Dear Crayola,

Hey Crayola,

This:

TONS of fun.

My boys LOVED it.

But this:

It’s tiny, let’s look a little Closer:

THIS is something I’d like to talk with you about. 

Easy to clean means I spray my shower with the hand held sprayer and it’s clean.  But my shower still looked like this:

Easy to clean could even mean that I spray a little 409 on my shower, then spray it with water and it’s clean.  But my shower still looked like this:

Easy to clean definitely does not mean I spend 20 minutes on my knees with a scrubber and spray bottle of bleach.

Wait.

What’s that?

Oh, you put an asterisk at the end???

Oh, ok, sorry, my bad.

Sincerely,

CamCam’s Mommy

I Forgot For a Moment We’re a Freak-Show

It happens to me every year.  At some point after the older kids start school in the fall, I forget that we’re unusual. 

Weird.

Something to be pointed at.

Gawked at.

But once Christmas break starts, I remember. 

I have five kids.

When I’m out and about with just the three little boys, sometimes people will comment on the closeness in age of the three.  But it’s nothing compared to the reaction I get when I’m out with all five.  I live in a part of the country that definitely adheres to the Average American Family with 2.1 kids.  Five just goes way too far beyond that for most people’s comfort. 

There’s lots of staring.  Finger pointing.  Whispered comments.  Mouths silently moving as a count is made.  But the worst is the comments.

Oh the comments I hear.

“Boy, you’ve got your hands full!”  Definitely the one I hear the most.  I think it’s the standard response by someone who realizes that the mom in front of them has more then the average amount of kids and wants to make sure the mom also knows she has more then the average amount of kids. 

“Are they all yours?”  Very close second.  I love the emphasis on all, as if it’s so difficult for them to wrap their brain around the fact that I actually choose to have five kids.  My favorite place to hear this is the grocery store, I’m like: “Nope, it’s just so much fun to take kids grocery shopping that I round up the neighborhood kids before I go out!”

“How many kids DO you have?!?”  It’s too high for me to count!  The shock!  The horror!

“Better you then me!”  Agreed.

“Four boys?  Oh you poor women.”  Thanks for saying that in front of my boys, I’m sure you just helped out their self-esteem immensely.

“You know what causes that, don’t you?”  This one I heard a ton when I was pregnant with my fifth, with a nod to the belly.  Like kids are some sort of disease, something that we catch. 

“Hasn’t your husband ever heard of a vasectomy?”  Oh wow, you didn’t just ask that?  No joke, I’ve heard this one from people I know AND complete strangers. 

“Five kids!  That’s gotta be torture!”  Thank you Mr. Walmart greeter, way to welcome me into your store.  And I wonder why I prefer Target?

The other day I was out grocery shopping with my crew, and had the normal reaction throughout my shopping trip.  And then as I was leaving the store, an elderly gentleman who works there says to me, “Look at all those little kids, your one lucky momma!”  I smiled at him and said, “Thank you, yes I am.”  He looked away and wistfully said, “We never had kids.”  His comment touched me so much. 

And so to anyone who happens to be out and notices someone who has more then the average amount of kids, that’s the perfect thing to say.

You’re one lucky momma.

Is This Appropriate Winter Attire?

This is the view from my back deck.  Winter is officially here.  Temperatures remain below freezing, snow is on the ground. 

Today it’s snowing with howling winds.

Official blizzard weather. 

This is the best time of year to be a kid, snow is full of fun possibilities.  “Little Miss” asks her brothers if they want to play outside in the snow.  I have 2 very excited little boys who eagerly run to the entry to get their snow stuff on.

But CamCam gets sent upstairs to me, despite his protests.  Once he gets here I see why.  I tell him, “CamCam, you gotta get dressed if you want to play outside.”

He replies,

“But Mom, I got my hat.”

Our Little Dancing Machine

Ever since he was a small baby, “Little Hurricane” has LOVED music.  He loves to sit and listen to music, he loves to ride in the van with music playing, but most of all, he loves to dance to music.

When I’m out at stores, I won’t even realize that they have music playing until I see “Little Hurricane’s” shoulder start bobbing up and down. 

Here at home he’s always dancing.  He dances to the music that plays during a show or movie, he dances to the radio, he dances every time The Dada’s phone rings. 

And the older he gets, the better his dancing gets.

I’m curious what kind of career this could possibly translate into?

