Tag Archives: kids

Who said you could grow up so fast?

1 Jun

So sometime in the next few days, we will be celebrating some birthdays around here. Diva & Intuitive will be turning 7 years old.

 

Seven.

 

If I had broken a mirror on the day they were born, I’d be free of the bad luck.

 

Looking back, 7 years doesn’t seem like such a long time. Some days felt long, sure, but all thrown together, it’s just a clusterfuck of days and moments and minutes and seconds and memories. There were highs, there were lows. There were diapers. Oh, were there diapers. Sorry, landfills. I contributed quite a bit to the world being full of trash.

 

When I think back to the early days, it kind of feels like it was someone else in a whole different life. Are these two KIDS the same premature babies that couldn’t breathe or eat when they were born? Seriously? They were two mini little baby type things, and now they are, like, human-pseudo-grownups.

 

For real, who let that happen? Who said it was ok for them to sit up, crawl, walk, talk, THINK? I don’t recall giving them the ok to do all this shit. They are self sufficient, free thinkers.. With likes and dislikes, ideas and theories, strengths and weaknesses. I don’t know when these things happened. They are honor roll students, their teachers love them, they have oodles and oodles of friends.. It’s a crazy trip to see them interacting like miniature grown up humans.

 

I find something new to be proud of every single day, and I know I always will.

 

Diva, my brainy little princess, you came into the world squealing, making your presence known. I’m proud to be your mommy, and I can’t wait to see you grow up. Keep writing and reading and imagining things. Keep thinking up crazy “scenes” that you think would make great movies or tv shows. You can do it all.

Intuitive, my sweet little giggling princess, your laugh is impossible to ignore, and one of my favorite sounds. You do things your way, and you are one of the most stubborn people I know – don’t ever lose that. You are amazing and strong-willed, and I can’t wait to see where that takes you in life. I’m always here.

 

With that, I’m gonna go cry in my coffee. Happy tears, because my babies are growing and becoming amazing people… but there will be some sad tears, too.. I’ll never get those days back, and sometimes, I just wish I could.

 

 

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To the holier than thou. Love, Daisy.

24 May

Dear Holier Than Thou Mothers…

 

I concede. I am obviously not worthy of the title of “Mother.” I fully accept this, and am moving on. (can you feel me rolling my eyes? I am.)

 

In a minute.

 

First, I shall lay out some fresh beats and bust a quick rhyme. (Or I’ll just explain myself. What-the-fuck-ever.)

 

1. Stretch Marks: If I say I have stretch marks, it doesn’t mean I hate my children, and wish I would have adopted so I could keep my svelte 18-year-old body. It means I have stretch marks. Did they appear during my pregnancy? Yes. Do I resent my children for “giving” them to me? No, I resent my genealogy, since that shit is genetic. Following up a comment (or just making a comment) about *YOUR* stretch marks by saying something along the lines of

“My stretch marks are SO worth it, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything, because they show me EVERYDAY that I brought an amazing, spectacular, gorgeous, fantastic, BRILLIANT angel into the world, and saying I don’t like them would be like SACRIFICING MY PERFECT CHILD TO “The Others” on Lost. I LOVE MY STRETCH MARKS.”

Yeah. Soooooooo. I get it. The big ol’ cross on your back is super bright and shiny. I get it. You are MOTHER, hear you roar.

I still think MY stretch marks suck, but, uh, more power to you. You must be a better mother than me.

 

2. The “When I have Children…” People: Do I even NEED to address you crazy asses? I will never meet the imaginary standard you have set. In the imaginary world that you and your imaginary children live in, I’m sure that everything is rainbows and unicorns and skipping through fields of wildflowers, with the scent of fresh jasmine filling the air. There are playdates with other imaginary friends, and children that don’t wet themselves, poop themselves, talk back, refuse to eat, cry incessantly for no reason.. They sleep through the night, from 8pm to 9am. You do everything right.

 

How can I compete with that?

Pop out a few, and then tell me if all your imaginary plans came true. I implore you. Do it.

 

3. The Ones Who Do It All.. and Then Some: Now, these.. Sometimes (most of the time) I just don’t believe them.

No, I don’t think that you can take care of 5 children, home-school them, milk the goats out back, make homemade yogurt, clean your house, take care of the pets, manage a business, do 4 loads of laundry, (in all natural, homemade laundry soap, naturally) sprout your quinoa, read 8 stories to your children, take them to the neighborhood park, then to the YMCA for swimming lessons, then to the library…… ALL BEFORE LUNCH.

Screw you. You’re lying, this doesn’t happen. Your attempts to make us “lesser mothers” feel like shit might work for a while… but eventually, we’ll all realize that you don’t really have your shit together, and you actually throw some Gerber Puffs on the floor in the living room and turn on Spongebob, and then go watch your “stories” on your laptop.

Why lie? Fess up, homegirls.

 

 

4. The Exaggerators: You know the one. That one woman who you see at your Gymboree Music class. The one who tells you about all the advanced shit her brilliant diaper dweller does.

“Sooo.. Is your son walking yet? No? Hmm. That’s weird. Perfectly normal, I’m sure. My little prince is just really advanced for his age. His doctor has even said so. He started walking at 4 months old, canyoubelieveit?! Yeah, so now at 8 months, it’s just amazing, but, well, I don’t normally tell people this, but.. We had his IQ tested. He scored pretty well. I don’t like to brag, but his IQ is 865. Yeah. So, he’s SMART. He started reciting Shakespeare last night. It was amaaaaazing.”

