Summer time

What I love about summer is just how imaginative my kids have to be to amuse themselves. We have the usual T.V., Wii, internet, DS brain rotting amusement going on, don't get me wrong. Ain't no shame in my mommy game. Every now and then I get all Mean Mommy on them and turn it all off. And then I am forced to find scenes like this:

* baby towels, the hooded kind - being worn like hair. Complete with rubber bands and ribbons. It's quite funny to see my towel haired kids, wearing dress up clothes, high heels.... and baby towel hair.

*Barbies that always seem to be at a nudist convention. Always. Then again I would be too if I had upper dimensions that looked like that.

*Airport. Bags constantly packed, full of the important things like; socks, 3 hairbrushes, a US weekly magazine, softball medal and my wallet. They make "boarding passes" out of crudely ripped pieces of papers. And the TSA agent gets to scribble all over them.... and her legs.

*Pet shop school. All pet shops lined up. Names on white boards, a lot of bad kids in those classes, tons of check minuses. Juan, Jorge, Carlos (guess where we live) and Panda girl. Sometimes pet shops get abducted, and riots will ensue.

*hanging underwear from the ceiling. This is my favorite. Remove the glow in the dark stars, and hang underwear from the tacky gunk. Then they laugh and giggle their brains out, with commentary like "Mommy, it was a gy-hun-du-mus unda-wheres on um.... on the ceal-i-ling." She's 3, creative vocab... but three. With a raspy voice like she smokes about 11 million packs a day. Which she doesn't...I check.

No cute noodle making projects to occupy my kids here. I'm about to toss a ladle and 4 pillowcases- and a bra their way and see what happens next.

I love it.

The world of Middle

Oh my Middle.

She asks me the other day if I knew what Cemetery was.

"Uh... yeah. That's where they bury dead people..."

"What about math?"

"Hmmmm, did you play a game about cemeteries in math?" (thinking what kind of voo doo hoopla is taking place in first grade)

"no."

"well I guess I don't know then. Why did you learn about cemeteries in math?"

"YOU don't know about the line of CEMETERY?"

Obviously the time, in my life, where the line of symmetry comes in handy.




And just now....

"Mom, do you have a utensil?"

"What kind of utensil do you need, Middle?"

She scratches back and forth on a pad of paper.
"for this."

"To write with?"

"Yeah, a writing utensil."

Um, Middle... we call those fancy things pencils around here.

God love her.

Song and dance

I ran about 11 million and a half errands this morning. Michael's, Joann's, and Target. Target was supposed to be one of those run in, run out type of things, but what kind of idiot am I to think that I can do that, with a 2 year old, better yet a hungry 2 year old. I even waived my right to a cart when I walked in. Must have lost my mind somewhere between Michael's and Joann's.

My arms are full of sandwich bags, bubbles, and an Abby Cadabby place mat. The important things that I didn't know I needed until I walked in the door. We are searching around the girl section, looking for a plain red shirt for Middle. Everything is well spread out, and Baloney is trying to lead the pack.

Enter Big Momma.

Big Momma is a mom with her kiddos. She has 2 in the cart, and one walking. She is of the larger persuasion, which I wouldn't point out unless it was pertinent to my tale. And it definitely makes the story.

Big Momma is doing her shopping thing too. She is humming along to some song, that only she could hear. Her kids are ignoring her like most do, and she is just enjoying this fine day, strolling and strumming in Target. She is kind of dancing to the beat, swinging her hips.....walks down the aisle next to us.


Enter Baloney.

Baloney is racing up the other aisle, and Big Momma turns the corner. They both stop, like a bunch of deer in headlights, neither can move unless one does first.. I glance over, and Baloney is just staring. I start to call Baloney, so my kid will stop the embarrassing stare down, and so I can get her out of the way.

Then it happens.

Baloney's mouth opens, and while staring at Big Momma, she starts to sing... loud.

" I LIKE "EM BIG, (starts shaking her toosh and flailing arms), I LIKE "EM CHUNKY!!!