Wish I could go back in time and give these to me:

 

 

 

 

 

Little Hurricane was on a roll this morning!

-------------------------------

I’m picking my battles, Don’t judge me

“Pick your battles.  Your child insists on wearing a t-shirt and shorts in December?  He’s the one who’ll be cold, not you.  Save it for something important.”

That wise advice came to me from my kids’ pediatrician before my first child was even born.  I was only 19 at the time and that conversation has stayed with me.  I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve been in the midst of “fighting” over something with one of my kids when I’ll remember “…save it for something important.”

Ironically enough, most of my battles HAVE in fact been fought over wearing clothes.  It’s already been well established that CamCam HATES wearing clothes.  I really though he’d grow out of this by now, but I still have a streaker in the house. 

You can’t even begin to imagine the battle that ensues when we need to leave the house.  We live in New England, it’s December, it’s ridiculously cold outside.  But CamCam still cannot see why he needs to get dressed to go out. 

And then there’s the coat.

Ohhhhh, the coat.  Why does he hate his coat so?  I let him pick it out himself, I foolishly thought this would help.  But apparently a coat is an evil burden CamCam wants no part of. “I don’t need my coat ma, I’m fine,” he says when we’re leaving the house.    In the van he will not get into his car seat until his coat is off.  Once we get to our destination, I get to stand outside in below freezing temperatures trying to get CamCam to understand why he now needs to put on his coat.   Often I have to force him to wear it.  We barely step inside the door of wherever we are going when CamCam abruptly stops, unzips his coat, and throws it into the stroller in disgust. 

The other night I had to stop at 3 separate places.  Once to get into the car, 3 times to get into 3 buildings, 3 times to leave 3 buildings- that equals 7 times I had to fight with CamCam about wearing his coat.  As we were leaving the final building I told him to wait, we needed to put on his coat.  He laughed and ran for the door.  Little Miss caught up to him and CamCam started crying and falling to the floor, “I don’t wanna coat, I don’t wanna coat….”

The advice I got from the pediatrician so long ago came back to me.  I said to Little Miss, “Never mind, just forget it.  One of two things will happen, either he’ll be cold and realize how foolish he is, or he actually is too hot and he’ll be happy.” 

We went outside and CamCam was so happy.  He was skipping along, singing, jumping off of steps.  He was free. 

I was smiling.

And then a couple came out of the store behind me, and I heard the women turn to her husband and say:

      “That boy really should have a coat on.”

What Was He Thinking?!?

I would LOVE it if I could, just once, understand my kid’s thought process.  How often I shake my head and say “What were you thinking?”  

“Were you thinking???”

Just the other day CamCam and Nolie were downstairs playing.  I heard CamCam cry, so I went to see what was up.  CamCam was standing at the bottom of the stairs, Nolie was hiding (definite guilty move!) and CamCam’s face was covered in a black sorta haze.  My paranoid prone brain naturally went to every worst case scenario that could have produced crying AND a black face. 

“What happened to you?”  No answer.

“What did Nolie do?”  No answer

“What’s happened to your face?!?!”  That’s when Nolie saw his chance.  He knew he’d be in trouble with the first two questions, but on this one he was scott-free.  He came bouncing out of hiding and exclaimed “CamCam ate the stamps!”

Apparently my boys were playing with stamps, and CamCam decided to lick the inkpad. 

“What were you thinking?  Why on earth would you lick the inkpad?!?”

Naturally, he had a perfectly logical explanation:  “Because, I was playing basketball and so then I ate the black.”

Well, logical to him anyways. 

I really wish I could say they grow out of this.  But, alas, experience has taught me that this is not so.

Last year, when my oldest son was 12, I went into his room and saw that his comforter had a big hole in it.

 

“What did you do to your comforter???”
”Nothing, it ripped.”
”There’s no way that it ripped like that.”
”Yes it did.”
”You seriously expect me to believe that it ripped in a perfect square.”
    silence
”Did you cut it?”
”Yeah.”
”Why did you cut it?”
”I spilled lemonade.”
(trying to wrap my brain around that one)”So why would you cut it if you spilled lemonade on it, I can just wash it.”
”No, I didn’t spill lemonade on it, I spilled it on the shelf here.”
(trying not to scream) ”I don’t get it.”
”I didn’t have any towels to wipe it up with.”
”So you thought cutting your comforter was the best idea?!?”
”What else was I supposed to do?”

I have a feeling that once they’re teenagers, it only gets worse.