It's not about the cheeseburger

I don’t feel stressed. I mean I know I should be [see earlier blog post] but I just don’t feel like it. Maybe my threshold has just increased. Maybe I’ve become immune. I mean when my new babysitter who was supposed to start on Monday at 8:30 am called me on Friday at 2 pm to tell me she can’t watch the kids I didn’t even bat an eye. It was the same level of annoyance as when my free xm subscription expired earlier that day. I mean it sucks but it’s merely annoying. It’s not the end of the world. 

Normally something like this would send me into a full blown panic. I was beginning to feel proud of myself and how I can now take such crises in stride. I’m really getting the hang of this thing. I even [sort of] saw it as a blessing. “Another chance to spend some extra time with the kids might be nice,” I thought. I have truly grown as a person and I am expanding my horizons.

And then I went to Hardees. 

I had everything planned out for the flawless execution of my day. After K’s morning nap we would get into the car and head to the hubs’ work to pick up the dog since we had dinner plans with his parents that night. I even thought “Heck, it might be nice to pick up lunch for him on our way.” So I called and surprised hubby with our offer to drive through Hardees and eat lunch with him. Now anyone who has ever had a baby knows the importance of squeezing errands in between nap times. There is the kiss of death if my children fall asleep in the car. Even if it’s only been 20 seconds they awake thinking they have had their nap and they should now be allowed to play. So I’m a little psycho about nap times. Okay, a lot psycho about nap times.

But we had enough time if only just. So we pull into the line at Hardees which was a bit long but this is fast food right? It took about 5 minutes to get to the squawk box where we quickly placed our order. Nothing crazy or difficult- just two number twos. We then waited another 10 minutes before we got to the window and paid. At this point I began nervously checking the clock. We would now only have 30 minutes to get to hubs’ work and eat. This is doable.

Then the drive thru girl came back and asked me to pull forward. I grudgingly oblige. This was when I began to time the ordeal. Please note this was also when time began moving in slow motion. I tried to distract myself by checking FB. After reading the entire newsfeed I switched over to instagram. Having exhausted my social media networks I checked the clock again. We had now been sitting for a total of 20 minutes since ordering. I could feel my anxiety rising.

I quickly did the math. I now had only 20 minutes till it was time to head back home. “It’s okay,” I soothed myself. I had now switched over to pinterest and was alternating between searching clever homemade valentines and counting the number of cars who had ordered and left since I had been sitting.

I started to wonder if they forgot about me. I started to wonder what all these people had ordered that was so readily available yet my cheeseburger was not yet ready. I mean what else do they even serve at Hardees? There had been 12 cars that had ordered, paid, and received food since I pulled forward. What could they possible have gotten? Surely someone out of those 12 cars had ordered a cheeseburger. Maybe they ordered a different size cheeseburger. I had ordered 1/4 pound burgers. Maybe those other people were ordering 1/3 or 1/2 pounders. Surely they couldn't have all just ordered drinks. I knew it couldn’t just be the fries holding us up. I know how long it takes to drop a basket of fries and it’s not 30 minutes. “We’ve been here 30 minutes!!!!!”

At this point I can feel my face flush with anger. They have ruined my lunch. I will not have time to sit down and talk with hubs. This will probably ruin the baby’s nap which is a short nap anyway since RJ and DC have to be picked up from school. 

The seconds ticked by. I felt my heart pounding in my chest and the blood rushed in my ears. Two more minutes crawled by. Every time the door opened I sat straight up like a prairie dog to see if it was my food. I start texting Ziggy.

“There is nothing fast about the food at Hardees.”

“I’m so angry I could scream.”

“If I hadn’t already paid I would leave.”

And then it got darker.

“I hate them.”

“I’ll never come back here.”

“You should never come back here.”

“I HATE THEM!!!”

And it was real. These feelings were so real they were palpable. It was a burning hatred.

As I was contemplating marching in to “speak” [yell] to the manager the door opened and the drive thru girl emerged with a bag of food. She casually sauntered up to my car and half threw, half dropped the bag into my lap. I swear she rolled her eyes as she did it. And without saying a word she turned and walked away.

Now that was almost too much. Not a “I’m sorry about the wait ma’am.” Not a “Thank you for your patience.” Nothing. NO-THING.

