So last week was crazy! We left on March 14 (Saturday) for a vacation on the beach in Rocky Point (Puerto Penasco for those of you who don't speak English- LOL- I cracked myself up there).
We returned on March 18 (Wednesday) and the next day I had to fly to Vegas for the most amazing Business Conference.
I leave my 3 boys in the tender loving care of their father, my husband who had plenty for them to do, kept them so happy and busy (golfing and playing baseball) that they were chipper and delightful when I talked with them (only once) in my absence.
Upon my return 3 days later, Saturday, I blast through the door expecting jubilation and cheers (not really but it's good for the story-really I thought maybe a bountiful hug). My 11 year old slowly drags himself off the couch and swaggers over to me in what could have been a marathon of molasses, but smiled greatly as he gave me a good hug and squeeze. Worth the wait! My 4 year old is hollering 'Hi Mom' and bounding forward like a clumsy puppy about to pounce and topple me over. He jumps in my arms and gives me an enormous hug and big ol' kiss on the cheek. He even spoke the words, 'I missed you!' (Did I mention jubilation? He's my favorite now!)
Um, looking around I realize I'm missing one. Well he's decided to hang with his 8 year old buddy around the corner and shortly after my arrival calls Dad to see if he can spend the night, a wish that was granted.
I'm tired enough not to really care and know I will see the joy on his face the next day as he comes home with the delightful expectation of seeing his long lost mommy.
Sunday morning, my 9 year old arrives. I call him to me and give him a big hug and announce, "I missed you! I feel like I haven't seen you in forever!" To which he replies, "What do you mean?" Uh, really? Seriously? The rest of the conversation goes down like this:
me: I've been gone since early Thursday morning.
9 year old: You have?
me: Yeah, you didn't notice?
9: Where were you?
me: I was in Vegas at my business convention
9: Ooohhhhh yeeeaaaahhhhh! (giggle) Yeah, I did miss you.
Right, he did! But with the revelation that I actually had been gone, he did reacquaint himself with me in terms of a massive hug.
The good, they are fine without me. (read-I'm thankful that they are strong and happy enough to miss me but not be distraught at my absence)
The bad, they are fine without me? (read-maybe a little distress would be ok?)
The ugly, they are Fine without me! (read-Ok pretend misery and perplexity would be absolutely accepted!)
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
My husband's 12 hour ordeal....hee hee hee
Our middle son was having his 9 year old sleepover party with 3 buddies. We'd taken the lads out for birthday dinner extravaganza (Rootbeer/pizza). We had our 3 plus the 3 birthday friends plus another friend for our older son (I see a pattern here - we are glutton for punishment in the boy department). They had pizza, rootbeer and pazookie-if you don't know what a pazookie is then you need to google it now and do yourself a favor and head to the nearest restaurant that serves them.
Really, stop reading and go do that now. They are awesome and this blog isn't going anywhere. You'll thank me (and then curse me when you step on the scale). :-)
Now for the rest of the story...
As you read on, you'll understand why I asked you to eat the pazookie first. For those of you with weak stomachs, now is a good time to phone a friend or ask the audience for help to decide if you should read further. I'm about to get gross...we are talking about boys here.
We get home and the lads run around outside, scampering, playing, jumping on the trampoline to their hearts desire (pizza, pazookie, rootbeer). And here it comes, not what you think! No, our 4 year old blasts in the house shouting that he has to go 'poo poo'. I scramble after him fearing an accident since he was in such a hurry. He's been known to 'forget' when he gets to busy in play (other kids around greatly increases his forgetfulness) and runs in the nick of time to the bathroom. He gets in there, jumps on the toilet and to my surprise, there is little surprise, a trace of what was to come in his underwear. While he's finishing his business (minus the newspaper) I holler out to my husband to please bring me some new underwear and pants. Yes, I was that nice, saying please and all. I didn't get a response so didn't think he'd heard. I holler again with the utmost of respect in my voice (I heard utmost respect in my voice, not sure what he heard). He finally comes in with underwear and pants and announces that he was busy picking up the poop trail that was left from the door to the bathroom (albeit 3 little poops, but a trail non the less). Oh, and his face...that could be on the priceless commercials.
We happily went about our way after our chuckles of the situation wore down (maybe more my chuckles)and watched some tv whilst the lads played some more (pizza, pazookie, rootbeer...jiggle, jiggle).
