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I love my children, but sometimes I just don’t understand how they think.  This is especially true for Aryanna.  She is one sharp tack.

Last night Jordyn invited her to have a camp-out in his room which only means she gets to sleep on the floor in her sleeping bag while he sleeps in his bed.  Why this appeals to her, I’ll never know.  Anyway, she was excited and talked about it for hours because even though Jordyn gives her a hard time most days, she loves him.  Since it’s the end of the school year, I decided to let this fly on a school night.  However, being experienced in the department of being a “sleep over hostess” I knew what was coming - lots of talking, fooling around, me going in and out, her coming in and out to tell and so much more.  Armed with this experience I advised both of them that they were only going to have 2 chances and if I had to come in more times than that, their party would be over.

Of course I was right.  They were fooling around and she got up and left the room to tell on him a couple times.  I also had to go in there a few times, so that means I even gave them an extra chance or two or three.  The last straw was when she came out to tell on him for throwing his teddy bear at her.  Here’s how the rest went down…

Me:  “That’s it.  I’m sorry.  I told you I would give you 2 chances and you’ve had more than that and now you have to sleep in your bed.”

In the most drama I have seen since being a faithful watcher of Days of Our Lives for years, she FLIPPED out yelling, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!  I fuh-got I only had a couple chances! I fuh-got! I fuh-got!” and then the child lunged her body through the air onto her sleeping bag and pillow.  I suppose she thought I couldn’t pick the stuff up with her on it.  Of course I swiped the sleeping bag from under her.  I had to pry the pillow from her clutches.  All the while Jordyn is trying to hold in his laughter at this crazy scene which in turn causes me to burst out hysterically laughing at all of the silliness happening.

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I had a glorious day at the beach yesterday.  I know you are wondering how great can a day at the beach be for me to use the word “glorious” and what made it so “glorious”?  Let me help put this into perspective for you.

Four words:  No spouse.  No kids.

It was just me and one of my closest friends who also went sans hubby and children. My husband and her husband agreed, as Mother’s Day gifts to us, to keep the children from when they wake up until we get home so that we could enjoy a day at the beach alone.  It was a win-win.  Mom’s get a break and Dad’s get some one-on-one bonding time.

The second my friend and I got into her mini van, we both let out a screech at the exact same moment.  It was a screech of freedom celebrating something we have long forgotten - ourselves.  As moms we tend to not take enough time to breathe and think of ourselves.  We put our kids, spouses, other family members, friends, houses and even pets first before we even take time for us, leaving us feeling overwhelmed, tired and, at times, emotional.

Anyhoo, back to my gloriousness.<—my word   I won’t bog you down with the details of our day except to say that it didn’t entail me eating my lunch with any little sandy hands in it.  Nor did I have to make several runs to the potty for anyone. I  didn’t have to make a sand castle for anyone.  Nor did I have to hold any shells with a death grip for fear we might lose it even though there are millions just like it under our feet.  I didn’t have to keep my eye on anyone, in fact I could close them if I wanted to.  I didn’t have anyone clinging to my spaghetti string strap top for dear life hoping that, even though it can hardly hold my boob in, surely it will hold a 46 lb child afloat as waves are crashing on us and pulling us back.

Ahhhhhh, the gloriousness of no responsibility for any other human beings.  All I had to do was be there to soak in the warmth of the sun on my body, smell the salty air and feel the sea breeze embrace me as if it were trying to welcome me into it’s home for the day.

The beauty of the day was that we did exactly what we wanted when we wanted.  The eye candy on the beach wasn’t too bad either.  We’re convinced the hot dad that came over to me asking for some sun block because he “left his in his car” was just coming to check me out…that’s what we’re telling ourselves anyways.

It was so relaxing.  I haven’t been to the beach without children in 7 years.  I forgot what it was like.  I hadn’t missed it actually,  I love going to the beach with my family.  It’s a lot of work, but we always have fun together.  It was just nice to get a break and take time for me.  We all need to take time for us!!

I just wanted to take a quick moment to say Happy Mother’s Day out there to all the Moms including my own!!!  I hope everyone is enjoying their special day!

