A little love from the Rugster!

I've been trying to come up with good end of the year teacher gifts.  I like to ask each kid what they think their teacher would like.  They usually have some pretty good ideas after spending everyday with their teacher for the whole year. 

Last year Breckyn insisted that her teacher was sassy and she needed some sassy nail polish for a fun summer.  I ended up making a cute little package and including the sassy polish with a note about what Breckyn had said.

So this year I was doing my rounds and I asked Rugby what he thought his teacher would like.

Rugs (without hesitation):  I think she would like a picture of me, framed, with a note that says, "Have a great summer."

Me:  Oh really?  Anything else?

Rugs:  Oh, and I should get her some flowers too.


Look out world!  This little guy is a ladies man!  Grrrrr...

The Milk Chug

Sorry for the lack of posting the last few days.  We've had a busy weekend with lots of things to work on in our yard.  We spent a good majority of the holiday battling some do-it-yourself pool kits.  The box makes them look so easy and yet several hours later we are still in the back yard poking and pulling at the dang thing.

One of the things that we did manage to get to was the annual Memorial Day Pancake Breakfast.  Every year we have a breakfast at our church with a pancake eating contest and a milk chugging contest.  We get a chance to honor our veterans and have lots of fun.  It's a real crowd pleaser with our kids.

Zoey had been talking about defending her title as raining champion of the milk chug for about a week.  She was super jazzed and asked several times to practice at home.  I was not in favor of it and told her it was better to just save all of her energy for the real deal.

Well, at the last minute Rugby decided to enter the race.  He had a little devil look on his face as the contest was getting started.  Here's what happened...

The little stink barely even opened his mouth.  He just poured the milk all down himself so he would be sure to be the fastest.  (And yes, that is carpet he is standing on-- it was a real mess.)

He was shocked when he was disqualified.

Rugs:  "Moooom!  I was totally first!"

Me:  "Yeah, but you didn't actually drink anything!"

Rugs:  "They never said we had to do that.  They just said whoever was finished first."

Me:  "Nice."


That's my boy.

The Sneaky Poo

I have some little friends. 

They forget to flush the toilet quite often.

I go to use the bathroom and there it is-- the sneaky poo.

My children love to use the bathroom and leave me presents all the time.

Sometimes there's toilet paper and sometimes there isn't.  It depends on their mood.

I feel like I trained them right.  Whenever they come out of the bathroom I yell, "Did you flush?"  They quickly reply yes no matter what they really did.  Then I pester them to go wash their hands-- with soap!  I add.  I have even gone so far as to smell their hands if I suspect a lie.

...and yet, I still get greeted daily by at least one forgotten poo.

I have threatened death to all "forgetful flushers."  I've tried taxing each kid for left over poo.  I've tried shaming out the poo leaver.  It doesn't matter.  They sneak in and sneak out and I'm left staring at their nasty poo.

My fear is that someday I'll have company over and they will find a surprise when they use the bathroom.  That would be mortifying!

I always dreamed of having a clean bathroom with fluffy hand towels, sweet smelling soap and the antiseptic clean smell of an adult bathroom.  Instead I live with kids who never flush, never hang up the hand towel, squirt the soap every where and leave puddles in interesting places.

I think I'm going to tile the entire bathroom floor to ceiling and just use the pressure washer on it when the kids are done.

Problem Solved.

I wonder if the Mister will go for it?

There's nothing like kid art to make you smile.

I love my kids art work.  Every so often I get one that I have to take a picture of so I never forget it.   Rugby is our resident artist these days so here are a few I thought you might like.

I got this one for my birthday because "Who doesn't like Iron Man?"

This one was a warning to all who dared to enter Rugby's room.

These rules were provided for all who actually made it into his room.

This is a sample from his Star Wars phase.  My favorite is that he remembered to put a beard on Obi Wan.

This is from his super hero phase.  We are currently still working through this one.  If you're up on your super heroes you'll know just who these are. 

When this guy comes home from school he loves to sit and draw.  I like to see what he comes up with.

