Manic Mondays? How's About Stressed Out Sundays?

The Doctor has a shirt that L loves quoting.  The shirt has 3 half filled glasses on it.  The first glass is smiling and says, "I'm half full!".  The second glass is frowning and says, "I'm half empty!" and the third glass looks disgusted and says, "I think I'm full of pee."

I try so hard to be the half full glass.  I don't like being grumpy and I always try to have an optimistic view on life.  It takes a lot of strength to be sad, bitter, angry and I'm quite a lazy person.  I'd rather save my energy and be happy.  Sometimes, though, being happy isn't an easy choice.

Every once in a while, I wake up with a gray rain cloud over my head.  My sweet, sunny disposition is replaced by the grumps and it is a shock for all of us.  No matter how hard I try, I only see the half empty view.

Days like this, I need to try even harder to choose happy.  Days like this, not yelling is very hard and while I've gotten pretty good about not yelling, my poor pen got the brunt of my frustration this morning when B's tweeny ways got the better of me.  "But, you didn't yell," The Doctor pointed out facetiously.  Perhaps my next challenge will be being nicer to writing utensils.

When the girls are grumps in the morning, I always hit their do-over button.  I push their belly button and make a few "beep, boop, beep" noises.  It always gets a smile and their attitudes suddenly change.  I need a do over button (that doesn't involve my body).  

Sundays are the worst.  I love weekends, don't get me wrong, but by Sunday I'm overwhelmed with what has to take place to get us ready for the week.  Usually, Saturday was a Sloth day where we lounge around doing nothing, so Sunday is spent putting the house in order, making my grocery list and updating my weekly lunch and dinner menus.  The girls still lay around complaining when I put them to work and I end up feeling frustrated beyond belief.

I often feel like I need to do something to shake the grumpies.  The first thought that comes to mind is running.  In my head, I envision myself lacing up a pair of sneakers and going out for a run around the block.  Then, I come to my senses and remember why I don't run.  I don't even like thinking about running!

By Sunday night, when the girls are in bed with clothes laid out, lunches are made and I'm sitting down with The Doctor to veg out, all is right again in my little world, the gray cloud having dissipated into a sun again somewhere in the late afternoon and I feel more like myself.  If only I could feel like that throughout the day. . . Sundays would be great.

Flu Shot Fun

I took the Curly Girlies to get flu shots yesterday.  We don't do the mist and for us, that's not even an option.  Last year, I made the mistake of telling the girls what we were doing and when we got to the clinic in Target (of course!), L took one look around and went running out, managing to get half way down the store before I caught up to her.  This year, I decided to be more sneaky.

"We have to run to Target," I told the girls after they had finished their homework yesterday.

"Why?," M asked.

"I forgot to get something this morning," I said, not really fibbing, since I really did forget 2 things.

"Can we get a cookie?," she asked eagerly.

"We'll see," I said.  "Maybe when we're finished."

We walked into the store and directly to the clinic.  L was none the wiser and just followed along.

"Why are we here?," asked M.

"Oh, just because," I replied.

"I know why we're here!," exclaimed B, rather happily.

"Do not say a word," I said, nodding my head towards L.

"Wait," M said, hesitantly.  "Are we here for a-"

"Do not say it!," I said through clenched teeth.

"I'll spell it.  Are we here for a s-h-o-t?"

"Yes," I answered, giving my insurance card to the girl behind the desk.

"A shot?!?," L asked fearfully.  "We're here for a shot???"

The good news is, L knows how to spell "shot"!

"I don't like shots!," she sobbed, crying big, fat crocodile tears.  "I'm afraid of them!"

"You aren't getting a shot right now," a nurse practitioner said, trying to calm her.

"I'm not?," L asked, instantly perking up.  "Only B and M are getting it?"

"Nope, you are too!," I answered cheerfully, popping her bubble.

That set off a fresh set of tears.  While we were waiting, L calmed down a bit and I explained how we were going to do this to the girls.

