Packed up and headin' out!

This Monkey Moma is going on a much-needed
and long-awaited vacation!

I'll see you again when I'm rested and rejuvenated...
and buried under the piles of suitcases,
snack wrappers, and dirty laundry.

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Today, I think I was that mom... the one other's observe and think has absolutely no control of her children. And I could tell them that it was just a bad day, but they probably wouldn't believe me. Well, the doctor some might believe me; he's been around them enough they've been around them enough. But for the nurses outside the exam room general crowd out there... who knows what they're saying. More on that, though, after the happy stuff!

This morning we made a trip to the wading pool at the kids' favorite city park. This was our first trip to the wading pool this summer... we've spent the last six weeks in swimming lessons. We got to the pool at 9 and left just after 10. I like to go when we're about the only ones there. Later in the morning, it gets pretty crazy. Next time, we'll go at 8 when it opens and get more time in. It's hot enough even that early in the morning that it won't be a problem.

Do you see the sheer joy on Blessing #5's face? The kid was in water heaven! But he still screams in terror at bathtime. I haven't figured that one out.

From the pool, we went to B#5's 11am 18-month well-check. It was one of those doctor's-office mornings. We got back into our room at appointment time, but something happened in the meantime, and we were (yes, all six of us) back there for a loooong time.

Unfortunately the Blessings did not do so well. Tired, hungry, crabby. Those would describe them mildly. They were loud. And they bickered. And I was slowly going nuts. There are so many things that I could write about, but I won't burden you with them all. No, not all of them. Just a meager few.

B#1 got all motherly and bossy... and got lectured for it. To which she had to argue and whine and wail. She was huffy puffy and ornery, and I made her sit on her hands.

When B#2 bumped her funny bone, she cried. Not in soft tears but with screaming wails. She fussed about everything. I made her sit on her hands.

B#3 talked with his volume about two notches too high. ("Turn it down, buddy," I'd say, and he'd grab his ears and twist them. But he was still loud.) He also unrolled a bed's-length of the paper that covers the exam table.

B#4 bumped into the corner of the table and screamed for a good thirty seconds. And then she wet her pants in a big puddle as she sat against the wall. (I would blame it on the fact that we were back there so stinkin' long, but she's on the stubborn-and-lazy side of potty-training... and she refused to go when we made the family trip to the potty before the appointment.) So I mopped up the mess with her already half-way soaked dress, some paper towels, and a few squirts of the hand sanitizer by the sink.

B#5 was fine... until the nurse measured his head. You would've thought she had pulled out a bath tub and towel, the way he started screaming. The doctor asked about his vocabulary. I mentioned how he was knew "milk" and said that a lot.

Note to self: Do not say "milk" when it's past lunchtime and your baby has not eaten or napped.

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I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed this morning. I am tired. But, you know, nothing will wake up this squeamish Monkey Moma faster than the sight of a dead bird at the bottom of the stairs. (I am posting the after-cleanup picture, as the "before" one is a bit too morbid to be photographed.) That's a pretty gross way to start the morning.

And nothing will wake up five little monkeys faster than the squealing shrieks and squawking screams of their Moma as she happens upon the bird. And upon that cat proudly presenting the morning catch. (Gypsy obviously needs a few more bird bells on her collar.)

As I come down the stairs and start shooing that nasty cat out the door, I realize that it is soooo much more than just a dead bird. What's grosser than gross?? It is the exposed entrails inside the shell of what used to be a bird. My gag reflex is in fine working order.... I now have confirmation.

I manage to get myself down the stairs. I've locked the cat outside. The kids are sequestered to the upstairs hallway where they observe in somewhat horrified interest.


More squawking from Moma. Bird feathers everywhere. While I fought for a few more minutes of sleep, well we can all imagine what was happening. Ugh. I try to spare the monkeys the details as I discreetly scoop the bulk of the bird remains into a grocery bag (another gag-reflex confirmation), but there wasn't any way to disguise the scattering of feathers or the dismembered wing.

But, hey, the floors got a good cleaning first thing this morning... A good sweeping (with the garage broom!). A good vacuuming. A little Lysol.

And I had myself a blog-worthy story to contribute to Stephanie's grosser-than-gross contest. With all these feathers (and kiddo crumbs and girly-girl hair and a noodley-grassy dog), this Monkey Moma could use a KONE... and maybe a cat bib, too.