Of all people, my daughter yells this, while shaking her groove thang, at someone who clearly is not a size 2, or 12. Big Momma doesn't move, and I quickly usher my operatic star out of the way and to the check out line before I get my butt kicked into the next county. By now, my face is flushed to ten shades of embarrassing. I should have known it would happen. Thanks to this video right here, this has become Baloney's anthem. My parents sing it with her, and she will run up, stand right next to them, crouch low, stick the butt out, and chicken wing the arms, and get down get down. And we laugh and giggle. So, of course when faced with someone who is just humming and kind of dancing she assumes that the world is on the same rock star status as her, and they only shake it to the same song. I mean don't we all dance to "I like 'em big, I like 'em chunky?"

I need to invest in some Mozart around here.

Lost her mind

I know they say that when kids learn something new, or are focusing on one area of their lives, they can regress in another.

Meet Oldielocks, my then nine year old, my now two year old. She has been busy in softball playoffs, swimming play dates with her BFF, completing her multiplication facts, and learning the words to cheers.

SO much learning and busy busy busy busy going on that today, officially she lost her damn mind.
Her room was filthy. The closet exploded and so did every toy container. The husband decided that more fun was being had than responsibility and canceled batting practice at a friends house. He then told Oldielocks it was clean up time. She clearly had five bags of cotton stuffed in her ears, since she acted like he had said not a word. She would not listen. AT ALL.

And then it started.

The whining. The falling to the floor on top of clothes. The "idon'tknowwhat youwantmetodobutican'tcleanbecauseiamwhinylittlepunk." It's bad when it sounds like a rat dog whining. And then you realize you don't have a dog. But you do have a nine year old. A nine year old that sounds like a rat dog. That's not something to brag about.

Finally when I was about to stab myself in the eardrums, I sent her to time out. I let her know that if she wanted to act like a 2 year old, she will be treated like one. I made her sit in the little chair, her 4'7" self all hunched a few inches off the floor. She in turn whimpered, whined, scratched on the wall, fell to the floor, picked at a branch, harassed the bird, stomped her feet.
I ignored every minute of it. Middle was staring and piped open her little mouth like she was the Princess of Perfect, until I shot her a look that reminded her that she has gone a few rounds on the crazy carousel before so she wasn't going to be judging anybody.

Then my gigantic two nine year old started throwing toys. I then threatened her with writing sentences and a videotaping her and showing it to her class. A little blackmail goes a long way. Her crazy outbursts went on for about 45 minutes. In the little chair... wailing away. It was disturbing... yet hysterical all at the same time.

She has been kissing ass ever since.

Fashion worries

Help me pick easter outfits!!
They go in order of Oldie (9), Middle 6, Baloney 2.





One thing though...this dress (orange and pink)is kind of blah... like a cheese sandwhich on white bread. I might add a bigger white bow or something.



If I do the stripes, I will outfit them with shrugs, and you can't see but theyhavelittlebits of tule sticking out the bottom.

And just to be difficult I like this dress too.
ANd if pics are too small, they are all childrens place.

So whatcha think? I need help!
l

ughness

Oldielocks got the TV, Wii and DS taken away. And then, because she is like a cherry on a sundae, she tried to top it off by being smart. I'm over smartass kidlets. Really over that. Like send my kid to china to make fortune cookies over it.

Middle hasn't been drinking her drinks at lunch because she can't open them. They are Target brand and I bought them on a whim. Because I wass too lazy to go to Costco. Now I'm a crappy mom title holder. Of course it would help if the lunch ladies helped her....or perhaps if she even asked them. Sometimes I wish she would realize that her shyness bites her in the butt. Or deprives her of liquid.

Baloney. Ohhh Baloney. Went to bed with aloe vera lotion in her hair. ALL OVER HER HEAD. Like crusty mccrusterson in the morning. It was gross. Then she peed her pants a few times today, ran from me at softball practice.... and several other heart stopping moments that I won't write about because it gives mehigh blood pressure to think about it. And for those that know I have extremely low blood pressure... she is driving me to the nuthouse.

