Final Decision #1

The darling 3 year old child.

Let me tell you a bit about cutting his hair. It is as if we are going to go for the Vincent Van Gogh look and going to chop off his ear. He screams and cries, and spits excess drool from the crying, and snot, the snot flies everywhere. So imagine with me...little tiny pieces of hair being clipped, slobber, snot, tears from large eyes, arms flailing. We have got a child who in the end looks like Harry from Harry and the Hendersons. He is covered in hair. And guess who else is covered in hair? You guessed it, the stylist. He screams...'I am itching, I am itching, I've got boogers, you are holding my head to tight, I've got hair in my mouth, Kendall stop looking at me, Kendall stop rubbing my back, I want my lollipop now, Can't you stop now, I ITCH!!!!!

Sounds like a party, right? I sing in my really awesome opera voice in moments like this; 'Children are awesome, so glad we decided to procreate, I love them, I love them!!!'

Kendall is typically involved. She feels as though adding her two cents will calm him. 'E, it's ok, it will grow back...E I get my haircut all the time, look how pretty I am...E, Daddy is holding your head so tight so it doesn't get cut off...E, here let me rub your back.'

And there is the stylist...'Seriously Ethan if you do not sit still you will be up in your room without your blankie or your mommy for three years.' Imagine the hair length then. Kidding, he doesn't say that, but he thinks about saying it. He is just really firm and really a go getter when he has to get E's hair cut down. Such an over achiever I tell you. I don't know how he does it. He just ignores the hair and snot flying, the opera singing, the soothing repetitive opinions the little girl is making. When I have to clip the boys hair I am typically at the end practically sitting on the kid promising him trips to Disney World and 65 Lollipops just so we can finish.

And it isn't so much the sitting still that sends him over the edge. it is the fear of getting cut. And no matter how many times we tell him he won't get cut, he REFUSES to believe us. And therefore Ethan cannot go to professional hair stylist. Daddy dearest, or Mommy the meanest has to do it, because its a mess. One of my closest friends does Kendall and my hair and I refuse to subject her to his craziness any longer. She says she can handle it. I mean, but really, she is really just saying that because who would want a wet hair snot flinger sobbing child in front of you with hair to cut. It's just not something you do to your good friends, or in public.

Which leads me to the first final decision. Andy and I whole heartedly disagree about the hair. One says just to let it grow out and use some styling product, the other wants to use the number 2 blade and just have at it.

Here are the photos:

Sorry bout the sun, it was such a weird thing to see today that he stood at the door squinting in disbelief as I captured these photos. You can scroll through the blog if you are having a tough time and need to see his hair short.

The Final Decision is yours.

Ethan's Hair
Should it stay or should it go?
Soundtrack to go along with that: 'Should I Stay or Should I Go'  ~The Clash
Sing it while you type, its therapeutic, and skillful.

The Rules: Please only vote once, it gets super confusing if you vote more then that, because I am only counting you once. Please vote in the posting of the comments on my blog, look down, yup right there where it says comment. Please not on facebook because you know, we have to be fair. And it is very easy to post a comment, don't be all crazy like E, buckle up, it's just hair...it's just a comment. Hmmmm...since we have a busy weekend ahead of us, voting will commence sometime late Sunday night, because someone in this house is turning 5, and unfortunately, it ain't me.

Decorating

I am fully aware that some ladies I know are popping in here to check to see if I have posted on a certain Pity Party...and my answer to that is:

' I am presently putting on the final touches considering I had to replay the night in my head that occurred with immense amount of fun on a night where I spent a little bit of time with a  Pink Truck and ALOT of sugar and desserts piled and filled with cream, chocolate, cheeses, and so on and so forth. Memory a little scattered.' At this point you can nod your head, and say, 'Oh yes, yes, I completely agree.'

So some things that I have been brewing for the new bloggingness as I get ready to complete the move on Friday, just waiting for some technical issues to be finalized. I make it sound really important, and really I'm not at all. The bottom line is, is that it all could have been taken care of in a matter of like 2 days, but you see there is this little thing I like to call being a Mom that just kind of distracts me.

