MG is watching Texas Ranger. I tried to change the channel, and she threw a fit. This shit is worse than Teletubbies.

It wasn’t a two minute conversation. I just didn’t post all of it. Matter of fact, he and I chatted quite a bit both before and after my trip into the store. I found out enough to know that good ole Johnny has been ‘busy’ the past three weeks, and his father was running “low enough to make me a might nervous” on the heart meds. I learned that this wasn’t the first time, and I could feel in my gut that it wouldn’t be the last.

Regardless, seeing someone’s elderly father that afraid, that humiliated, that confused, and that alone means that someone somewhere isn’t doing their job to ensure that he has proper care and supervision.

Having elderly, obstinate family members who refuse to let go of their independence is one thing. Turning your back repeatedly on someone who asks for help is another. Especially when you know how much pride they have to swallow to ask for it in the first place. It’s just flat out disgusting.

And who ever said I was one of the nice guys anyway.

Had to run to WalMart today to pick up a few things. Was waiting to pull into a spot, when an elderly guy comes around from behind me and proceeds to take the space. Or at least I thought he was. He actually parked dead ass in front of the cart roundup – leaving my space free. I pulled in, and stepped out. He was waiting with an apologetic smile. Said he was sorry for taking my spot, but he needs the ones close to the door so he doesn’t get shook up when he leaves. I just smiled and said no problem, while inside I was resisting the urge to hop back in the van and park so far away a trolley would have to come fetch us.

We shopped. We ate some nasty food-like stuff. We enjoyed just being out of the house without an agenda as we looked at toys and spring dresses and new bikes. Then we paid for our goodies, and headed to the van. Goodies stowed. Kids buckled in. I climb in, look up, and see the elderly guy about 2 rows over pushing a cart with a small package inside. All of a sudden, I knew what shook up meant.

I got out and hollered excuse me. He looked over and smiled when he saw me. I saw relief on his face as his eyes shifted to his car parked right beside me. He came over and thanked me. Said he should have waited until Johnny could take him, but he hated bothering him when he was so busy, and he was almost out of his pills. I asked who’s Johnny, and he said my son. I told him to take care and got back in my van. I watched him walk around to the back of the cart roundup, and saw his face when he realized that he had parked in front of it. He got in his car, backed up (oblivious to the oncoming truck), got out, stowed the cart in the roundup, and then drove away.

I want to punch Johnny in the throat. It’s not because his father shouldn’t be driving. It’s not that his dad almost ran out of his heart medication. And it’s not even because pops is still out and about when he is obviously starting to need supervision for his moments of forgetfulness. It’s all of that.

It’s all about taking care of your parents like they took care of you. It’s about respect. It’s about love. Decency. I have no doubt you’re a busy man Johnny. We’re all busy. But can you put aside one hour to run your dad to the fucking pharmacy? Hell I’m no saint. I sure as hell don’t look forward to the days when I might have to change my mom’s diaper. But I will take of her and dad the best I can when they eventually need me to. That’s family.

I hope your dad made it home safe Johnny. And fuck you.

Just realized that I am still wearing my bra. All those hours of comfort….wasted.

The headaches come in waves. Might last anywhere from a day or two, to a month or two. I don’t remember when this one hit, but I think I’m going on week 2. I’d like it to stop now. I’d like that very much.

I think most teachers are amazing people. Some have the power to touch and shape lives. That said, there are a few around here that need a reality check.

There is a 2nd grade teacher that has decided to stop grading homework. She couldn’t get every student to do it, nor could she get every parent to help out with it at home – so she no longer grades it.

Huh? What about the kids that do put in the effort? What about the kids that need that grade figured in to bring their average up? What about the parents who do give a shit and work with their kids every night?

What message does that send? Just say fuck it enough times and someday the rules will all crumble away? Where is the accountability for the parents? How is this teaching our children to be responsible for their actions? If we didn’t turn in our homework as kids – we got a fucking F. Just as it should be.

Homework has the ability to teach incredible life lessons. It teaches you that there are basically three options in life:

you can either say fuck it altogether
you can piss away your time and do the last minute scramble
you can plan ahead and give your best effort

This is one of the most important decisions that a person ever makes. It sets the standard for everything else in their life.

Guess I know which path she chose.