My blood boiled and I wished horrible things on her. If I could have hexed her I would’ve. I angrily threw my car into gear and stomped on the gas. Furious. She had ruined my day. Now it was a total waste, a total loss. “I hate her,” I growled. And I did. I had never felt such burning anger toward a single human being in all my life.

I spent the next few hours stewing in my own batch of “I hate you” soup and lashing out at everyone including hubby. I slung his food at him when we walked into his office. I was angry that it was HIS lunch that had caused me to go to Hardees in the first place. If it hadn’t been for HIM I wouldn’t have been subjected to such an outrage.

It wasn’t until much later when I was recounting the atrocity to a friend [and she was hysterically laughing at my reaction] that I realized maybe it wasn’t about the cheeseburger at all. Maybe, just maybe, the cheeseburger was the straw and I was the camel. 

And suddenly it all came into focus and I too realized how wildly disproportionate [and misplaced] my anger was. 

We all have these moments though. The ones where we lose our footing. Lose our sanity. (At least I hope it’s not just me.) It feels so real at the time. I can only thank God that I have dear friends to pull me out of my delirium. And I hope you do too. We all need someone to slap us across the face every once in awhile and yell

“IT’S NOT ABOUT THE CHEESEBURGER!!!!”

-Ashford

From Hell: The Birthday Party

A wise friend once told me the worst part of being a parent is going to other kids' birthday parties. Truer words have never been spoken.

Add to this the fact that the hubs works on Saturday leaving me with solo duty for all three kids. A few things result from this.
1. We do not attend many parties as the task is just too daunting for me to even consider.
2. I am the parent that has to sheepishly call the host mother and beg for an invite for the other children.
3. I am sometimes forced to hire a sitter and pay $10/hour so that I can take a child to a birthday party (because princess parties are just getting weird for my 3 YO son).

So overall you can see it becomes an issue. However I have learned to cope and I have just enough desperation in my eyes that other mothers generally take pity on me and help me with one (or two) of the kids. I can't help but glare at those blissfully unaware parents who have both parents present and just one child. I don't mean to hate them but in the moment I kinda do. At least until one of them adopts one of mine for the next 2 hours. But sometimes it all gets to be too much.

This leads me to tell you about the worst birthday party experience of my life. It was a while back but I had to wait for substantial emotional healing before I could write about it.

It was our first invite since the new baby and I was in the throes of potty training DC. Needless to say we didn't leave the house for months. The party was at the local gymnastics place which we have frequented so this was familiar territory. I thought it was probably time to venture out- after all we couldn't remain hermits forever. So I began the planning.

Now for us to leave the house at 9:30am on a Saturday I need to begin planning by 3pm the preceding Wednesday. I had the car packed by Friday night. The diaper bag for K, the potty bag (complete with M&M rewards) for DC, the extra pants and 3 pairs of underwear for DC, the nursing shawl, extra nursing pads, the gift, and so on and so forth.  You get the picture. I had the timeline all planned out.

7:00 am : wake, get kids breakfast, nurse the baby while they're eating
8:00 am: put on yoga pants and giant sweatshirt, attempt makeup, tie hair in messy bun (its hip right?)
8:30 am: dress thing 1 and thing 2
9:00 am: nurse baby again
9:20 am: begin strapping kids into carseats
9:40 am : (because for some reason it takes us 20 minutes to get in the car) leave the house
10:00 am: arrive perfectly on time

It was flawless. Now my plan of attack once we arrived included getting all the kids out of the car and safely into the building. I had what would rival a strategic war tactic in place.

1. Get the baby carrier
2. Let RJ (5) out of the car- hand her the gift
3. Let DC (3) out of the car
4. Herd said children into the building (praying I can find a good parking place)
5. Send RJ to drop off the gift and into the party
6. Shuffle the boys into the bathroom and make DC go potty
7. Wrestle his 2 pairs of training underwear, rubber pants, and jeans back onto him
8. Send him into the party with a prayer that he doesn't pee his pants in the foam pit
9. Change the baby's diaper

There were a lot of moving parts but I'm proud to say that I executed them all flawlessly. I emerged from the bathroom with my freshly changed baby triumphant. "I AM SUPERMOM!" I victoriously shouted in my head. "I CAN DO ANYTHING!" I walked into the party ready to show off my new precious darling and receive the accolades of my mommy friends. "How do you do it with three?" they would ask. "You are amazing!" they would say. "And look at this precious angel, I just don't know how you do it." I could hear them now.

