Welcome to the fabulous and sometimes insane life
of a working mother who is trying hard not to
let her whole existence be determined by her
cute little munchkins, yet continues to be drawn
in by the adorable and sometimes annoying tiny people!

Monday, October 25, 2010

Really? Really.

Alright, I get it! I am getting old. Is there a need to flaunt it in my face? I think not. Alas, mother nature feels the need to do just that. 


It was one thing to have forehead lines at the ripe old age of 25 (must have been all of those summers in the sun without sunscreen---which I blame completely on my mother and not on my ability to escape like a slippery fish and run away screaming which was soon followed by screaming from the burning pain and cold aloe). It was another thing for weight to start staying attached to my thighs and stomach when it used to just melt away with one extra exercise session or starvation fest. And then it was another thing for these blasted lines to start going from the sides of my nose to my lips. What is that about? Am I a clown now? Seriously? Seriously.


And then a few months ago, I saw it--my first grey hair. Well, actually, it was white. And while it was on my head, it was not in my hair. It was in my eyebrows. REALLY? Really. At first, I brushed it off as light blonde. I mean it was the middle of the summer, and I had spent a lot of time in the sun (though be it with sunscreen-doing all I can to prevent more of these unsightly lines). Luckily, I could easily solve the problem of the could be, but I am going to believe it wasn't, white hair. I plucked it out. I mean, first of all I didn't believe in the old wives tail that "2 more will grow back in its place", and secondly, I mean what was I supposed to do---leave it there? I think not. I mean it was a white, but I am going to stick with blonde, hair. 


Sadly, it appears the old wives tail was right, because a week or so later up popped two more, and they continue to pop up no matter what I do. Soon I am going to have to shave my eyebrows off and start a new trend for thirty somethings to draw on their eyebrows like a young,, but scary Joan Crawford. AHHHHHH!


Now comes the kicker....and I do mean kicker, because it is literally kicking me while I am down. Not only do I have more lines on my face than a walnut, thighs that jiggle like Jello, Bozo the clown lines, a saggy butt, and white hairs (I have come to grips with reality), but now I am turning 33. THIRTY-THREE! 


I am not some person who swore they were turning thirty and holding. I am proud of my age and regardless of this post, how I look-flaws and all. Plus, with every year I have aged I have gain so many amazing things in my life...husband, Aubrey, Addison, and now who ever this is I am growing in my belly. 


However, this all changed this morning. I was blow drying my hair, and there it was. A GREY HAIR. No way to take it for blonde. It was startling and depressingly grey. The funny thing was that it was totally not there yesterday. I mean no where to be found. Yet, here it is shining and silver atop my head. There was no hiding it. No mistaking it. It was loud and it was proud! So what did I do? I pulled it of course,and in a couple of weeks when two more pop up in its place all I will be able to say is.....Really? Really. Oh well I guess it is time to start dying my hair.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Spanking Really Does Hurt Me More Than You

When I was a kid, my parents rarely conformed to the saying "Spare the rod, spoil the child". It wasn't that we were well behaved (not hoodlums though). It was just that mom had a hard time catching us with the fly swatter that was scatter with the decaying wings and legs of its victims, and I actually think that my father was afraid he would hurt us if he applied the rod (he is a strong man).


My husband and I do not adhere to this same method of parenting. Now before you go calling social services, let me explain our methods. We do not spank our children religiously. We have many different methods that are utilized first before making the decision to use the "rod" (our hands), i.e. talking, timeout, removal of privileges... However, there comes a time when a child needs a good spanking in order to get the message across. These times include those of immediate danger (running out in front of a car or sticking finger into an electrical socket) or those times when you have repeatedly told your child not to do something and have talked yourself blue in the face and the timeout step has been worn out. 


The time to not "spare the rod" came to our household a couple of days ago. Our oldest child got in trouble, again, for putting her hands on someone or in this case two someones. She kicked one boy in the "booty" and hit another boy with her elbow. Now these boys could have very well deserved this treatment, however, we have discussed and timed out over and over again because of her love of putting her hands on other people be it in love, playing, annoyance, or anger. 


Since there were two offenses, I decided the time had come for two spankings. I can only imagine the feeling of dread that filled her cute little stomach (she has the cutest little belly button) all afternoon waiting for her punishment. Finally the time arrived right after bath time, and I bent her over my knee (something I still giggle about until it happens) and applied 3 spanks with my hand to her naked booty. The moment she started crying my heart broke, but I knew this was a lesson that needed to be taught so I persevered. She was over it in less than 1 minute. 


When Brian got home, I informed him that he now had to spank her for the second offense. This would be the first time he had actually spanked her and he was quite uncertain. Alas, he did his duty and got in a good spank. He thought he was done until he caught my disapproving look. At this point he applied one more, be it a much softer, lick which brought on the tears. 


The crazy thing was that the tears were not just from her. At the point of the second spank, my youngest ran into the room screaming at the top of her lungs, "Leave my sissy awone!" She then threw herself between my husband and the culprit. Then the dramatic crying ensued. Not from the victim, but from her protector. They gripped each other and howled with tears. It was the sweetest and funniest thing I have ever seen. You would have thought they both had been beaten with an inch of their existence. If I had been quick enough to get my Flip video camera, there is no doubt we would be rich. The youngest one's crying continued long after the actual victim was over it. I guess now I can truly appreciate the phrase, "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."