Bridal shower today for my ‘baby’ cousin. She’s the youngest of the 24 of us on mom’s side. Saw some friends and family that I haven’t seen in ages. I love seeing the looks on their faces when they find out I have six kids. Especially when they’ve just spent the past hour explaining to me how hard it is to have 2.

Was a good time though. The wedding should be great fun. I love it when mom’s side of the family gets together. And drinks. And dances. And sings. Best party in town.

I came home to a clean house and folded laundry. Can’t beat that shit.

MB1 has been gone all weekend. Spending it with a friend. It sure is quiet around here when he’s gone. No real fights to speak of. No smart ass comments. No shrieks from MG as he chases her around the house with a Halloween mask. No tracking down the phone because he can’t ever seem to hang it up on the charger. No orange juice glasses all over the house.

I miss him.

Guy that opened the door for me today was in his 60s. He tipped his hat as I walked by. His weathered cowboy hat. As I waited in line to pay for the gas, I watched him walk over to the coffee counter. I saw his boots. And his muddy spurs. The hands that poured the coffee haven’t seen a day of rest in many many years. He looked up and smiled. No cheap yeah yeah smile. It was warm and friendly and radiated from his eyes.

I think cowboys are sexy as hell.

Does winter’s passing intensify the beauty of spring? Or is it really this fucking amazing? I feel so damn alive this time of year. 70s all week. So happy about that I could piss myself.

Tyler quit track. S’ok – it’s his life. He hated it, and I don’t want him to keep at it because of me. I’m just as happy to watch him kick the ball around. And as hyper as MG is lately, she’d end up with a javelin in her head anyway.

I had a headache <

Thanks to those who let me know that the skins looked like absolute ass in 800. Working on it right now.

Not worrying about the future brings with it a renewed freedom. I am no longer kissing the ass or babysitting the stupid or running myself ragged over a few measly dollars that won’t really have an impact on our finances anyway.

I’d rather spend that time on projects that I do enjoy. Like coloring.

You know those days you have that you never want to end? Yeah, I’m having one of those. But it’s more than that. More than just today. It’s now. My life right now. And it’s not about our finances. Not about buying or not buying a house. Not about promotions or vacation pay or good grades or clean houses or computers or favorite tv shows.

It’s about allowing myself to smile over how very fucking blessed I am without waiting for the other shoe to drop. Letting myself actually be as happy as I truly am – not just with life, but where I am with my life. I’m actually starting to live it for once. I don’t know if I ever have before. I’ve been here all along, but I’ve wasted so much of it feeling guilty over the past and worrying about the future. I’m going to try like hell not to do that anymore. I will never miss out on a day like today without even realizing it again.
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So I think I might break for awhile. I’m not in the mood to write. Maybe that’ll change tomorrow – maybe not.

Going to enjoy life for a bit.

One dose of Zyrtec, and the wee one is breathing a little easier tonight. He’s hardly coughing, and I don’t hear the rattling of gunk when he breathes.

Nice. Very nice.

Doc put wee one on Zyrtec. We’ll see if it works.

And hey you assholes at the store who can’t walk the 10 feet in any fucking direction to stow your cart at the grocery store – fuck you. Lazy pricks. Or at least flash a sign that reads I’m a lazy sloth so I can be forewarned that an upcoming game of shopping cart chicken is in the future so I can start my motherfucking car and stand half a chance of winning.

Supposed to take wee one back to the doctor at 2 today. He’s a lot better than he was, but he’s still congested and gunky and cough-y. Doc says it’s been too long, and we’re going to try to get to the bottom of it today. Yeah right. Why do I get the feeling I’m just wasting my time? I wish I could wriggle my nose like Samantha and get the sickies gone.

It’s official – he went salary. Also wrangled two weeks vacation a year out of the deal, where most guys only get one. His boss is worried it’ll hurt us financially, and is sending MD to work in NE a few days each week for the per diem. Nice of him – especially with camp looming over our heads. I’ll bust my ass to make sure they go, but our checkbook will sure as shit be squeaking the next few months as a result. Be worth it though.

MD’s bday today. MB4’s 5th bday is Saturday. We have a double party every year, but I’m surprising MD with his own little party tonight. I bought him a drill set. Should be a good night. Now if only the kiddos will cooperate and fall asleep early. I’d like a gift myself.

Happy Birthday to the bestest husband in the world.

Services for mr mouse will be held tonight at 7pm in a closed shoebox ceremony.

