Stickymommy

Saturday’s Darndest Things

stickymommy — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 04:00:32 +0000

It was mostly a regular Saturday, with the bonus of a friend staying from L.A. who has come to mean a lot to us. He was with his adorable 2-year-old daughter while his wife was at a Women’s Conference. In the morning as we woke up, Angel asked him what a women’s conference was, and he told him it was where women get together and pray and learn about God. Angel responded coyly with, “Ohhh, that is like sooo weird….”
We had a lot of fun talking, playing with the kids, walking the beach, and of course eating together. That evening our friend left and the kids were put to bed shortly after. A while had passed when Zian, our resident comedian, topped off the night by asking if he could come out from his bed and show us something. It’s one of his regular stall tactics, but this time instead of displaying his usual lego contraption, he got in front of us and proudly turned his back for us to see. Then he pulled down his underwear and revealed one large orange sticker on each butt cheek, exclaiming, “Look! I have stickers on my butt!!” Now that is sooo weird….

Radio Wars

stickymommy — Sat, 28 May 2011 03:34:39 +0000

Zian. 6 years old. Sits in the very back of the mini-van. Mom. Forty-something years old, sits in the drivers seat of said van. Hallelujah. Song by Heather Williams comes on the Sirius station. Mom turns it up. It’s one of those songs that moves her to raise hands in praise, even in the car. Zian, who because of past abuse has to control any and all situations, orders mom to turn the song down. Mom, just as determined to be in control, tells him she loves the song and if he doesn’t want to hear it he can plug his ears. Wrong? Maybe. But she’s been dealing with his controlling nature 24/7 for four and a half years now and is not about to let him tell her at what level she has to keep the radio. Both dug in their heels. Mom singing Hallelujah with passion. Zian screaming continuously that she must turn it down, or off, or listen to him. And since she wasn’t, he was just going to ruin it by trying to scream over it. So, for 3 minutes and 59 seconds, mom exuberantly (o.k. maybe somewhat obnoxiously) sang and praised the Lord, and Zian screamed his voice raspy. Mia and Angel sat trapped, in the middle, silent and wide-eyed, just hoping the whole thing would end. It did end, finally, and mom turned it down, but she had stood her ground. And then the very next day while in the van again, Zian barked out from the back like the ringmaster he thinks he is, “Hey mom! You can turn up this stupid song. Turn up this dumb song. I want you to turn it up!” Somehow…he still thinks he’s in control of that volume knob.

Le-Go My Legos!

stickymommy — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 22:53:33 +0000

I don’t know if it’s because we live a mile from Legoland, or it’s just their age, but my kids are OBSESSED with Legos. Believe me, I am grateful that they have something that can keep them busy for at least 10 minutes straight, but seriously, there has got to be some limits. It started out with a couple tubs at Christmas and now has grown to an amount that is out of control! I know what the problem is; it’s those little Star Wars or emergency vehicle “kits” we keep buying as cheap rewards. What’s the point of these really? First of all, dad is the one who actually has to put it together, and then in less than half an hour, it gets taken apart, only to be mixed in with the millions of other Legos, never to be made sense of again as that police car or jet fighter. But the worst, I mean the absolute worst, is the fact that Legos plague my very existence. I can’t get away from them. They are everywhere. They show up in the washer, the garden, hidden in the shag rug, under the couch cushions. Today I found some in the bottom of our shoe basket, and yes, I’m not gonna lie…once we were interrupted by one in our bed…ahem. So if anyone should hear me screaming from the boys’ room, it’s not because I’m trying to get them to pick up the tornado of those tiny plastics on the floor, it’s because I’m screaming in agony from stepping on another @#%&* Lego!

