When Sweetie isn't so sweet

I'm pretty sure my middle child is misnamed.  Well, misnick-named, anyway.  Pumpkin, being the baby, is precious and sweet all the time.  Baby Girl is thoughtful and kind (usually) and likes to be helpful.  Sweetie.....well, not so much.  Because although she is sometimes sweet as a little cupcake, we often say she is a Cupcake Baked by the Devil. (phrase borrowed from this AWESOME blog:  Rants from Mommyland)  However, she is definitely entertaining.

Exhibit A:

It's night time.  All three kids have been fed, bathed, groomed, and jammied.  Madide the dog is down in her kennel (because she will EAT the HOUSE if she is not directly supervised, and at bathtime, we just don't have enough eyes!), and the cat is probably torturing her.  We are converging on the master bedroom, ready to relax and read our customary bedtime story.  Sweetie is the last to join us, wandering in, dragging her pink snuggle blanky and stuffed dogs "Bissex" (Biscuit) and "Spah-ky" (Sparky).  As she walks around the bed, she.....passes gas.  I say to her, "Sweetie!  What do you say?"  She stops, looks me dead in the eye, and with a totally straight face says, "That wasn't me.  That was Maddie."  Then proceeds to climb up onto bed like nothing happened. The XO and I CRIED.

Exhibit B:

Since this is my second child, I have already learned to modify my language to avoid embarassing public situations!  However, I didn't realize how hilarious some of the non-vulgar-but-possibly-violent-sounding phrases I use could be when uttered by a toddler.

Sometimes when the dog is outside, she catches sight of a squirrel, a cat, the neighbors, a shadow... and barks like crazy!  Since our bedroom (where Pumpkin naps) is at the back of the house, I normally go scold the dog when this happens, and bring her in.  One warm afternoon, Sweetie heard Maddie barking through the open window.  She promptly ran to the kitchen, climbed on a chair and shouted out the window, "Shut it, Maddie!  I beat you with a stick!"

(DISCLAIMER:  I do NOT beat the dog--either with a stick or without it!)

Exhibit C:

I had to go meet the XO's commander last week because I volunteered to be the treasurer for our unit's FRG (family readiness group), and we needed to get the accounts and cards and checks all changed over to my name.  I had the two younger kids with me, but the XO kept an eye on them.  Everything went well, we went home, and I thought we'd had an uneventful day.  When the XO got home, he told me the new Knock, knock joke Sweetie had told him and the platoon sgt.

Sweetie: "Knock, knock."
XO: "Who's there?"
Sweetie:  "Coffee pot."
XO: "Coffee pot who?"
Sweetie:  "I'll punch you in the FACE!"

I guess it did make them laugh.


Sometimes, I just like to talk to that kid to see what she'll come up with next!

Tips for Fashion, Beauty, and Fitness

In case you were wondering how I manage to keep a house, raise three children, volunteer up to my eyebrows, and STILL look this fabulous in my fleece yoga pants (that my husband is probably regretting getting me for Christmas), then read on!

Where shall we start?  The aforementioned yoga pants?  Sure!  They are fleece, and they are fabulous.  Warm.  Cozy.  Versatile.  I mean dark charcoal gray goes with everything right?  I have black and white t-shirts, an orangy-red t-shirt, and a purple t-shirt (that can be paired with a black, white, or pink nursing tank!) that go very well with these pants.  The are easy to clean--wipe spit up, baby food, AND snot with just a damp a rag and you're ready to go! They are also quite warm for those frosty minutes at the bus stop.  Just pair them with the old, fuzzy gray duster sweater and my gray sweater clogs, and you have a very stylish bus stop ensemble indeed!  This is definitely one of the MVPs in my wardrobe.

How about my hair?  Most of the time, I have it styled in a very functional low pony or, if I'm feeling adventurous,  a low messy bun.  I've found this is essential, in order to keep the tresses out of the baby food and snot.  However, sometimes, a glamorous stay-at-home-mommy wants to feel sexy and provocative.  For that, I like luxurious, beachy waves, and I have discovered that iced sweet tea is fabulous for that!  It's even better if your 10 month old applies it by pulling the cup of tea down on your head. You even achieve that certain "crunchiness" that is so often sought after. (Just be sure you have bangs to cover up the small bruise left on your forehead from the cup smacking it!)  Finally, for the special occasions, I tend to:

1) Wash my hair.

