My Black TinkerBell

Halloween Y’all!  It used to be my favorite holiday.  I say used to because now, the idea of getting three kids dressed into colorful and pain-in-the-ass costumes complete with wigs, wings and make-up makes me want to slit my wrists.  (And I mean that in the most non-offensive way.)  

Not to mention the idea of heading out into the dark with a bunch of kids that are dressed nothing like themselves and then dragged into a crowd of people that are probably dressed just like your kid.  This sounds like and episode of Unsolved Mysteries waiting to happen.

Truthfully, the idea of losing my child on Halloween had never actually occurred to me until, of course, I actually lost one.

Oh yes, I wish I was joking but alas, just like most of my other posts, reality is worse then fiction.  Granted this wasn’t actually my fault.  It wasn’t a normal, I-just-wasn’t-paying-attention, kind of thing.  It was a full on, someone-walked-off-with-my-kid!  Before you freak out, we are still a family of five and it turned out to be a very scary misunderstanding…  Let me start from the beginning.  

Wha ha happen was…

So... I’m helping out with my church’s fall festival (God forbid we call it anything remotely like the pagan and terrifying holiday that it actually is.  People might think our church worships satan!) and I am standing in the bounce house room with all three of my kids jumping in three separate bounce houses. (of course)  

Don’t even get me started on how much I loath bounce houses.  They are dirty and stinky and no matter how much they clean them, my kids come out sticky and usually crying because so asswad kid who is way to big to be in the toddler bounce house, has connected a round house kick with my kids face…. but I digress.

I’m watching my kids in these separate bounce areas like a lifeguard at the public pool.  Breaking up the room into sections, scanning each section for a white spiderman, a latino jasmine and and a black tinker bell.  For the most part I spent 30 minutes just counting to three over and over again.

my black TinkerBell

Thoughts going through my head while scanning crowd:

Me:  One… Two… Three/ One… two… three/ One, two…. Three/ One……. Two, Three/ One…… Two…….. Three/  One, two, three/  One, two…..

One…. two………. / One, Two……………………………………Oh crap.

Of course, I lost the black tinker bell!!

What the hell!?  She was just in there, like 3 seconds ago?  How long does it take to count to 3 anyway?  Three seconds, right?

So now I am walking quickly to her bounce house just to double check.  I’m sure she’s still in there on the floor or something.  I scan the whole thing twice and realize she’s really not in there.  I scan the crowd around the bounce house.  When the hell did all these people get here?  And why is the music so loud?!  I can’t even call for her!

I catch my spiderman as he is flying by me.  I need to hold on to the kids I still have and find the one that’s missing.

Me: Put on your shoes, we have to find your sister.

Spiderman: (points to the Latino Jasmine) She’s right there.  

Me:  I am aware, I’m holding her hand.  I’m talking about your other sister.  The one that’s not here!

Spiderman: But I don’t want to go!!!!!!!!

So now I’m stomping through the crowd with a screaming toddler and a pouty kindergartener that are all around pissed that I made them leave their precious bounce house.  Oh, I’m so sorry to make you leave your jumping fun in order to find your baby sister who at this moment is being stolen from church in order to be sold to the highest bidder, but by all means.  Please, keep bouncing. (Yet another reason I hate those stupid things.)

Now a few seconds, have turned into a few minutes and I’m hitting the 7minute mark.  I’m on the verge of panic because for as much as I joke about it, it became painfully clear to me that my youngest child looks… nothing… like… me.

Anyone can just pick her up and walkout and no one would think anything of it.  In fact, as her mother, I am probably the most likely person to be stopped to be verified if that child was actually mine.  Now…. I’m panicking.

Then I see her.  She’s being carried out this bounce area by a women.  I get all "mommy-bear" on this lady and I rush over to her, pulling my daughter out of her arms.  Fortunately, this story has a happy and not nearly a scary ending as it could have.   The women holding her was one of the church leader/workers that was manning the Bounce area and when she saw a little black baby tinker bell crying by the bounce house she assumed she was lost.  So she thought to take her to security in order to find her parents.  

Even thought her mom was standing not more then 5 feet from the spot she was standing in…. In fact, even when I grabbed my little black tinker bell out of her arms the women was going to grab her back until I explained who I was.  

It is a beautiful thing to have a multi cultural family!  But in a situation like this you just want all your kids to look the same.