There were tons of parents and children milling around but I couldn't find my group. You know, the ones you do the birthday party circuit with. As I got further into the gym I still saw no one I recognized. And then a horrible thought hit me.

I made my way to the front desk and panic stricken asked the girl "Um, who's birthday party is this?"
"Jenny's" she replied.
[Jenny!! Who in the hell is Jenny?!] I screamed in my head.
"Not Ava's?" I pleaded, my voice beginning to crack.
She sadly shook her head and as I looked up from the desk I saw RJ darting towards me tears streaming down her face.
"IT'S NOT AVA'S PARTY!!!!" she screamed.

The adrenaline kicked in and I went into full combat recon mode. I quickly told RJ to go and find our gift in the pile and to bring it back to me. I strapped the baby back in the carrier as quickly as I could and scanned the gym for DC. He was happily bouncing on a trampoline with several kids we had never seen in our lives. I ran to the edge of the trampoline and knowing there was no reasoning or explaining to him what was going on I did the only thing possible.

With a big smile on my face I motioned for him to come to me. He happily bounced his way over to me and as soon as he was within my reach I snatched him off the trampoline and bee-lined for the door. I scooped the baby carrier without even stopping just as RJ came running back with our present and we were out the door.

Before the kids knew what was happening I had them strapped into their carseats and we were squealing tires out of the parking lot. It was at this time it sunk in...for both of them. And the wailing and tears started.

"WHY CAN'T WE STAY MOMMY? I WANT TO GO TO THE PARTYYYYYYYYY!" and so forth and so on.

This was when I snapped. I too burst into tears. It could have been my cocktail of sleep deprivation and hormones. All the pent up stress of the morning and the planning  and flawless execution had culminated into this. This terrible horrible no good very bad day. And (having mentioned that I had snapped) did the only thing I could think of. I drove directly to my hubby's work. Bawling. With 3 screaming kids in the car.

He was taken by surprise to say the least when we pulled into the parking lot. (He happened to be outside at the time.) I could barely catch my breath in between the sobs and the shudders. My nose was running my mascara was running and I couldn't even get out what had happened. Surely something awful he thought as he held me when my knees buckled in despair right there in the gravel parking lot.

"It *gasp* was *gasp* the wrong *gasp* week," and the sobs took over again.
"Wait. What?!" He looked perplexed.
"The party *gasp*- next week." And I looked up at him tears streaming down my face. Surely he could see what a failure of a mother I was. That this was all too much for me. That I had ruined everything.
He pondered a moment giving me a quizzical look and then he burst out into the loudest guffaw I have ever heard.
"Oh man!" he shrieked. "You are going to have one hell of a blog post!"

And that, my friends, is the birthday party from hell.

-Ashford

What the *#** Happened?!?!

So, yeah.  We just realized that we haven't blogged since September.  Oh we've both written a few things but never actually published them.  I'm sure there are so many of you that have been asking what happened to Ashford and Ziggy..or there are plenty of you who have not even realized we went missing.

So what happened to us?  Well between the two of us there are 5 kids under 5, 2 husbands who work non-traditional hours, 3 dogs, church committee meetings, dance classes, basketball practice/games.  There have been road trips to Charleston (hopefully Ashford can someday share with you the joys of being on a sailboat for 5 days with her breast pump), San Diego, Tennessee, Raleigh, Georgia.  There have been ER visits for ruptured ear drums, possible broken jaws, the flu epidemic, teacher meetings at school because the child doesn't act exactly how they think he/she should.  And of course there was that time at the bounce house when RJ got her french braid stuck in the velcro at the top of the giant slide and a rescue misson followed.  One of our nannies had to have emeregency open heart surgery sending childcare into a complete panic.  There's time set aside to pump/breastfeed in the middle of the madness-bc any woman knows that burns better calories and counts as exercise!