And so. I know there are readers out there, can you imagine, people read about me and what I have to say? Unheard of. But this to my husband....'they really do sweetie, they really do, and sometimes they even laugh.'  I fully hold true to this opinion, that anyone who reads this and relates to this should just be friends. And if I could fly you all in from all over the states, and the world, we could really have an awesome get together. But you know, I'm not rolling in it like that. Sorry. But it will be a fantastical getaway, someday, maybe. But that isn't going to happen anytime soon, no matter how hard I wish on shooting stars like Kendall likes to do. She wishes for more nail polish, for chocolate under her pillow, for lip gloss...to live in her head sometimes would be just wonderful.

 So in this bond, I think that there should be some interaction. And you know me, it is never simple. It is never like, 'hey tell me a little about yourself, so I can tell everyone else,' its going to require some opinion and some thought, and some pictures to be snapped, and you are going to have to email me.

First Thing:

Not My Mess Mondays

I am looking at it right now. I am sitting in my Living Room surrounded by children and their terrible mess. I mean its random, it's from all over the house, the playroom, under their beds, the dentist yesterday, their closets. There is Valentine Lollipop wrappers, and tissues that wiped snot while playing Memory. And a dog walking in circles sniffing for scraps. And a sweet little baby, who crawls now, sitting in the middle with the biggest grin, because its awesome to have access to all this. And then I ask, 'Who's mess is this?'
'Not mine.'
'Not mine, either.'
And by default, who's mess is it? No matter if you make them clean it up. Take out some key words in that phrase...'you' and then 'make them.' It really is 'Not my mess,' but see no one cares, because when it boils down , it is. And it isn't just the children is it? That is just the lovliness of it. If it is under your roof,  it is your mess, and that just honestly sucks. So let's just make some fun out of it, a healthy challenge, a relatable moment throughout your day. When 4 pm hits and everyone all together is cleaning up something, that is, 'Not My Mess,' we will know that we are not alone, and that there is someone else grumbling under their breath and repeating over and over and over and over and over, 'Pick it up...NOW!' I apologize for seeming like I am leaving the men out of this little game. I mean if you want to, and you clean things that are not your mess, by all means.

So throughout the week, let's find some fun in the mundane. I want you to capture some photos of a mess that isn't yours, but will be yours,and send it to me.Some of you post them on facebook and they are so funny to me, so send it here too. It doesn't even have to have an explanation, because let's face it, some don't. On Mondays, I will post the messes, eventually, if we get it going, I would like to have a little vote going on the worst mess. But let's just keep it simple for now.

Email me a mess that is not yours at: melissafink216@gmail.com
Just attach a pic. Once I get this rolling, and get a good enough response, I will post. I will need your pics by by Sunday Night 10 p.m., to be on for that week. Get it? Got it? Good. Remember Sam Goody? He's got it.

Random.

And now the second thing I will be doing over here in our new home.

Your Final Decision.

Do you have those times in your life where it is the simple decisions that just become disagreed upon more than the major decisions? I think that is normal in a healthy family. They just seem silly, but there are disagreements with your significant other or your children over things that it really doesn't matter which way it goes, but the bottom line is, is that you disagree on how it should? Did that make sense? Like the color of bedroom walls; there is 2 colors, maybe even just 2 shades, but one cannot be agreed upon. And it isn't an argument, a decision just cannot be made.Or who should room with who, what you should serve for the dinner party, 2 books and lights out or 30 minutes free reading and then lights out? I am not talking MAJOR decisions, like whether we should drop everything and become missionaries in Zimbabwe, or even medium ones, but those simple ones. I am not about getting that personal here. So I have decided to get your opinions, and majority rules. Of course I will clear what it will be that you will be making a decision on with my darling husband or child. But sometimes it's those simple things that really require mediation to just make the final decision. Chocolate or Vanilla Cupcakes?

