Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mom » must-read

Want to make my blood boil, and send me into a fit of rage?

Vanessa — Tue, 12 May 2009 14:07:09 +0000

Want to make my blood boil, and send me into a fit of rage? Want to endanger my life, as well as my two beautiful children strapped into their car seats in the backseat? Want to do something to endanger your own life, as well as your beautiful children in your own backseat? Text while driving. If you are lucky to live through an accident, could you live with the guilt? Could you forgive yourself for having such little patience that you couldn't wait until your car was parked to send a message? Could you forgive yourself for endangering the lives of your own family, as well as other families on the roads. Families with kids like yours. Families with babies, or toddlers, tweens, or teens. Mommy's or daddy's. Aunts, and uncles. Brothers and sisters. Grandma's and grandpa's. Could you forgive yourself? Could you forgive yourself if you caused an accident that resulted in a Mommy having to have her 2 year old taken from her in a life flight helicopter? Is your text that you are about to type while driving so vitally important that you must take your concentration off the road, and off driving safely to type it? Is your text so important that it's worth a trip to the ER for yourself, and the passengers in your car? Is it so important that you are willing to send another family to the ER? Is your text so important that you are willing to mentally traumatize a young child with being in a bad accident. A child who just wants to know why that person didn't follow "the rules". Is your text so important that you are willing to allow those words that you are typing in your 3000 pound vehicle driving 60 mph to be your last words? Are you willing to turn your car into a 3000 pound death machine? You are if you text while driving. Think about it. One split second is all that it takes. Just one. I know there are states that have laws banning texting while driving. I also know people break laws. I know that there are several states that have no laws against texting while driving, so people will use that freedom. The next time that you are in your car, and think that you have to reply to that text right that second. The next time your driving in your car and think of something you "have to tell that person before you forget". Just wait. For your kids. For mine. Just wait. If it is that vitally important to send a message right then, pull off and park. Don't allow yourself to change your focus from driving safe, and protecting your precious cargo, to typing a message that can likely wait. All it takes is losing your concentration for a second, and your whole life can change, and you can change the lives of your children, spouse, significant other, friends, mother, father, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, or other people's. One tiny little unimportant text message could change the lives of so many people, and have so much more of an impact than you could ever imagine. Just wait until you park that car. For my children’s sake, your sake and the lives of the innocent people who are with you.

If your reading this

Vanessa — Mon, 04 May 2009 18:25:21 +0000

Chocolate Bunnies…

Vanessa — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 14:29:56 +0000

This morning started routinely enough, Brad waking me up informing me that it was now 7 o clock, that coffee was made and that he wanted me to make him a cup. Yes my husband makes coffee but has yet to figure out how to pour it into a mug and add the appropriate amount of sugar and French vanilla creamer… So I get up, stumble into the kitchen and begin making our cups of coffee. Many mornings Brad and I have about 30 minutes baby free time to sit together and watch Good Morning America and drink our coffee. Today was not the case. Eleanor woke up as I stumbled into the kitchen. Brad being a good Daddy changed her diaper as I prepared the bottle. Once we got all comfy in the living room, Henry awakened and it wasn’t his happy I’m awake call to us, it was his crying I’m pissed off scream to us… How dare we take more than 10 seconds to get him out of his cage, I mean crib. I made him his chocolate milk bottle, only to be told “mommy no baba, big cup” big cup means coffee mug. So I proceeded to pour half of the babba into his coffee mug. He took it from my hands with a slight grin, a grin which should have been the warning sign that he was up to no good at all. As I turned the corner to the living room I hear a slight bang, a laugh, a giggle and a “bunneey like choco millllkkk.” Yup you guessed it, Henry took his big boy coffee mug that he usually drinks so well out of and poured it onto our 4 week old pure white bunnies. After my husband stopped laughing with Henry, Henry turned to us and said “I like choco bunny, choco bunny is yummy in my tummy.” We have completely ruined our poor child. This whole Easter thing where you eat chocolate bunnies has confused our boy so very much….. Do not worry, the bunnies were not injured, in fact I think they rather liked the chocolate milk. J so now as Henry takes his morning nap I get to give the bunnies a bath! Yea for me LOL.

Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro?

Vanessa — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 04:27:23 +0000

The moment started ordinarily enough. I had just finished with my shower when I happened to walk past the bathroom mirror. It was then that out of the blue my mind started playing a children's tune. Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? The words appeared childlike enough, except as a mother of five I was pretty sure that my senses had been heightened over the years by a combination of Mommy experience and the lack of sleep. A loss of a few brain cells along the way may also have contributed to this extra-sensory perception... Anyway, I sensed a deeper meaning hidden between the lines of this seemingly innocent song. It wasn't my ears that the song taunted me about. It was other body parts that were hanging low-wobbling to and fro...and even though I hadn't attempted yet, I was pretty sure it was only a matter of time before I could throw certain body parts over my shoulder like a Continental Soldier. I pulled my fuzzy blue robe tighter as I stared at the reflection before me and wondered-who?-what?-where?-when?-for the love of all that is holy-HOW?! My body had some how betrayed me after all these years. Where was my "hot-ness" factor?-and I wasn't referring to the Menopause that one day (many, many days away!) that inevitably would be knocking on my door. In my mind I was still a "hot mama". Ironically, the mirror before me did in fact show a hot mama, but sadly it was only due to the left over heat from the shower steam. I wiped a towel across the mirror, smearing the reflection of the woman before me wrapped in a matronly, about as un-sexy as you could get, blue fuzzy robe. Traitor. I whispered to myself. My body should have held up longer than this! I was pretty sure I had purchased the extended warranty on this thing. Wrinkles, highlights that were appearing whiter and whiter, extra weight, bulges that didn't use to be there-hey, when did I grow a third breast?-never mind, that's just my stomach... Suddenly though, more powerful than the barrier of doubt that was building in my head, a voice of reason spoke up. A different picture was coming to light. What was the true reason I was in my current condition? Could I so easily dismiss the fact that I had housed Two human beings and later expelled them from my body? Of course there had to be some kind of ramifications for such a great feat. I admit there are a few things that contributed to the "me" of today that could have been better left undone. My younger days of slathering up with butter, wrapping myself in tinfoil, lying under a sprinkler, and then baking, I mean tanning, probably was not the best of plans even if I did look pretty awesome deep, golden bronzed. But all my friends were doing it!-and yes, I probably would have jumped off of a bridge if they did it too. You'll be happy to know that I am much wiser now and very repentant! As well as paler... My years of chocolate therapy, though totally necessary, and research does show that 14 out of 10 Mommies highly recommend this process; perhaps I could have found another outlet that was just as therapeutic...Gee, I even managed to type this with a straight face! And even though I have skipped many sit-down meals due to Mommy busyness, I still managed to uphold the sacred, deep-rooted sense that it was my duty as a mother to finish off all of my kids' leftover foods (have I mentioned we have five children?); half-eaten bowls of macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly remnants, parts of hot dogs and chicken nuggets, pieces of donut holes, Poptarts, cookies, melting ice cream bars...Hey, I didn't do this for myself, but solely as a way to be a strong positive role model to those in my household; reminding them that we do not waste food (especially when it is covered in chocolate or something else deliciously sweet!) when there are so many starving children in the world! Looking back, I suppose all of this could have had a slight affect on the shape of certain things today... Yes, the passage of time does take a toll on a person. Do I really want to turn back the hands of the clock though-reverting back to who I once was in the past? Honestly, I love the woman of today more than yesterday. I am more rounded, albeit rounder. That's okay. True reality has dawned. Motherhood did more than just stretch certain body parts into unimaginable proportions. The biggest stretch marks of all were left on my mother heart. And even though people can't see the perfectly shaped, infinite vessel that I hold deep in my imperfect Mommy body, they sure know that it is there. It is who I am and I am blessed by this "condition". And so are you! I will praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are your works, and my soul knows very well.

