For My Two Fans!

So I have two fans that I feel I owe a new blog post to so here it goes.



I am stuck at home with five energetic kids, the house is what you ask? A mess, is it ever not? I have until next week to get it ready to move into the new place. We have no boxes, I have no energy and the kids want to divorce me. So what I am saying is SCHOOL IS OUT, SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!



I was determined to never be one of those moms that said anything but happy, positive uplifting phrases, I did okay until, well I have no idea how long it lasted it could have been after the first minute the first kid was born, I guess it would depend on who you ask. Just don't ask my kids or husband. Don't ask my in-laws, my parents or siblings, anyone related to me or that has been friends with me for more than an hour. It's easy to see that I have my faults as a mom in a little amount of time. Mostly because I tell on myself, what a terrible habit, not only do I tell on myself I exaggerate in ways that are not to my benefit! Maybe if I was a liar people would just assume I was being hard on myself but on the contrary they know I am compulsively honest and give it all up to any one's lending ear. The dog even knows this!



"Mother of the year award" is out as of the first day of summer vacation, I definately don't deserve that one. "Mrs. Iowa" is out for this year also thanks to my sugar addiction that I used to bandaid my idea of having five kids and thinking I could manage without a crutch whether it was drugs, drinking, wild men or sugar highs. I think that if I had to pick from the list sugar was the smartest choice but really did I have to pick the one that would make me look like I was wearing a fanny pack full of jelly doughnuts around my waist?



Has anyone considered coming up with an award that is more achieveable such as "I have been trying does that count" award. "I haven't killed my kids yet" award, or the "Hey, you're amazing mom, you haven't runaway from home yet" award!



I must mention that since I haven't had carbs for almost a month now that this might have altered my sense of appreciation for being a stay-at-home mom full time for thirteen years. Because before now I could drink down a pepsi and a couple of candybars and get my mojo back! Since I am eating healthy it just makes me think clearly about this great calling in life.

Disclaimer

It's important that all of you readers of this blog know that I write in draft form, meaning I do not make grammatical corrections or any other sort of corrections. Reason being if I did I would never write. So please forgive spelling (I try to remember to use spell check) and grammatical errors. Just enjoy, lie and tell me you love it! I am not yet a professional writer, mother, wife or human being! Starla

Am I the Mom or the Pet Rabbit?

Never in all of my thirteen years of being a mother and wife have I spent so much time on myself. Normally I would hide the house, play with Isaac, have a candy bar and get the kids from school. Now there aren't any candy bars! I am considering a funeral in their name, laying them to rest next to my IDOL Mr. Pepsi. He brought me so much joy, the kitkat kids and the twix twins cheered him on as I opened and took a long drag of that oh, so intoxicating Pepsi Cola, like a $200 bottle of perfume. I carefully sniffed each bottle every time like a fine wine (not like I have ever tried that but you get the point). Inhaling the scent of powdered chicken soup where the chicken never made it to this planet, ashes of a chicken that chose to be cremated instead of slaughtered, it just doesn't have the same affect! We studied a famous astronaut the other night for sixth grade homework. In the 1960's or whatever year it was (I probably wouldn't have passed the test) the smile on the guy's face wasn't because he stepped onto the moon, it was because he knew that if ever there was an Astronaut Diet, he would always know that his food on the spaceship was 100% better than diet chicken ashes.

The house has never looked worse. It seems that I feel so much better after my detox that I don't yell, I don't guilt the people I live with into cleaning, everyone is smiling and playing outside.

Steve and I snuggle and stare in each other's eyes while the kids are out playing and laughing on Saturday mornings, even during the week. As a family we skip around leisurely because not only am I happier, I also don't have time to be a "normal"(productive) mom.

If ever they want to find me I will be filling a shaker dropping in the whisk ball and pouring chicken ashes in. Shaking, shaking until creamy and smooth (yeah, right). I take out the ball so I don't blow up the microwave, which I think is both a good learning experience for the kids plus I am keeping them safe! Hey, I guess I do have time to be a mom a few seconds a day!

After I retrieve the frothy meal from the microwave the kids start to talk to me without taking breaths, I measure out sea salt and dump olive oil in the creamy, smooth, wet chicken ashes. I nod my head tyring not to choke on the creamy goodness. They watch as the end comes near in hopes that I will be able to answer the question "Where is the toilet paper? Monica needs it, she has been in the bathroom for an hour now." I spit out the answer as another kid approaches. I start to down my "mandatory H2O" when the questions, requests, stories and begging continue.

I get done with the water, I see their eyes light up. "We get our mommy back!"
They say in a quiet whisper. I rinse out my cup and go to the cupboard to see what vitamins I have almost forgotten to take. I gulp down vitamins and water feeling water logged. I take a breath and they try to jump in with conversation, hoping that what Lily (the friend) said at school that day will be important enough to convince me to give some undivided attention to them, rather than myself.

Instead they get the Supermodel inside me going to the refrigerator to get veggies (like a good Supermodel should). As I am rinsing them I hear voices surrounding me, I can hear fighting, I hear faint yells coming down the stairs.

"She told you where it is, will someone please get me some?" Monica cries out.

I realize that for the second that I take away from focusing on myself that 20 minutes has past and Monica is still in the bathroom.

"Go get her some toilet paper! NOW!" I manage to blurt out with force, I am starting to feel exhausted, trying to ignore them and take care of only me.

I start to chop up a green pepper, little people are repeatedly saying "I want some!" Then that deep low voice bellows out in slow motion, "Don't touch mommy's food!" They cower down and my breathing regulates. I cried over a cold green bean that fell on the floor yesterday, Monica looked at me like I had lost my mind when I started sobbing next to it. Yes, I could have rinsed it off but if you could see what this diet has done to my floors you wouldn't dare utter those words.

I sit down on a stool that's been conveniently left in the kitchen by who knows who including the dog and start crunching, crunching, and crunching on the pepper. Now that I am sitting the kids have swarmed me once again, this time on their level thinking, this is a good time for "mommy time." The stories continue, the bickering follows.

"She's my mommy, you had her for a whole 2 seconds when she was cutting it up!"

"Yeah, but you got to talk to her during one of the twenty times she went potty today and it lasted like five minutes cause she drinks so much water! No fair! Mom!"

What they don't realize is I can't hear them over the crunching so they had nothing to argue about. I can't worry myself with that because I know the cauliflower is in the fridge making jokes to all the other vegetables about how I have to eat a whole cup of him and have cauliflower breath for the rest of the day.

Cauliflower breath is really my only saving grace between the diet and the kids. It's the one thing that after one of the kids asks a question and I answer it, they say, "What's that smell." And run the other direction.

I eat the cauliflower, it's in smaller bits so it goes down easier, I don't take time to cook it. I try not to choke and as I stand up from the stool a child latches onto my leg. "Mama, hold me, please, I love you--Mama."

I don't exactly swat the child off my leg but give a playful nudge (off) and let him know that I love him and that I'm almost done. I fill the shaker with water once again, the shaker that has regurgitated the smell of wet chicken ash and I chug it. With my eyes floating I look at my children's faces and smile, "Don't touch mommy she's full!"

What feels like five minutes later Steve walks through the door, home from work, we all sigh, not because we aren't happy to see him but we all know that I have to eat dinner soon!

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