What I am asking you to do with these posts, is to post in the comment section your decision, and even if we get one response, that is the decision that will be made. I mean, I am really trying to keep the peace. Like should Ethan's room, before we move Jake into it, be painted a lime greeny color even if it is already a light shade of yellow that matches? Andy will balk, until a decision goes his way, but this would make life easier. And I preface that there will be no suggestions of sides or who's opinion is who's, so that there is not favorites. Ok, babe? It isn't going to be weekly, just random, and it will be entitled, 'Your Final Decision.'

And so that is what is up here. It's Wintertime, we need to spice some things up. The snow is not melting, face the facts. This should keep us busy for 5 minutes.

My Nugget

My nugget turned 9 months today.
My nugget got 2 shots today.
My nugget has like 73 teeth coming in at one time.
My nugget is a little sick with some nasty cough and an infection in both ears today.
My nugget weighs 23 pounds.
My nugget is 30 inches right on the dot.
My nugget has a very large head. 97th percentile.

No matter how hard I try, the pediatricians never listen. All of my children have large heads, I have a large head, you should see my aunts head, my Pop Pop had the largest head of all! We have large heads. I have to pull with all my might to get turtle necks that are 2 sizes too big over their heads. They don't fit in the appropriate size hats for age. They don't even fit in their father's hats, (pin head). When Kendall puts on a head band it slowly rises up the size of her head until it pops off. I gave birth to those heads. I know quite personally how large those heads are. For some reason, the doctors always seem to think that there is something wrong with their heads. Well there is something wrong, it is extrememly large and I don't think they make fitted hats in my size. So what will we do about baseball hats for the boys?

I don't know.

But my big headed nugget is 9 months old. This people is almost older then how long he lived inside of me. He is growing and I do not like it, not one bit. He must stay small forvever. I tell you I think I am going to lose the battle with this one. I think he is going to be the largest of all. Big Foot. Sasquatch. But will always be my little nugget. And his cheeks, they kill me, they melt my heart. His eyes, big and blue, they make me swoon and never want to leave his side. He is not for sale.

One of those Days

So my Monday rolled out like this.
Baby seems to have developed a fever the night before and the inability to sleep because of it.
I get out of bed because I didn't sleep, and start to get things together because the oldest needs to be at school, and the baby needs to be taken to the doctor, and the middle one needs to just go along with it all and stay happy.

Have I ever told you about Kendall in the morning? Most especially school mornings? She is a beast. I kid you not. You would think that you are asking a 17 year old adolescent who has been up until 4 am at a slumber party to get up at noon the following day to help with chores. The outcome is never short of what might occur at the end of the world. I can remember this feeling of not wanting to get up and everything in the universe being threatened against me. I also was 17 years old and up until who knows what time, doing, well things I will divulge of um, maybe later. Because after all we are speaking about my 4 or almost 5 year old daughter, ok? Now don't be silly and think I am going to let you know what I was doing all hours of the night at 17. I was an angel anyway.

Regardless of all of that, let's keep in mind that this child is only in preschool. We have 13 years ahead of us before she goes away to college and can choose not to pick 8 am classes. Let's keep in mind that she isn't up all hours of the night. Let's keep in mind that she does not yet have the freakish teenage hormones that require you to sleep all the time. So each morning I awake the beast, again and again, and again. And she will get up. I pay for this school, and she will go there and learn and she will be happy about it.

So this Monday like any other Monday, she would not get up, but on this Monday the baby is screaming his head off because he does not feel well, Ethan is screaming because he cannot hear his shows because the baby is screaming, and I am screaming because Kendall just put her head under the pillow and is still lying in bed. I then strip the blankets from her bed, open the blinds, and now she is screaming because she is more tired than any other day in her whole entire life, and I am the meanest Mom ever for not letting her just sleep. It's a scream fest all over the place, and it is awesome.