But I love every last one of them.. sassy, shy and insane.

Day 31

On day 31... of 2009...

I:

took my kids to the humane society, to visit the dogs, make them feel special.
Baloney looks the front desk person in the eye and holds up her 2 fingers and says "We want 2 dogs." as if she was ordering a happy meal in a drive thru. I should be so proud.

went and looked at ellipticals.Not because my fat needs something to do or anything - like leave- but because I can dream.

stopped at the grocery store and bought bread and milk. Only because I don't have a cow and am too lazy to make bread. But I do plan on making pretzels later, from scratch, I'm such a hypocrite.

drank at least half of a 52oz slurpee.

cleaned out the garage and complained it was too hot.

and I blogged. For an entire month. every.frickety.frackety.day.

What remains.....

The key turned in the lock, as it had a million times before. The curtains were closed, blocking out some of the humid July heat. I quickly opened them all, as they should be. The warm light filtered across the living room, through the small dining room. An area rug, a white cottage style entertainment center greeted us, the last little bits of our belongings remained. It was closing day, the day we would hand over our home, keys and leave with only memories of what used to be.

I wasn't sad, oddly enough. After all, it had been several months since we had actually lived in that house, and that state. It felt familiar, the mocha colored walls, honey colored floor, blue and cream colored curtains framing the window the way they always had. I was feeling rushed, we had only a few hours to remove the few things we had left behind, and get to our appointment.

The baby was with us, the older two back in California. It was weird to watch her toddle around in a house she'll never remember. She was 4 months old when we moved, too little to know or care. We sat down and ate our philly cheese steak sandwiches, a craving that took me back to the days of Saturday college football, in a college town. We would spend the morning dressed in our scarlet and grey, grab our subs and sit right in that very spot and watch the Buckeyes win, and they did, often.

I walked through the empty rooms, surprised at how very small they seemed. Middle's yellow and white room, the room we painted for her when she was 2 weeks old. Empty hangers filled the closet, and I laughed to myself. "Hookers" she likes to call them. My cream colored kitchen, that had seen many changes- from red, yellow, green, to neutral cream. The counters we had put in, my ugly brown oven that never cooked anything quite right. The mustard walls in our room stood out, a bright spot in the back of the house. I spent a few minutes wondering if the curtain rod could fit in my suitcase.... then dismissed the notion as quickly as it had arose.

I stepped into Oldielocks room, and realized we needed to hurry up. I glanced at her purple room and the border of hand painted flowers and fairies, speculating at how quickly the couple with no kids would cover them up. The shimmery, iridescent fabric that served as a fairytale valance would end up in the trash, after spending 5 years casting a magical ambiance for a little girl. I squelched the negative thoughts. It all had served it's purpose, and we had moved on.

I was wasting too much time, reminiscing and looking around. We had a deadline and it needed to be met. I shut Oldielock's closet door, and something caught my eye.

It was this.


A happy face drawn on the faceplate in her room.

I walked back to the living room and stood there. "I can't do this," I said, tears streaming down my face. The husband jumped up and silently with no words I walked him back to the room that our very own princess used to dance in, and showed him the light switch. His eyes welled up and we both stood there. Listening to echoes that only we could hear. Sounds of laughter, doggy toenails clicking down the hall, kids coloring and painting, late night talks. Sounds of heart aches and tears, little girls playing dress up and chasing fireflies. It all came back, like in a movie, of all that we had done, all that we had known.

We both blew out deep breaths of air, and composed ourselves. We gathered what remained, tossed what we needed too, and quickly finished the task of saying goodbye to what used to be our first home. I don't care that my kids took their first steps there, or it was the first home they knew. It didn't matter that it was the first of this or that. That seems so cliche to me. What mattered was that happy face on the switch plate. Because it was when we turned the key in the lock one last time, there was a remaining piece of us.... a happy face scrawled in childish crayon showing that absolutely, love had lived there.

Spelling Test

This is Middle's spelling test. Let's go over it.