Listen, bitch. Your kid craps his diaper, just like mine did. He isn’t a fucking genius. He didn’t start walking at 4 months old. His IQ isn’t 865. He’s a normal baby. Enjoy him as such, because one, he will wise up and not want to hang out with you, because you suck.

 

 

And with that, I will bid you farewell.

 

For now.

 

I’m going to go wallow in the fact that I’m just not as good as all of you Holier Than Thou moms out there.

Fondly, Daisy.

 

The Fairy of Teeth.

18 Apr

The tooth fairy has been pretty busy at our house for the past long while. Collectively, Diva & Intuitive have lost 11 teeth.  7 of those are Diva’s, 4 are Intuitive’s.

Some have been bloody, some have fallen out while they’re eating. Some have been yanked out by a grown up, some have been yanked out by the owner.

All 11 have been an exciting event, complete with a picture to text message to a handful of relatives. The most recent loss, (just yesterday) was Intuitive’s second top front tooth. When I went to pick the kids up from school, she held up a little plastic bag (I guess after you lose 2 teeth at school, they decide to stop giving you the cute little treasure box to take it home with) with her slightly bloody tooth. She regailed us with her tale:

“IT WAS SOOOOOOOOO BLOODY! IT WAS AWESOME!”

At this point, I lied and said that I was very sorry I missed the momentous, and bloody, occasion. Once again, we have a child with a large hole in her mouth, and a slight lisp. If she’s anything like her sister, those two front teeth will take 5 months to come in, and we will have some time to enjoy the toothless grins. As Violet mentioned yesterday, as Pterodactyl gains teeth, we lose them.

With the 11 (and counting) teeth that have fallen from Diva & Intuitive’s mouths… The tooth fairy has been busy. The Mayor & First Husband always used to do something creative when I lost a tooth. The money would be in fun formations, there would be props, etc. I decided a long time ago to do similar things.

Then I had 3 children. Then the 2 older ones started loosing teeth… Then we got to…. oh… tooth 6? And would you believe it…

That bitch, the tooth fairy, FORGOT to come visit.

Actually, the bitch fell asleep on the sofa and just plain forgot to lay out the money on the table. Once morning came, and the kid was looking for her loot, I had to do some fancy footwork. Ran to the kitchen, grabbed some glitter and made it look like the dumbass tooth fairy got lost and came in through the kitchen, leaving a pile of glitter, and a few extra dollars.

It worked, but…

I felt like SUCH an ass.

(Oh, and did I mention that it was Intuitive’s… like.. first or second tooth?)

Since then, I have had to set reminders on my phone when teeth fall out. It’s worked so far, and last night, the fairy left an intricate chain of dollar bills and the tooth hanging from the fan pulley-thing with paperclips.

All 3 kids were thoroughly impressed at the Tooth Fairy’s innovative presentation. Now, it’s off to plan what the hell the dumass tooth fairy will have to do next time, since there are at least 3 more loose teeth in Diva & Intuitive’s mouths.

Has the Tooth Fairy ever forgotten to visit you?

 

-Daisy

Celebrity Parents

30 Mar

Celebrity culture has always been somewhat of a twatwaffle to me. I don’t get into the drama; I don’t understand the hysteria. I don’t follow Perez Hilton’s blog. For all intents and purposes, I think celebrities are a bunch of middle class morons who happened to fall upon fame and wealth because they were either a) favored with big tits or b) can make themselves cry on cue. (Daisy and I are blessed with both of these attributes. Where are our millions?) At some point in their journey from mediocrity to internationally irrelevant, someone issued them all (collectively) a license for weirdness.

I didn’t used to mind the weirdness. Tom Cruise wants to put his money in a tax shelter and call it religion? Fine. Follow that up with a critique of psychology as a legitimate medicine practice? He’s an asshole, but I didn’t give him enough credit to care. Fergie wants to pee-pee in her pants without a Huggies, then shower in champagne to cover it up? Have fun! But then these weird-ass movie stars decided to tell the world how to parent. That’s when I became annoyed.

First, we had Mayim Bialik telling us that we need to breastfeed our kids until they’re five. (Anyone else think of the movie Grown Ups when you hear that?!)  January Jones, of Mad Men fame, wants you to eat your own placenta after you deliver your afterbirth. (And I know that in some less civilized cultures, that’s acceptable, but I’m a middle class American. We don’t cannibalize our extraneous organs.) Now, Alicia Silverstone wants us to feed our children like we’re pigeons by chewing our food and spitting it into the waiting infant’s mouth. Oh, hell no.

Here’s my problem: for one, parenting is a completely individualistic practice. No two mothers are alike, and no two children are alike. Prescribing any parenting practice is risky business (haha, Tom Cruise joke!) because methods that worked in one family may fail in another, and who will the failing family blame? The person who offered the advice in the first place. Not a wise idea if your income is based on your likability. My other problem with this celeb-mommy-culture is that too many people put these assholes on a pedestal. For these people, anything a favorite celebrity spews from her mouth is scripture. Cameron Diaz wants me to exfoliate with llama fetus eyeballs? Sounds great! Jack Black suggests I huff Dorito Cheese dust to make my hair grow longer? Yum! So when the Hollywood-types tell you that you should cover your kid in olive juice every day to prevent AIDS, some ignorant imbecile will take that to heart and buy a Costco-sized jar of olives.

