day.  And my dream those years was for my boyfriend (whomever it was at the time) to send me a dozen red roses to school.  That's right.

I went to an all girls private Catholic high school.  As you can imagine, in this type of setting, giant vases of gorgeous flowers get attention.  You're the envy of your friends.  Really, it was the coolest (or at least at the time, seemed to be the coolest).

And while I never got the school flower delivery from a boyfriend, I did get flowers at school on Valentine's day one year.  From my dad.  Every year for as long as I can remember, my dad has sent me flowers on valentine's day.  A mixed bouquet of carnations and whatnot.  He does this for my sisters too - always has.  He kept it up while we were in high school, when I was in college, when my parents were getting divorced.  He threatened that when I got married he would "be done with sending flowers and it would be Mike's job."  But do you know what?  I still get those flowers.  From my dad.  EVERY Valentine's day. 

That's one of the reasons I like Valentine's day.  Because at least once a year, I pause and think of my first Valentine, my daddy.  And I think of what a great dad he is and how lucky I am to have him as a father. 

Mike curses every year when those flowers arrive.  "Dammit your dad is showing me up again!"  Of course, I've threatened Mike that there's no reason to buy me flowers on Valentine's day.  Buy me flowers any other day of the year when they aren't marked up.  And tulips please - I love tulips.

Anywho - after I get my flowers from my dad, I call my sisters and pretend that I got a bigger bouquet and that my card says "you're my favorite, don't tell the others".  And they fall for it; every stinkin' time.  Which is also why I like Valentine's day - its a chance to torture my sisters.  Isn't that what St. Valentine really wanted? 

Um...yeah. Really?

Plastic cow, constantly dressed for the holidays.  Had to get the camera, come back, and take a picture.  Really?  Really!  Let's get a slightly closer look.

Yep - definitely a plastic cow wearing heart sunglasses and a heart necklace.  I hadn't noticed this cow since it was dressed up with a scarecrow for Thanksgiving.  I must have missed Christmas cow.  Or perhaps it was Hanukah cow?

As an added bonus, for your entertainment - I give you links to my favorite part of SNL - Weekend Update.  Particularly the Really segment.  (Links via Hulu - www.hulu.com)

Really - Michael Phelps

Really - Senator Craig

Really - Michael Vick

Really - Governor Spitzer