We somehow all manage to get dressed, we get baggies of cereal and head out the door, not before Stanley goes running out with them and jumps into the van. So now we are all in the van.We drive to school where there is no parking because of the piles of snow that was plowed into open parking spaces, and so I break all the rules and pull up to the sidewalk and put on my flashers. Rebel. All the preschool Mom's of the Year look at my wild self in complete horror for committing such a sin. When a terrible day comes upon us, we must do what we can to survive. I just smile and shuffle them in. I want to give a big props again for not having a drop off lane because I now have to get a sick child out and back into a carseat, a child who needs all of his guys in his arms before exiting and entering, and yell 'Stay,' to a dog that hardly listens, all while getting the student into the school hair kempt for 2.5 hours. This process would take 30 seconds without the extra cargo I have to take with me, but now it takes 15 minutes, and the baby is left screaming because I am jostling him and he is sick. He looks at me like, 'Don't you get it!??!!?! Leave me be, woman!!!'

So we get to the doctor, getting out of the car, Ethan, in typical fashion becomes impatient. He always becomes impatient when I am stressed, its like the triggers in me set off the triggers in him, and we are crabby patties all day. So he yells, 'Come on!' Which you guessed it, remember the extra passenger? Yup, jumps out of the van into the parking lot with his given cue, and proceeds to run around. Stan quickly realizes he has no idea where he is and panics and continues to run because he knows he has set me off. So baby screaming, in a parking lot with impatient 3 year old who just wants to get inside and push the buttons on the elevator and panicking dog who is instilled with flight instincts. Finally corner him in some bushes, now snow is up to my knees, filling my shoes.

We get in there. I ask about using potty in waiting room, of course not. We go back to the room, start to undress baby while Ethan attempts to get on examining table with him sending diaper bag, coats, and whatever else is in his way onto the floor. Baby screaming. Fever of 103.1. Rad. Ethan dangling off table trying to get up. Lift him up, grabs the wenis, proclaims he has to go pee pee real bad. So screaming baby in diaper, child running in circles holding wenis, find bathroom, go in, look at myself in mirror and gasp in horror. I look like I was run over by 32 tractor trailers. Seriously? It was bad. Child washes hands because that is what we do even though I tell him we will wait to get back to examining room because there is no paper towels. 'Don't worry Mommy,' child proceeds to come to me with wet hands and dry them, the dripping wet hands on my shirt. So now I look like I get hit by 32 semis in a rain storm.

Why do doctors take forever. Really? Really, why do you schedule me and make me wait 20 minutes, why not just schedule me 20 minutes later. Because having children in that small space with nothing to do for that long makes them crazy.

Dx: double ear infection with some crazy virus going on that is making him have some sores in his mouth. 'It's going around.' Must be nice to just say that and leave. So we get the order for the meds, baby is hungry and wants, 'ba-ba,' so we go out to the waiting room where they play movies. Of course today they are playing some stupidly boring movie that E has no interest in. No Toy Story, really? Grant me one blessing? No such luck. So I sit to feed the babe. The room smells of poop. I mean disgustingly smells of poop. It was making my stomach turn. And you know, you look around trying to find the culprit, you look at all the other parents, who like you, are smelling their child's butts. Then you zone in on the one mother who is too busy texting to smell her child's bum and you have found your answer. And you say to me well give her the benefit out the doubt, maybe she is updating her hubby on her kids status, maybe her house is on fire and she is telling her neighbor where the hose is, maybe, maybe, maybe not. She is smiling, laughing to herself, really self-immersed, and you can be like that sometimes. Sometimes you need to be like that. But not when your toddler has a ripe douce in his diaper that is smelling up the entire room. Ethan keeps pronouncing that it stinks, she keeps on texting. Then karma. Jake begins to toot. And not some polite little lift the leg and let out a little puff. It was like, lift both legs up, turn face red, tighten belly muscles, and let it rip for 30 seconds. And they kept coming and getting louder. I start to gather our things. Because if I am going to be that Mom that gets annoyed about a kid stinking up the waiting room and his mother not paying it any mind, then I need to be the Mom that gets up and leaves when her child is adding to the mix. Then just as the elevator door is opening, he lets is really rip, followed by the sweet sound of moisture being released, and then a sigh of relief comes from my child. And it smells ungodly. 'Mommy, this elevator stinks too, everything stinks in this place like poop!'

