Father’s Day: Let’s not forget how lazy Mommy is.

I really like Father’s Day. I like honoring my husband for the wonderful father he is. I like calling my Dad to remind him that I’m still his little girl (which I now totally get since mine will always be my babies), and I like feeding my father-in-law steak until he passes out on the couch. Because if anyone deserves a nap, it’s that man.

I also like (trying) to let my husband sleep in. We both know this is impossible because we live in a very small house with three very loud children. But I try. Punkin and I hung banners she made for Daddy and Peepa over the fireplace, I made sure everything was clean and sparkling for the morning, and I got up early to start the cooking frenzy that is Father’s Day. I made a 3-course meal for 8 people, breakfast for the Nerd, and – once the littles reminded me that they hadn’t eaten – breakfast for the kids.

We did the church thing, the eating thing, the napping Dads thing, and then the gift thing.

And this is where it gets ugly.

Let’s not forget that last year, Daddy’s boundless love was praised through word and art, and mine? Mine was hallmarked by how I like wearing sweatpants.

This year was no different. Punkin always makes little projects for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Here’s mine from this year:

I like sleeping. Super.

Here is the Nerd’s:

Her Dad is the greatest! He probably even cooks and cleans and takes Goo to every single hospital appointment since Mommy is so busy sleeping! Yay Daddy!

I’m not bitter.

Parenting FAIL Friday: Meeting the neighbors.

I have always wanted to be *that mom.* The one with lots of kids running around the backyard, half of them not belonging to her. I wanted to be the place where the neighborhood kids could hang and sometimes I would have homemade treats waiting for them. After 9 years, I became that mom.

Then Smush ruined it.

There’s a very small wooded area bordering our house and the neighbors. It so happened that my kids and their kids were both exploring the “woods,” met, and became instant bff’s. They have four kids around our kids’ ages, and they’re fantastic. The kids are sweet and polite and slightly disheveled half the time. Just like mine.

They’re just starting out adventures in organic gardening and clean eating. Just like me.

The mom and I even wore the exact same outfit one day, totally by accident. It was destiny.

The best part: We all agree that helicopter parenting doesn’t work, and letting the kids wander between yards is just fine. Kids need a little freedom, and we need a little peace.

Then Smush happened.

Goo and I were at the hospital (again) and the Nerd was home with the girls. We finally got out and arrived home to find that Punkin and Smush were at the neighbors.

Don’t tell your mom, but I’m pooping on this fancy chair as we speak. 

They had been there all day.

Umm, what? We just met them! We can’t wear out our welcome already! I NEED THIS TO WORK. I need the kids to go outside for long, long periods of time, where they aren’t messing up my house. Sigh. The Nerd assured me that the neighbors welcomed them with open arms, and for a brief moment I let go of my anxiety and embraced the fact that just maybe we had found the most perfect neighbors in the history of ever.

Cue this little anecdote:

Nerd: Awesome neighbor mom was totally cool with it. Smush even pooped in her pants and she cleaned her up and sent her back over.

Me: I’m sorry, did you just say she pooped at the neighbor’s house? In her pants? With no diaper?

Nerd: Yeah. Don’t worry, I apologized.

Me: I’m finished. From here on out I shall be known as the mom who lets her kid poop her pants in other people’s yards.

Nerd: No really, it was fine.

I went next door to apologize profusely. Awesome neighbor mom reassured me that she was totally used to it (which I believed, because 4 kids in, you are up close and personal with poop). She then described how she wanted to clean her up herself because she saw Smush doing the walk of pride shame – legs bowed out, slow, steady movements, and a self-assured look on her face like what she did was totally cool. Because whatevs, it’s just poop.

In the neighbors’ house.

Squished all over your butt, and legs, and their bathroom – once you finally got there.

There are no words that can make up for that. This poor woman had to clean my little terror’s poop smears just days after we met.

Excuse me while I start packing.

 

Getting organized: Food prep day. No, seriously.

So I’ve been gone. Hi, smiles all around! Goo felt that it would be super awesome to get a fever for two weeks, which led to miserable ER visits, lots and lots of needles and medicine, and very little sleep.

Related: I hate cancer.