We went to a pool party Saturday. I’ve put some weight on since I’ve been in a bathing suit last. After I put my suit on Aryanna comes in the bathroom and says, “Aren’t you going to say how this makes you look fat?”

Me: “I’m sorry, what was that?”

A: “I said, aren’t you planning on saying how this makes you look fat? You know….how women do.”

I paused for a few seconds and smirked.

Me: “I didn’t plan on it.”

A: “Well you should.”

Me: “Ummmm, why? Does this make me look fat.”

A: “Okay…” she pauses and puts her hands up, palms facing me as if she were motioning me to stop, and continues, “I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings. I just want you to know that. But your belly…right here (she rubs my belly like she’s rubbing a Buddha belly statue) makes a big bump in this bathing suit a little. So it makes you look a little fat. But I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just letting you know how it looks.”

Me: “Well thanks for not hurting my feelings and being so nice about it.”

A: “No problem. I’m really not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to help you. You just might want to change.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry but I don’t have another bathing suit.”

A: “You might want to buy one then. Just something you should think about.”

Me: “How old are you again?”

A: “Moooom…” she giggled, “You know I’m 5.”

Me: “OK. I was just checking.”

Funny thing is she was really trying to be sincere and not hurt my feelings. I guess I know who to go to when I want to know if I really do look fat in something.

Wednesday we went to Busch Gardens - a benefit of my brother working for Anheuser Busch.  We had a late start to our day there, but it is truly for the best.  It makes for a less grumpy hubby.  We were only there about 4 1/2 hours yet, we were all as exhausted as we would have been had we been there 8 hours.  We got to see some animal exhibits and ride some rides.  All in all it was a good day.

The only possible complaint about the park itself I have was the parking attendant that greeted us at the gate where you pay for parking.  Because of my pass we get free parking.  When we pulled up to the window my husband held out the pass and the attendant let out a forced “Hi.” as she snatched the pass out of his fingers.  She didn’t even make eye contact.  I just stared at her thinking she was going to say something more or at least crack a smile.  She probably felt a hole burning into the side of her head.  I know this ain’t Disney but for the amount of money I pay - I mean other people  pay - we damn well should get a smile of some sort.  She looked miserable.  Really miserable.  I believe had someone said something to tick her off she would have exploded.  I almost wanted to say something but I waited until my husband pulled away to gripe at HIM of course for HER wrong doing.  I grilled him on what her name was so I could report her but he didn’t notice it.  I NEVER report anyone so for me to want to report someone means they had to be really horrible.  Maybe she had a bad day or something.  Who knows.

The only other thing that bothered me was the lines.  The lines themselves were fine as far as waiting goes, it was my children that bothered me.  Clearly the person who designed the barricades that stream line your waiting doesn’t have kids.  Most of the barricades are metal bars attached in such a way that it visually transforms into a jungle gym the second a child sees it hence, leading to a frenzy of climbing and yelling - well not yelling, more like low, jaw wrenching, teeth gritting, “Get down now.  You’re hitting the person behind you.” type of conversations.  Apparently those aren’t loud enough because they forget ten seconds later and I find the teeth are still clinched but the voice is a little louder, “I. Said. Get. Off. Noooow.”  It wasn’t just my children.  It was most.  There were parents that didn’t opt for stealth like myself.  One mom let everyone hear how unhappy she was with her child.  By the third time mine climbed up while we were waiting for this one particular ride, I had to say something.  Only, I didn’t say anything at all.  I slowly yet firmly put my hand around their arms and squeezed ever so slightly while I gave the ultimate glare telepathically telling them they are going to die if they don’t stop.  Funny how my silence worked better.  Didn’t have to say another word.

Ahhhh, what good family fun!