For sale: 3 mouse traps – never used.

Thanks Mother Nature, for sending this cold ass drizzly weather today. While I personally don’t mind it, my kids will all be home later with canceled practices, bouncing off of walls, and tearing each other’s heads off from boredom and pent up energy.

Thanks sewer guys, for knocking on my door at 8am this morning to inform me that I won’t have any water until 5pm tonight. Sure wish I had known this before I had stripped the fucking beds for the wash. I’m not remaking them. I will blame you, sewer guys, as the reason we all sleep on sleeping bags tonight.

Thanks wee one, for deciding to snooze for hours on the one day that I can’t get a fucking thing accomplished. I look forward to holding/rocking/carrying you all day tomorrow when you return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Thanks mr mouse, for knocking 5 years off of my life this morning as you popped out from under the fridge and darted off to parts unknown as I screeched like a little bitch and hopped around the kitchen. I have a little surprise for you mr mouse. I hope you like it.

Thanks MD, for taking the entire box of candy bars with you to work to sell to the guys. While I appreciate your determination to sellsellsell and defray camp costs, I detect an underlying message of distrust. Surely you don’t believe that leaving those caramel chocolate bars here alone with me all day would cause many a moment of snackattack weakness on my part?

Thanks to you people – I’ll just have to sit here at the computer all day. On my ass. Not cleaning anything. Enjoying the silence. With no need to change out of my sweats. Munching on the 3 caramel bars I hid in the freezer last night before I went to bed.

Busy weekend. About to get even busier. Soccer practice every day. Track practice every day. Amazon club. Candy bars sales for camp. Baseball practice 3 times a week. Brain bowl. Games. Meets.

But, this is the whole reason I stay home. I enjoy the chaos in some twisted way. I’ll be singing a different tune in a few weeks when I get the first set of colliding schedules, but we’ll work it out somehow. Always do.

It’s been a weekend of busy thoughts as well. We revisited the discussion of salary vs hourly again. They up’ed the salary a tad bit, which makes it a real possibility. He’d still be bringing in a lot less, but we would be ok if we were careful. Might postpone that house a year or two as well.

The upsides might make it worth the struggle though. Salaried employees are considered the company men. Lifers. Those are the ones bestowed the benefits. The paid vacations, the paid holidays, the extra check at Christmas time – and the ones considered for promotions. And I’d never have to worry about slow production periods again. Actually enjoying the holiday season with him home – and still paid for a change.

I know it’s what he has to do if he plans on making this a career, but I will still mourn the hourly rate. The potential to work more and earn some extra will be gone. I will now have to play financial magician more than ever – but hopefully it will be the best choice in the long run.

Life would be pretty damn boring without stressful decisions – right?

Camp registration. Baseball registration. Soccer Practice.

Break time is over. Time to play taxi cab again.

YAY YAY YAY!!!

Finally, I have inline comments.

YAY YAY YAY!!!

Thank you sweet Nancy-pie for wasting your entire day to help me.

Now I can die happy.

I watched my boys walk across the street yesterday after school with a group of their friends. I saw the older boys give the younger boys rides on the back spokes, and I smiled at how lucky we were to find this town.

30 minutes later my boys are coming back across the street. MB1 is flushed and out of breath, and the other two are obviously shaken up. Turns out the friendly game of football ended up in a fistfight. A kid pushed MB1 from behind after the play had ended. Guess he had also slammed into MB2 the day before – again after the play had ended. MB2 hadn’t told me this. He didn’t tell anyone else either. He didn’t want to cause problems between their mutual friends.

MB1 didn’t take it as doormat-ish as his brother did. He came up swinging. The other kid threw a few, and then the group stepped in and broke it up. Game over. Time to head home. Time to piss mom off that her boy was using his fists first, and his brain second.

We had a lovely chat about last resorts and unintentional paths down wrong roads and friendships that have no future. Then we discussed what behavior is acceptable to mom – and what isn’t. Then dad came home and joined in the fun.

I was absolutely floored that my easy-going child would come up prepared to fight. He’s never been like that before. Is it the age? The pressure to not pussy out in front of friends? Blind fucking rage? I don’t know. It shocked me. It really really shocked me. My boys might weigh 10 pounds collectively soaking wet, yet he’s going to take on this good ole farm boy big enough to don a yoke.

