"My life does not revolve around wiping your ass."

These words came out of my mouth today.

They were immediately followed by the realization that, sonofabitch, my life does, in fact, revolve around wiping asses.

But I wasn't going to admit that to my three year old, no matter how many times he shouted "I pooped AND peed!" while I was trying to shovel down my peanut butter cup flurry.

Such a glamorous life I lead.

Speaking of three year olds, why are they such little a-holes? I actually got into an argument with Toast today about the fact that I was not going to take him to Disneyland, in CALIFORNIA, tomorrow. He also punched his sister more times than I can count, refused to "nap" (and I use that term loosely), and had to be reminded six times to go get new underwear from his drawer, despite the fact that he could absolutely feel the breeze on his nether-region because he was doing handstands on the couch.

My two year old wasn't much fun either today, but it's really no fault of her own. She's had a fever since last night. Poor Beam. When it's up, she's sleeping on the couch. When it's down, she's accessorizing with plastic barrettes. I discovered today that she is a spitter when it comes to taking medicine. So I spent my time being covered in regurgitated ibuprofen and bribing her to please swallow her meds. At least two year olds are easy to bribe. I offered her a penny if she would take her meds before bed, and she was psyched. I'm glad she thinks pennies are big money, because we bought a new car today and pennies are about all I can afford now!

My new ride:

I got myself a new mom ride. And I'm glad I ran out to take this picture for my blog because I realized that the passenger side window was halfway open and there is a chance of rain tonight. That would have been fun. I already locked my keys in the damn thing once today.

And, meanwhile, my husband:

Gavin just reminded me that it's past his bed time. How did I miss that?

Muffin says, "Night, ya'll."

My Husband is Spending a Week at a Hotel on the Ocean

Yep.

And here I am. Telling my tale to you lovely folks.

We dropped Hubs off at the airport bright and early this morning. The poor man had to take three (quiet!) flights to Corpus Christi, Texas. A long day of travel, for sure. He texted me to let me know that he landed safely. And he sent me this:

That's the view from his (quiet!) tenth floor balcony. He's ON THE OCEAN. If your screen is too small, that blue stuff? Yeah - salt water. Waves crashing. I'm pretty sure those little dark things in the lower corner are palm trees.

Woe is my husband. He misses his family.

Meanwhile, here at home, it's been sort of a shit show. A shit show and an orange juice show and a "Get to your rooms!" and a "Why won't you just go to sleep?!" show.

I stocked up on yogurt smoothies. Kids love 'em, I got them for $1. I told those same kids that they couldn't have them until after dinner. After four trips to the car, I got the groceries put away, reminded the kids that they could NOT have yogurt smoothies, and sat down to nurse Muffin. Who comes wandering out with an open bottle of orange juice, but Beam. Before I can grab it, she dumps it. All over me. All over Muffin. All over the couch. All over the ottoman.

I scream. Unlatch Muffin. He screams. I glance in the kitchen to see Big Kid and Toast OPENING YOGURT SMOOTHIES. The fridge is wide open.

Yep, I lost it. Pretty sure all five of us screamed for a good seven minutes.Three of us, while in bed, two of us, while cleaning orange juice and changing our clothes.

Meanwhile, my husband:

Beam, my two year old, has been actively trying not to poop for two days. (For you non-parents out there - withholding poop. Yes, this is a THING. You're welcome.) This results in her banshee-like screams every 20 to 30 minutes, followed by, "I'm pooped. I'm pooped a lot. Change my diaper." (Her diaper is clean. I tell her so.) At one point, while I was trying to make dinner, she stopped screaming, stripped down to her diaper, strapped herself into Muffin's bouncy chair, and started singing Five Finger Death Punch.

That was a lovely three-and-a-half minutes.

Meanwhile, my husband:

And now, Muffin has awoken from the land of dreams. He's screaming, again.

Big Kid and Toast are (quietly, thank God!) creating a "Car Roller Coaster" on the living room floor. Even though access to Muffin is blocked, I guess I still have to risk life and limb and my poor feet and try to climb over 750 Matchbox cars and retrieve the screaming baby.

And meanwhile, my husband:

And his hotel? Not only does he have an ocean view from his room, because you know - that's not enough. 

THAT SHIT HAS A ROOF TOP POOL. Surely he will send me some pictures of that later this evening. 

After he eats a steak and drinks a beer. No cold tacos and grapes for the big guy.

Sorry

This morning, at precisely 7:19 am, Big Kid came to me and asked a question.

"Can we play Sorry, mommy?"

Now aside from the fact that it was 7:19 am, Sorry is one of my least favorite board games. It's right up there with Chutes and Ladders. (Have you seen the new version? It's the worst!) And there were a million things that I needed to do at that time. I had to sweep the floors and fold the mountain of laundry that has taken over the chair and feed the cat and clean up the breakfast dishes and...