Yesterday was Jordyn’s birthday.  He turned 7.  His birthday made me think about my age more than my own ,probably because my husband said, “Him turning 7 so fast just means we are getting older just as fast.”  What every woman wants to hear.  How old we are getting.  I didn’t dwell on it long because when I turned thirty I pondered my age thoroughly.  Turning thirty is a milestone of sorts.  You can no longer blame the stupidity of your twenties yet you have enough life experiences to actually have a snippet of wisdom to offer others younger than you.  You see, I couldn’t dwell on turning thirty two because I want to save all my strength for when I turn forty.  I can only imagine the thoughts and emotions that will pop up.

Seeing Jordyn turn seven is a joy.  I can remember every minute of my labor and delivery all the way up until the morphine.  It’s a little fuzzy after that for a couple days - morphine and vicodin will do that to you.  I remember my hormones raging and how I didn’t immediately click into this blissful motherhood role I was embarking on.  Then, two weeks after I had him home I was rocking him back to sleep at about 3 a.m. when suddenly I was more awake than I had ever been before in my life.  I looked at him and thought to myself, “Look what you did.  You have this amazing little person that you created and now you have to make sure he grows up to be a man that you would be proud of.  I’m a mother.  I’m someone’s mother.  Oh damn, I’m someone’s mother.  Oh.  My.  God.  I’m someone’s mother.”  I sobbed by myself while holding him in that chair as if I had JUST given birth to him.  To look at him now, seven years later, with a newly lost tooth, interests in reading, sports and video games amazes me.  He’s becoming his own person and exploring things he enjoys.  Is he a perfect little angel?  No.  There a lots of times I want to ring his neck.  Yesterday wasn’t one of them.

Aryanna’s room has been a mess for a couple weeks.  It looks like it threw up on itself with stuff everywhere.  I don’t understand how a five year old little girl can be so messy.  She just drops her clothes where she takes them off before bath time or leaves her pj’s wherever they fall when she’s getting dressed.  She doesn’t understand that it’s actually a little more work to let them drop on the floor and have to walk around them or step over them or even kick them out the way to get to where you want to get to in your bedroom.

It took her 2 hours to clean her room today.  Two hours.  Two hours to clean something that would have taken me 15 minutes.  I do so much though that I decided to use this as a lesson.  Last time her room was this messy we BOTH cleaned it.  Not this time.  I refused to help.

She spent some time trying to bargain “I’ll do half today and half tomorrow.”  or “How about you help me?” with a huge smile planted as if I’m going to jump up with joy and say, “I’d looooooove to help you clean yet another mess in this house that I had NO hand in making.  Oh really??  Can I? Can I? Can I?”.

Now even though I refused to help, I did support by way of staying in the room and giving her instructions like a drill sargeant through a mini megaphone.  Really.  It was soooooo much fun being so bossy.  I wonder if it would work on my husband.

A girl can wish.

She thought the drill sergeant act was hilarious.  I just kept giving her small tasks at first and then the lists got a little harder-by a five year old’s standards.  We took a five minute break after the first hour.  I was going to let her do a little today and then a little tomorrow but her father had already said she needed to finish it all today.  Of course I stood in the united front against her and made her do it alllll today.  I had to exercise some major restraint because the housewife in me wanted to rip through that room like a tornado and have it done but I think she’ll never put every toy and piece of clothing possible, under her bed again-not after having to crawl under it and take everything back out again and then put whatever she took out away in it’s proper place.

When we laid down for bed she looked at me and asked, “Why did I have to clean my whole room all today?”

Me:  “Because Dad said you needed to clean it all today.”

Her:  “But you said I could do half today and half tomorrow.”

Me:  “Yeah well, that was before I knew Daddy had already said you had to do it all today.  So I have to listen to Daddy.”

She looked at me the same way I would look at her if she had told me that she “had” to listen to any man.  She raised one eyebrow, shook her head, gently put her hand on my cheek and said, “Mommy use your own brain.  It’s what I do.  I just pretend I’m doing what I’m upposed to but I just ignore it.”

Me:  “It’s supposed to, not upposed to.  And ignoring what your told to do is what get’s you in trouble because we eventually notice you are not doing what you’re supposed to.”

She raised her eyebrow again, smiled and said, “Heh.  Not always.”   Then she turned around and laid her head on her pillow.

I gave up.