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The people who know me well (i.e. my husband and the few family members who have had, most likely regretfully, the opportunity to experience my less-than-enthusiastic participation) know that I am not a Monopoly gal. Monopoly frustrates me. It makes me grumpy. I get moody when I play Monopoly. I always lose, and I’m a crabby Monopoly loser.

Perhaps it’s because I’m a bit competitive, and it’s not fun to not win. Personally, I think it’s just the game, though. And you really should start out with more than $1500 because by the time you buy some property, pay your taxes, and pay for stinkin' road maintenance, you do not have enough money to pay for rent when staying at another player’s hotel. Mind you, this does not even have to be the Boardwalk luxury resort.

Blessing #s 1&2 have been begging for days to play Monopoly. They found the game down in the cabinet (brought into the marriage by my sweet husband who loves to play Monopoly and loves to play it competitively). Beloved Husband was all grins at their requests. “Ohhh… that’s Moma’s faaa-vor-ite game! Isn't it, Moma?”

So, yes, last night, we popped in a Barney video for the younger ones, and the four of us sat down to a game of Monopoly. I was admittedly a bit excited to play. Probably mostly because I would be playing against a 6- and a 7-year old. They have never played Monopoly, and they aren’t ruthless real-estate mongers yet. And they don’t know how to push my buttons like their daddy does! I started out with a smile.

And then we got mid-way through the game, and I was forking over the rent at Mediterranean Avenue’s hotel. It left me with a measly three dollars. Three dollars! And it was at Mediterranean, people. That’s space number one on the board... the cheapest property out there! At that point, I was about to go through my pouty quitting routine, but since the girls were having so much fun laughing at me slowly going bankrupt while I hesitantly handed them my money, I kept playing.

I’d save the pouty quitting for when I landed on BH’s houses lining Park Place and Boardwalk. I didn’t quit, but I did pout just a little.

And then my luck changed. Somehow my little thimble kept landing right in the middle of (but not on!) developed properties. But that ship, car, and wheelbarrow landed on mine. I collected little bits here and there. 6 dollars. 12 dollars. 22 dollars. I made some trades. Fair trades, mind you. I did not cheat my little girls!

BH spent a small fortune heavily developing the aforementioned pricey properties of Park Place and Boardwalk… and then he rolled the dice and landed on my Illinois Avenue with its three houses. Oh so sad... he did not have enough money for rent. I told him I’d take his $27 dollars, get-out-of-jail-free card, and a free night’s stay at one of his luxury resorts. He took the deal.

So when I landed on the three houses of Boardwalk, I was saved. And my grin just got bigger, even after allowing some cheats for the girls: “Oh, pick another card. Oh, pick another card. Ah-ha! See what this one says…” or subtly moving pieces one too many spaces to a safe square.

Then the game was over.

B#1 fussed about wanting one more roll so she could pass Go and get her $200.

B#2 needed some comforting because she was bankrupt and having a lot of bad-luck rolls. (I had already noticed the similarities, but BH was quick to point out that she responded to Monopoly just like her Moma. She got a little moody when she started losing, and she was fussy when the game was over and she had lost.)

But no fussing from yours truly. I just tried to hide my beaming glow of excitement. Okay, maybe not totally. I was proud of myself. I beat my husband and two little girls! I rocked! I loaded up on property; I loaded up on cash. And by the end of the night, I was declared the winner!

Well, goodness gracious. I think I might have a new favorite board game.

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I used to call Zacchaeus a vacuum. He has a way of eating all the nibbles on the floor. Maybe now I should call him a broom. It seems he also has a way of sweeping up all the nibbles on the floor. (Especially when he is desperately in need of a haircut. I know, poor little guy… it’s over a hundred outside, and he’s still dressed for winter!)

Never mind the fact that when I took him in for an ear infection on Thursday, the veterinary assistant asked me if the kids had macaroni and cheese for lunch. (Why, yes! In fact, they did!) She then pulled a cheesy elbow noodle out of his woolly Wookie coat. (He does look a lot like an Ewok , but with the crazy mass of hair he’s got right now, he’s more like Chewbacca.)