"I go first, then L, M and lastly B."

"I want to go last!!!," L cried.

"What??   You hate being last," I reminded her.

"No, I don't!," she argued.  "I don't want to be first."

"Can I be first?," B begged eagerly.

"Yeah!," L exclaimed, brightening up. "Let B go first!"

"But, L," I replied.  "You always say how much you hate being last."

"I do hate being last," she finally agreed, with her head cocked to one side.  "But I think it would be nicest to let B go first."

At that, we were called into the room.  I popped up on to the examine table and said, "See, this is going to be just fine."

The nurse gave me my shot, and it didn't hurt a bit!

"Wow!," I smiled.  "That didn't hurt at all!  OK, L, you're next."

"No! No!! No!!!," she cried.

The nurse suggested B go next, to show her sisters how to be brave.  Now, B is the oddity who loves shots and finger sticks for blood samples, so she's really not your average child.  She took the shot like a champ and agreed that it didn't hurt at all.

"OK, M.  Your turn, let's show L how to do this," I said, turning to M.

"Aaaguh!!!," M screamed, backing away.  "NO!!  I don't want too!"

For a minute, I forgot who I was dealing with and thought it was L.

"Come on, M," I said.  "How old are you?"

"8, but I hate shots," she sobbed, sitting in the chair and not on the table.

"You know, the nurse can give you the shot anywhere,  You don't need to be sitting on the table," I told her, quite annoyed.

She put out her arms and said in a robotic voice, "I am not M.  I am the chair.  Chairs don't get shots."

"Alright.  Enough of this," I grunted, heaving her up.  Finally, after much cajoling and tears, we finally got M onto the table and she took her shot like a champ, well a scared champ.  Perhaps the vowel is wrong and the word should be chimp.  Yeah, she took her shot like a scared chimp.

"Wow!," she exclaimed to L.  "That didn't hurt at all!"

"Great," I said dryly.  "All L is going to remember is how you screamed and carried on like a 4 year old."

"I did not!," she retorted.  Right. . . OK.

"Come on, L," I said cheerily.  "Let's get this over with."

L started screaming the way I scream on roller coasters.

"Aaugh!  Aaugh!!!  Aaugh!!!!  I hate shots!!  Aaugh!  Aaugh!!  Aaugh!!!  I'm afraid of shots!!  Aaugh!   Aaugh!!  Aaugh!!!!," she was sobbing and screaming at the same time, while running for the door and trying to open it.

"Nope," I said, lifting her up.

"I don't want to get a shot," she hiccuped.

"Look," the nurse said, showing L her open hands.  "I'm not holding anything.  Let's just talk."

"I'm not getting a shot?," L asked cautiously.

"Oh, you are," I said.  "The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave."

"Aaugh!!!," the tears and the screams started up again.

I sat down on the table and lifted her on to my lap.  She was so wriggly and as hard as I tried to keep her hands away, she kept getting her right hand up to push away the needle.  Finally, the nurse called in one of the other nurses, and it took the 2 of us to hold this 35 pound child down.

You never realize how strong a 5 year old is until you go to give them a shot.

"L," I bribed.  "If you get your shot, I'll buy you a present."  I am not above bribery, though I admit, it's not my finest parenting moment.

"Aaugh!!!," she screamed.  While she was screaming, the nurse poked her with the syringe.

"It's over!," the nurse exclaimed.

"It is?," asked L, with tears streaming down her face.  "That wasn't so bad!"

"Really?," I asked.

"Really!," she agreed.  "It only hurt a pinch and I was very brave!  Can we go get my toy now?"

I suppose since she actually stayed in the clinic, this is a step up from last year.  We walked out of the room to stares from the full waiting room. "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?," I asked the Curly Girlies as we marched into the store.

"It wasn't bad at all," crowed L.  "Next year I won't scream at all."

I only wish I'd recorded that so I can play it next year when the screaming resumes.