As we are exiting Ethan decides to run into a snow bank, gets his foot caught up and falls to the pavement. Awesome. So now I have got some skinned knees and a poopy diaper to clean up. We get into the van, shut the door to quiet our screams, and I apply band aids and turn to the stinker. I begin to change him and then realize that this poop, this one is similar to the one the other day. This poop is an explosion. I have no other clothes for him, and the only way to contain it is to keep it in. I place him into the car seat, apologize to both of my little men, crack the windows and turn up the heat.

To Target, getting prescription and milk. Ethan, beg, beg ,begging to look at toys. I say no, we have to go and get Kendall. He revolts. Have I mentioned my sweet little Ethan has found his individuality, his voice, his opinion. He chooses now to exercise this new thing. 'Nope, I am going to go and look at my toys, because that is what I want to do!'  And proceeds to walk in the other direction head held high. I scoop him up, tell him I am sorry, but we do not have any time for this today. And we have a yelling protester and a funky smelling baby, never mind me, who looks like I have been hit by the 18 wheelers, remember? He  proclaims for all of Target to hear, 'Well you know, I think you are the meanest Mom ever, so, so what?!?!'

We get to the school, parking again in my rebellious spot because it worked well as it could the first time, go in and get Kendall and as she is walking in my direction I see spots. She has red spots all over her neck. I get her out into the hallway, out down smelly baby, lift her shirt and they are all over her belly. Terrific. She gets these crazy hives every once in awhile and I have no idea what causes them. The doctor one time said that it might be the way her body expresses a virus, or something she is allergic to. And since it happens so infrequently we are not sure. All I know is that we have got spots, poop, and an angry middle child.

The poop is beginning to leak.

And this all would be great right if we could just go home, feed Spots and the Middle Child lunch with a movie, and put the babe in the tub, put him down for a nap, clean the carseat and laundry and call it a day. But I have to work at 3. So I take them all upstairs to my room, do what every great mom does in a crisis, and put on Sponge Bob. My kids would love to be able to watch Sponge Bob all the time but I don't let them because then we have crazy potty talk all day everyday for a week. But I need them quiet, I need them focused, I need to clean the baby, and I need to get things together. The baby gets a wipey bath, the kids get to watch 15 minutes of the show, they get lunch, I give the baby medicine and put him down for a well needed nap, shower, and I am out the door.

I drive to work to collect my thoughts. I am starting to settle and breathe.Then I smell something. Poop. The car seat is out of the car, sprayed down, where is it? I showered!?!?! But it is me, its my coat. The wet leakage went onto my coat. Typical.

One of those days.
One of those days I would have broken down and cried about had I not had a pity party this weekend. A night with the girls, to make the stories sound funny. To remind me that I am not alone. That they too are the meanest moms in the whole entire world. That their kids get spots and leak poop. And they do it all in one day also.

Details to follow.

Home Sweet Home

Welcome Home.

If you are here you are at my new home. If you don't know what the heck I am talking about, I used to be over here at another blog...www.polkadotmamaof2.blogspot.com...but recently decided it was time for some change, and well I keep procreating so the whole mama of 2 thing just ain't working for me much anymore. You can only live in denial so long.

So there will be some construction going on up in here. I will be posting any new posts on both blogs for the old and the new, until we get this whole thing squared away. You know how moves are...they take endless amounts of time...

Please feel welcome to become a follower. I will be starting to hopefully give some goodies away, but you won't get them unless you follow me. See right over there, in the right sidebar? Yup there is where you sign up.

Thanks for coming over to visit.

P.S. I kind of like my new alias...Freckle Faced Mama...thanks to those who recommended it.