Also related: It’s good that I hate cancer, because she is beating it like a freaking boss. We are on week 16 of treatment. Week 15 is the 1/3 way mark, so Goo had an evaluation where they told us the best thing ever: It’s almost gone. Like 90% gone. Then they told me the bester (yes I meant to type that) thing ever: What’s left might actually just be scar tissue, and she/chemo/Jesus may have obliterated that sucker already.

So. There’s that.

Also, Make A Wish is sending us to Disney World when she’s done. So there’s that. (I’m totally playing it cool right now, but I cried, and laughed, and squealed like a little girl when it all went down. Because DISNEY WORLD!)

Now that all the feel good fuzzies are covered, let’s move on to important things, like how I’m getting better at this whole Mom thing. No, seriously.

A friend of mine started this group on Facebook where I spend far too much time where moms swap healthy habits and encourage each other that even though our thighs still jiggle, we’re totally awesome and on the road to being healthier for ourselves and our families (I took some creative liberties with that last part). I’m all about that. Not just because I have jiggly thighs, but because I’m super into real food.

If you waste too much time on the internet – which you obviously do since you’re reading this – you’ve probably heard of these insane women doing “prep day” with their home cooked meals. It’s where you plan your meals and set aside a chunk of one day to prep a bunch of stuff for the rest of the week. You spend 2-3 hours in the kitchen, but every meal after that is cake. Well, not literally cake, but it’s easy.

Side note: It would be so awesome if it could actually be cake.

Anyway. I hated the idea. I thought the idea of spending hours in my kitchen, making a huge mess, then cleaning that huge mess, was utterly preposterous. Then I tried it.

Prep day, where have you been all my life?

It is so. much. easier. to cook and eat healthy meals when it’s just sitting there in the fridge. Look, I did this:

That’s two frittatas, kale pesto (for pasta), quinoa (for veggie and shrimp quinoa paella), pimento cheese spread from this website, and ground beef with peppers, onions, and homemade taco seasoning (for nachos, obviously). Both frittatas have kale and this Irish Dubliner cheese that I could eat by the brick, then I added mushrooms to one and red bell peppers to the other.

I also made 36 from-scratch cupcakes for Punkin’s 9th birthday (gasp!) but they weren’t frosted yet so no picture.

You guys. This makes my life so much easier all week. Especially with cranky kids who poop everywhere except the potty (ahem – Smush) and make messes all day long. This is how I do it:

1. Check your local flyers. What’s on sale? I use that information to meal plan for the week. It’s annoying and a bit time-consuming, but if you put in the effort, you can stretch your buck and buy way more organic than you thought possible. And given that one of my kids actually has (had?) cancer, I have no qualms about being obsessive with not feeding my family carcinogens. You can read more about all the junk in grocery store food at http://www.nongmoproject.org. I heart them.
2. Plan your meals. Frittatas are easy, you can use whatever produce is local or on sale, and they keep well, so that has been added to my weekly repertoire.
3. Buy your groceries. Clip coupons if that’s your thing, make a list (otherwise you’ll totally forget important things like toilet paper and cantaloupe).
4. Get cooking! I budget about 2 hours of kitchen time for cooking and clean up, but at the end, it’s so worth it. Breakfast is ready every morning. Dinner is as simple as boiling some pasta or cooking up some veggies when the other stuff is prepped. It’s glorious.

Other tips:

• I also like to use prep day to make a big batch of marinara in the colder months. I use it in a myriad of dishes, and it’s the best thing ever to have it on hand. Especially since Goo will actually eat it.
• If your kids aren’t weird like mine and insist on snacking on fresh fruits and veggies in their whole form (no cutting allowed), you can also cut up fresh produce for easy snacking throughout the week.

Hey look, I did something useful! Let’s all relish in this moment while we prepare for this week’s Parenting FAIL Friday, where I decide that I’m pretty much going to be shunned out of our neighborhood.

Relay For Life, and the coolest old guy I’ve ever seen.

Saturday, after an insanely boring very important visit to the ER with Goo, for what turned out to be nothing (thank God), we got to participate in a local Relay For Life event. While the American Cancer Society donates very little to childhood cancer research, we still think it’s a wonderful organization, striving to help millions of adults beat the odds, and honoring those who have done so.