2)  Okay, that's really about it.  Just wash it.

3)  If I have time, I might add some mousse.  The mousse for your hair, not the chocolate kind.  Although, I wouldn't actually rule that out, because it might work.  I'm confident that the chance to try that hypothesis out will present itself sometime in the next 5 years or so.  I'll let you know!

Now, onto my fresh, dewy complexion.  And by "fresh" I mean that it's fresh from my bed, and by "dewy," I mean it might be a little shiny still.  If I can manage and remember to get a washcloth over my face after brushing my teeth every morning, I'm doing pretty well.  Also, I figure no one needs eye make up when there's plenty of "smokiness"  (or, you know, shadowy bags) naturally!

Make up, however, DOES have its place in the fashionable mommy's arsenal.  I have found that lip liner and tinted lip gloss are life-savers when trying to disguise the fat lip your toddler gave you by  (accidentally) head butting you in the mouth.  It ALMOST looks like no one clocked you in the face.  Okay, maybe not, but it makes you feel a little better about being stuck in the house until the swelling goes down!

Now, as far as health and fitness goes, I have got a tough, but awesome routine down.  I start the morning with some warm ups and weight training by creaking down the hall on my arthritic knee and heaving dry laundry to the bedroom, wet laundry into the dryer, and dirty laundry into the washer.  Next comes my cardio: a mad dash down the stairs and around the kitchen, making lunches and breakfasts I should have made 15 minutes ago,  and then out the door to the school bus.  I take a short break to eat a high-fiber, low-fat, low-carb, no-sugar, no-salt, gluten-free, chemical-free---oh, forget it!  This white-chocolate-cranberry cookie looks good.  Or maybe some ice cream?  Or, heck, maybe just a cup of tea.

Next, let's talk about the nails.   The only part of my entire being that looks like it was planned, articulated, and executed in more than 15 minutes is my hands!  (This might be a shameless product plug, but) I sell Jamberry Nails, and let me tell you, they are AWESOME!  They are my little bit of "pretty" and "fashionable" in this crazy chaos of my life.  I love color and design, lines and ambiance.  And the fact that I can have that everyday, for a ridiculously small amount of money makes me so very happy.  

I guess unless I get it together, my hands are the only part of me that people will exclaim (positively) over.  Although, covered in snot, baby food, spit up, and sweet tea, perhaps no one will come close enough to SEE my nails.  I probably look about as approachable as the crazy homeless pigeon lady in Home Alone 2. 

Oh, well.  I guess we can't have everything.

Terrible Twosdays!

I have an entire notebook of things my middle daughter has done that defy all kinds of human thought.  So, I think I'll celebrate Tuesday with the Terrible Twos, before she turns three (and hopefully normal!).  The first installment:

Sweetie like things her big sister never did.  For example, if you offered Baby Girl the chance to dig in a sandbox or finger paint, she'd likely look at you like you had lost your mind and go back to quietly coloring or babying her stuffed animals.  Sweetie, however, takes every single chance to get muddy, messy, dirty, gooey, or slimy.  She also has a penchant for squeezing.  Anything.  Toothpaste tubes, bouncy balls, ice cream sandwiches, or the cat.  Whatever.  Put these two tendencies together, and......

Baby Girl and I were taking advantage of Pumpkin's nap time to clean and sort out her bedroom.  Sweetie was playing in her own room and visiting occasionally.  We had a pretty good system going.  Suddenly, I was aware that it had been 10 or so minutes since I'd heard or seen Sweetie.  This is never a good thing, so I went looking for her.

I found her in the bathroom the girls share, her hands covered in Dora the Explorer Strawberry shampoo.  Then she turned around.  And saw that her front was covered in  Dora the Explorer Strawberry shampoo.  Then I walked into the bathroom and saw that the floor was covered in  Dora the Explorer Strawberry shampoo. Like, half of the bathroom floor!  And the toilet lid.  And the bathtub.