My boy-- the ar-teest

Happy Friday!

If you haven't entered to win the Chili's gift card-- get to it!

My Green Kid

I am not what you would call a "green" person.  I love paper towels, paper plates, plastic cups, bottled water-- OK, anything that is disposable.  My daughter Breckyn is mortified by my anti-environmental behavior.

Last year after learning what plastic bottles do to the environment, she made me go out and buy a water purifier for the fridge and pledge that I would stop using so many bottles.  That lasted about a week before I couldn't take it any more.  I love having the convenience of the pre-done bottles.  I know-- I'm a monster.

Then she decided that we needed to recycle.  I was using our recycle bin as the boys ball storage in the garage.  She cleaned it out and claimed that we were now recyclers.  We would be saving the world one piece of trash at a time.  She roped the Mister into it and now he and I are at silent war over recycling.  When I finish my bottles of water I toss them in the trash just to get "team green."  He actually digs them out to recycle them.  Then he rats me out to Breckyn and I have to hear a long lecture about the benefits of recycling.

This morning she was leaving on a walking field trip and I tell her she needs to put on sunblock.  I take her outside and spray her down.  She explains to me that in the "olden days" (you know, when you were a kid mom) they didn't have to use sunblock because the ozone was thicker.  But now since everyone has polluted the earth there is no ozone left to protect us from the sun, so we have to wear sunblock.

She is determined to change our household to be a little more green.  She is slowly turning everyone against me.  This morning Em says to me, "I hate littering because soon our whole earth will be trash.  I'm never going to litter."  (Says the boy who can't pick up his own underwear off the floor.)

She got to him alright.  My baby is now on "team green."

The only benefit I've gotten from having her be psychotically green has been having her pick up trash in our yard.  She organized a trash pick up for our family one Saturday and we walked up and down our road picking up all the nasties that people throw out their windows.  She accused me of tossing things that looked familiar to her-- but even I'm not that bad.

I'm secretly not so against going green but she looks at me like I'm a criminal.  So it makes me want to prove her wrong. 

My numbers are starting to dwindle.  Pretty soon the whole family will be on "team green" and I'll be left all alone to wallow in my own trash.

Where did I go wrong?

Meet Breckyn

Meet Breckyn.  She is my big girl.  It was her birthday last week.  She turned 10.  She loves exploring the outdoors, animals, rocks and being in charge. 

The mister was out at the store and he called me all excited that he had found the perfect birthday present for Breckyn.  It was a rock tumbler.  B loves collecting rocks and cleaning them up.  I told him to buy it because I thought it would mean a lot to B that her Dad had picked out a gift especially for her.

On her birthday she was very excited to put it together.  The mister took her into his office and they began following the directions.  A few minutes later the mister comes out of the office looking a little frazzled.

The Mister:  I'm not so sure this rock thing was the best idea.

Me:  Are you kidding me?  She loves it-- it's perfect.

The Mister:  Well, I was reading the directions and it says that you need to tumble the rocks in phases.

Me:  OK, so...

The Mister:  The first phase lasts 4 days.

Me:  What?!?

The Mister:  It gets worse.  The second phase lasts for 14 days.  The last phase lasts for 6 days.

Me:  Does it run on batteries-- cause that's a lot of batteries.

The Mister:  No it plugs in.  Maybe I could sneak it away from her.  I can package it back up and return the stupid thing.

Me:  You can't do that she'll notice.

The Mister:  OK, then we'll have the first three rocks done in about a month.  A MONTH!  It's going to be a long summer.


The kicker is, it's super loud.  So we moved it into the garage but every time I go out there it scares the crap out of me cause I keep forgetting its there.  It took the dog the first three days to stop freaking out about the noise coming from the back door.

Rocks!  It's tumbling rocks.  I could probably go down to the store and buy a bag of those smooth marbles and call it good.  But nooooo, now we have our very own rock tumbler.

All I can say is-- they'd better come out diamonds for the time we're putting into this stupid thing.  Geesh!