First, we won't ignore the elephant in the room. My darling dear wrote Crap on her test. Complete with a backward C. Cuz she is a high roller like that. Should I write an apology note to the teacher?

"Dear Mrs. First Grade,
Sorry about the Crap snafu. I'm sure Middle didn't think you were telling her to spell crap. It's not like she says the word. She can just spell it...apparently. You learn something new about your kids everyday. Who Knew? And um, please let this be no reflection of my parenting.
Fondly, Middle's mom."


Number 5 is what? Jes? Jessica Simpson, that you? I guessed many words, but Middle has since informed me it was dress. Hmmmm, don't really see it. And then later she said it was does. She had written "doss" three times on her spelling list. SO, it's the mystery word. I have nooo idea.



And Brena. She's an girl from the Swiss Alps. And yodels at night with long blonde braids.
Or it's the word brown. Brown brown brown brena brown.

So, back to crap. It was actually "crack." Say no to crack and just write crap. Should I be worried that she can't spell brown.... but she can spell crap?

and um this week is "The Duck Who Clucked." Complete with words like flock and cluck. That's a recipe for a phone call home. With concerns over Middle's vocabulary..
Maybe she will stay home sick on spelling test day.......

Parent teacher time

Today was Middle's conference. She's in first grade, reading, writing, math. She's doing well. She knows her math, she can read, but reads too slow. Which we know. She is not a phonetic reader, which I guessed with her inability to sound out and spell. She can read sight words, and sound them out, but she could not spell many back to save her life. It's frustrating, for her and us.

She told us that she is very shy. She touched on it several times. The teacher says she doesn't let her get away with it, which I understand. She has been, since the day she was born. It's painful, and we work on it. We try and teach her how it comes across rude, and that she needs to speak up, and to people. She is not the first to speak, or greet. She hangs her head, or tries to run off, when she is at home, dealing with extended relatives. She was the little toddler that watched with a scowl, wanting to join, but just.could.not.do.it. She plays on her own a lot, and is okay with it. Yes, she is shy, but it has never been an excuse in this house.

It's hard. The teacher has had only a few months with my child, and that's okay.

But she wasn't the mom the days that Middle cried as though her heart would break, and begged me not to take her to school.

She wasn't the mom who picked up her baby blue eyed girl, with tears streaming down her face, just hiding behind me.

She wasn't the mom watching from 20 feet away as Middle approached a group of girls, on her own and ran off to play with them. I just watched her, tears in my own eyes, and my heart soared. She took a giant leap that day.

Or how about the day that she came home, just a few weeks ago, and announced at dinner that she plays soccer, with a group of kids, at lunch. On her own. The husband and I shared a look of complete happiness, and listened. Listened to the sound of her breaking free, little by little from the glass box of shyness she had been in.

She has made leaps and bounds. And that's worth noting.

Family Fun Photo Time

Took the kids out yesterday, along with the husband to get some family pictures.
Four our Christmas cards. Not two seconds after we spot an open field, does it start to go downhill.

Oldielocks has a cold. Oldielocks already has puppy dog eyes, combine that with her cold, and 75% of pictures with her in them look like she was taking swigs of Jack Daniels, and NyQuil, repeatedly. Her eyes are so heavy. And she has shiny snot pockets reflecting.

Middle was feeling the greatest either, but she giggled through it. As she played in the dirt. During the first picture and every hundred after. Hands down, on her haunches like some native tribal warrior, drawing directions to the nearest banana tree. Sifting it through her fingers. She too has snot pockets. Lovely.

Baloney, well this is Baloney about 5 minutes after we arrive.


She was real excited about the whole thing. When she wasn't running away, or chasing dogs. Because we arrived at prime walk-your-dog-without-a-leash-or-poop-bag time. SO I prayed for no dog doo souvenirs and kept taking pics.

And the husband.
Let's just say he wasn't feelin it either.

Next time I am swiping the family in the frames you get at Kohls and calling it a day.

Politics...and the Middle

Me: So.... who should I vote for tomorrow?