Antenella

Part of the Elite

Recently I was directed to a mommy blog entry that made me so unnatural mad that I almost didn’t read it.   It was entitled: “Dear Stay-at-Home-Mom, please, Shut UP!”  Which you can read (here), and the whole article was about how sick and tired this author was with SAHM’s and their constant complaining about their children and husbands and all around life as a mother.   

You can imagine what my reaction was:  “Ugh! What a Witch!  (With a capitol B) How dare she so blatantly write a blog about my life as a mother without even consulting me!  (rude)  and I had just read the title.  I knew this blog was about me.  I know that I am that SAHM that basically lives and breaths for the opportunity to complain about my children to any random stranger that is willing to entertain my whims.  Heeellooooo!  You do read this blog, right?  So yeah, complaining about my kids is one of my greatest joys about being a mom.  With that being said, I was highly offended that the author didn’t agree with my sentiment.

And I almost didn’t read it.

Almost.

I wasn’t going to, (mostly because the repost of the blog had a self-important introduction attached to it) but if someone is going to be so arrogant as to write about you without ever actually talking to you then you know this drama is gonna be good! **

So I read it.  And I realized…

She was right.

In fact, I didn’t even realize how right she was until the very next day my husband and I made the trip down to my oldest daughters Public school to be witness to a ceremonial Breakfast for all the “Scientists of the Month”.  A title reserved for only the brightest, most passionate and the children of the best looking parents that this school had to offer.  But mostly I think they just pick a student randomly.  Either way, there is an award ceremony and a pancake breakfast and it is fun and achievement had by all!

All, except, for the little boy who sat next to me as I watched my daughter receive her award.  He happened to be in my daughters class and was also being recognized for his massive intellect, but there was no parent there to celebrate with him and after watching all these parents fawn all over their children, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and he began to sob.

I didn’t even realize until a teacher had sat next to him and putting her arm around him asked if he was going to be okay.  This little boy whimpered while nodding and when the teacher asked if it was because his parents couldn’t be there, he choked back another sob.  

I had never thought about it before… But both his parents work.  That mom gets to leave the house everyday and deal with adult issues and maybe gets to talk to other adults.  She probably gets to have a bathroom break without a child sitting in the stall with her asking her for water.  She probably even got to eat her Lunch hot and in a calm and orderly fashion.  Maybe she even got to read a book while on her break… This little boys parents are both teachers.  They make a living.  They get to have a breather from their stay-at-home lives by going out into the real world.  They make the brave choice to leave their child everyday in order to educate mine.

And I never… realized how completely… and utterly blessed I am as a stay-at-home-mom…

until that… 

very… 

moment…

My daughter was being recognized.  She had achieved something that she had always wanted.  She was so excited to tell me and she counted down the days until her breakfast and she told me about it every opportunity she got… I mean like every single one.  All I heard about for days was this “Scientist of the Month Breakfast”  and when she finally accepted her award from her principles she practically glowed.  

And I got to be there for that.

Now, it is very important that you realize that I am not knocking working parents.  Because I commend those that are both full time employee’s and full time parents.  What they do is selfless and always for their children and their families.

But I get to be there… for everything.  For every baby step.  For every milestone.  For every “Scientist of the Month Breakfast”  And as much as I complain and as many days there are where I spend half of it screaming and half of it crying it still beats anything else that I could be doing.  Because even with my bitching and complaining, I would never want to do anything else.  I would never want to be anywhere else.

So thank you Blogger for being painfully honest about how selfish we can be.  You are absolutely right.  I just needed to realize how blessed I really am and how I would never trade any of it for the world.

…

Although, Its probably not going to stop me from complaining.

Antenella

**I don’t for any reason actually think that this blogger is writing about me specifically.  I have never met this women and I doubt she even knows I exist.  So when I say she is writing about me, I mean more in a figurative way as opposed to the literal way.  So please don’t sent her nasty letters in order to defend my good name.  Because everyone knows that I have no such thing.**

Things I am not...

You might be someone who had no idea what becoming a parent would actually entail.  You might be someone who thought that you actually did know what it would entail.  (Either way... you are wrong.)

You, like me, probably thought you would do extraordinary things that involved cultural learning to an adorable and highly intelligent toddler who would "Ooh" and "Ahh" at all your developed knowledge of the temples in Rome during the era of Caesar.  You and your precocious 3 to 4 year old, who would always listened and nodded with affirmation when you explained the in's and out's of modern politics, would spend endless amounts of time exploring the world around you with the use of paint and artistic expression; while always dressed in the cutest of Gymboree clothing.  Faces never dirty... never tear streaked, for the love of philosophy and the thirst for knowledge would always guide your little ones heart!