Weirdo celebrity parents: keep your strange-as-shit thoughts to yourself. If you want to name your kid Pilot Inspektor or Jermajesty, be my fucking guest. No skin off my back. But to promote your strange (and possibly harmful) parenting tactics to your unassuming, impressionable fan base is wrong. You’re fucking with a child’s well-being when you tell his parent to eat a lock of his hair every year on his birthday, or whatever unusual shit you do with your children. Just like with politics, Hollywood Freaks, keep your nose out of shit you don’t understand, and stick to acting/singing/slutting.

A picture isn’t worth a thousand words. Sometimes.

29 Mar

Before Violet and I began this blog, we spent many hours discussing it and what it would consist of. We discussed having a cute “getting to know us” page, (About Daisy & Violet) as well as a “Mission Statement“. We thought those would be fun ways for ourselves to set the tone for our blog before we even wrote a post.

We also discussed privacy. We decided to not use our real names, or our spouse’s names, or our children’s names. We gleefully discussed our blog pseudonyms, which are our nicknames from high school, and concocted names for our family. Along with our name discussions, we discussed the issue of photographs of our children.

I read many, many mommy blogs. I enjoy seeing how other families work, and how other mom’s balance life. I read a pretty nice variety of blogs, from Super-Christian Mommy bloggers, to Gay Dad’s and their adventures. What can I say? I enjoy reading and learning about different people. One common denominator in all of these blogs is the pictures. Pictures of their children doing silly things. Pictures of family excursions and vacations.

Now look at our blog. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Yeah, no pictures of ourselves and families. Text messages and occasional random shit that we see, but no precious snapshots.

Why?

We decided that we wanted a sense of anonymity. Not so much for ourselves, but for our children. We think that our children are quite possibly the cutest in the world. We would love to heavily season our blog with photos of our collective brood, but alas, the internet is a fucking scary place. People search for (and find) all kinds of crazy shit. Personally, I don’t want an innocent photo of my kids turning into something naughty, and I can say with certainty that Violet doesn’t either. I’m not looking down upon anyone who posts photos of their children on their blog. I love looking at other people’s photos. Kids are cute. They do cute shit.

Perhaps I’m just a crazy lady, and I shouldn’t over think things, but “not-nice” things have happened. I’ve read that a blogger posted photos of her infant that passed away, and it was discovered that someone stole those photos and used them in.. less than admirable ways. There is a very popular mommy blogger that often posts photos of her children in various states of undress and occasionally some questionable positions and tags them with “pedophilic key words”. That is just asking for trouble. Why do that to your children? (Granted, this mommy blogger is “two pieces of bread short of a sandwich”, and I enjoy reading her “naysayer” blog more than hers. Anyone wanna guess who I’m talking about?)

Maybe we’ll post a picture of ourselves, with a little facial blurring. We did it on twitter.

Maybe one day we’ll post a photo of our kids. Maybe we won’t.

What WILL we do? Continue writing and sharing funny photos of other stuff, and hopefully, you’ll continue reading and commenting.

Do you think I’m crazy? What are your views?

 

-Daisy

To C-section or not to C-section

21 Mar

What the hell is with all these people saying that elective c-sections are sooooo much easier. Seriously? Easier?

It’s major fucking surgery. What is easy about that? Sure, shooting a kid out your baby maker is tough. I’m not saying it’s rainbows and butterflies, just ask Violet.

But major surgery being a simple alternative? No, dude. It’s not. I’m not huge on statistics, but I know without a doubt that 100% of c-sections involve MAJOR ABDOMINAL SURGERY.

My c-section experiences were fairly easy. No complications, no bumps in the road, and at the end, healthy babies. Does that mean it would be my first choice for myself?

NO.

I had two pretty normal c-section experiences. If I could time travel back 7 years, I’d probably do things a bit differently. When you are 19 years old and in a high risk pregnancy expecting twins, often times if the doctor you trust says jump, you’ll jump. (Well, unless you’re 34 weeks pregnant with twins and have been in the throes of pre-term labor for like 7 weeks. Then you’ll probably just sit.) My doc said a c-section would be better, safer, quicker, so, figuratively, I jumped. Looking back, I wish I would have tried to go natural. Sure, it would have taken longer, sure it would have been uncomfortable, but those babies were in the perfect position to coast out of the womb smoothly. In fact, they had to work harder to get Diva out because she was in such a great natural birth position. That means that Diva had a huge bruise on her head for a week thanks to the vacuum. After the “easy” c-section came a short trip to hell. All expenses paid!

Diva & Intuitive were in the NICU. I was in recovery, scratching myself silly and shaking because I was freezing. They finally take me to my room, where I proceed to be almost overdosed on morphine because some nice nurses wanted to make me feel good, but forgot to record how much they gave me. That made for a nice day and a half. The girls were born at around 1 am. On the trip from recovery to my room, I was taken by the NICU to see them for about 2 minutes. I don’t remember much of that. By 8 am I just wanted to see my kids. At this point, I’m informed by the nurse that in order to go see my babies, I must show them that I can walk one loop around the maternity floor. Then, and only then, will I be allowed to go see them.

At this point, I’m thinking “What the fuck. The NICU is like 7 miles away from Maternity. Are they going to make me WALK all the way there 7 hours after major surgery? Fuck it, let’s do this”

With minimal help, I threw myself out of the hospital bed, thinking, “I’ll show them. Let’s go!” Perhaps it was a good thing there was so much morphine in me? They got me a wheel chair to push around the hall for support, and off I went. Cursing in my head, and feeling like my innards were all about to fall out on the hospital hallway floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I seem to have dropped a fallopian tube. Would you be so kind as to pick it up? I can’t quite bend yet. Oh, I have to pick it up? Hmm. I can do without a fallopian tube. I have another. Shit, there’s my bladder. I DO need that.”