Morning Drama-rama

The other morning, as I was getting the kids ready for church, everyone decided to freak out at the same time.  I try to tell them that there is only one of me and four of them but I'm pretty sure they don't care.  My girls have reached the age where they feel the need to change their outfits 200 times and stand in their closet doorways loudly sighing that they have nothing to wear.  That takes me from on time to barely making it out the door with seconds to spare.  In fact two weeks in a row I was so busy putting out their fires that I forgot to comb my own hair after I had blow dried it and went to church looking a little off kilter.

My boys have also kicked it up a notch.  They are obsessed with playing ball in the house.  (I have the broken stuff to prove it.)  They also enjoy playing the computer (a little too much).  The only problem there is that only one boy can play at a time.  The other boy is left sitting uncomfortably close to the other one yelling commands at the screen.  Ugh!

So last week while I'm dealing with the girlies, Rugby decides that having the computer is so important he is going to threaten his little brother with bodily harm.  I hear, "Moooooom, Rugby is trying to light my hair on fire!"  (Yeah, I'm not kidding.)  I come running downstairs yelling threats the entire way.  There is my precious boy with a lighter and a safety pin out and ready.  He was going to poke his brother and then set him on fire.  He is now banned from lighters, safety pins, and all sharp objects. 

I have always been under the impression that the older my kids got, the easier my life would be.  Not so.  I have now gone from wiping butts to putting out fires (literally in some cases).

I'm just starting to realize that my life will be full of action until the day I die. 

The good news for you is, you can read about it for years to come.  If nothing else, my life supplies me with endless material for this blog.  I'm not sure if that is a good thing-- but it's true none the less.


Later this week I'll share with you some of my favorite secrets to getting the family out the door on time.  See you then...

Meet Zoey

This is my baby girl Zoey.  She is a bit of a drama queen.  So when she tripped and fell the other day people two countries over heard about it.  Seriously.

Amidst the screaming and faux pain, she manages to let me know that her arm has to be broken.  Let me remind you again that this girl is a drama fest.

I calm her down and grab an ice pack and things just go south from there.  She is insisting that her arm has to be broken and she is in the most pain of her life.  Minutes later she is off to play with her brothers and sister.  I assume that all is well and the subject is closed.  No.  I'm not that lucky.

The next day she throws a huge fit before school (of course) that she needs to see a doctor.  I remind her of all the things she has been doing with her arm that would stand to prove her wrong.  Before she leaves for school she verbally commits me to call the doctor and bust her out of school at the first chance I get.  I'm on to this game.  I don't call.

After school she pulls the same thing again.  So I cave and take her to our local walk-in clinic.  On the way there we have words...

Me:  You do realize that going to the doctor will cost a lot of money-- right?

Z:  I get it Mom!

Me:  We still have to pay if you are hurt or not.

Z:  Mom, I know, I still want to go.


When we get there I do my best to hurry her through the motions and answer all the doctors' questions.  He does a very long and detailed examination of her arm.  I'm just waiting for him to send us on our way with our little Barbie stickers and big ol' bill.  He doesn't.  Instead he says that Z will need some x-rays.

Now I'm starting to feel a little small and Z is giving me the I told you so look. 

While we are waiting for the x-rays to come back we have a little time to talk.

Me:  I bet you 10 bucks your arm is fine.

Z:  I don't have 10 bucks but I have 2 cents-- you're on.

Me:  I'm so sure nothing is wrong with you; I'll take your bet and raise you one week of bed making!

Z:  That means when he tells me my arm is broken you owe me 2 cents and I don't have to make my bed for a week.

Me:  That means that when he tells us your arm is fine you owe me 2 cents and a weeks worth of perfect bed making without being asked.

The doctor returns and money changes hands.

Her arm had a small buckle fracture.

I feel about 2 inches tall.

Geez, I'm such a good mom.

Zoey was on cloud nine.  She had a smile plastered on her face for days after.  She was basking in her victory.