Home Sweet Home

After our adventure filled weekend, we took the girls back in time with a car ride straight from 1985. Sadly, they have never known a car trip without movies. Even though they bring books and toys in the car, the items are soon forgotten as soon as the DVD screen comes down. Insert glazed over eyes and vacant stares. It's a small price to pay for the peace and quiet we get while trapped in the car with these little people for hours on end.

"How are we going to get home?," M asked The Doctor this morning.

"We're going yo take the rental car," he replied, packing up some things.

"But there are no movies!," she protested.

"You're right!," The Doctor said, looking up. "It'll be like going back to 1985. The best road trip era ever."

I remember my family's car trips from 1985. The 3 of us were crammed in the back of my Mom's Buick and my parents were up front with their carafe of coffee (to this day, the smell of old coffee makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside) and cassette tapes of Billy Joel and George Michael. My Mom had her big bag of toys that rode up front. When we wanted something, she'd hand it to us with the warning, "Don't lose any pieces!" and "I need it back before I give you anything else!"

My brother, sister and I did plenty if whining. We tried dividing the backseat equally, but ultimately, one of us sat in someone else's zone and the tattling and bickering would begin.

While we had a bit of a throwback trip our car was modern and for that I am grateful. Gone were the whines of, " She's breathing on me!!" and "she's on my side!" They found other ways to cause mischievous. L had to go to the bathroom every 45 minutes or so and H figured her stuffed animal made a great ball and threw it too L.

The Curly Girlies survived their first no frills car trip. I'm not so sure The Doctor and I can say the same.

My Guardian Angel

I am very blessed to have 2 sisters; one whom I talk to and see quite a bit and one who lives in my heart. My oldest little sister tragically died in a car accident 22 years ago. She would have been 33 today.

We talk about Aunt Ashley all the time and when I told the girls what today was, all three of them looked up at the sky and chorused, "Happy Birthday, Aunt Ashley!!!"  In the beginning of life without Ashley, I used to feel she was with me all the time. In later years, though, that feeling has slowly dissipated. I still think about her, but she seems farther away than ever.  Last night, though, it felt like she was watching us.

I am an iffy spiritual person. Sometimes I really feel like G-D is with me and other times I'm not so sure. I remember after Ashley died, someone said to me, in an attempt to be comforting, "You have a guardian angel now."

"I don't want a guardian angel!," I sobbed. "I want my sister!!!"

I never really thought of Ashley as a "guardian angel" before last night. In fact, I didn't really think of it until a couple of people mentioned she was totally watching over us. I have played and replayed this accident over and over in my head. I don't know how I knew to over steer the wheel to keep from hitting the guard rail head on. I don't know how I knew to shift into park when my car wouldn't stop, ben with my foot on the break. I managed to not hit any other cars. All of this occurred at the exact same time The Doctor's flight landed. Coincidence? Probably, but maybe not.

We celebrated Ashley's birthday with ice cream sandwiches for lunch. I think she would have approved.

It's Always an Adventure on the Road

The Curly Girlies and I were driving up to meet The Doctor at his meeting 4 hours away from home. The Doctor has been on a business trip since Wednesday, and all of us were excited to meet him at the hotel.

We got on the road about an after school let out. The trip started off uneventful enough. The girls tuned in to their movie, I jammed to some tunes and talked to my Sister From Another Mister. After we hung up, I got into a great groove and started to enjoy myself.

Doing this drive by myself is a huge deal. I hate driving. I try to avoid it at all costs. I've driven long trips by myself before and my transmission died on the turnpike about halfway to our destination. I was hoping this trip would be less adventurous.

There is about a 2 hour stretch of turnpike where there are no rest areas whatsoever. Before we left the house I told the girls to go to the bathroom.

As we were walking out, I asked, "Did everyone use the bathroom?"

"Yes!," the girls chorused in unison.

We stopped off at MickeyD's for a snack of fries and juice boxes and hit the road.