In a way, I’m glad he stood up for himself – unlike MB2, who lets the world shit on his head. But I don’t want him fighting either. Not unless he has to – positively no doubt has to.

We were still going over all of this when someone knocked on the door. It was this kid. His eyes looked fearful of what I would say to see him at my door. At this age, kids seem to flicker between boys and young adults, and although he appeared to be just a vulnerable little boy, it took an adult size set of balls to step foot on my porch like that. He said he wanted to come in and apologize. I was so stunned to see him, that I had nothing to say. I stepped aside and let him in.

He said he was sorry to all of the boys, and MB1 apologized for fighting. Fight was over, friends were friends again, and all was well.

Never in a million years will I understand boys. Never.

Usually MB4 roams around following me at night until he drops from exhaustion. He has never been one to lay down for a certain bedtime. And no matter where we put him once he falls asleep, he always finds his way back to our bed at some point. Even though the older boys would always start out in their beds, they still rambled on over to ours during the night as well, so it didn’t bother us.

But I am proud to report that he has not only slept in his bed the past two nights, he has snuggled up in it promptly at ‘lights out’ with the other boys. No fuss, no bitching – not even prompting from us to do so. He just did it. On his own. When he was ready. Just as we knew he would.

I’m sure there will still be nights when we wake to find his feet in our face, but they’ll be fewer and fewer as time goes on. Then one day he just won’t need the comfort and security of mom and dad’s bed at all.

In a way, that really sucks. Why is all of this growing up shit happening around here all of a sudden?

Wee one had his 2 month well baby this morning. Think he’s going to be a tiny tot like his sister. I can’t help but wonder/worry if it’s because they were/are the only breastfed ones. Older boys were all on the tops of the charts, while the last two struggle to stay on it. Maybe I just don’t produce enough milk? Or maybe they don’t get enough for whatever reason? I don’t know. Doc isn’t worried about it. Guess I shouldn’t be.

He thought we might be dealing with reflux as he listened to his congestion and heard me talk about his fussiness, but I guess not everything adds up, so we search on for the answer. Of course, I was given the Rock eyebrow for not having a set schedule for his feedings and sleep time, but he also knows I’m dealing with 6 kids here – not just one. We do live by the routine, but we are also constantly shifting and re-adapting to that routine in order to function. Things will calm down when he gets a bit older. Always does.

He also said the congestion might be related to an irritation/borderline allergy-type thing. I’m supposed to try and think back a couple of weeks as to what has changed around here that might be causing it. We’re headed back there in a week if he isn’t over it.

Made MB4’s appt for his kindergarten shots/checkup. I didn’t realize that he was old enough to hear and comprehend what the nurse and I were discussing until we got into the van. He put his hands on my face while I was leaning in to help him with his seat belt, and said that he was a strong boy and wouldn’t cry over the shots. That boy will go through hell and back to go to school.

I’m putting this in print because there’s no way in hell he’ll ever believe he felt this way 6 years from now.

So let’s see….

52 sneezes
Eyes that literally ache in their sockets
Burning headache right between my eyes
Lowering my head results in an immediate mad dash from my runny nose
Muscles feel as if they’ve been worked over with a meat cleaver

I could be wrong, but I think I’m in trouble.

I just sneezed 52 times in a row. No, really.

Of course, being flung around the room by non-stop sneezes like a fucking ping pong ball trying to reach the couch before I killed myself might have caused me to lose count.

MB4 is going to be 5 soon. We head to the school next month for mock kindergarten, screening, and registration. He’s so excited. He’ll get to ride the bus with his brothers. He’ll have his own friends. And I lose another one of my babies. Damn.

The three oldest boys are going to summer camp this year. First time. It’s the same camp I went to when I was their age. It’s one of my favorite memories as a child. I went there with my cousin Michelle. Had an absolute blast. Only lasts a week, but they cram it full of all kinds of shit. Horseback riding, swimming, kayaking, crafts, mud slides, hikes, camping – you name it. It’s going to cost $600 to send all 3, but it’ll be worth it. I want them all to go, and I have 4 months to save up for it. My parent’s are going to send my sister’s son too, so hopefully the chance of the homesick monster finding them will be pretty slim. I just want them to enjoy themselves. To enjoy being a kiddo for a little while longer.