I'd been enduring a sinus headache (enduring, suffering, anguishing-poor me) all afternoon/evening. Around 9:15 I headed to bed after we'd given the lads their 45 minute warning. PJ's were on, tv sleep timer set, all snug on the air mattress, we were in control! I'd been in bed around 25 minutes when my husband sneaks in to announce that one of the young friends had an upset stomach...here it comes, yup, he puked. :-)
Thankfully when he'd announced his tummy intentions, my hubby had the presence of mind to wisk him down the hall to the bathroom (yeah, same one) where he released the joys of the evening...twice. Time to take our little friend home.
Phew! But not quite over. The next morning, I went to the gym just as the kids were stirring upstairs. I'd planned on picking up some donuts on the way home (umm...vomit not good enough indicator that sugar could be reduced?) but hubby, great as he is, said he was making eggs/bacon. Off to the gym to rid myself of some toxicity that could soon be replaced by bacon!
I came home to a most wonderfully cleaned kitchen and breakfast area (cleaning after cooking is not my husband's forte). As I commented on how great everything looked and was so excited to walk into a delightfully clean kitchen, he announced that the kitchen wasn't the only thing that was spotless. He'd also had to clean up puke from our dog in our oldest son's bedroom! Yes, his duty was far from done as the internal organs of 2 boys and a dog unleashed their violent attack on his presence.
A 12 hour poop and puke patrol!
Perhaps a new title is in store, Father PnP.
The joys of husbands/fathers getting slammed with what naturally is turned to us moms gave me hours of yuks and cheer!
But I'm sure my day is coming...and probably sooner than I think.
Really, stop reading and go do that now. They are awesome and this blog isn't going anywhere. You'll thank me (and then curse me when you step on the scale). :-)
Now for the rest of the story...
As you read on, you'll understand why I asked you to eat the pazookie first. For those of you with weak stomachs, now is a good time to phone a friend or ask the audience for help to decide if you should read further. I'm about to get gross...we are talking about boys here.
We get home and the lads run around outside, scampering, playing, jumping on the trampoline to their hearts desire (pizza, pazookie, rootbeer). And here it comes, not what you think! No, our 4 year old blasts in the house shouting that he has to go 'poo poo'. I scramble after him fearing an accident since he was in such a hurry. He's been known to 'forget' when he gets to busy in play (other kids around greatly increases his forgetfulness) and runs in the nick of time to the bathroom. He gets in there, jumps on the toilet and to my surprise, there is little surprise, a trace of what was to come in his underwear. While he's finishing his business (minus the newspaper) I holler out to my husband to please bring me some new underwear and pants. Yes, I was that nice, saying please and all. I didn't get a response so didn't think he'd heard. I holler again with the utmost of respect in my voice (I heard utmost respect in my voice, not sure what he heard). He finally comes in with underwear and pants and announces that he was busy picking up the poop trail that was left from the door to the bathroom (albeit 3 little poops, but a trail non the less). Oh, and his face...that could be on the priceless commercials.
We happily went about our way after our chuckles of the situation wore down (maybe more my chuckles)and watched some tv whilst the lads played some more (pizza, pazookie, rootbeer...jiggle, jiggle).
I'd been enduring a sinus headache (enduring, suffering, anguishing-poor me) all afternoon/evening. Around 9:15 I headed to bed after we'd given the lads their 45 minute warning. PJ's were on, tv sleep timer set, all snug on the air mattress, we were in control! I'd been in bed around 25 minutes when my husband sneaks in to announce that one of the young friends had an upset stomach...here it comes, yup, he puked. :-)
Thankfully when he'd announced his tummy intentions, my hubby had the presence of mind to wisk him down the hall to the bathroom (yeah, same one) where he released the joys of the evening...twice. Time to take our little friend home.
Phew! But not quite over. The next morning, I went to the gym just as the kids were stirring upstairs. I'd planned on picking up some donuts on the way home (umm...vomit not good enough indicator that sugar could be reduced?) but hubby, great as he is, said he was making eggs/bacon. Off to the gym to rid myself of some toxicity that could soon be replaced by bacon!
I came home to a most wonderfully cleaned kitchen and breakfast area (cleaning after cooking is not my husband's forte). As I commented on how great everything looked and was so excited to walk into a delightfully clean kitchen, he announced that the kitchen wasn't the only thing that was spotless. He'd also had to clean up puke from our dog in our oldest son's bedroom! Yes, his duty was far from done as the internal organs of 2 boys and a dog unleashed their violent attack on his presence.