About halfway across the long, no pit stop stretch of highway, one of the girls cried out urgently, "I have to use the bathroom!"

"My darlin', I'm sorry. We have about an hour to go before we come to a place to stop."

"Unnh!," she replied.

About 10 minutes later, she cried, "How much longer, Mommy? I really have to go!"

"A little less than an hour," I replied. "Didn't you go before we left the house?"

"I tried," she retorted.

"'Tried?' When I asked if everyone went, you replied 'yes'. If all you did was try, you should have told me. I would have had you go before we got on the highway."

"Unnh! I have to poop now too and I can't hold it," she said tearfully.

"Ok," I said, easing my car onto the shoulder and putting on my four ways. "Get out the passenger and do your business right next to the car."

"Here?," she asked incredulously.

"Do you have to go or don't you?," I asked impatiently.

"I do! I do!," she cried, scampering out of the car.

"I have to go too!," another sister called.

10 minutes later we were back on the road and my girls had a new experience to file away. The drive was going swimmingly and I was thrilled I was doing a great job.  All went great up until 30 minutes away from our destination.

I was traveling in the right lane and it had been raining nearly the entire time. There was a car on the right shoulder (potty break, perhaps?) and without looking, the driver swerved into my path. I immediately moved into the left lane, to avoid hitting this guy head on and felt us get hit from the back. My car went careening into the left grassy median, heading straight to the guardrail. I spun the wheel and ended up hitting the rail with the drivers side of the car. We kept careening down the median until I shifted into park and we coasted to a stop some 300 feet away from the point where we were hit.

I pulled out my phone to text The Doctor and as I was writing, I received a text from him saying he had landed. All 3 girls were hysterical, but completely uninjured. My car, however, wasn't so lucky.

Now, I know the most important thing is that we are all ok and we are. Totally and completely. I must admit, I'm devastated about my car. It was a brand spanking new Honda Pilot that I've only had for a week. I love this car so much that I actually felt like hugging it the other day (I settled for caressing the steering wheel and proclaiming my love for it). It wasn't totaled, but it'll likely be close to a month before I get it back. *sob*

I did my best to keep calm in front of the girls and The Doctor scrapped his plans of going to his meeting. He rented a car and drove out to meet us. It was only after we were all in the rental car that he pointed out that I never bothered telling him all, of us were fine until he asked a bunch of times. I told him we were in an accident, airbags deployed, EMS was coming and I was on with 911. How he  managed to stay calm enough to rent a car and find us is beyond me. Had it been me, I would have been freaking out. I guess that's why he's The Doctor!

At some point during this, B moaned, "I've always hoped I'd never be in a car accident, and now I have been!"

"Everyone gets into at least 1 car accident in their life, B. I hope this is the only one you're ever in," I told her.

After The Doctor arrived in the rental car, he settled the girls in  while I gathered my things and my emotions in my Pilot. After I got into the rental car I asked the girls, "Are you all OK?"

"Yes, Mommy," said B. "How are you, Mommy?"

My heart about melted and a fresh new wave of tears started.

I keep thinking how much worse this could have been. I wish it hadn't happened, but you know what? All of us, including the driver who hit me, walked away without any injuries. That is the best thing in an awful situation. I know I have a guardian angel, but that's a story for another time.

It's the Little Things

It's no secret, math and I do not get along, we never have.  M blows me away, because there are times I'll ask myself, out loud, what 2 numbers added or multiplied are and she blurts out the answer before I've even had a chance to write down the full problem.  I try not to help the kids with their math homework, because one time when M was in second grade, I helped her and she got all of the problems wrong.  She still hasn't let me live that down.

I was so thrilled today, though, when I was able to B and her friend with their math!  I sat down and looked at it and it instantly clicked.  That never happens!They are in fifth grade math hasn't been terribly easy. Right now, they are covering double digit division.  I learned how to divide when I was in elementary school, and like most people, I can do simple problems.  But I don't ever recall learning to divide using a 2 digit number.  