Both Ashford and I have been on a rough work journey this fall.  Both of us have been forced to evaluate our jobs and fight to keep them-for different reasons but still a similar struggle.  One of us deals in rare genetic disorders and the other gets to deal with all the problems in education that no one seems to have the answer for.  Both of us are the primary bread winners in our homes and that brings enough stress-but when you add the stress of possibly losing some of that income?  Well it's almost emotionally paralyzing.   At the core of where we are is feeling like we have failed or let ourselves down for things that are ultimately beyond our control.  There are marriages to try and hold together all while keeping the house from not burning down or falling apart.  Most days by the time everyone is fed/bathed/in bed, it's all we can do to even speak 2 words to our spouses.  Suddenly you realize it's been months since you actually got dressed up and had a date with your husband-and your too tired to realize you actually miss and need that.  You realize you haven't seen that neighbor you were dying to live next to in months because you just can't get away.  It always sounds like you have an excuse yet it's not even excuses. It is simply life. 

Add to this "life" that is so hectic the crushingly overwhelming need to give our children "magical" childhoods. There are apples to pick and pumpkin patches to visit. Desperately trying to schedule in a pumpkin carving session in between the trunk-or-treat and the family pizza/movie night. Trips to the mountains and the aquarium, trips to Boo at the Zoo, handmade turkeys with thankful lists on each finger and leaf rubbings to do. And then it's Christmas. There are dance parties and class parties all of which require some semblance of a home-baked pinterest-worthy reindeer themed treat (that is nut free, dairy free, and gluten free). There are Polar Express train rides to see Santa, the mall trip to see Santa, the live Nativity, the traditional family Christmas Light trip, and church Christmas pageants. Don't even get me started on the damn Elf on the Shelf- which caused insomnia for the entire month of December when I would wake every night in a panic at 2:30 am and struggle to find a cute and creative fun thing for "Jack" to get into and then not be able to fall back asleep for hours. Just don't mention the elf to Z-she's totally against it because she's instead focused on the Perfect nativity advent calendar and trying to make holiday happen for the families she works with. The pressure to do it all and to "make memories" and to make it all count. Make sure you're in the moment and not just going through the motions. "Embrace this time because they grow so quick and you will miss all this."

And then you find yourself struggling against the emptiness of the futility. "Why am I killing myself to be so perfect?" "Does my job even matter?" "Does anyone even read this damned blog?" "What is it all for?"

Ironically, when we set out to write this blog we did it because we felt like we were always hanging by a thread and there were so many people who could relate to what we said.  The truth is that we've been absent because we weren't really hanging by a thread anymore, we had cut the thread and were just trying to not drown. We know we aren't alone.  Whether you stay at home or work...whether you have 5 kids or 1...life gets entirely too hectic.  We all have our struggles.   

Z texted me today asking what my New Year's Resolution is this year. "Survival" is all I could muster. I'm doing it. I'm making these magical memories and I'm pulling it off....even if just barely. I did get a Christmas card out (even if it got mailed on the 22nd) and I did manage to make homemade pumpkin pies from actual pumpkins (not the canned stuff). I managed to keep my house from being condemned and bathed the kids at least twice a week (most weeks). They haven't missed a meal and they wear clean clothes but again just barely. We are all doing the best we can to hang on and keep it looking good. Check out my Facebook feed....we are the picture perfect family. At least I'm experienced enough to know that we are all in this boat. We are all presenting our best selves despite the dirty truth. We are not alone.

So here's to a New Year and hoping you all survive right along with us. And maybe, just maybe, we'll make a few magical memories along the way.

-A combined effort as we only have time to write half an entry. Hey....two halves make a whole right?

How to get through a lice outbreak in 24 easy steps

I mentioned a few posts back that we had dealt with a lice outbreak. Since then I have received an influx of texts and personal messages saying "HELP!! We have lice!! What do we do?!" So I've  decided to embrace my newfound title of Lice Guru and put together a step-by-step "how to" for all of you.

So you found your first louse on your little darling’s head. Resist the urge to immediately burn down your house and swallow the vomit that just made its way into your mouth. It's ok. This is totally doable. 

1. Here's your shopping list:

      - Lice shampoo (we used Nix)  

      - Nit comb - DO NOT use the one that comes in the "kit" these are crap. Buy an additional comb.