We make our journey around the Maternity ward. I get asked once when I’m due. When I looked up with a scowl on my face and say “Yesterday at 1 am”, she looks confused. I keep walking. I’m pretty sure that my family apologized for me. We arrive back at my room, and the nurse smiles and says,

“Alright, hop in the wheelchair, and head over and see your babies! Enjoy”

Hop. In. The. Wheelchair. ?!?! I don’t have to walk there? You made me walk for NOTHING? I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. In my morphine induced stupor I begin to have a panic attack on the way to the NICU. Upon our approach, I see 87 of my ex-husbands family members, including his video camera obsessed grandmother. Full panic attack NOW. The First Husband takes me down another hallway, as I start the waterworks and the “PLEASE LET ME JUMP OUT THE WINDOW”, which quickly turned into “PLEASE LET ME THROW HER FUCKING VIDEO CAMERA OUT THE WINDOW”. My mother ran some damage control, got the video camera put away, and the large numbers of family into a waiting room so that I could see my babies for the first time.

I got to spend lots of quality time walking back and forth in the NICU to each baby. Then, back to my room, because my nurse and doctor needed to check me out. I thought that meant they would take my vitals.

No. This bitch lifted up my overhanging ex-baby belly to examine my incision. Just lifted it up like it was a curtain. Then she poked around. What. The. Fuck. (She redeemed herself by letting me know that she was recommending I stay in the hospital for a few extra days because she thought it might be damaging to my mental health to kick me out while my babies were still there. Thanks, doc.) We talked about the morphine issues, and at that point, I told her that I didn’t want anything except for Tylenol for pain relief. She looked at me like I was insane. I don’t think it was insanity, I think it was more of a deisire to be PRESENT and not HIGH for these early days with small, sick babies.

You know how when you have a c-section, they tell you to rest and not do much? Yeah, well, having a couple of preemies in the NICU kinda overrides that. My 5 days IN the hospital were mostly spent in the NICU, unless my nurses called down in a tizzy wondering where the hell I was. Sorry guys, more important shit to worry about than having my temperature taken. Laying low wasn’t really an option. I was walking the halls of that hospital on the regular. Once I got discharged, it meant LESS time to rest. The hospital was about 45 minutes away from home, so we’d leave at around 7 so I could be there by 8 and spent the day there, leaving around 10:30 or 11pm. I popped a stitch at one point, and had no idea. I didn’t really care either, I just wanted to be with my babies.

When they finally got released, at 8 days old, I FINALLY got a chance to rest a little. Well, as much as someone who had their guts split open and now has two high maintenance premature babies to take care of CAN rest.

While it was painful and uncomfortable, I feel that mind over matter is helpful. I didn’t GIVE myself the option to sit around and deal with the pain. I had things to do, and babies to take care of.

When I was pregnant with Handsome, I was hellbent on a VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section). I just didn’t want to deal with the unknowns of major surgery again. I wanted to run into the hospital hollering “MY WATER BROKE!” not walk in at a scheduled time. Mostly though, I was just scared of ANOTHER major abdominal surgery. They move a lot of shit around during a c-section. They take shit out and put it back in, and do the hokey pokey while they’re at it. I really didn’t want to have my organs moved around AGAIN if it wasn’t necessary.

So my doctor and I discussed the VBAC. She was on board. I was happy. Then, friends, I did the very thing I proclaim to dislike. I scheduled a c-section. My ex-husband was in the Army at the time. He was set to leave for 4-6 weeks ON Handsome’s due date. I couldn’t handle the thought of him not being there for the birth and the first few days. Now, while I’m all for letting shit happen naturally, it was kinda nice to be able to call my parents and get travel plans all set up. They would be coming up (we lived about 6 hours away from them at this point) two days before the birth, helping with final junk we needed to do, and of course, taking care of Diva & Intuitive. Scheduling sure turned out to be convenient in that respect.

Scheduling also turned out to be a major stressor. I had days to think about everything that could easily go wrong. Days to worry about spinal blocks and anesthesia and complications. Oh, and the MAJOR SUCK of the day after.

Finally, it was time to go. I kissed my baby girls, hugged my mommy and daddy, and off we went. Sat and waited for about 3 hours. (Thanks emergency twin c-section. Been there, done that!) Finally, time to go. Smooth sailing. So smooth, in fact, that my ex-husband was able to cut Handsome’s cord. Like, the real first cut, placenta still inside and attached. That doesn’t often happen in c-sections, apparently.

After this c-section, I felt a bit better than the first. Maybe it’s the fact that my kid was healthy and off to do normal after-birth activities. I was itchy, again, but in great spirits, trying to sit up in recovery. Nurse chewed me a new one for that. I got on the phone in recovery and called the Mayor.

Me- Hey mom!

The Mayor- Hey!

Me- What’s going on?

The Mayor- Nothing much, girls are asleep. You still waiting?

Me- Nope.

The Mayor- WHAT?!

Me- Yeah, he’s here. 6lbs 15oz of awesome.

The Mayor- I’ll be there in a bit. I can’t wait until tomorrow

Or something like that. Headed off to my room and surprise of surprises, they BROUGHT MY KID TO ME. In a huge flip from my first birth experience, my kid got to stay in the room with me. I didn’t have to walk ANYWHERE to see him. He was right there.