That could have been embarrassing, but I am pretty much past the point of embarrassment. My monkeys have given me plenty of opportunities to become desensitized to embarrassing moments (i.e. grocery shopping). I just laughed about him being a little dust mop dog. He picks up all kinds of goodies when he walks around… especially when he walks in the kitchen at mealtime.

Last night was spaghetti night. As we were finishing up supper, I looked below me to find

Zacchaeus again… adorned in more pasta. By the looks of him, he spent the meal underneath B#4 who eats her spaghetti without the sauce. It gives a whole new meaning to “angel hair,” doesn’t it?

This afternoon, the kids and I were out picking blackberries when Blessing #2 says, “Look at Zacchie, Moma! He’s all grassy!” I looked. Indeed, he was. Very grassy. The dog found the patch of dead grass and apparently rolled around in it. Let me tell you, dry grass does not easily brush out of a woolly Wookie’s hair. It doesn’t vacuum out with the little dust buster, either. But tickle him, and a dog with shake a most of the grass onto the rug.

And, look at that! I even caught him licking the air again.

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As Blessing #1 makes a peanut butter sandwich for B#3…

B#3: Put honey on my sandwich please. I want honey.
B#1: I am putting honey on it. See? I know what you want!
B#3: You know what I’m thinking?
B#1: Yup! That’s why I’m putting honey on your sandwich.

(Insert a dramatic pause, as this 4-year-old scrunches up his face and ponders said conversation with his older sister.)

B#1: Were you looking in my ear? Is that how you know what I’m thinking?

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Here is the church; here is the steeple... Open the doors, and see all the people!

From the backyard, behind the closed sliding-glass door:
Blessing #3: “Mom! Let me in… I need to go potty…!”

I let him in, and he heads toward the bathroom, as I head to the garage to take out the kitchen trash. As I go into the garage, I see that he has followed me.

"I thought you needed to go potty," I say.

“Ma, when you have to go potty, the doors have to open.”

"I know," I say, "did your doors open?"

“Well… my bottom is like a church. The doors are always open when you need to go.”

"Your bottom is a church?"

"'Like a church,' I said. It’s the poopies and wet-wets church.”
He says this as he is walking away, wiggling his little church shakin’ his tooshie in a little dance.

Really reading into what he said, I found this very perceptive and insightful:

God is always there when we need Him.

From the Anatomy&Physiology perspective, it’s another mental sticky note for my Poop Doors database.

If you’ve missed out on his previous Poop Doors schooling, you can learn all about 'em here: Lessons #1, #2, and #3.

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Blessing #2: Hey, Mom. When we get home,

can we watch The Princess Diarrhea?

Say that again? Oh... that movie.

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My country, 'tis of thee,

sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing...

Our fathers' God!

To Thee, author of liberty, to Thee we sing:

Long may our land be bright with freedom's holy light;

protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King.

Stars and stripes and flags and fireworks and watermelons and ladybugs and strawberries...

the girls are celebrating Independence Day with some fancied-up, patriotic fingernails!

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Library Visit

I was going to the library a couple nights ago, and Blessing #1 asked me to pick up a couple Boxcar Children books for her. Not sure of which ones she has already read, I took her with me. Once we got there, she grabbed her basket and was ready to find some good reading.

I take her over to the shelf where the Boxcar books are.

“Grab a couple,” I say. She puts 10 in the basket.

I show her the Little House chapter books. “Oh,” I said, “I think you might like these.” (I had a recommendation straight from the Queen herself!) “You wanna get a couple of those to try?”

“Sure!” she says and puts 6 in the basket.

As we’re headed out, I see the New Bobbsey Twins. "Oh, look! These are little mysteries. They might be fun to read.”

“Okay, I’ll try them!” And into the basket go 4 Bobbsey books.

I have not actually counted the number of books at this time, but the pile sure looks big for one little reader, so I tell her that maybe we should quit there and then come back to get more when she has finished all of these. She asks for her card and proudly heads to the desk to check-out her twenty books.

She can hardly contain herself on the drive home, as she’s deciding which book she will read first. Soon she asks, “How many days are in 3 weeks, Moma?” I told her twenty-one, and she says, “Oh good! That means I have one book for every day, and then I can have one day off!”

And she wasn’t kidding. The following evening, she had already finished three books.

And, for the record, I checked-out something, too... just not any beneficial, brain-exercising reading material. I went more for the lazy, brain-veggin' movie thing instead.

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