Middle: For what? President or something?

Me: Yes, President. (or something.. I guess)

Middle: Well, I don't really know. What are their names again.. Rock Obama? and... McCain?

Me: You got it. Rock is a silly name, dontcha think?

Middle: Maybe he's named after a special rock? I don't know much about them.


Middle: I know they both have hair.... and suits.
Oh and give speeches about being safe and healthy.

Me: You're good at this. I think you should go vote.

Middle : Um, I'm just a kid. I can't even drive, and they talk about gas prices. Like if you go to 7-11, and gas cost one hundred dollars, they will lower the gas to one or two dollars. So you can afford it.

Me: Wow, You're one smart cookie. And you are very right. About all of that.

Middle: They live in D.C. Washington. I think you should vote for McCain.

Husband: So I should vote for John?

Middle: *giggle* That's his real name?

Me: Yeah, just John, Not fred or anything. What did you think his name was?

Middle: I don't know. Can we talk about something else? Like solids, liquids and gas?


I'm impressed.
I think we will be filling out her application to Harvard tomorrow.

Sesame Street gots some cool kicks

Baloney lovesssssssss Sesame Street characters. Elmo was the coolest, until Abby Cadabby came on the scene. She *hearts* that girl. At Sea World, they have the Sesame Street Bay of Play, and all the characters. She flips her lid every time we go near the place. It is like a little kid at Christmas, her eyes grow huge, and her grin is stretched further than a Cheshire cat with a face lift.




Sesame Street tried to up the ante by creating a line of New Balance shoes. Old school style, with the characters. Saw them in Parents Magazine and headed over to Kids Foot Locker. She nearly leaped out of the stroller, climbing the walls, clambering for these shoes. They had green and yellow Oscar the Grouch's, red and orange Elmo's, and black and blue Cookie Monster's. She was allllll about the Cookie. Cookie I said. Just to clarify. But every time we went into the store, they never had her size, and they were 42 dollars, which is a lot. For shoes she will grow out of. But they are damn cute.



I felt like the worst.mom.ever whenever we went in there. She knew exactly where they were, and took it well every.single.time. we left empty handed. There are just some things that break your inner mommy heart when it comes to disappointing your child, and especially when she never throws a fit, when she is told no about it. We went in their last week, and no more Cookie. He's gone. Never to come back.

So I googled around the Internet, to see what was out there, and hell-to-the-yeee-haw, I found the shoes. On sale. At Amazon. For EIGHTEEN DOLLARS. I think I got whiplash trying to get my card out fast enough. I told her the mailman was bringing her Cookie shoes and they arrived today. We find the box on the porch, she brings it in, and kept asking what it was. We sat down on the floor and opened it. The minute she saw the box, she ripped the paper, started dancing, and I thought her little heart would burst from happiness. "Cookie shoes!!! Mommy, look!! COOKIE SHOES! For my feet!!" "Try them on? Cookie My shoes?" and was shaking, she was trying so hard to put them on.

She is now sitting on my bed, with a book, cookie shoes on, and pajamas. All is right in her little world. Cookies and all.

the rumor mill

Things I heard this weekend.

*Elmo sleeps with Shamu. EVERY NIGHT. Now, I didn't hear it from a first hand source, but... I heard it. Ponder that and get back to me.

*there's this really catchy tune being sung on some commercial, about manatees the size of Alabama. It's a commercial for a vacation to the Obamas. Says Oldielocks. She wants to go to the Obamas some day.

*My husband told me I looked like one of the Duggars today. He really did. I think I might have to burn my clothing. I had on a super cute, 40's-ish dress, with ruffles. Scandalously short, complete with round toed red heels. That would never fly in the Duggar house.

*I got my nails done for the first time in forever. I don't have fake nails, just my own.
"Oh, you have long nails."
Yeah, I kinda do."
"You do housework?"
"...No..." (thinking she meant for a living, as in being paid to clean, ha)
"Ohhhh that's why. You don't clean, you don't use nails."