I didn't say any of this, but I groaned. "I haven't even had breakfast yet, bud."

And how did Big Kid replay?

"I'll make you some breakfast, mommy!"

Many days, my children make me crazy with their demands and neediness. There are moments, however, that remind me of how sweet their little spirits are. They are kind. They can look past my perceived flaws as a mom. They can be giving and generous toward me even when my mind is elsewhere. They are not yet corrupted and ruled by outside demands and running to-do lists. Life really is as simple as chocolate chip pancakes and a game of Sorry on a cool Friday morning. 

So Big Kid and I played Sorry after breakfast. And he kicked my butt.

Afterward, he had two questions:

"Can we play again?"

and 

"Can we go to Chuck E Cheese today?"

Sigh. 

How to Choose Your Favorite Kid

We know that you love all of your children. No question about it.

But let's be real - you have a favorite kid. Sometimes your favorite changes by the day. Sometimes it changes by the hour. Sometimes it changes by the minute. Shit, sometimes all of your kids are hellions and if you are being honest with yourself, your favorite child is the cat. Or your husband. (Wait, forget that noise because he's at work and he's missing all of the "fun.") 

If all of your kids are angels and you can't choose a favorite, I hate you, er, here is some criteria to help you make your choice.

The Sleeping Child

If one of your kids is sleeping peacefully, particularly in the middle of the day and especially if that child is three years old and gave up napping two and a half years ago, that child is your favorite. Babies who sleep through the night at a young age get bonus points in this category. The quiet, sleeping cherub always wins. 

The Independent Child

Kids are so needy. From the time they wake up, they need things. Desperately. And quickly. They simply cannot survive a minute longer if they do not get a cup of apple juice, Goldfish crackers, or a partner for their 47th round of Chutes and Ladders. They are SO DAMN NEEDY. If you can't get your kids off of your case, you will probably find that the independent child, the one who is playing quietly with a fire truck or pouring a glass of water - without spilling a drop - is your favorite. At least until he needs something.

The Kid Who Ate Their Veggies

Some kids are naturally drawn to healthy foods. Others request chicken nuggets at every meal. I'm on kid number four, and I've got one chicken nugget kid (here's looking at you, Toast!) and two who will eat just about anything. The baby is yet to be determined. Anywho, I always adore the kid who will chow down on their broccoli and ask for more. Even if they dip every nibble in ranch dressing. A victory is a victory.

The Polite Child

Kids are a work in progress. Aren't we all? I'm still training mine to use their manners and not their whiny voice, but they do well most of the time. It always makes my heart sing when they are exceptionally gracious and polite. "May I please have some more ranch dressing for my green beans, Mommy?" Yes, yes you may, favorite child. Yes, you may.


It was a good day around here, and I think all of my kiddos hit Favorite Kid status at some point today. Except Beam. 

She colored herself green and took a crap on the floor. 

Maybe tomorrow, sweet girl. Maybe tomorrow.

A Life of Leisure...

Hello and welcome! 

I'm Megan, and these are my kiddos:

From left to right, we will call them Beam, Muffin, Big Kid, and Toast.
From left to right, they are 2 years old, 3 months old, 6 years old, and 3 years old.

Yes, my husband and I had four kids in six years. We may be insane, but would you LOOK at those babies? We hit the jackpot. Not a goofy one among the bunch.

My husband swears that the last three were a surprise. Beam and Toast definitely were. But the last one, Muffin, he sure wasn't. Not to me, anyway. I guess hubs wasn't paying attention when we had that whole, "I want another baby. I'm ovulating. We are going to have sex every day this week," conversation. 

He must have gotten caught up on the we are going to have sex every day part.

(If I ever get that giddy "Oh, newborns! I WANT ONE!" feeling again, I promise to take it here first and you all can verbally beat it out of me, okay?)

Anywho, eight pink lines later, here we are. Living a life of leisure. 

How did I realize that we live a life of leisure? It wasn't earlier today when I was restocking 16 bottles of Johnson & Johnson Baby Wash that Toast knocked down, while trying to stop Beam from climbing on a diaper rack, with Muffin strapped to my chest. No, that is far from leisurely, I suppose.

I realized that I live a life of leisure when my husband told me so.

Last Sunday night, we had this exact conversation:

Me: Geez, Sunday already! Back to work tomorrow.
Hubs: Yep, back to work for me. You get to continue living your life of leisure.
Me: Blank stare.

He was kidding, of course. Though most days around here do not involve knocking down entire baby wash displays at Target, things are busy. We have fun. We work hard. And there is a LOT of noise.

This is my journey through motherhood, and I hope you will join me. Whether you are bringing home the bacon, frying the bacon in the pan, one of those amaze-balls moms who does both, or even if you want nothing to do with the bacon and simply want to sit in peace and eat microwave s'mores and watch reruns of 19 Kids and Counting (No? Just me?), we are all in it together. 

Let's do this.