I decided that we would get out of that hospital as soon as humanly possible, and less than 48 hours after Handsome was born, we blew that popsicle stand.

Recovery from my second c-section was much more difficult. I knew what to expect, but I also had 2 18 month olds at home PLUS a newborn. Even with my ex-husband and my parents being there for a few days, I still had shit to do. I didn’t allow myself to rest, EVER, and I know that prolonged things.

I fully believe that if I would have had a vaginal birth, even a difficult one, my recovery would have been quicker and easier. Running to and from the NICU would have been much easier. Running after two 18 month olds would have been much easier. I hate the fact that I’ve pretty much guaranteed myself another c-section should I ever decide to have another child. Honestly, the fact that I would have to have another c-section is one of the biggest reasons that I don’t want another child. I really don’t want to tempt fate. I had two relatively simple c-sections, and I’m just worried that the 3rd time would be catastrophic.

C-sections are NOT an easy way out. C-sections should not be part of a “celebrity” birth plan. They suck, and should only be used when necessary. I don’t understand why so many people say that people are taking “the easy way out” in regards to a c-section. It boggles my mind. How is MAJOR surgery, with a laundry list of MASSIVE possible complications and outcomes, EASY? Since when is shooting a kid out the way nature intended harder than involving tons of doctors, anesthesiologists, machines, SCALPELS, and tons of beeping shit? I am in no way a crunchy granola all natural mom. I fully believe in medical intervention when needed, including c-sections.

But don’t tell me it’s easier. It’s not.

-Daisy

 

© Daisy and Violet 2012. All Rights Reserved.

ramblings that once had a purpose.

19 Mar

“Daisy, you need to write something”

“Daisy, are you writing?”

“Daisy, GO WRITE NOW”

Violet has been going crazy on me for the past, oh, few days. I have excuses, though!

I mean, reasons. Or something.

We started off Diva, Intuitive, & Handsome’s Spring Break in a great way. A surprise trip to Disney World. Well, a surprise trip for THEM. For Terry and me, it was around 3 weeks of watching what we said and trying not to spill the beans. I was successful. Terry was not.

They knew that a “big surprise” was coming. In anticipation of the surprise, we emptied the kids’ piggy bank, rolled all the coins, and told them they had spending money for something special. Then Terry said

“Maybe you can find something fun to buy in Disney”

Then I stopped breathing for a minute or 2, hoping they hadn’t heard.

“THE SURPRISE IS DISNEY WORLD!!!!!!????”

They yelled in unison. They high fived, started hooting and hollering.  Then I went outside to punch a tree. Terry followed me. All I said was

“You better fix that”

He went in and tried to lie to them, telling him that he meant they could save their money, because surely we’d go to Disney over the summer.

They. Did. Not. Buy. It.

So in went Mommy to do some more damage control.

“Alright guys, I want you to know that we are NOT going to Disney for the big surprise. Terry meant that maybe we’d take a Disney trip over the summer, and maybe you could save your money for that. I don’t want you guys getting all excited and thinking that the surprise is Disney, because you will be SO LET DOWN when you find out that it’s not. I repeat, we are NOT going to Disney for the big surprise.”

The response was equal parts refreshing and frightening.

Diva:

“Mommy, Terry said the same thing to us, but when he said it, he sounded like he was lying, so we didn’t believe him. When you say it, you sound like you’re telling the truth.”

So, lesson learned. Mommy is a KICK ASS liar, Terry.. not so much. SWEET.

After that snafu, it was pretty much smooth sailing. The Mayor almost caused another situation, but luckily, the kids had JUST slipped out of earshot.

Diva, Intuitive, & Handsome had a daily countdown. Everyday on the way to school, I’d ask Intuitive how many days were left, and she’d tell me, growing more and more excited as the numbers got smaller.

Finally it was BIG SURPRISE DAY.

We decided to have them go to school, but pick them up early. They were a bit confused as to why the countdown was at zero, yet we were in the car to go to school. No luck though, Mommy wasn’t spilling any beans. Dropped them off, wished them happy, productive days, and raced home to clean up, and pack.

I spent about 3 hours in a neurotic twister of disorganized organization. 5 people going on an overnight trip requires more shit than you think.

  • Bathing suits (the resort we stayed at has a magnificent pool! we’re taking advantage!)
  • Clothes for dinner (a Disney Luau)
  • Pajamas
  • Extra underwear (The Mayor instilled in me a need to always take extra “foundations” on any trip, just in case)
  • Clothes for our day of park hopping
  • Socks, sandals, sneakers
  • 3 Pillow pets
  • Phone chargers, camera, camera charger.
  • Snacks

(Ended up with one suitcase, one large Vera Bradley duffel bag, 2 large tote-type bags, and a Publix bag full of shoes. For an overnight trip. It looked a bit excessive, but oh well. We ended up using just about everything that I brought.)

After all of Mommy & Terry’s “chores” were done, we decided to go break the kids out of school… and off we went.

All three were throwing ideas out on the drive, until we got to the special back way I always take. Then they started recognizing things. Once the “Welcome to Disney” sign started coming into view, there were gasps and sighs and squeals. Dive launched into a 14 minute long monologue about how we lied to her, but it was ok, because we were in Disney World, but WE LIED TO HER!

She promptly got over the lies when they all realized that unlike many of our other Disney day-trips, we were going to be staying overnight, in a hotel.. and what a hotel it was. Toy Story characters everywhere. Magic and Disney-ness at every turn.