Why, at that moment did I feel like she was looking down on me, as in I'm Cinderella's stepsister, instead of Cinderella. I have cleaned many a toilet, puke, dishes, dirt in my life, thankyouverymch. I am never getting my nails done again.

*watched a dinosaur chicken nugget show at the table. But they were Mickey Mouse nuggets. But if you bite the head off, you get a dinosaur....that dances.

and song of the year? "yo yo yo (nasally high pitch) yeah yeah yeah (low deep voice) yo yo yo(long falsetto) ye-aw ye-aw ye-aw.

Tomorrow's Monday. Ye-aw ye-aw.

A day in the life

I've seen these blogs, where people blog about their daily going ons. They share a glimpse into their enchanted fairy tales, sending little pangs of green eyed jealousy over their happy breakfast brood, well put together selves, nutritionally friendly dinners, happy crafting and lesson learning days. Where you can see the sugar plums dancing above the children's heads as drift off to dreamland, and mom walks down the hallway to press the new dresses she just finished making, and take tomorrows warm bread out of the oven.

Ain't gonna find that here. I'm keepin it real.

Here's a teeny tiny glimpse.

5:45 am : the joyous sound of childrens laughter, squealing out Knock Knock jokes, much like this.
"Knock Knock" (Baloney)
"Who's there" (Middle)
"Apple Pie" (Baloney)
"Apple Pie who?" (Middle)
"Knock Knock" (baloney) and so on.

6-7 am. Door opens repeatedly as happy children ask if we are awake. We say "No." and they leave. Repeat 28 more times.

7am: Hubbylcious makes pancakes. Baloney throws fit at table about peanut butter. We love when she throws fits. It's the sign of a well rounded toddler.

8 am: Clean up syrup off table. Prepared to sent out the Syrup SWAT team to 2 of the 3 girls locations. 2 of the 3 girls scream. We like screaming. Screaming is the sign of healthy lungs (or a possessed creature....)

9-12. The children find various ways to put the constructive destructive skills to use. They cheerfully destroy their room, while Baloney whines her way through all 3 hours. Successfully. We like whining. It makes us pull our hair out. It makes us grateful that we have hair to pull.

Middle and Oldielocks grip and complain that they have to *gasp* clean up the large mess the tornado left behind. That or apply for federal aid, and federal aid comes in the form of early bedtime, no tv privileges or wii time. Authority has a bad rap around here. They take the clean up choice,though not without trying to make a plea bargain. The D.A. came back with no lunch until it's clean. I can't type the scene after that, let's say it was not pretty.


Baloney takes a nap, for a whole whopping 45 minutes. Wakes up cranky. Proceeds to crank for the next 45. I have decided that when she wants to run away from home when she's 9, I'm not stopping her. In fact I'll start packing for her now.

Kids do kid things for the next few hours, like Middle riding bikes in a dress that is dangerously close to the wheel, starts to fell off the curb, but sings her way through it. Singing as she drifts into the bushes.

Oldielocks mopes around, saddened by the death of Flippy. Flippy died. Flippy is an origami frog. That flips. Made out of green paper that got wet. So she is having services for him. Or something. Only in my house would this happen. We mourn all things. Origami frogs, missing shoes, last roll of T.P.

Dinnertime is chicken fried rice. We insult all cultures here by trying to make their food. I ask Oldie to get her sisters. She turns around and yells for them. Looks at me... and laughs. I told her it's gonna be really funny when we all eat and she has no plate. I tell her I will laugh. She giggles more. I can't win. Baloney comes to the table, and proceeds to point and tell everyone "NO, wait for others." They all are waiting patiently as she points to herself, and says "You may eat", and does. She apparently is not held to the same standards.

After time, Oldie and Middle fight over how to equally divide 7 cookies amongst 5 people. I made 40 last night. 7 are left. Hmmmmmmm.

Baloney, in the past 5 minutes, pulled up her shirt, stuck at her belly, and in her throaty voice said " Yook at my belly. Shake Shake shake."