A 12 hour poop and puke patrol!
Perhaps a new title is in store, Father PnP.
The joys of husbands/fathers getting slammed with what naturally is turned to us moms gave me hours of yuks and cheer!
But I'm sure my day is coming...and probably sooner than I think.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Umm...am I not cool?
Hello Dear Friends of the blog who are at the edge of your seats wondering what delightful word treats I have for you next.
This time it's about boys. And I have 3 of them, and a husband, a brother, 2 brothers in law, and a father in law. My mother in law and I are the only of the female brand in our family and we like to refer to ourselves as the Queen Mum and Lady D (which is another story that almost got me into trouble...later for that one).
Here we go; we live in a neighborhood thick with little boys (because having them rampant in our family wasn't enough apparently). So my oldest has a group of buddies over which is pretty typical and they are running around playing in the back yard. Usually when the kids have friends over and it's lunch time, I do a head count and make extra whatever we are having for whoever is nearby playing.
My son had recently discovered the absolute joy of calling friends and brothers, 'Dude'. (they grow up so fast!) So all the buddies are outside and I'm hearing, "Dude," this and "Dude" that. Now I have been calling the lads 'Gang'. As in, 'Hey Gang, is anybody hungry?" or "Be careful by the pool, Gang", or "Time to go home, Gang"; you get the picture.
On this particular day, understanding the need for the 'cool factor' of mom-hood, I went out and announced, "Hey, Dudes, everybody ready for some dinosaur chicken?"
Ummm, ok, picture 7 boys, 11 and under running around my yard playing baseball and suddenly stop like one of them had just discovered that they have to go home and play with a sister. A dead stop by all 7! Finally, a brave soul (and the oldest soul), Michael, pipes up and says, 'Uh, Mom's don't say Dude.'
Oh the shame of it! Imagine if you will the cool meter plunging to the depths of ridicule for my dear beloved sons at the disgrace of their mother making the deepest of vocabulary faux paus in front of the neighborhood friends. Yikes, make that Double Yikes.
So I quickly tried to recover by saying, "Michael, good to know. Thanks for straightening that out. I'd hate to be known as the mom who is waaayyyy uncool. Is there anything else that mom's don't say?" Michael said, "no, that's it." So we all go in and have lunch and they headed back outside to play. But then Michael pops back in. Uh-oh! He says, "Mrs. Hershey, thanks for lunch. And we really like it when you call us Gang".
Cool again!
This time it's about boys. And I have 3 of them, and a husband, a brother, 2 brothers in law, and a father in law. My mother in law and I are the only of the female brand in our family and we like to refer to ourselves as the Queen Mum and Lady D (which is another story that almost got me into trouble...later for that one).
Here we go; we live in a neighborhood thick with little boys (because having them rampant in our family wasn't enough apparently). So my oldest has a group of buddies over which is pretty typical and they are running around playing in the back yard. Usually when the kids have friends over and it's lunch time, I do a head count and make extra whatever we are having for whoever is nearby playing.
My son had recently discovered the absolute joy of calling friends and brothers, 'Dude'. (they grow up so fast!) So all the buddies are outside and I'm hearing, "Dude," this and "Dude" that. Now I have been calling the lads 'Gang'. As in, 'Hey Gang, is anybody hungry?" or "Be careful by the pool, Gang", or "Time to go home, Gang"; you get the picture.
On this particular day, understanding the need for the 'cool factor' of mom-hood, I went out and announced, "Hey, Dudes, everybody ready for some dinosaur chicken?"
Ummm, ok, picture 7 boys, 11 and under running around my yard playing baseball and suddenly stop like one of them had just discovered that they have to go home and play with a sister. A dead stop by all 7! Finally, a brave soul (and the oldest soul), Michael, pipes up and says, 'Uh, Mom's don't say Dude.'
Oh the shame of it! Imagine if you will the cool meter plunging to the depths of ridicule for my dear beloved sons at the disgrace of their mother making the deepest of vocabulary faux paus in front of the neighborhood friends. Yikes, make that Double Yikes.
So I quickly tried to recover by saying, "Michael, good to know. Thanks for straightening that out. I'd hate to be known as the mom who is waaayyyy uncool. Is there anything else that mom's don't say?" Michael said, "no, that's it." So we all go in and have lunch and they headed back outside to play. But then Michael pops back in. Uh-oh! He says, "Mrs. Hershey, thanks for lunch. And we really like it when you call us Gang".
Cool again!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)