Unexpectedly attacked last week by the sneaky burp, Mr. 5 was not going to be surprised again.

This morning.

Mr. 5: I’m going to fart in a few seconds.

Mr. Five getting dressed this morning.

{loud burp erupts}

{to himself} “Hmmm. I didn’t see that coming.”

My youngest son is asleep in HIS bed.

Sound asleep.

In a Batman costume.

She was the temporarily single mom of theree boys. Not all of them were in school, yet none of them napped any longer. And it was a holiday weekend.

As she stepped into the shower on Tuesday, she couldn’t recall if she had managed to squeeze one in since her amazingly wonderul saint of a husband (because he eventually returned) had left in the dawning light of Friday morning.

She was gross.

She could remember haircuts for all the boys, a trip to Sephora with all the boys (stupid, stupid woman), baseball games, baseball practices, trips to the grocery store, hours at the pool and cleaning, but she couldn’t remember a shower.

It must not have occured (gross).

When she massaged the shampoo into her hair no suds formed. “Yeah, that’s dirty,” she thought. Another glob of shampoo and the thoughts too soon washed away as she enjoyed the warm water.

And the quiet.

And being alone.

And being clean.

CRASH! The bathroom door slams open. “Hi Mom!” Well that seven minutes of silence is over.

As she toweled off she considered the options for greeting her husband upon his return that evening. She narrowed it down to two.

1. Immediately drop to her knees and give him the best blow job of gratitude she could muster.

or

2. Greet him with a big hug and a kiss and never let on that he really could do ANYTHING as long as he never permanently left her by herself with three young boys.

She figured #2 was the smarter option, since she’d needed to maintain some leverage. But he did get some play the next morning.

********************************************

I bend to my knees in pious admiration to all of you single parents, though I won’t be including oral sex with it.

Sorry.

Mr. 10: “Mom, when are you going to dye your hair again? It’s getting really grey.”

I hate it how they’re so cryptic.

So Mr. Three came to work with me today due to the fact that we’re too lazy to drive just one kid to daycare if the other isn’t going his brother had a dentist appointment. As an added bribe to make up for having to spend the day in my office (turning the only place in my life that is neat into a mini-version of my home, I might add) we stopped by Micky D’s for breakfast on the way in.

Three has been really into Happy Meals lately for all the Shrek toys, so this addition to his day was greeted with cheers.

On our way down the highway, Three had Donkey, Artie and Shrek in his lap and they were all having a Three-choreographed conversation with small interludes of their recorded voices taking over. Apparently, Artie “doesn’t know anything about being a king.” Donkey likes playing “peek-a-boo” and this little-known fact was revealed about Shrek…

“I’m a hooker!”

Or so Three insists that’s what he’s saying.

There was quite a bit I “learned” during pregnancy that no one told me about when I was foolishly having unprotected sex trying to get pregnant.

I knew to expect some nausea. I knew my clothes would stop fitting. I even knew that my body might never return to its previous shape. I DIDN’T know I would have to stop eating brie. I DIDN’t know about the tear-inducing heartburn. I DIDN’T know about the hemorrhoids and I definitely had NO idea that someone would suggest I give myself perineal massages.

But I got over all those things.

I missed the brie–and I might have cheated on that rule a few times. The heartburn sucked, but it went away as soon as the babies were ripped from a gaping hole in my abdomen born–same with the lovely hemorrhoids. As for the “suggested” massage? Let’s just say that if I had taken the time to get THAT in touch with my body I would have been pissed since my boys decided there was no way they were entering the world that way.

Once the babies arrived I discovered there were a ton of other things folks left out of the Beauty of Motherhood myth. You know, things like getting peed and pooped on, cracked nipples, mastitis, the cult-like brainwashing sleep deprivation, the lack of libido (see sleep deprivation), the hormone swings, bleeding for weeks after the birth, and, oh yeah, the aching joints for that first month.

Again, I lived through all that fun, and now my youngest is three.

Lately I’ve discovered that no one tells you that your children begin rolling their eyes at you WAY before they become teenagers. I’ve discovered that kids don’t have just one bike–you need a new one for every few inches they grow. I’ve discovered that little league players no longer grab the equipment from a team bag. They now carry bags bigger than they are filled with equipment expensive enough for me to buy at least one pair of crocodile pumps. I’ve discovered that by fifth grade they can really stink. And, I’ve discovered that nothing I can do will convince my three year-old that he can’t wear baseball pants every day (no kidding this has been going on for two months now).

Again, I can handle these things no one bothered to tell me about.

Today I discovered yet another thing no one told me about, and while it’s not really that bad, I think it was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

No one told me I’d be using my fingernail to scrape dried boogers off the wall as I leaned across a toilet that my boys use as a rough target for peeing.

So what is it that no one has shared with me yet about teenagers?

Wait! I’m not sure I want to know.

for not allowing your children to bring snacks into your bed.

I woke up with a raisin on my butt this morning!

Happy New Year everyone (all five of you)!

Here at Mamma’s house we’ve had a fun-filled holiday of one illness after another. I think it’s a hint that no family should spend 10 days cooped up in the same house together (can you tell I’m ready for school to start again?). Currently we have Mr. 2 recovering from a misdiagnosed case of Hand, Foot, Mouth (doc thought it was just impatigo) and now Shakey’s nursing a full blown episode of it himself. Of course, Mamma had herself a little case of strep the week before Christmas just so as no one in the family thought she couldn’t empathize. So far Mr. 4 and Mr. 10 are symptom free, but there’s still time!!

We’re on our third viewing of Cars today–Mr. 2 loves to rock out to the music and has started the trek down the long road of the male tradition of quoting movie lines. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he demands to watch Fletch over and over again.

We may be in trouble with Mr. 2 as he’s already figured out how to read the directions for his transformers so that he can insist that we change their shape over and over again. He just came up to me directions in hand to show me how to make the change that I swore couldn’t be done.

He was right. I’m sure that won’t be the last time.

So we’re off to friends for the second annual New Years Eve Fondue Extravaganza. Cheese, meat and chocolate…who can’t love that?! I’m trying out the new Mike-aritas tonight. I’m determined to have fun!

Hope you have a safe, happy and healthy new year!!!!

Day 33
Mood: Gettin’ in the Christmas Spirit

There are certain things your two year-old can say that just wouldn’t fly if it came out of their mouth at 15. Tonight I heard one such thing.

Mr. 2 was in his pjs and I sat him on the edge of the counter to get him up to face level so we could talk and hug a bit. For some reason, he decided I was too warm and began pulling on my sweater and urging me in a very insistent tone to “take it off!” “Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”

I think the last time I heard that I got pregnant with him.