I could surely bore you with cute anecdotes and moments from the rest of our trip, but I’ll just leave you with something Handsome said to me after we returned home…

“Mommy, that was the trip of a lifetime”

It was, kiddo. It definitely was.

-Daisy

© Daisy and Violet 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Shit you shouldn’t say to a mom with more than one child.

12 Mar

As you may be aware, I’ve never had one child. I started off the whole shebang with Diva & Intuitive. Because of that, I don’t KNOW what it’s like to have ONE child. That may seem painfully obvious to many of you. (I hope it is, anyways.)

Diva & Intuitive were about 5 weeks early. They stayed in the hospital for a little over a week before being healthy enough to go home. After taking them home, I went into super-insane-overprotective-mamabear mode. Save for doctor appointments, we didn’t take them out of the house very much until they were about 6-7 weeks old. When we did start taking them out, they were always in their carseat, snapped into their double stroller, (THE BUS) with the sun shade pulled up and a blanket covering the majority of the open space that was left. I never imagined that going out with them could be more stressful than it already was.

Then it happened.

Apparently I failed to recieve the memo that having twins automatically makes you a three ring fucking circus. I also didn’t know that tickets were free for one and all.

Perhaps I was very sheltered. Perhaps The Mayor & First Husband raised me with manners. Maybe I just didn’t pay attention to anything other than my little world. I had no idea that there were people, LOTS of people, who could be very.. forward.

On our very first mall outing, the comments started. I tried to be nice, I really did. After the 87th time hearing the SAME comment/questions/concerns I lost the polite filter.

These are some of the comments that I repeatedly recieved.. While I “only” had twins. The comments that came after Handsome came along will be another section.

  • ARE THEY TWINS?! – Two small infants. One double stroller. Matching car seats. No, they’re not twins. I stole this other one. Is that bad?
  • Two boys? A boy and a girl? Two girls? – One squirrel and one spider monkey, actually.
  • Is it harder than one baby? – Well I would sure fucking assume so, since, you know, there ARE TWO OF THEM.
  • Are they natural? – Nope, silicone! Don’t they look real? (The balls on people to ask if I had in-vitro. There is obviously nothing wrong with in-vitro, but what business is it of theirs? Market research?!)
  • Vaginal or c-section?! – Uh. Go away please. I don’t want my babies to catch “rude”. (This one always floored me. Why on God’s green earth would a stranger want to imagine my hoohaa expelling children OR my guts being removed to extract them?!)
  • My sister’s cousin’s husband’s friend’s daughter has twins! – OMG no way! We are practically family, in that case.
  • How did you have twins? – Like, literally? How were they conceived? Uh, google it, please. (There was a time I said something a BIT more crass than that, but, uh, my dad reads this. It had something to do with doing something twice in one night..)
  • You’re such a great nanny! – Listen, bitch. I will SHOW YOU MY STRETCH MARKS, k? Thanks.
  • It will get easier, I promise! – Uh, how? All they do is eat, sleep, and lay there. I assume that they will eventually MOVE and voice opinions.

By the time Diva & Intuitive were about 11 months old, I was pregnant with Handsome. I had no idea that the comments were about to get even better.

  • Were you TRYING for another one? – What’s the difference? My uterus, not yours!
  • What if it’s ANOTHER girl?! – Uh, well.. If the bun in the oven is another girl.. Then we’ll have 3 girls. Simple math, methinks.
  • Do you really want a 3rd baby?? – Baby?! This one isn’t going to be a puppy? Shit. I really wanted a chihuahua.
  • You need a TV. Do you know what causes “that”? – Uh… We have a TV. Cable, too. I’ll have to google what causes “that”, though. Thanks for the heads up.
  • I really hope that one is a boy! – Hmm. Interesting. I hope it’s healthy & full term. Anything else is a bonus.

One of the first times I went out with the 3 kids by myself, Diva & Intuitive were about 19 months old, Handsome was about 3 weeks old. We ventured out to Target. The girls were in the double stroller, the baby in the sling. As we were strolling through the household goods, Diva & Intuitive were chatting with each other and pointing things out to me and Handsome was snoozing in the sling. We come across a woman in the same aisle as us, and I do my usual “share the aisle” dance, trying to move the stroller enough to give her room to move by us. She stops. She looks at the girls, looks at the sling, looks at me.

“Are they triplets?”

I was not expecting that. At all. I mean, sure, Diva & Intuitive were a LITTLE small for their age.. but… uh…

As time went on, I got used to being asked if they were triplets, they looked alike and were close in size soon after Hadsome turned 1. That first time, though, had me speechless. Here are some more good ones.

  • Are they all yours? – Nope! Gave birth to this one. Got this one at a garage sale. This one, I found at Target.
  • You’re DONE now, right? – I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I want to beat the Duggars. Can we remember that I’ve ONLY been pregnant twice? That’s not unheard of. The fact that I got a BOGO with my first pregnancy is just a bonus.
  • Do they all have the same dad?! – Ok, really, what fucking business is it of yours?! I would mess with people sometimes, and tell them that the twin girls had different fathers. That confused them. Job well done.
  •  Lucky you had that boy so you can stop! – Yup, this whole process was just to have a boy. Lucky us! Thank goodness for a penis!
  • Did you always want a HUGE family? – Personally, I don’t think that 3 kids is a HUGE family. So uh, that question is now invalid. Thanks.
  • *pointing at sling* What’s THAT one? – A rabbit.
  • WOW! Trying to singlehandedly over populate the world? – Why, yes! I am!