The Judge

stickymommy — Fri, 28 May 2010 06:11:32 +0000

In a follow up to my potty mouth entry…I have to admit I’ve eased up a bit on the seriousness of it. I mean, it’s not as if they are saying actual cuss words and there really has been nothing I can do to stop it. So I’ve been trying a more subtle approach. Like this morning, as the boys ate their cereal and I snuck into the bathroom. Sure as day, I overhear “The WORDS” that I so despise. Followed by hushed giggles as though they had just gotten away with a Vegas heist. What was heard next was my echoing voice from the bathroom, warning them that I can hear them. Upon my exit from the bathroom I immediately launch into a diatribe of “Don’t think just because I’m not in the room that you can do things you know are wrong, it’s not me you need to worry about, God still hears you, and He is the judge, He’s the one you’re going to have to answer to…yada yada yada” The silence lasted a few seconds as I sat down on the couch to enjoy my last sips of coffee when I was answered by Angel, in his methodical, overly-intelligent tone…”Well if God is the judge, who is Jesus then…the lawyer?”

Potty Mouth

stickymommy — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 05:26:15 +0000

Let’s just get this straight. I am a girl. I am the youngest of 3, and my only brother was 8 years older than me. I do not understand boy humor. The words poopy, toot, fart, diarrhea, buttcrack or penis are not at all funny to me. Nor do I enjoy hearing Angel and Zian repeat these words over and over to each other like they’re doing a performance at the Comedy Store, followed by outbursts of uncontrollable laughter. My husband tells me it’s, “just boy stuff.” Well, that’s fine, if they want to do it, they can do it out of my earshot. Not in the car where I am held captive. Not at the table when I am trying to eat food, and not when they are supposed to be quiet and going to sleep. And it seems the more I try to correct it, the funnier the words become to them. I would like to believe my boys will soon, or maybe eventually grow out of this…but I think I have to face the grim reality that my husband is often the one who gets them going. And then my hopes were really dashed on Easter when they talked to their “papa” on the phone and his first words were shout outs of poopy, and a continuation of other words. All my hard work undone. “Fart!”

Oh Boy! Toyota!

stickymommy — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 05:44:10 +0000

Toyota…you have a problem, in the form of my kids. My kids love to watch the news with their dad, afterall, that’s his job. So we do a lot of news watching around here. They ask questions about what they hear, and we tell them the truth about what’s going on, but in simple terms they can understand. We explained that something went wrong and people got in accidents that caused people to be killed. Well, this struck a nerve of some kind and is now of great concern to them. We have a recurring conversation in the van. It usually starts with this from Zian, “Oooh…there’s a Toyota, Angel! Why they have a Toyota??” And, “There’s another one!” And then Angel chimes in like Rain Man, “Toyota’s kill people.” He even went up to a guy in the store aisle and announced, “Toyota’s are bad you didn’t know. Some people died.” So think about what this means for Toyota. Talk about a P.R. nightmare! How can they ever recover from this? I mean, we’re talking generations now who will never buy a Toyota. I’ve seen some ads with offers of huge incentives to buy one, and our joke is that they can’t even give them away. Although…if they wanted to give me one, I might take it. But then, how would I explain that to my kids?

Where’s the Beef?

stickymommy — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 17:51:23 +0000

So Mia has decided she wants to be a vegetarian. It started when we lived in Cleveland, Ohio. We often went to what I think is the most fabulous farmer’s market in the country, the West Side Market. The kids were mesmerized by the butcher’s counters, fascinated by the dead pigs, chickens, and cows, and every body part that was on display; feet, tongues, brains. But the most disturbing sight was the whole pig, hairless and pink, spread out on its stomach and smiling at us. It was not long after that I noticed Mia pushing her meat aside at meals. Then she started asking me, “Is this pork?” What I made the mistake of doing, however, is mentioning my observation to a friend in front of her, joking that she wants to be a vegetarian. What followed was a more blatant refusal to eat most forms of meat, and then anything that she deemed not worthy to put in her mouth (a pizza crust that was a little too brown, or a vegetable that wasn’t exactly the right color.) Now she separates things out, eats super slowly and dominates the conversation so we won’t notice her lack of eating. It’s like her permission slip to be able to decide what she’s going to eat now. I will remind everyone too, that because of the prior neglect, for a very long time my kids would literally eat anything I put in front of them. It’s not that I mind if she wants to eat healthier, of course that’s a good thing, but she is 9, and I am not the mom who’s going to make separate food for the “princess vegetarian” of the house. The funny thing is though, if it’s meat and it’s something she likes, she’ll eat it. Sooo…Mia has decided to be a vegetarian…or has she…??