My day is not over. There were no sweet drawings, homemade bread or fresh pressed linens involved. But I laughed a lot, refereed a lot, and was surrounded by my kids. Cranky, yelling, happy, silly and all.

Vocab lessons

Today, after picking up the kids, in heat, we stopped at Walgreens to grab some drinks. We are walking across the ground, and some young punk has spray painted a word on the ground. I walk past it, paying no attention, when I hear:

Oldielocks: "Vuh-Geena"?

Thanks taggers. Was it a goody two shoes kid with one leg on the wild side, who lacked the inner city slang knowledge, to write something other than the proper term for female anatomy? Or perhaps it was the child of a gyno trying to educate the world. I dunno, if I'm gonna go through hassle of doing something illegal, I'm gonna go big. And show off my creative side. Like Dirty Birdie Doo Doo Eater. Or if I'm sticking with the female bits, I would have "Cooter" or "Hoo Haa Hattie was here." Anything but "vagina." Next time it will be "Appendix".

I guess I try to find the bright side, cup half full, and be thankful that they didn't write "a-hole" or something.

Smells like... blueberry pie.

Today in the car......

Oldielocks: "Middle, did you REALLY think Daddy's shoes smell like blueberry?"

Middle: *giggle* "noooo! at first I did......."

Oldielocks: "You really did. I saw you."

Me: "why would you think Daddy's shoes smell like blueberries?" (all I am thinking is how odd are my children, really.)

Oldielocks: "Because he took his shoes off and said, 'My new boots smell like blueberry, want to smell them?'

Middle: "But it was a TRICK! *giggle giggle* They really don't smell like blueberry."

Oldielocks: "Yeah I know. He holds them up for you to smell, and tells you they smell like blueberry, and shoves his stinky shoes in your nose."

Oldielocks: "and Middle fell for it."

Middle: "SO DID YOU!!!!"


Not only are my kids dirty shoe sniffers, they are suckers. They're doomed.

Not a restaurant

Three kids mean three different taste buds. And I have much respect for taste. I know that fish makes me want throw up all my innards and my organs, and dark meat does nothing for me. I actually find dark meat disgusting, and gag if it winds up on my plate. So when my oldest gags on kiwi fruit, I get it. I'm sure she doesn't want her esophagus voluntarily lurching out of her body, anymore than I want to see it happen. And when my Middle gags on spaghetti and pukes for 6 hours after awakening the next day, (really, for once I am not exaggerating, she really does. It is the WEIRDEST thing), so avoid it for her, just because that sucks. Baloney eats like she is Kobiashi the hot-dog eating champion, so there is not much she doesn't like. I am all about not making people wretch with my cooking.

Now that we have clarified that I have a heart, I refuse, on a daily basis to make a million meals to please the pickiest eater. It never fails, that I can put a hot dish on the table, and the little birds at my table all open theirs mouths at once. Not to be fed of course, but start shouting orders.

"Can I have this and this?"
"You know I don't like blah blah!"
"Are we supposed to eat that?" (Yeah real polite kid I got)
"I no like dat one." (complete with spitting noises)
"Will you put only blah blah next to blah blah?"
"Why didn't you...."

Yeah I could go on for days. so this is the standard convo I pull out every time this starts. And it's working.

"Do I wear a name tag? Did I hand you a menu? Have I asked you what can I get for you? None of those things have nor will be taking place. Why? Because this is not a restaurant. Only in restaurants do you get to request special things. Why? Because they get paid. Did you bring money to the table tonight? Then I am not getting paid. When people don't get paid, and do something because it was nice, we are grateful. Grateful means to be happy that you have food to eat, and that someone MADE you food to eat. Smile, and nod. Then chew."

Sheepish smiles, and quiet kids. It has been working well. Until 2 nights ago, when carrots, broccoli, cauliflower (in cheese sauce, I'm not a total nutrition Sergeant) made an appearance at our table. Oldielocks crinkled her nose and said. "I think I have fifty cents. You're getting paid tonight to not put any on my plate."

I guess I need to change my speech.