She left the doctors office 2 cents richer with a cool velcro arm brace and a bit of a bounce in her step.


I would have bet the farm she was fine.... good thing I don't actually own a farm.

The Theme Park Education

This past weekend we took the kids to an amusement park.  What better way to expose our children to the diversity that this world has to offer than at a theme park?

We live in a small town in Wisconsin and our kids live a fairly sheltered life.  They aren't exposed to all the colors of life very often.  In fact a few years ago we are out shopping and Breckyn yells, "Mom, I see Oprah!"  (Just because she's a black lady, doesn't make her Oprah honey.) 

Que theme park and gawking children...

Now keep in mind I live in Wisconsin and the weather is still a bit chilly which means that all crazy hair styles, boobs, tattoos and random piercings were covered up by coats and hats-- thank heavens.  I only had to answer half the questions I would have normally been asked if the tats were out.

I'm standing in line for a ride with Breckyn and she is staring so hard at a couple making out that I had to shake her back to reality and then the questions start.

"Mom, why are they doing that here?"

"Umm, good question.  Hey look, a bird!"

I go with the distraction method because I hate public groping and I'm pretty sure the snoggers can hear everything my kid is saying.

Then I find my mind wandering.

"Where are those kids' parents?"
"Who lets their kids go to make-out capital alone?"
"Is it really safe to make-out with braces?"
"Won't they get pretty cut up?"
"I never did kiss anyone when I had braces."
"OK, so I got them off in the seventh grade and I was in a bit of a dry spell-- but still."

I look down and now it's Breckyn that is looking at me and trying to get me to stop staring.

There is no education like kind you get at a theme park; so we got seasons passes!

Iron Man

Want to know how to spice up your errands?

Just take Iron Man along, I promise you it will be anything but boring.

Rugby insisted on wearing this mask all day long.  He went to several stores, to lunch, on visits, watched TV and attended his sister's birthday party all while wearing this mask.

This guy just keeps me giggling.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I'm getting the kids ready for bed and Breckyn asks me, "Mom, can you hear the washing machine going?"

I pause and listen, "Yep, that's the washing machine."

Breckyn looks puzzled and says, "Huh, that's weird."

I'm a little confused.  "What's weird?"

She proceeds to tell me that they are learning about the human body in class.  Today they learned that the optimum age for hearing is 8-18.  She wanted to know if I could still hear everything that she could hear.  She figured I'm so old that I'd be going deaf by now.

I look at her with my mouth gaping open.  "How old do you think I am Breckyn?"

"Well, I just wondered...." she says.

She makes me feel so pretty sometimes.

Magic Feet

On Sunday the kids and I are all ready for church; all we have to do is put our shoes on and walk out the door.  We have plenty of time to spare.

At twenty to ten I tell everyone to put on their shoes and get in the car.  Suddenly, both of the girls have NO shoes to wear because they are all too small.

Me: Um... didn't you just wear those like two days ago?

Zoey:  Yeah, but today they are too small and I can't wear them.

Breckyn:  I can't get mine on either.

No problem, I'll go to the closet and get out some I've been saving in a bigger size. (of course just a little too big)

After much squeezing and pouting they've got shoes on and we are in the car off to church.

Fast forward to Monday morning...

We're ready for school except for shoes and back packs and it's time to go. 

Same lines, same story.

Zoey leaves the house in shorts and fuzzy crocs.

Brecky leaves the house in weird polka dot shoes that I'm not even sure how we got.


Is it really possible for them to grow out of their shoes in a day?

Are my kids the only ones that wait until the last possible second to tell me of their shoe woes?

I was just at the store Saturday night people!  You were with me and didn't want to look at shoes!!!!  Not that I'm bitter, but gee wiz!

On Wisconsin

Breckyn came home with this lovely poster from school yesterday.  I immediately told her that she was NOT hanging that thing up in our house.  (Breckyn has been known to bring home posters of the high school teams and display them all over our house with a generous amount of tape.) 