Plus, there were cupcakes.

A family from our church was volunteering at the event, and the oldest daughter was walking with her friends on a team that raised money to support cancer research. They are an AMAZING family. I tutored their son a couple of times, and let me just say, he’s what every parent hopes their daughter brings home to meet the parents. Anyway.

We also had the pleasure of meeting up with two very dear friends of ours, one of whom is currently beating colon cancer. Goo once got to have a heart to heart with her about what it’s like to have a port put in, and that it doesn’t hurt because they give you sleepy medicine for the operation. I cried. I do that a lot lately.

Speaking of which, holy tissue fest, Batman! If you ever attend a RFL event, bring tissues. Lots and lots of tissues. I cried during the ceremonial speech – a young teenage girl who recently beat osteoblastoma, and lost her leg in the process, shared her story. She walked at RFL like a boss rocking her prosthesis and inspiring hundreds. I also cried when the other girl sang a song about standing together, one she had written for her dad when he was battling cancer.

Are you crying yet?

The real kicker was the survivor walk, a lap dedicated to the survivors and current warriors in this epic battle to send cancer back to the hell from whence it came. (Didn’t I sound super fancy and old English just then?) I carried Goo through the walk.

Then came the caregiver walk – a lap dedicated to those who have helped the heroes in their fight. I continued to carry Goo, and “I Need You” by Leann Rimes played in the background. These are the lyrics:

I need you like water
Like breath, like rain
I need you like mercy
From heaven’s gate

There’s a freedom in your arms
That carries me through
I need you

You’re the hope that moves me
To courage again
You’re the love that rescues me
When the cold winds, rage

And it’s so amazing
‘Cause that’s just how you are
And I can’t turn back now
‘Cause you’ve brought me too far

I need you like water
Like breath, like rain
I need you like mercy
From heaven’s gate

There’s a freedom in your arms
That carries me through
I need you
Oh yes I do

This was playing as I literally carried Goo through the last stretch of our walk. I full-on ugly cried. And I start crying again every time I think about that walk. Dang it, Leann Rimes.

But just as I was certain my mascara would start jumping ship, I saw the coolest white-haired guy I’ve ever seen.

His shirt says, “I survived Hitler, Stalin, and Cancer (x3).”

High five, guy in front of me. You win the world.

Parenting FAIL Friday: Throwback.

If you’re on Instagram, you’re probably familiar with #tbt, or throw back Thursday. It’s a theme where you post old pictures of…whatever you want. I didn’t have any epic fails this week, so I’m taking this opportunity to kick it old school and show you that since the dawn of my parenting, I have been failing at this.

Picture a three-year-old Punkin, all snuggly in her jammies, tucked in, read to, prayed with, kissed goodnight. About an hour and a half after bedtime, I went to Punkin’s room to give her one more kiss.

I did not kiss her.

I did not touch her.

I left the room. I grabbed my camera. And I took this picture:

 

Stashed in her bed was a blue crayola marker. What I wish I had gotten a picture of was the inside of her mouth. Her teeth were blue. Her tongue was blue. I’m pretty sure her intestines were blue.

Note to self: Always check the bed. Always.

The Liebster Award?

So I’ve been nominated for this Liebster Award thing a few times. I have no idea who started it, where it come from, or until recently, what it was. Apparently it’s some thing circulating through teeny tiny blogs with a teeny tiny number of followers. So because I fit the bill, and I like other blogs, and the people who nominated me, I thought, why not? Plus I can give you nonsensical details about myself, which I’m sure you’re dying to hear. You’re welcome.

Many thanks to Of Glass and Books and Hearthemusique for nominating me for the Liebster Award, for which the rules of acceptance are as follows: 

Answer the 11 questions provided.

Create 11 questions for the next nominees to answer.

Link back to the one who nominated you.

Choose 11 people and link them in your post.

Notify nominees.

Here are the questions provided to me by the other blogs. I did a mash-up of the two because I am too lazy to answer 22 questions wanted to be fair.