And then you actually had a child....
And then you actually tried to teach them something...
And then you actually wondered if you ever even existed....
Like... ever...

Because no one FREAKING listens to you!!!!!

Being a parent is probably the most degrading job I have ever had... I seriously think that I could probably drop off the face of the earth, get hooked on drugs and then start stripping for a living and I would still feel less taken advantage of at the end of the day.

Do any other professions deal with the concerns of their boss following them into the bathroom to figure out what exactly they are doing with company time?

Or does any other professional have to be crossed examined by their boss for every...single...little...decision that is made, including the idea of apple or goldfish with lunch?  Folding laundry or cleaning a bathroom?  Watering the plants or cleaning the pool?

If anyone else's boss asked them the same question more then 50,000x in a matter of 4 minutes, you probably wouldn't be working there anymore.  In fact, someone would probably wonder about your bosses mental capacity.

But no!!!  Instead, my boss's who are degrading, neurotic, self-absorbed, pycho-paths!!!  are causing me to actually question MY sanity when everyone knows that any adult acting this way would be off their rocker!!!

With that being said I have discovered a few things that I am not.  And like I did with my children,  I would like to share with you some of those things:

Things I am not:

I am not a short order cook.
I am not a maid.
I am not a timer.
I am not a magician that can magic things into thin air.
I am not your slave.

you are not your freaking khakis

I am not your party planner.
I am not your servant that just stands in the corner until I am summoned.
I am not your judge.
I am not your jury.
I am not your punching bag.
I am not your dumping ground for unwanted responsibilities.
I am not the cleaning lady.
I am not the remote control.
I am not the chauffeur.
I am not the seamstress.
I am not to be ignored.
I am not be disrespected.
I am not be treated as a subhuman.
I am not your classmate.
I am not your friend.
I AM YOUR MOTHER!
....and I will be treated as such.

So, if you wanted to have any of the above objects, then you can grow up, get a job, make lots of money and buy these things for yourself after you pay for the therapy I caused you by not being any of these things when you were five.
#sorrynotsorry

 Antenella

Ode to my Budget

My husband and I have finally decided to cut back on our spending and start trying to put a little bit in savings.  The following letter is addressed to the two weeks worth of our new "budget".  I say

"Budget" pretty loosely since that's basically just a code word for "Don't spend any money until we get payed again."  It has been a journey of testing and resolve.  But on the upside,  I look damn skinny:)

Ode to my Budget:

How I loath you with the passion of a million fiery suns exploding in a brilliant display of blazing fervor...

Oh budget, why must you curse me so?
  
How I wish I could embrace you with a longing deepest to my heart.  How I wish we could be a happy union like that of the blissful bride on the dance floor of her wedding.  

But alas, it shall not be.

Oh, Why O budget of intense minimalist, must you be as strapping as a straight jacket?  The Grocery store has a BOGO on Bacon but I reach back my hand to review my calculator with the utmost of despair.  BOGO must wait till friday...

A mantra that you have forced me to call my own, O budget of paralysis!

Hark!  A coupon for Kohls has brightened my doorstep!  Oh happy day this day of magic and wonder!  But the fates are cruel and the expiration draws near... too near.  Friday can not over take it and I am doomed to lose the $10 kohl bucks I would have rejoiced in spending.

Why must you make a mockery of me O cruel financial planning?

Why must you mock me with your window sales of two for one yankee candles in all the delectable flavors of autumn?  What does the smell of "Balsam and Cedar" or the simplicity of "Harvest" smell like?  I shan't know,  for the envelope for "Home Decor" was nothing but a laugh an after thought, complete with the promise of a "Home" envelope in future months.

Why must the wheel of my mind churn like the grinding wheel of a 1940's flour mill when I lay my eyes on my barren refrigerator?  I close the door in shame and empty longing only to reach for the handle again for the 10,684th time.  I peer into the empty bleakness again with a renewed sense of insane glee that maybe a morsel of nourishment will present itself as a sacrifice to the tiny gods that litter my floorboards.

The tiny gods demand Dunkin Donuts!!   They scream out to their maker of McDonalds!  They what nothing but to suckle on the tit of the frozen yogurt down the street?  When the tiny gods do not get their sacrifices they become angry gods, bend on making the life of their servants nothing more then day in and day out misery!

This poor man that my kids are attacking
isn't actually related to us.  But this is what will
happen if you are cursed with their wrath!!!