And one of my favorites, usually said to me while I have all three kids in tow at the grocery store…

Gee, you must have your hands full 

I do. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So, if you see a Mommy out with her brood of small people, please, give her a smile. She’ll appreciate that.

Don’t ask her about the inner workings of her uterus. She’ll also appreciate that.

Has anyone asked you something crazy or made a crazy comment?

-Daisy

© Daisy and Violet 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Woke up this mornin’…

7 Mar

Got myself a cold.

In my ever-hopeful world or rainbows and unicorns, I spent yesterday trying to convince myself that I was suffering from a touch of “the allergies”. Crap is blooming, it’s windy, SURE. It’s allergies. The Mayor even said “It’s a bad allergy day”. She can’t be wrong. She knows this shit. I popped an allergy pill. It didn’t do a damn thing, but hey, whatever.

I picked up the kids from school, I helped with their homework. I cleaned the kitchen. I did laundry, lots and lots of laundry. I vacuumed the house. I directed Tuesday nights edition of the “PICK UP THE TOY ROOM OR I’M THROWING EVERYTHING OUT” show. At around 6pm, Terry woke up, (he worked overnight) saw me, and offered to make dinner. I collapsed on the sofa, and proclaimed nasally,

“It’s a bad allergy day.”

Got the rest of the evening activities done, sat outside with Terry, watched some Hoarders on netflix, went to bed when he went off to work again. Tucked myself in, and hoped for a better allergy day tomorrow.

At 6:30am, 30 entire minutes before my alarm was set to go off, I hear all three monkeys yapping and playing and wondering why I haven’t picked out their clothes and gotten them breakfast yet. Apparently, their internal clocks are BUSTED. Is there a way to fix that? At this point I come to the realization that I AM SICK. Fuck allergies. I’m SICK. I decide to wait until the alarm goes off to roll out of bed and begin the day. At 6:58, Diva walks in the room and proceeds to interogate me. Endlessly.

“Why haven’t you picked our clothes out yet?”

“When is breakfast?”

“Why are you still in bed?”

Somehow, I kept myself from crying and whining. I responded in my sick little stupor, “Well, I haven’t picked out  your clothes yet because the alarm hasn’t gone off yet. Breakfast will be at the same time that it is EVERYDAY, after the alarm goes off, and I pick your clothes and you get dressed. I am still in bed BECAUSE THE ALARM HASN’T GONE OFF YET.” Do we notice a pattern?! For some reason, Diva decided to get up “before the sky was blue” and wake her sister and brother up as well, to join in the fun.

By the time I finished answering, the alarm was going off. Joy. Terry walked in the door at that point, so I hustled off to pick their clothes, and let him handle breakfast.

After a sock change for Intuitive, (she has a slight issue with liking to wear socks pulled almost up to her knees with shorts, and mean old Mommy just doesn’t approve.) and a quick “No, you can’t wear your hair to school like that” for Diva, I got their hair done, sniffling and pausing 8 times to blow my nose, lest it drip on their heads. Handsome walks over and says “I don’t want gel in my hair today”. Ok, sure kiddo. Saves me 3 minutes, why not. He usually won’t leave the house without a healthy scoop of gel on his spikes, but he’s 5, so screw it.  Turns out, he had just learned about “Estatic electwicity” in school, and wanted his hair to stand on end, and gel prohibits that. Makes sense. Finally got the crew off to school and safely deposited in their classrooms.

I dragged my ass back home, threw down some sudafed and advil, parked it on the sofa, and here I am now. Sniffling, snorking, blowing my nose and watching Hoarders while Terry naps. There is a doctor’s appointment in my future. We have planned a super special, super awesome surprise for the kids in 8 days, and I will go fucking crazy if I am sick for it.

It’s really interesting (fucked up?) to compare and contrast a cold before kids to after kids. Before I had kids, this would be the MOST HORRIBLE COLD EVER, and I wouldn’t have gotten off my ass for a damn thing. Now? The cold can wait. Green snot pouring out my nose? Gotta get the kids to school. Cough that sounds like Aunt Virginia and her 4 pack a day habit? Gotta pick up the kids. I came to the realization a long time ago that….

I REALLY DON’T MATTER.

Honestly, I’m ok with that. Having kids changes things. Having 3 kids REALLY changes things. As long as they are taken care of, fed, clean, happy, who cares about anything else? Violet has been chiding me all freakin’ morning. She has been texting that I need to take care of myself. Take vitamins, pop vitamin C like it’s candy. I should listen to her. (Violet edit: You think this is the first time I’ve ridden her ass for this? Bitch. Won’t. Listen.) I am usually pretty healthy, but with three kids in school, the germs that have been coming home are insane. I’m just happy that it’s me getting sick, not the kids. Since Handsome started school 6 weeks ago, I’ve had 2 sinus issues, this cold, and random sniffles. Intuitive has had one ear infection. Diva & Handsome have fared better, and just had a cough for a couple of days. According to Violet, new teachers go through this “getting sick all the time” thing in their first couple of years teaching. After that “initiation” period, according to Violet, they “have immune systems that could withstand anthrax”. I’m hoping that my anthrax resistance will kick in soon, since sick or well, I have to function at 100%.

I’m off to vacuum and clean the kitchen. Or sit and watch more Hoarders, and send the Mayor more “I’m sick and I feel yucky” text messages. You decide.