1. Coffe or tea? If you have to ask, you obviously don’t know me at all. Coffee. Always coffee. I heart coffee and the way it counteracts the fact that once you have children, you will never sleep again.
2. Where do you like to write? Wherever my children aren’t pulling on my shirt to get them juice, or find the Barbie’s other shoe, or get them a towel because they made “just a little mess.”
3. Have you ever entered a writing contest? Egad, no. This is all for kicks and giggles. I didn’t go to school for writing, I just like being snarky and sharing stories about my kids breaking things and embarrassing me in public.
4. Do you sleep well at night? I did once, long ago. Before June of 2003, I slept in my own bed, all by myself, where no one woke up me snoring/crying/puking/sneaking out of their beds. It was a glorious time of peace and tranquility. Then I got married and had kids.
5. Favorite book genre? Mysteries. Is that a genre? I’m not a big reader, but I’ve hidden that from my kids so they would be.
6. What is your favorite dish? This is impossible. I love to cook, I’m pretty awesome at it (brag brag), and it completely depends on my mood. Fettuccine Alfredo was the first thing I learned to make myself, and I have a secret ingredient, so we’ll go with that.
7. Favorite book as a kid? Charlotte’s Web. I read it over and over and over again. That was before high school required reading destroyed my love for quality literature. Thanks, Jane Eyre.
8.  If you were published, would you use a pseudonym? Heck no. If I managed to write an entire article/book/etc. that was worth publishing while wrangling my rabid honey badgers, I’d want credit for it. And I ‘d also want to own up to the fact that I was the master of all those parenting fails. Because let’s face it, that’s pretty much the only thing I know enough about to publish.
9. Are you fed up with electronic devices? If by “fed up with” you mean attached to and dependent on, then yes, yes I am.
10. If you had to give up an electronic device for a day, would you choose TV or phone? TV, hands down. There are tons of things to do besides watch TV, but my phone has everything: All of Goo’s appointments, all her doctor’s phone numbers, the family Google calendar, and all my contacts. I don’t actually know anyone’s phone numbers anymore. Sad, I know.
11. Would you eat steak for breakfast? No. But I wouldn’t eat steak for any other meal, either.  I would totally eat coffee for breakfast, though.

Questions for nominees. I’m actually not really creative, so I’m reusing some of the ones I answered. Because I can.

• Coffee or tea? (There is only one correct answer to this question.)
• Did you work after high school, or sink irreversibly into debt and go to college?
• Favorite food?
• How did you get sucked into this whole blogging thing?
• Pet peeve?
• Favorite movie as a kid?
• Are you Martha Stewart crafty? (If yes, help me. Please.)
• One new thing you’d like to try this year?
• Have you ever been published?
• Are you sick of answering questions yet?
• Too bad. Here’s another. What is your dream vacation?

And my nominees* are (Picture me saying that like they do at award shows. Wearing an obnoxious dress that cost far too much money, and fancy hair):

1. The Real Full House
2. Accidental Stepmom
3. Dear Young Mother
4. Taking Candy from a Baby
5. From the Bungalow
6. Tilt the Pen
7. The Pursuit of Normal
8. Banana Wheels
9. Grace for a Mommy
10. Perpetually Loading
11. Faking Picture Perfect

*Some of you have more than a teeny tiny number of followers, but I like your blog, so you made the cut.

That was far more time-consuming than I imagined. How come we can’t just be like, ‘I want to thank God, my agent, my personal trainer, and my three nannies for making this possible?”

I need to be on the red carpet.

Mother’s Day: Nailed it.

Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. I have to say, this might have been my favorite one yet, because it was so completely…us.

To kick things off, I took this idea from Rants From Mommyland and ran with it. I contacted a local shelter for women and children who are victims of domestic violence. I chatted with a lovely woman about what these heroes might need, and then I got some friends in on my plan. We bought all kinds of girly items that you don’t even think about when you’re busy fighting for your/your child’s lives. We filled 15 gift bags with mani/pedi kits, make-up, lotion, flip-flops, pajama pants (because that’s all we really ever want to wear), loofahs, fancy moisturizing razors, and lip gloss. Punkin labeled each bag with a little note that said, “To: A hero,” and I bought a mega box of crayons, ginormous paper, and lots of snacks for the kiddos at the shelter. My aunt has donation connections and also added 12 towel sets for the shelter itself, which they were super happy to get. Which made me super happy. 