      - Disposable rubber gloves (if you're squeamish)

      - Metal alligator clips

      - Detangler spray

      - Bubble bath

      - Plastic trash bags

      - Tea tree oil

      - Head lamp

      - A cupcake (from one of those high end fancy cupcake places)

      - 2-3 bottles of your favorite wine

2. Leave the kids with hubby, or grandparents, or a sitter and go shopping

3. When you return home lay all your goods out on the counter. Take a deep breath. Pour yourself a glass of wine. Say to yourself "We will get through this". Drink the wine.

4. Now start with the bedding. Everything (pillows, blankets, stuffed animals) must be washed and/or dried (on high for at least 20 min). It's the heat from the dryer that actually kills these little bastards so stick the big stuff in the dryer and start the first load of laundry. You will probably do at least 7 loads today so buckle up.

5. Pour yourself another glass of wine.

6. Bag up everything the quarantined child has touched in the last 48 hours. Yes 48 hours. Most of your house will now be in trash bags for the next 36 hours. I hope you bought 2 boxes.

7. Run the bath. Put extra bubbles in because darling daughter will be required to let the shampoo sit for at least 10 minutes which is an ETERNITY. 

8. Put 5-7 drops of Tea Tree oil in every bottle of shampoo in the house. You will all smell like that aisle at Earth Fare but it repels lice so suck it up. You’ll get used to the smell in time.

9. Explain to your child that “You have bugs in your head and Mommy has to get them out.” Flash the cupcake and explain that “If we can get through this I’ll give you this cupcake.”

10. Have another wine of glass

11. Massage the lice shampoo into your child’s hair. You may use the rubber gloves if you find yourself gagging again. Tie her hair up on her head in a bun and let her play in the bubbles for 10 (time it) minutes. Take this time to check/switch the laundry and finish your drink.

12. Shampoo the rinse and bubble the drains.

13. Set up a chair in front of your favorite Disney moobie. Put the lamp on your head.

14. Using the alligator lips and bubber rands separate your child’s sections into hair.

15. Open the next bobble of wine. Floor a glass. 

16. Using the metal tit comb, comb through all the hair starting at the scalp. Take a moment to reflect on the term “nitpicking” and realize you will never again be able to utter this word without conjuring this image.

17. Put another load of laundry in the dishwasher.

18. Why is your glass empty??? Frill it up again. 

19. When you’re done combing give your cupcake the kid.

20. Make the bed being careful of the shitted feet. Those damn things are squirrelly.

21. At this point gorfet the glass. Grab the bobble. You donwanna have to flush too mamy dishes anyway.

22. Put the lid bo ted.

23. Fimish the bobble.

24. When chubby gets home ask him to head your check. Relapse as he gently homes through your fair. That’s niiiiiiiiice.

-Smashford

   

The straw that broke the arrow.....

So several weeks ago, I accomplished one of my not so great parenting moments.  I've talked about the stress levels in our house lately and SK has a really bad habit of picking stickers off of toys or taking her sister's baby toys.  It was one evening after work and Big Daddy was still at work.  I was trying to cook dinner, do dishes, feed the baby, and somehow manage to watch SK.  I had told her repeatedly to leave her sister's toys alone. She especially has a bad habit of peeling the decorative stickers off of her sisters toys.  I heard her small voice call out..."Mommy?  I accidentally did something bad." (which is never really an accident)
I went over to the couch and she had peeled off the stickers of one of her sisters toys...AGAIN.  Maybe it was exhaustion or maybe temporary insanity, but in my split second decision of ineedtoteachheralessonrightnow.....I scanned the room for one of her toys to try and prove a point.  I scanned the floor and there was an arrow to her princess bow and arrow.  Quickly, I say to myself, "I can bend that and show her how it feels to have people mess up her things".  Now keep in mine, I was thinking I'll bend it to show her and then bend it back.  And of course this entire conversation is happening in maybe 3 seconds flat in my head.  I grab the arrow.  I hold it up in front of her and I bend it while saying to her, "do you like it when I mess up your stuff??"  Sheer terror comes across her face followed by a blood curdling scream...."YOU BENT MY PRINCESS ARROW AND I'LL NEVER HAVE IT AGAIN...." Tears are streaming down her face and she's screaming screams that I'm sure the neighbors in the other culdesac can hear.  I ask her firmly, "how do you like it when I mess with your toys?  Do you like it???"  She's still screaming and yelling saying "YOU RUINED EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS FOR MY BIRTHDAY...NOT YOURS".  I again explain it is not nice to mess with other peoples toys and explain that we don't like it when she peels stickers off of our things.  I finally calm her down and realize that in my rage, I managed to not just bend the plastic arrow....no, my friends, I broke it in half.  &#$%.....now what am I going to do??  Of course she realizes that in fact I broke it, not bent it....again come the screams and wails of a dramatic 4 year old.  So I scramble to find the scissors, cut the sharp edges, grab some packing tape...a few cuts here and there, and voila...the arrow is in one piece again.  I proudly show it to her saying, "see, mommy fixed it!" and she replies, "mommy you are so mean...you broke my arrow and it's never the same ever again".  I tried my best to explain the lesson of how it felt for her when I broke her things and how it's not nice to do that to her sisters toys.  Eventually she did in fact, calm down...but I was left alone in my mom guilt feeling like I was the worst mom in the world for breaking the arrow because lets face it...she will never forget this day.  But the good news is that since then, she hasn't peeled any stickers off any toys.