Do you SEE this thing I’m holding?

stickymommy — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 06:59:53 +0000

Let’s talk about the phone. I’m thinkin’ I’d like to talk about it since I can’t actually talk ON it. Kids and phones are just disaster. First, there’s the fact that I can never actually find the time to be on the phone. Since we home school my three kids are with me all day. But if I ever do think I can steal a few moments to make a call, the “kid radar” goes off no matter where they are. They could be at the neighbor’s house and somehow know I have just gotten on the phone, which means it’s definitely the time to walk directly up to me and talk as though I’m actually doing nothing at all. And it’s usually to ask for something ridiculous like a snack, even though they just had one, or a toy you haven’t seen in decades that they think for some reason you know where it is. Sometimes, I like to live on the edge. I take the risk and answer the phone, or make a quick call. That’s when they know it’s the perfect opportunity to jump off furniture, or scream and wrestle each other down over whose Matchbox car it is. Some might say just tell them to be quiet, but it doesn’t work. Those words really have no meaning at all once you are on the phone. THEY KNOW….

And how about kids talking on the phone? They always want to play with the phone, but then when you give them the opportunity, like with grandma, they forget how to talk. Or even worse, they mumble unintelligibly about who knows what making the person on the other end uncomfortable and in the end I don’t know either what they are saying! I usually just stop them mid sentence and tell them, “Say bye!” And now it’s my turn to say Buh-bye.

Dirty Laundry

stickymommy — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 05:25:52 +0000

After posting a Facebook status about how much I hate folding bottom sheets, I got to thinking about our whole laundry situation. The amount of laundry we have in this house is ri-DI-culous. Who would have thought three little people could be the cause of such an enormous pile of dirty things? Before kids I could do all the laundry in a few loads on a Saturday. NOW? If I go one day without doing SOME laundry it causes a backup. And if I ever do manage to actually completely wash everything, a few hours later the pile is there again. Why do we need this many clothes? And it’s not just clothes, but then there’s all this other stuff. Coats, sheets, blankets and bath towels. Dish towels, throw rugs, kids shoes, and stuffed animals the dog has chewed. Something has to be done about this! So I’ve decided to lighten my load (pun intended). I am no longer going to fold bottom sheets. On the advice of a friend on Facebook, I am going to remove the sheets from the bed, wash them, and then return them back to the bed in which they came. I am also through sorting laundry. I will only stuff things in one Super load, no matter the color or fabric. If something doesn’t make it, we didn’t need it anyway. I will not pre-treat. If the stain doesn’t come out I will throw it in the trash. One less thing to wash. And something we’ve done all along, that I’m going to continue, is never fold the kids clothes. They each have a “clean bin” and “dirty bin.” No frustration from finding all the clothes you just folded thrown around on the floor because a kid was looking for something specific. This system is easy for them and easy for you. So, if you feel the same way, then you too should get out from under the mass of dirty laundry and free yourselves!

The Absent Minded Mom

stickymommy — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 00:36:16 +0000

Is it me, or do all moms race through the day thinking they are handling things pretty well, only to be slapped in the face by the reality that if anyone actually kept track they would be found completely incompetent? Take last week. J.R. was out of town, so I admit, I had a larger load than usual, but I’m not so certain that was it. In any case, here are some of my not-so-shining moments:

1. Found the missing salt in the refrigerator.
2. Took the boys to gymnastics only to realize they were in their jeans.
3. Forgot Angel’s doctor’s appointment.
4. Bought both boys new sneakers with laces (of which neither of them can tie).
5. Discovered blood smack-dab on the chest of my white shirt in the restroom while Mia was in speech therapy.
6. Left the gas burner on Lo for about 4 hours until the next meal.

And if that wasn’t enough, today, I had Angel’s Education Specialist conference (she checks our home school work) and totally forgot his Math workbook, which has all the worksheets he’s done all year. AND I left my purse out in the waiting room the whole time, not even realizing it until I reached the van and went for my keys. I think I need a break, or maybe an assistant!