It’s just another manic Monday…

Vanessa — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 12:48:23 +0000

I sit here still shell-shocked--babbling to myself--rocking in a chair--staring at a banana peel--remnants of a battle lost--again. The enemy, I mean my children, have finally left the premises. I pray they made it to the bus stop on time. I cringe at every sound; afraid that the door will open with I MISSED THE BUS echoing through this ravaged war zone, also known as our home...what was that noise?--was that the door! Not this time, just the dog...is she grinning at me? I take a look around at all the collateral damage. The trash can was knocked over in the kitchen with garbage scattered across the floor as someone made a mad dash out the door trying to outrun there little brother. When will they learn that time does not stop? In fact, I highly suspect that is actually goes FASTER on these mornings getting ready for school. I continue my walk. Surely a hand grenade must have gone off here. Papers have been dumped out of school bags and deserted where they fell--casualties everywhere--I shudder. I can still hear a loud, incessant noise echoing in my head, like the sound of rapid gun fire, MOMMMMMMM! The shoe box in the hall has been emptied in an attempt to find two shoes that match. (did I mention I have 5 children and each child owns at least 10 pairs of shoes...you do the math.) I try to bring about a mental picture--were my children wearing shoes as they ran out the door? I'm not totally sure.... Henry however is wearing shows, my shows to be more exact... I hope his father does not see him in my red high heels.... Clothes and miscellaneous items are strewn about. I see a forgotten lunch left behind on the battle field...and is that a homework paper? Sigh. I really was hoping to avoid going to the school today... Maybe she won’t text me asking me to bring in her English paper, I guess only time will tell. Tomorrow is another day; perhaps the war can still be won even though the battle has been lost today. We shall see...as for now, I need to go curl up in a fetal position and lick my wounds. Oh wait but I can’t..... The little two have now decided it’s time for the second breakfast already and it’s not even eight o’clock....