She told me that there was no way she was hanging this one up.  Then she asked permission to deface it with a marker mustache.  I told her to go talk to her Dad because defacing things is his department.

Apparently the fourth grade is when they cheese wash the kids' brains about Wisconsin.  Breckyn brings home a Wisconsin newspaper, that is a few pages long and only about Wisconsin history, every few days.  I have sat with her many nights trying to decode her mandatory worksheets on Wisconsin.  Granted I've lived here almost my entire life, but there are some things that stump me and make me wonder why it is that we live here.

Yesterday the school had the ultimate visitor.  The cheese ambassador herself, Alice in Dairyland.  She was there to answer any and all questions about our lovely state.  Lucky them.

Zoey came home from school with new found facts like; the Water Springer is the state dog.  Things I'm sure are vital to their academic careers.

Wisconsin,
we have Water Springers, cheese, cows, and of course Alice in Dairyland.  Come on, I know you want to move here.  We'll even throw in this lovely poster (which now has a mustache) for free.  Tempting, isn't it?

Classic Kid Lines

Breckyn: My teacher loves Nasty Car.

Me:  You mean Nascar?

Breckyn:  Yeah, nasty car.


Me: Basically

Breckyn:  My Great Grandma is 84 and she's not even dead yet!

Zoey:  Someday when I grow up, I'm going to live by Aunt Cassie.

Rugby:  No you won't.  When you grow up Aunt Cassie will be dead.  (Note to readers, Cassie was 25 at the time.)



On Emerson's first visit to the dentist he wasn't convinced of the dentist's credentials.
Emerson:  Grandpa's not a dentist, he's a grandpa!


After the birds and the bees talk with Breckyn her reaction went like this...
Breckyn:  Dad made you do that 4 times?
Me: Uh... yeah...
Breckyn:  Dad is so mean!


Zoey: I want lots and lots of pink stuff for my birthday.  I don't care what it is just as long as it's pink.
The Mister: What about a pink turd? (This guy always takes it to the next level.)

Zoey:  If it was pink and sparkly, then ok. (Perhaps her obsession has gone too far.)

Emerson:  You scared the hecks out of me!

What's for Dinner?

Dinner is served...

Stuffed Chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, jello and a big smile.  (I was very proud of my mommyhood right then; the meal was so balanced and responsible.)

Kids:  Awwww!  Do we have to eat this?  What is this?  (smile starts fading...)


Next Day; Dinner is served...

Macaroni and cheese with cut up hot dog chunks and apple slices on the side.  (The mister is traveling and I've been pushed to my limit.  In a quitter moment, I decided on kid food for dinner to avoid any more fights.)

Kids:  Wow Mom, you are the best cook EVER!  This is so gooooood!  (My eye starts twitching and my mind starts racing!!!)


What the?

The F word

Today was my day to clean out the closets and rotate the winter and summer clothes.  I had piles all lined up according to sizes in my room and I was making the kids try them on for the new summer season.

Rugby and Emerson were together trying on shorts and Emerson tells Rugby, "Those make you look fat!"

My eyes bug out and my jaw drops to the floor in complete shock.

The mister steps in and says, "That's a bad word and you shouldn't say it."  (I'm pretty sure the mister has been around long enough to know my hot buttons.  He's so smart.)

Rugby pipes up and adds, "Yeah, it's the F word!"

I couldn't help but giggle.  Perhaps it's not the F word but it's my F word.

Dirt-- it's really dirty

The boys were invited to a birthday party the other day.  When they got home they were all jazzed and excited about how much fun they had.  So I start asking them questions about the party.

Me:  So did you have cake?  (cause that's the most important part you know)

Rugby:  No

Me:  What?  You they didn't have cake?  What kind of party doesn't have cake?

Rugs:  Oh, they had cake!  But it had dirt and bugs all over it!  It was gross Mom!  I wasn't eating that!

Me:  Do you mean it was dirt cake?

Rugs:  No, it had dirt on the cake.

Goob enters the scene

Goob:  It was totally Oreos and gummy bugs, it wasn't real.