MD’s birthday is coming up too. We’re actually in a place this year financially that allows me to do a little shopping for him. I love having money to shop for people. To surprise them with something they want. I’d make a shitty millionaire. I’d give it all away just to see faces light up and loads lifted from tired shoulders. It’d be a helluva lot of fun going broke.

Had a lovely weekend. Hate to see it end. MD was told Friday that he got the promotion, so he’s been in a pretty damn good mood. He knocked out everything I had on my to do list for him, and we spent last night watching old home movies with the kids.

Would have been a perfect night if MB1 had chose to spend it with us. He went to a friend’s house instead. I know I need to get used to it, but it was a hard pill to swallow. The rest of us watched and laughed. MD and I looked at the images of our oldest children as infants and toddlers and small boys, and smiled at how much they’ve grown up. And then grew silent as the sadness snuck in at how fast it’s happened.

The fact that MB1 was absent – out starting to live his own life – just twisted the knife.

Just dropped MB2 off at his brain bowl meet. Was in this tiny little town that makes the hicksville we live in look like Tampa. Real children of the corn kind of town. I saw a bait shop, three barns, a spooky foggy lagoon looking thing, a gas station, and the remains of a long since deserted fireworks stand. Kind of town that gives you the fucking willies.

I probably should have waited there for him. With the doors locked.

According to the radar, my ass should be building an ark right about now. I love it. Bring on the rain. Bring on the storms. I also see temps in the 60s all next week. It’s about damn time.

MB1 joined track. Since that was my favorite sport, I’m just thrilled to death. I know track. I understand track. I love track. I love watching track meets. I can park my butt on a blanket with these little ones, soak up some sun, and watch my oldest compete. I can’t wait.

MB2 is having trouble with one of his classes. He just doesn’t get it, and his grade is dangerously close to shitsville. The methods she uses to teach the lessons are too subjective for him to grasp. He needs blacks and whites, and this social science class is more the read this and let’s interpret the reasons kind of thing. Even I have trouble trying to figure out what the hell she’s looking for. He comes up with answers based on the book – but they’re rarely the answers she’s looking for. Said she is trying to encourage free thinking, as long as you think just like she does obviously. Conferences come up soon. We’ll be chatting.

He’s wide awake and staring at me as I type this. He’s not the slightest bit sleepy. I’m sleepy. But it doesn’t matter that I’m sleepy. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that I’m sleepy. I wish I wasn’t so sleepy.

The swing worked well for about 3 days. Turns out it wasn’t worth jail time after all. He does sit and swing during the day when he’s awake. It helps to project his screams around the room while I’m trying to hurry up and get lunch or dinner ready or piss or get dressed.

It’s hard to fall asleep while you’re chewing, so I tend to eat non-stop from 10pm on. My darling husband ran to the store right before they closed to restock my snack cabinet. He wore his slippers. I love a man who’s not afraid to wear purple fuzzy slippers in public.

As long as I’m not with him.

MD hasn’t been going to church lately, because he found out that the pastor lives in a half-a-million dollar house. Man of God my ass. MD quickly lost interest in anything this man had to say, and is searching for another church to attend. He was talking about this to a guy at work, and ended up agreeing to host an informal bible study thingy at the house. Not really sure what it was, ’cause my ass left. He made them sound like pretty ’strict’ followers though.

I don’t mind. Really I don’t. I cleaned up the house for Jesus, and spent a few hours with my mom. I am glad he suggested they meet elsewhere if he decides this is something he wants to do in the future, but I’m willing to make sacrifices like that for him if need be.

But it has my mind whirling again. Yes, this is religion talk. Scoot on out of here if it bugs you.
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I feel like walking garbage. This infant is hell bent on destroying the remaining fragments of my sanity. His schedule is no schedule. I’m exhausted trying to keep in sync with him while tending to the other children as well. The older boys can get up and off to school alone without any problems, but I still would rather be involved in their mornings. Very hard when wee one thinks his bedtime is no earlier than 3am. I try to make myself useful by popping off semi-incoherent questions … did you eat breakfast … teeth and hair brushed …. got your bookbags … did you grab snack money … and MB3, do your clothes match – but it’s a lame substitute. The boys answer my montage of babble with pity. They know I need to lean on their older-ness right now and they’re up for it. That makes me proud and depressed.

I know once the wee one is well and gets a bit older, we will all be cycling together again. In the meantime though, my routine is chaos, and I’m not liking it much.