Dear Husband

Vanessa — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 22:02:13 +0000

My husband always comes home with the same question-are you in the mood? Wait a minute! That is the second question... His first question is always the same though. "What did you do today?" Those four words seem simple enough, but for some reason hearing those particular words, in that specific order, changes me into a stuttering idiot who looks like a deer caught in the headlights. "Do? Uh, yes, I recall doing stuff all day, but my mind is totally blank at the moment." My eyes quickly dart around the house, searching for something; anything, that would release me from this state of amnesia. I can't seem to find any proof, however, that suggests me "doing" anything at all; the evidence, in fact, leads one to believe that the only thing that I did was stand helplessly by while someone or something trashed our house. I have studied this peculiar situation, searched out a reason for my inability to vocalize the accounts of my day to my husband. I have come to the conclusion that after living an entire day in "my shoes" that I must be so overloaded that my internal memory must block out certain factors of my day; call it self-preservation if you will. There are certain things in life that are better left buried in the deepest realm of a mother's mind. While I still have some use of my faculties, I have decided to transpose a quick written account of my day thus far that I can later hand over to my spouse when he asks me that infamous question. Dear Husband, You have asked me "what did you do today?" and I am going to the best of my ability give you a brief glimpse into my Mommy world. Actually, my day began in the middle of your night. Two of your children were sick and needed attention. I let you sleep. I didn't; at least not what you would consider a complete, restful sleep cycle. I heard your alarm bright and early. Yes, I also saw the "nudge, nudge, wink, wink" as well as heard your stomach rumble. I chose the lesser of the evils and made you breakfast while you showered. For your information, I never had the time for a hygiene moment today. Okay, reliving this day is already making me lightheaded and my head to hurt...the rest of what I have to say is in no particular order. Please forgive me if I sound disoriented... I fed and watered five kids (not to mention packed nutrients to send for their survival outside of our home), two dogs, and some withering looking things that once were green plants. I cannot recount all I did to get the kids off to school, too traumatic. Let's just say; they survived, I barely did. I cleaned up: spilled beverages, dropped plate of eggs, squashed banana on my carpet, something that was hopefully just chocolate that was all over the bathroom tiles and the toothpaste that somebody painted with. I am not going to list every item that I cleaned up, but perhaps just mention a few of the more "colorful" highlights. I rewound an entire roll of toilet paper back onto the proper placement of aforementioned paper product. For future reference; the second time I just piled it, neatly as possible, in the corner next to the toilet. Do you remember the billion plus jewelry beads that we bought for the kids for hours of creativity and fun? I spent more hours of cleaning them up than the children have ever used them. Somebody decided to decorate the house with Easter grass and candy wrappers galore. While I totally celebrate the true meaning behind this holy day, next year, be warned, I might have to do bodily harm to that dumb bunny that visits our house! Which reminds me, I searched the house for the lost Easter egg to no avail...how long before the smell gives the hiding place away? I unplugged the toilet-not once-not twice-but THREE times-and the day is not over. I almost had to call Guinness Book of World Records...WOW! At least we know our children are eating-what?-I'm not so sure. I did dishes and went to put them away...when I opened the cupboards I was pummeled by a tower of falling debris left by the last person who had this chore. I vacuumed, cleaned the bunnies cage, wiped up the chocolate syrup trail that somebody was drinking in the middle of the afternoon (that somebody was not me, no matter what you think!), filled out paperwork, answered the phone 50 times for somebody named Penny (and, no, we don't have anyone named Penny in our household), changed the sheets on the bed of our youngest, changed our bedding because same child peed on our bed, too, found the wet clothing that pee-boy tried to hide as evidence of his misdeeds, did laundry (btw, our washer may be dying...), goggled MapQuest to plan my escape route, I mean, I looked up driving directions from child #1's music lesson to child #2's karate class, sat with the bag of mismatched socks, rocking and mumbling, "I think I can, I think I can..." Okay, my mind can't handle much more...let's fast forward. Your school children came home, dropping book bags, shoes and coats. They demanded food. I consoled a child (for more than 2 hours of crying and whining!) over her boyfriend and best friend trauma drama. I broke up fights, directed chaos, cleaned up baby spit up, and helped with homework. I prepared a nutritious and delicious meal for your homecoming. Now, at this moment, your children are out of sight and out of mind...I cannot be held liable for the conditions you come home to later in this evening. I know I have not revealed to you everything that I have experienced today. Some things just cannot be put into words; trust me. Anyhow, by the time you come home tonight and ask me "what have you done today?" I will be oblivious to my surroundings; possibly even in a catatonic state of mind. Hopefully you can at least pry this paper from my weary fingers and gain a little bit of understanding about my day...

sometimes I just want to scream….

Vanessa — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 19:57:41 +0000

I wait and I wait for the day we leave this dreaded place, I am no southern girl, and do not belong down here. I was not raised to wait hand and foot on the people around me, nor was I raised to yes mam and yes sir people to death. Please do not take what I say offensively, I am just saying, tell the fucking moron on the couch to get his own damn glass of sweat tea for crying out loud!! These women that I've met, look at me, and my family like we are from another planet. Yes I am married to a southern man, but I am by no means he's maid! All these women do is wait on their husbands, clean and cook. Then they come to my house and see my husband, helping, cooking, cleaning, playing with the kids, being a husband and a father and they have the audacity to ridicule me because he's doing the work they believe I should be doing. Are you serious??? They make it out like I am doing my family wrong. I just don't understand… I am by definition a housewife….. Not a term I like to use, but the fact of the matter is that is what I've become. And these women sit on their high horses telling me that I am bad at it! Because my husband helps, our children do choirs, and the house isn't always ready for company. We have five children, including a new baby. I was thinking for the most part anyway that we as a family have been doing a damn good job at keeping the household together. But I guess that is the Yankee blood in me thinking, 'cause down here in south alafuckinbama that is only women's work, and it makes not only a crappy housewife, but also a crappy woman for not doing it all. I can do it all, I know this. I choose not to do it all because I am married and don't have to. I hate to think that this is how these women are raising their daughters, there is no way in hell, my daughters are going to think that there only role in life is to find a husband and live a life of servitude for him. And my sons will not be raised to think that it is only women’s work. They will not grow up to be the moron on the couch yelling at their wives 'bring me some sweat tea'....