When I told B this yesterday, she was appalled.

"What?!?," she gasped.  "You never learned 2 digit division?"

"No, I didn't," I replied.

She walked away with her mouth agape and shaking her head.  

I was elated when I saw I was able to help B's friend with her math homework, even though it was double digit division.  For the most part, I think this whole "Common Core" curriculum, or whatever they're calling it now, is for the birds, save for one thing.  Had I learned the technique of rounding up or down to divide, I bet I wouldn't have turned my pencils into Mommy Pencils and Baby Pencils.  I would have been more focused on the lesson at hand and less on having the Mommy take the Baby to the park (see?  These are the things I remember).

I am always blown away by how much my daughters love school, especially since I so greatly did not. Looking at them now, I often wonder- Had I had their teachers or this curriculum, would I have enjoyed it more?  I don't know, but I can say with upmost certainty that had someone told me back then that as an adult I'd love school and would miss learning, I never would have believed it.  

Absent Minded- Oh Look! A Chicken- Professor

I know I have a tendency to be a little, um, forgetful.  One could say I have a touch of ADD (my Mom would say "A touch?  Try a truck load!").  I was diagnosed with ADD as a child, but learned lots of coping mechanisms that I use to this day.  My friends think some of my schedules are crazy, but it's the only way I can keep track of things (and sometimes, even with my schedules, things get off track).  I am much more organized now than I ever was as a youngster, which gives me hope for B, who is as disorganized as I was.  There are some days, though, where I'm more disorganized than not and today was one of them.

Every Wednesday night, my Dad comes for dinner while my Mom is at her weekly "Girls Night Out".  The Curly Girlies love having dinner with Pop and I know Pop loves it just as much (if not more).  Today, B had a doctor's appointment and it worked out perfectly that today's meal was Turkey Chili in the crockpot (it was outstanding!).  Before we had to leave for the appointment, I figured I'd roast some broccoli so that my Dad could let my Mom know I served a green veggie.

I put my broccoli in the oven and started to set the timer.

"Nah," I sad to myself.  "We have to leave in 20 minutes.  I'll just turn off the oven before we walk out the door."

20 minutes later, I started calling to the girls, "Come on!  Shoes on!  Grab your book!  We have to go!  Let's go, go, go, go!" and like good little duckies, they lined up and marched out to the car.

About 25 minutes later (nearly at the doctor's office), I turned onto a street and said, "Oh no!"

"What is it?," asked B, looking up from her book.

"I forgot to turn off the oven," I replied, trying to keep my anxiousness at bay.

"Should you turn around?," she questioned, sounding older than her years.

"Nope, if we do that, I'll have to cancel this appointment and it took me forever to book it."

Ever thankful for Bluetooth, I called my Mom.

"Hello?," she answered.

"Hi Mom.  Listen, I'm going to ask you to do a favor, but I don't want a lecture and I don't want you to freak out, OK?," I asked, keeping an even tone.

Asking my Mom to not freak out is like asking a Kardashian to not shop.  It's pretty near impossible.

"OK," my Mom replied.  I could hear the anxiety in her voice, but she did a good job at trying to sound calm.

"I need you to go to my house and turn off the oven," I said, praying I wouldn't get a lecture about how I have to pay more attention.

"OK.  I'm on my way," she replied, with a little more anxiety.

10 minutes later, as I was pulling into the parking lot, she called back to tell me she turned it off and all was fine.

"Oh," I sighed a breath of relief.  "She didn't lecture me!"

"Not yet, she didn't," stated B. "But she probably will tomorrow."

I said nothing, knowing B was most likely right.  After we came home, I took out the broccoli and was shocked to see it was somewhat salvageable.  It wasn't quite green, but it tasted pretty good!  I guess being forgetful has it's perks! (This is not, in whatever way, condoning leaving your oven on unattended. Don't do it!)!