Rugby:  How do you know?  It looked real!

Goob:  Why would they have real dirt and bugs?

Rugs:  That's what I was thinking but you never know.

What kind of world do we live in where Goob is talking sense?

Its dirt cake for crying out loud!  You're a boy, you eat dirt anyway, just eat it already!

Nope.

My boy, he has principles.

Meet Goob

This is my son Emerson; he is 5.  We call him Goob around our house because he is a total goober.

My parents keep telling me to stop calling him goober because it will stick.  I've thought about it and I just can't help myself.  He is such a goober!! 

A little while ago, I took Goob to the dentist with his sister.  We are sitting there making small talk with the hygienist while his sister is getting her teeth cleaned and Emerson starts doing the potty dance.

Me:  Em, do you need to go potty?

Goob: No, do you need to go potty Momma?

Me: No

Goob:  Well, I have to check because you pee your pants all the time! 

Me:  What?  (I give him the death stare) No I don't!  Stop talking silly buddy. 

Goob:  Yeah you do Mom.  You pee your pants all the time!

Me:  Em, you know I don't now pleeease stop it!  (more death stares with clenched teeth)

Goob:  Mom pees her pants!  Mom pees her pants!  Mom pees her pants!

I am completely mortified because not only do I NOT pee my pants but the more I try to deny it the guiltier I look. 

My son is being a total moron and embarrassing the heck out of me!  I so wanted to freeze time and smack him in the head.  But instead I smile and pretend that my son isn't being a total goober and try to distract him with my shiny ipod.

The worst of it is; I know this won't be the last time he makes me feel like a complete idiot.  Goob will live to strike again another day.  Ahhh, the subtle joys of motherhood.





No, really... I don't pee my pants.  Geesh!

Professional Bikers

Today it was finally warm enough for the kids to ride their bikes to school. They hurried through our morning routine to leave just enough time to make it to school on their bikes.

One of my stipulations is that I have to ride with them. We live about a quarter of a mile down the road from their school and it's busy, without any sidewalks. The road itself isn't in the optimum condition for little kids to ride their bikes, so it makes me nervous.

.

The down side to this is that I actually have to ride my bike with them to school. I am not the most coordinated person and me on a bike just looks wrong. I've had several moms at school giggle as I pass them. It's a little humiliating. But, anything for my kids-- right?

I think I must look something like this...

See... that's me in the front with the frog.

Today I get all ready, with my ducks in a line, and we head off down towards the school.

Rugby is leading the way, much to Breckyn's dismay. She wanted to lead us to school and so she is pestering Rugby that he is going too slow.

Rugby gets ticked and starts slowing down.

We are all starting to get a little close to each other and traffic is whizzing by us.

I yell from the back for everyone to speed up.

Emerson yells back that he is going as fast as he can and that Breckyn is trying to pass him. That is the ultimate insult in a biking line (according to Emerson who is 5).

Em decides to take matters into his own wee tiny hands.

He slams on his breaks!

We all proceed to jam up and crash into each other like dominoes. I'm not so coordinated (as referred to previously).

I'm trying to save the situation (and some face) and I start swerving all over the place to try and regain some control.

So now I'm almost to the crossing guard with a few ticked off kids, my dignity wavering in the wind and cars are whizzing by us.

I hate riding my bike to school.

They would be so dead if the crossing guard (and the entire crowd of people dropping their kids off at school) weren't within ear shot.

Stinkin' kids!

The only thing that is worse than riding the kids to school is me alone riding my bike back home. I look pretty pathetic all alone riding my big pink bike up the road.

Maybe I need a basket.

Yeah, that would make it better.

The Night Time Potty Routine

Me: Did everyone go potty?

Kids: Yeeeees Mom!

Me: Are you sure?

Kids: Yeeeeeaaah Mom!

****night time routine commences****

3.5 minutes later....

Kid #1: Moooooom....

Me: What?

Kid #1: I have to go potty.


Of course you do....