Oh Curse you!  Dave Ramsey and all your financial prowess! 

Why must your words of wisdom incise me so, to the point of pain and suffering?  Why must I want to be more then a victim of this life that I have created for myself?!  Why can't I just blame my parents like everybody else and then continue my life of decadency in the complete ignorance of my financial portfolio?  Why must I long to be better then I am?

Is there a way to see outside the suffering?  Will there we rejoicing at the end of this never ending uphill marathon from hell?

Will I be able to make it to the other side with nothing but joy and hope renewed?

Will the tiny gods be happy with the home made donuts instead?  

Only time will tell....
and you...

O Budget

Fin 

Antenella

Tales from the ER

My youngest had come down stairs after being in time out and when she entered the room I asked her if she knew why I had to send her to her room.  She pitifully answered with "because I wanted to play in my room?"  and I corrected her with "No, you were in time out because you stabbed your brother in the throat with a pencil."

As these words were leaving my mouth, I suddenly had an out of body experience and I heard these words not as myself saying them but as someone else over hearing them.

...WTF.

Seriously?  "because you stabbed your brother in the throat with a pencil?"  and I'm not talking like he happened to be too close to him with a pencil and she nicked the side of his neck,  oh no!  That would almost be understandable.  Kids are dumb when it comes to judgment of distance and pain tolerance.  Oh no, my precious baby angle, decided to open her bothers mouth and jab a pencil down his throat.  Like... in his mouth... like in his throat...

...

She could have killed him!  Oh em gee.  I'm still reeling.  Does anyone else have this problem?  The problem of the insurmountable responsibility of trying to raise your children without them dying at their own hands... let alone mine?

And I was standing right there!  I mean I was right there!  It wasn't like I was in my bedroom with the door locked and earplugs in with my eyes closed.  This literally happened at my feet!  How am I supposed to protect them if they're constantly coming up with new and creative ways to kill themselves?

I just...
I can't...
I....

I bet they haven't heard this one!...

UGH!  What am I supposed to do?  I can't exactly childproof them from themselves.  Or maybe I can.   Tying them to a chair would be a whole lot cheaper then a babysit and as personal experience has shown that it might also be safer...

Don't judge me...

Antenella


*Update!  It turns out that the twins were playing dentist, and they couldn't find the child safety tool that the dentist had given them so apparently the best substitute for the safety mirror was a sharpened pencil.  At least I discovered that my children are just stupid as opposed to being psychotic killers.

This...

Not this... 

Aunt Viv

Do you ever just get the feeling that no matter what you do there is always that one person that is staring down their nose at you?

Honestly, I haven't had this feeling in a long time... Not since I added my third, now that I think about it.  This probably stems from the fact that since adding my third, I haven't had a chance to look at my reflection in a mirror let alone notice the curled lips of those staring down on me in judgement.

Well, both a glorious and horrific thing has come to pass with the new venture of my oldest going to public school and starting her first year of kindergarten!  The Bus Stop! ...  Not only has taking the bus been a huge breakthrough for her maturity and her growth but it has also brought a profound easiness to our family's lifestyle.  Since my precious baby angel is now in "real" school, I can put her happy butt on the school bus and wave to her from the sidewalk as some else is burdened with the safety, education and protection of my child for 6 glorious hours.

Terrifying, I know!

Anywho, with the passing of the torch comes a whole new slew of complications.

Now that I have so much extra time, (LOL) I have been able to come up for a breath... unfortunately that breath has been caught in my throat by the shock of iciness I have seem to have direct towards myself.

I am grateful to say that it is not from the large masses of mom's standing at the bus stop with me.  Praise the Lord, most of them show up just as disheveled as I do.  We nod at each other in the wee hours of the morning commiseration about our exhaustion of getting up early after going to bed late because one of our children had to have something done for the next day.

I've decided, I like school! I think I have finally found the other moms that are just as worn out as I am and for the first time I feel like I belong just because I showed up in my pajamas.

Alas, this sentiment is not held by all.  Especially not...

Vivian Banks...

I'm pretty sure that's not her name and she's probably not even close to being as cool as Vivian Banks but she is excellent at looking down her nose at me with a very open expression of disgust.

Ah yes, there is always one that doesn't approve.

And Vivian Banks does not approve... not even in the slightest.

It probably doesn't help that I'm in my pajamas... that are the same ones I was wearing yesterday...
And that my kids are still in their pajamas.  (But at least those are different then yesterdays...)