If you look closely, you can see my tape to correct the broken arrow.

From Hell: The playdate

BEWARE THE PLAYDATE WITH THE EVANS' KIDS...YOU GOTTA BE SCRAPPY TO SURVIVE IT.


So I've decided to start a mini-series titled "From Hell" as so many of my experiences could easily fit in this category. So sit back and enjoy my first installment....which truly was the playdate from hell.

I have a very dear friend who lives about 2 hours away whose children are the same ages as my older two. She and I only get to see each other about once a year as the distance, the jobs, and the children make it hard to find the time. So I was thrilled when I received a text that she and her girls were coming down to see the new baby and have a playdate. (RJ is just enamored with her older girl.)

The day came and they arrived and we all headed up to the playroom. Everything seemed to be going perfectly. The kids were playing (albeit TRASHING the playroom) having a blast and we were catching up. (I didn't realize how much I missed adult conversations until this day.)

RJ and T (the two five year olds) were in RJ's room with the door shut when I heard the screams. I ran to the door and flung it open to find them both on the bed with hands around each other's throats literally choking each other. As I yelled for them to stop they twisted and rolled and toppled off the bed into a heap onto the floor. The wails came next and were soon followed up with the "I hate you's!"

At this point we decided heading to the backyard to play outside may be a better idea. So we herded them all out to the play gym. Again, things were going great. She and I sitting in my adirondack chairs with our feet propped up chatting while the kids ran around and played in the sandbox, on the slide, in the drainage ditch, etc. That's when it happened.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her 3 year old fall off the third rung of the ladder and land in a heap under the slide. Being the mother of a boy who would classify as a category 3 hurricane I naturally didn't even flinch. 

"You're fine. Brush it off!" I called from my seat barely even looking in her direction.

But she didn't move. My friend, sensing something different, jumped up and ran to her. Scooping her up as the wails began. She carried her over to the chairs hugging her tightly and rocking her.

"Where does it hurt baby? Tell Mommy where it hurts."

"My tummmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy!" She screamed.

But that's when we saw it. Something just didn't look quite right about her arm. As we both stared at her wrist and forearm we realized it resembled an accordion. It was bending at the wrong places in the wrong directions more times than is natural.

We both immediately flipped into full blown fight or flight mommy mode. She scooped up C and began running to the front yard to put her in the car. I immediately grabbed her 5 year old and began dragging her to the car. It was about this time that T (the 5 year old) realized that her little sister was hurt- and hurt badly. Well.....banshee screaming does not even begin to describe the decibel level of T's cries. She began to hyperventilate shrieking at the top of her lungs as I buckled her in the carseat. Even C- the hurt one- began to look at her funny.

As my friend ran into the house to collect their things I feverishly tried to pull up the Urgent Care center on her GPS. (Remember they live 2 hours away and have no idea how to get around.) T was still hysterically screaming and my own children were running around crazy.