Now, this is bad enough, but as I was getting Sweetie in the tub to wash off what had soaked through her clothes onto her tummy, Baby Girl came in to see what was going on. What she did not see was the slime pit on the bathroom floor.  Until her feet slipped out from under her and she landed on her back in the middle of it.

She was totally fine, and I guess we got bath time out of the way early, so that's something.

An Officer and a Gentleman

Yes, that’s right.  As he’s fond of reminding me (with his tongue in his cheek), I am, by definition, married to an officer and a gentleman.  Now, anyone who knew my husband in his……younger days…….is likely giggling right now, or else rolling their eyes!  Not that he wasn’t a good kid.  He was just a high school boy, and I’m sure that’s how a lot of people remember him.  However, eleven years in the Army, eight and a half years of marriage, and three daughters have given him some perspective on life and forced him to grow up.  Well, that and actually getting older! J

And yet, despite that, there are times when we look at each other and wonder (jokingly!) why they think he’s mature enough to be entrusted with governmental and military secrets, equipment, and personnel, but he really is a great husband, a wonderful, dedicated father, a patient sufferer in this ocean of estrogen that he calls home, and a serious, meticulous officer.  Most of the time, we act like serious grown ups, maturely raising three children (At least, I hope that’s what it looks like from the outside!).  However, we had a silly moment last week.

I’m sure you are familiar with the digital or tiger striped or multi-cam patterns in drab greens and grays and browns that military personnel  wear.  They also wear light tan t-shirts under the tops.  And if you don’t have a tan t-shirt to put on after morning PT (physical training), you are in trouble!  The XO has taken to packing some extras to leave at his office so this never happens to him, but a buddy failed to do that one day.  So, knowing the XO had some, he asked to borrow one for the day.  He did, wore it home, washed it, brought it back in a Wal-Mart bag, and laid it on the XO’s desk a few mornings later.  Great, but nothing to write home about.  Here’s where it becomes story-worthy.

The XO came home that night and declared, “I almost died today!” Now, being a soldier who is also an MP, who is also Airborne, this statement could apply to several situations.  But, he hadn’t been on the road, patrolling that day, nor had he had a jump scheduled. And, he was in garrison, for goodness’ sake!  SO, I bit.  “What happened today, honey?”  The reply, “You almost murdered me!”

Now, I am not a violent person, even when I’m really mad.  I yell in frustration till I cry.  So unless he was worried about drowning, I couldn’t see his point.  Sensing – hoping for—a story, I waited.  This is what he told me:

When the XO got into his office that morning, he noticed the bag on his desk.  In a hurry to finish a task, he glanced inside long enough to notice that it was the t-shirt he’d loaned out the other day.  He pushed it aside and forgot about it till lunch, when he was straightening his desk after the morning chaos. He picked up the bag, intending to put the shirt in his bad with his dirty PTs.  As he was removing it, he noticed something else in the bag.  A pair of ladies’ underwear, clinging to the shirt with the kind of crazy static that ONLY a wicking tan t-shirt can generate (it’s brutal, let me tell you!)  At which point, my dear husband promptly shoved the shirt back into the bag and took it straight to his buddy.  He made his befuddled buddy open the bag and inspect the contents, trying to keep a straight face.  When comprehension dawned on the other’s face, they both broke out into laughter.  After removing his wife’s unmentionables—which have stayed unmentionable, if not unseen!—the friend wordlessly handed the bag back to the XO and shoved the contraband into his pocket, shaking his head.

Can you imagine the wrath of a nice, docile housewife, who opens up her husband’s bag to lovingly wash her husband’s work clothes, only to find ANOTHER WOMAN’S UNDIES stuck to her husband’s clothing????  I might have turned violent.

We had a good laugh about it!  And, because I was curious, I asked if they were cute undies.  He admitted they weren’t too bad.  At which point I verbally thanked heaven that the tables hadn’t been turned and it wasn’t MY undies stuck to someone else’s shirt!  Because all that’s going on here is boring old cotton undies that are rather stretched out and well-washed.  The XO didn’t even comment on that point.  What a gentleman.