The girls and I formed an assembly line and stuffed our bags, and the whole family drove to the office for the shelter together on Saturday afternoon. Dropping off those bags was hands-down my favorite Mother’s Day activity ever, and the Nerd and I already decided that this will be an annual tradition. Plus, my girls got to see nail polish and lipstick and not beg for it/paint my furniture, so that’s a bonus.

Sunday kicked off with the Nerd getting out of bed with the girls so I could “sleep.” This never actually works, but I have a particular loathing for mornings, and laying in bed is always impossible nice. He made me coffee, which was all I really wanted. Hot, not-made-by-me-in-a-delirious-stupor, coffee. The girls had spent the evening before frantically working on a ginormous picture that I wasn’t supposed to know about. Even thought they pulled out the markers and craft paper in front of me and loudly yelled, “DON’T LOOK AT THIS!” Subtle.

I slowly drank my heavily – heavenly? both. – caffeinated beverage, and hopped in the shower. The Nerd had to go do Nerdy things at church, like set up video/audio/Spanish translation stuff for service, and left the girls strict instructions to let Mommy have an interruption-free morning.

Naturally, Smush kicked and screamed at the door to the bathroom half the time I was in the shower.

When I got out, dripping wet in my bathrobe, I found what every mother looks for on Mother’s Day: her three-year-old, sitting on the floor, with an industrial sized container of Elmer’s glue and a paint brush. If you look closely at the upper left corner of my picture, you can see the  remnants of the dried glue puddle and the smeared marker. But not one to stick with just one medium, Smush was sure to use both her hands and the brush to paint not just the paper, but the hardwood floor as well. Happy Mother’s Day!

The Nerd came home to get the girls ready for our brunch at church (thank God in heaven) and I got to straighten my hair and do fancy make-up with no interruptions. Except when Goo needed to wash her hands. And when she needed a tissue. And when Smush’s bow fell out of her hair. Anyway.

Beginning before we left the house, and for 15 minutes after arriving at the brunch, Goo whined about being hungry. Her eating is critically important, so I was super happy she was hungry, but I can’t make them start serving the food any faster, so after calmly explaining several times, my patience was wearing thin. I finally lost my mind and turned around, pointed my Mommy finger, and snapped, “Knock it off. I can’t make them serve the food, I got you juice, now stop. whining. at. me.” IMMEDIATELY after I finished, the pastor had apparently been making an announcement about how amazing all the moms are, and the congregation erupted in applause. Umm, thanks? Should I take a bow? It’s really taken me years to perfect that tone. You’re welcome.

We finished up at church, headed out to pick up our wedding rings at the jeweler which were getting resized, and to kill some time before having a fabulous dinner with family.

And one of my favorite parts, we rounded out the day with the Mother’s Day cards Punkin is becoming famous for.

Do you see a theme? I’m basically awesome and … tired. She pretty much nailed it.

From this (tired) Mediocre Mom to you, Happy Mother’s Day!

Parenting FAIL Friday: Hypocrisy.

If there is one thing this whole cancer thing has done, it’s turned me into a giant hypocrite.

Well, not just that. But I have done more things I swore I would never do than I can count. My discipline theory has always been founded on two things: consistency and follow-through. If you aren’t actually going to follow-through with a punishment or rule, don’t even mention it. That way they can’t call your bluff.

Please ignore all of that. I apparently am horribly weak and cannot even follow my own advice.

Example one: The Nerd and I are pretty strict with a lot of things. We don’t hide that. I’m not into kid bikinis, kitten heels for my 8-year-old, or TV. What they do watch is closely monitored, and we nix anything that promotes disrespect to adults, immoral/unethical lifestyles, and or general obnoxious activity. I forbid Caillou because he whines all the freaking time. And I always found SpongeBob to be annoying and inappropriate at times.

Fast forward to the first hospital stay with Goo. The long haul of 15 days worth of tests, scans, needles, morphine drips, and horror. What did we watch incessantly? SpongeBob. It was on the TV first thing every morning. I bought SpongeBob band-aids.  I looked for SpongeBob books. I totally went back on my previous years of explaining why obnoxious cartoons can influence behavior. I’m all about consistency and follow-through.