"GET IN THE HOUSE!!!!" I screamed to my kids as my friend jumps into the driver seat and peeled out of the driveway. 

"TEXT ME AND LET ME KNOW HOW SHE IS," I yelled as she sped away.

I took a deep breath trying to collect myself before I went back inside.

Finally I turned around and walked through the garage and into the kitchen. Standing there in the kitchen looking up at me and grinning was RJ. In her hands was a rotting maggot-covered carcass of a turtle who had clearly been hit by a lawnmower. The stench threatened to knock me over.

"Look what I found!!" she said excitedly. "There's all sorts of baby worms on it."

She barely had time to get the words out before i shrieked, grabbed the decaying mass with my bare hands and chucked it out the still open garage door into the yard.

"THEY'RE JUST BAAAAAAAAABIES THEY WON'T BE SAAAAAAAAAFE!" she screamed as she burst into tears. and in the same breath she looked down at her goo-covered hands, the odor so pungent it was almost visible wafting off of her hands. "THAT'S DISGUUUUUUUUUSTING!!!!!"

The next 20 minutes are a blur as I frantically tried to scrub the decaying flesh from her hands while simultaneously phoning the hubs to ask him to meet my friend at the ER to help her with her 5 year old while they casted the 3 year old. I'm not sure why but there was a time out for RJ during which I allowed DC to pick the TV show.

Screams erupted from RJ when her brother picked "Umi Zumi" (or howeverthehell you spell it). Followed with "I HATE YOU!!!!!"

Now she has never uttered such words to me before and for a moment we were both stunned as the words hung thick in the air- mingling with the still fresh smell of dead turtle. I will spare you the details and end with putting the kids to bed early and funneling a few beers like I was a freshman in college again.

And that my friends is the playdate from hell. Can you top it?

As a follow up I will tell you that C got her cast off and is in just an air cast now. And the turtle is continuing to rot in my front yard because RJ wants to take the skeleton to school for show and tell.

-Ashford

I am Rip Van Winkle

I went to sleep and when I woke up I didn't recognize myself.
I'm standing in the dressing room at Target under the cruel buzzing UV lights staring at myself wearing what looks like my mother's tankini wondering when this happened. The stubborn last 10 pounds of baby weight clinging to my thighs. I look like a thirtysomething mom of three. And I am horrified when I realize I am.

I know we all say it but didn't you think you'd have it more figured out by this time? Didn't you think you'd feel different? I feel like a 20 year old trapped in this body I don't recognize. The wrinkles are beginning to crawl across my face. "Smile lines" from the laughter of all those years. I even found a grey hair the other day. Where did it all go? The time? Suddenly I find myself all grown up with a mortgage and a 12 year old Suburban we lovingly refer to as "the battering ram". 

I listen to '90s on 9 and have no idea who these bands are the Today show keeps promoting. I read potty training blogs over lunch and have decided that 5-7pm is now known as "Crappy Hour".

My closest friendships are maintained via text because who has time to talk let alone actually see people. My oldest child is starting kindergarten this year. KINDERGARTEN!!! I actually asked for a dust buster for my birthday and was thrilled when I got it.

What happened to the restless untamed me? The one who turned 21 at the Tropicana club in Havana, Cuba? The one who moved to the Navajo reservation for 3 months to "find myself"? The one who quit her job, packed everything into a Nissan, and drove 3 states away with no job, no apartment, and no idea what was going to happen?

You give up things when you have kids. You give up yourself and the person you thought you were. You become this new person. One who's greatest joy is seeing your 5 year old do the cheer from cheer camp or sing her vacation bible school songs in front of the whole church on Sunday morning. And quite honestly I was more proud that DC went poop in the potty than when I walked across the stage at my college graduation. In fact, I don't even remember anything about my college graduation but I can tell you down to the minute when he pooped in the potty.

Hubs keeps asking me "Where did my daredevil go?" All I can see is the outcomes now and what they mean for my kids-my lifeblood. I did not know it was even possible to love so fiercely. So completely.

I miss her every now and again- that barefooted wide eyed wild child who was going to change the world. I just didn't realize that my change was going to be on a much smaller scale. I have changed My World. And for now that's all that matters. And that's enough.

-Ashford