And that for the better part of the 20 minutes I stand at the bus stop, I'm yelling at my twins to stay out of the street while simultaneously trying to nod at my neighbors child who has decided to strike up a conversation with me as I was trying to talk to an actual adult...

Then the bus for my daughter comes and it parks its self nearly 50 yards away from where we are standing.  Every... single... day....

So now I have to run to the bus with my daughter while the twins are chasing after us screaming and crying while trying to send my oldest off with a glorious goodbye.  Meanwhile my youngest, (who looks nothing like me) has taken it upon herself to run in the opposite direction toward the other bus stop where Vivian Banks is waiting to make her judgments of me.

I kiss my oldest, put her on the bus, wave until the bus disappears down the street then frantically make my way to the second bus stop with my son and my neighbors kid, to where my 3 year old has decided to park herself and cry dramatically.

Did I mention my youngest looks like this:

Now picture the top scenario with not only her in her pajamas but her hair still wrapped up for bed...

Vivian Banks does not approve.

Not to mention that today when I decided I wasn't going to subject myself to her condescending tone of "Hellloh" by greeting her, the traffic cop asks me to keep a closer eye on my children because, and I quote: "You may not have noticed, but this is a very busy street, and I had no idea who she belonged too."

I could positively feel Vivian's eye rolling stabbing through the back of her head...

Ugh!

People suck sometimes.

I did notice that she was waiting with only one child at the bus stop...  Who happened to be a girl.

I pray nothing but grandsons for her future....

Antenella

Dear College Self

Just recently I was visited by a very dear friend of mine who I had not seen in a very long time.  It had been so long that I had seen my beautiful friend that when I started to think back to that time I realize it was 10 years ago!

Its been 10 years since I was in college... am I officially old?... Don't answer that!

Anyway, before she came I started to panic!  She hasn't seen me since college!  I'm nothing like how I was in college!  I'm not easy going, or carefree, or capable of taking about anything that isn't outside of the realm of Disney.  Plus,  I discover... I'm not a good person inside!  What if I can't hide it as well as I used too like when I was in college? 

This is going to suck!!  She's going to hate me!

And then she came and it was magical.  We picked up like nothing had changed, She loved my kids and my kids loved her.  I didn't get frustrated because I was trying to balance my attention with her and my kids.  It was perfect!  In fact, it was one of the most relaxing weekends I have had in a long time, besides the fact that we stayed up till 4 in the morning almost every night.

Having her come and visit made me realize something about myself that I never would have noticed otherwise...

I'm actually getting better with age!

It wasn't like she said these words to me or even made any indication to feeling this way but I realized that I have changed a lot since college and all this time I thought it was for the worse.  It turns out it's quite the opposite.

In response, I would like to write a letter to my college self. 

Dear College Self,

The world is not nearly as black and white as you have been taught it is.  In fact, there is rarely ever any black or white but just copious amounts of gray.  Every absolute that has entered your head is almost always not and to think that it is, is doing yourself a great disservice.

You may feel that your ability to "love on people" is overwhelming your obvious judgment of them, alas, this is not the case.  In fact, maybe, just maybe, you should stop talking long enough to allow someone else's thoughts to enter your frame of reference.  Life is very lonely when you think you know everything.  It's very hard to travel if you think you've already arrived.

There is no good way of telling you these things because as I am writing them you are distraught with the complete sense that someone has misjudged you and that these are not the things you ever considered yourself to be.

But how many assholes actually know they're assholes?

You are not completely lost.  A lot of what I'm telling you can only be fixed with time and experience, I know your heart is in the right place but that doesn't mean your mouth is.  Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing and sometimes the best way to love is with indulgence.  To accept people without having to change them or show them the error of their ways (Even if it is in "love").

Some times the best way to show your faith has nothing to do with your words and it most definitely has nothing to do with your quiet judgment.  Sometimes it means getting in deep with someone.  Experiencing their lives they way they are living them.

Maybe your ability to walk by faith has something to do with walking a mile in someone else's shoes.

You don't know what people are dealing with.  You don't know the demons they are fighting and even if they tell you, you can't experience it the same way they do because the only experiences you've ever had is your own.

So, Instead of loving God and people with your preconceived notion of what is right or wrong, maybe you should start with knowing the basics.

You.  Don't.  Know.  Anything.

There.  Now you can be a true vessel of God's love.  Now you are empty.  You can now begin to be filled up.  

-John 3:30

Your loving Sister in Christ,

Antenella