Example two: The Nerd and I try not to spoil our kids. We laughed at parents who spent hundreds of dollars on professionally catered birthday parties with bounce houses and clowns.

Goo and Smush just had birthdays. The main attraction was a bounce house. I’ve become *that* mom. (In my defense, we got it for the day for free by an amazing company who said they wanted to give back to the community, and couldn’t think of a better way than by making Goo’s wish come true. I heart them.)

Example three, and my favorite: I put up a little snarky comment on Facebook months ago when I saw this product – the iPotty.

This is a joke, right? (Photo credit: 欧黛创意)

Stickers? Sure. An M&M for successful potty-ing? Absolutely. Customized seating for use of a $500 electronic device? You are out of your mind. What are you going to do for their sweet 16, buy them an island? Good God, people. What nonsense.

Now that I got that out of the way, allow me to share with you this photo:

That would be Smush. Sitting on the potty. Playing a game on our tablet. Also, on that tablet? A SpongeBob game.

Consistency for the win.

Guest Posting on my favorite site ever. Of all time.

Hi! I’m guest posting over on Rants From Mommyland today. High fives all around! I am super excited to be able to whine about share information about being a mom to a kid with cancer. You should totally go read it. And then read their other posts because they’re a.maz.ing.

That’s all. Carry on. After you go read my post, obviously.

Also – Goo is still fantastic. My kids are still making me lose my ever-loving mind, and the Nerd is still the best husband in the history of ever. In case you were wondering.

Watch your language, nurse lady.

The hospital where Goo receives her treatment – I LOVE EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO WORKS THERE. Except for this one transport guy that I almost had to go Jackie Chan on in the hallway. I’ll chalk it up to him having a bad day. But besides him, I’ve literally never been at any school/business/office/etc. where everyone you encounter, from custodial staff to department heads, is so unbelievably kind.

Every week we go to chemotherapy clinic, and the kids are assigned a nurse who will work with them throughout the course of their treatment. This allows them to build a relationship, which in turn builds trust and comfort. I’ve nicknamed our nurse Little Debbie, because she’s so sweet she practically gives you a toothache.

In the beginning I felt bad for Little Debbie. She is extremely kind, and gentle, and generally sweet. Goo is not. At least not when something is happening that she doesn’t like. She has an iron-clad will, a temper that could make the Hulk shudder in fear, and no qualms whatsoever about ruining your day if that’s what it takes. This is the exact fight in her that’s letting her destroy cancer, but it doesn’t make dealing with her very easy. Poor Little Debbie had some adjusting to do, because all of her usual tricks didn’t work: How about if you do the bandage all by yourself? What if we look at the pretty pictures on the wall? I know, what if we get a popsicle when we’re all done? After the first few weeks I finally had to tell poor Debbie that with my little firecracker, you have to just rip off the band-aid. Literally.

Goo recently finished her radiation therapy. You can feel free to applaud and yell and do a dance right at your computer. I’ll wait.

…

Thanks for celebrating with us! Anyway, after a patient’s last radiation treatment, they come out into the waiting room and ring a gong to symbolize their victory. This happened many times during the course of our treatment, and there was always an instant comradery formed when the waiting room erupted in applause. I loved those moments.

Last week, when we saw Little Debbie in clinic, the following conversation ensued:

LD: Hi, Goo! I heard that you finished your radiation!

Goo: Yeah. (She’s super conversational).

LD: You know how I knew that?

Goo: How?

LD: My uncle was downstairs a couple of weeks ago, and he said that he saw the most adorable little girl wearing a sparkly flower hat. And I told him, “That’s my patient!”

This is a G.O.N.G. They are perfectly legal and cause no mental impairment. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Goo: …

LD: And do you know what he said? He said you got to hit the bong!

Me: *deer in headlights*

Umm, I know that medicinal marijuana is a thing, but I can assure you, we’ve had no need for that. She most certainly did not hit the bong. She did, however, hit the GONG. Two completely different things, Little Debbie. Completely different.

Goo obviously just nodded in agreement, not realizing that Little Debbie had made a single-letter submission and totally changed the meaning of the word. I had to try really, really hard to stifle my laughter. Because apparently I still have the maturity of a high school freshman.

But hey, it’s a children’s cancer unit. We take the humor whenever we can.