Oh, and can someone please remind me to put on real clothes (including a bra) before I go pick up the kids?

-Daisy

 

© Daisy and Violet 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Life happens. Plans often don’t.

7 Mar

I recently lived through the experience of sending my youngest, my baby, off to school for the first time. You might be thinking..

“Daisy, you have 3 children. You should be used to sending them off to school”

In all honesty, before Diva & Intuitive started school, I thought that sending them off would be the hardest milestone ever. At that point in time, it was. Watching my little preemies walking into their new classroom, with backpacks that were nearly bigger than them.. Wow. Tough stuff. I cried. I also cried at nearly every school event, Mother’s Day program, pre-k “graduation”, etc.

Please, let’s not discuss how goofy the First Husband thought I was when I had tears rolling down my face as Diva and Intuitive put on a rousing rendtition of “3 Blind Mice” at their pre-k graduation. Thanks.

I couldn’t imagine that sending a 3rd child off to school would be anywhere near as difficult as sending my sweet first babies off. I never expected that it would be TOUGHER than the first time. Well…

Once Diva and Intuitive went off to the magical fun land of school, can anyone guess what happened? I’ll give you a hint.

Handsome and me. All day. Together. Alone.

I was so used to doing everything with 3 sidekicks, and dividing my attention between Diva, Intuitive, & Handsome. That was my life. Errands with 3, buckling 3 into the car, getting 3 out of the car, doing head counts while we walked around Target, simultaneously pushing 3 kids on the swings (it’s possible, I swear). Making breakfast, lunch, snacks; it was an assembly line. In one fell swoop, I was down to doing things with ONE child for 7 or 8 hours a day. My usual planning and leaving early to get places on time was pointless. Do you know how EASY it is to get somewhere with ONE child in tow? Handsome was upset about Diva & Intuitive being gone for.. oh.. about 10 minutes. Then he realized that he was solo with Mommy. THEN he realized that a decision didn’t require a 2/3 majority. If he wanted a bagel for lunch, he got a bagel for lunch.

Two years later, it was time for him to go to magical fun land.

About 2 months before school started for Handsome, after the girls had already started 1st grade, (pre-k works a little differently in my town. He started in January) I began to realize that things were going to CHANGE. Massive, mega, life changing, scary CHANGE. My sidekick was LEAVING ME. Not only was he leaving me; He. Was. EXCITED. What had I done wrong? Wasn’t he supposed to want to be home, hanging solo with Mommy FOREVER?!

Oh. No, he’s not. He’s ready for school. He’s well adjusted and ready to have a structured day at school with friends his age. We (I) spent weeks preparing. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t break down and cry like a baby a few times. Never in front of him. Mostly on the phone with the Mayor, or the First Husband. More often with poor Terry. That man has dealt with many tears. I cried when I ordered his backpack. I cried when I got his lunchbox. I cried when he turned 5, just a few days before school started. I had him try on his backpack and hold his lunchbox 2 days before school started, so it wouldn’t be a shock on the first day of school. He just seemed like such a baby, STILL.

So on his first day, the Mayor, First Husband, Terry, & Mommy took all 3 to school. We all went to Handsome’s classroom. It was buzzing with a gaggle of excited kids, a couple of excited teachers, some excited parents, and a few moms that looked like I felt. I tried to hold it together. I really, really did. I got Handsome set up with an activity, The Mayor and the First Husband walked Diva & Intuitive to their class. I made sure he was all set, and began my goodbyes.

I believe that’s when the waterworks began, as well.

We walked outside the classroom, me, with tears on my cheeks and stood there for a moment. Then, I noticed a window. So I peered in like a peeping tom with the Mayor by my side. Then, Handsome’s wonderful teacher noticed us. She was also Diva & Intuitive’s teacher, so she knows enough about my insane attachment to my children. We smiled a sheepish smile, mine riddled with tears, and started to back away from the window. She came out the door and held out a tissue and a book to me. “The Night Before Kindergarten”. A tale of a child’s night before the first day of school, and the parents all crying, but realizing that the kids are happy, so all is well. We laughed. I cried more. The First Husband laughed more. The Mayor’s eyes were slightly misty. Terry was hungry.

The Mayor & First Husband had blocked out part of their day to make sure that Mommy would be ok. We all went to breakfast, and I only cried once more. I held my phone the entire day, just in case the school called.

3 o’clock came, and I picked up my group. It was as if they had all been going to school together FOREVER. The energy flying out of him was incredible. He was almost vibrating from excitement. And Diva & Intuitive! They were so excited that their younger brother was in school with them. They each told me about every single time they saw him during the day; at lunch, on the playground, walking to his class. All my worry and sadness were wiped out with the happy smiles and stories I got from them. Handsome wanted to call EVERYONE in our family to tell them about his day, and we did.

All my time spent at home with them was not in vain. It made them the well adjusted, smart, happy kids they are today. I (with a little help from the Mayor & the First Husband) got them prepared to be independent kids, ready to learn and succeed. Hovering, planning, over thinking, teaching them, running our day to day lives like our own preschool; it was all worth it.

In my short, but full, journey through mommyhood, I’ve learned that 90% of the plans you make as a mom get thrown out the fucking window.

Whether it’s what you’re going to feed your kid, or how you’re going to react to them starting school; things don’t always go as planned. Rolling with the punches will get you further than planning.

What are some things that you’ve planned for that have gone in a different direction?

-Daisy

© Daisy and Violet 2012. All Rights Reserved.

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